"It happened again," Lyara whispered, her voice trembling as she shook her aunt awake. Serenya stirred, blinking against the dim glow of the hearth fire. Her lined face softened with concern as she sat up and rubbed Lyara's back in slow, familiar circles. "Lyara… the same dreams?" she asked gently. Lyara nodded, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Yes. Why does this keep happening to me? I keep seeing him—always standing in the shadows. His eyes follow me everywhere, burning into me. It's not even a dream anymore… It feels like a nightmare. Deep down, I can't find rest." Her words hung in the silence of the little cottage. The air smelled faintly of warm bread from yesterday's baking, but tonight it carried a strange chill that raised goosebumps on her arms.
Serenya studied her niece for a long moment, her eyes sharp despite her age. "Lyara," she said softly, "dreams have power. More power than most people wish to admit. And sometimes… They are not just dreams." Lyara frowned, confusion mixing with unease. She had lived with these visions for as long as she could remember—shadows moving beneath the moonlight, a forest she'd never entered, and the piercing golden eyes of a man whose face always remained hidden. But tonight had been different. Tonight she had heard his voice.
"You are mine." The words had echoed through her mind like a vow, like a curse.
She shivered, drawing closer to her aunt. "It felt real this time," she whispered. "I could hear him. I swear I heard his voice."
Serenya's hand stilled against Lyara's back. For a heartbeat too long, she didn't answer. Finally, she forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You've just grown weary, child. Tomorrow, we'll go down to the market early. A new day will clear your mind."
But Lyara wasn't convinced. She leaned back, searching for her aunt's expression. Serenya looked tired, yes, but there was something else in her gaze too—something hidden. Almost like fear.
The wind howled outside, rattling the shutters. Lyara jumped, her heart racing. She hated how jumpy she had become lately, always glancing at shadows as though something was watching her. She tried to shake the thought away, but the words from her dream still pulsed in her head: "You are mine". The next morning, Lyara stepped out into the pale dawn light. Their cottage sat at the very edge of the village, where farmland melted into dense forest. The villagers always warned children not to wander too deep into the woods. Wolves roamed there—wild, dangerous creatures. Yet Lyara often found herself drawn toward it, her gaze lingering on the tree line. Today was no different. Something about the shadows beneath those branches called to her, whispering secrets she could almost but not quite understand. As she carried a basket of bread toward the market square, she caught the elders speaking in hushed tones nearby.
"…the blood moon rises soon," one of them muttered, an old man hunched with age. "A bad omen," another whispered. "If the old stories are true, it means the curse awakens again." Lyara slowed her steps, her heart beating faster. She had grown up hearing half-forgotten tales of the wolves that once terrorized the village, the beasts that had killed her parents. But to the elders, those were not just stories. She strained to hear more, but when the elders noticed her listening, they fell silent and offered forced smiles. "Ah, Lyara," one said, clearing his throat. "Off to market? Your aunt's bread always brings joy to the morning." She forced a smile back, but inside her chest, unease coiled tighter. The villagers were keeping something from her. They always had. And now, with her dreams intensifying, Lyara feared she was finally standing at the edge of the truth—whether she was ready for it or not.
That night, the dreams returned stronger. This time, she stood in the forest itself, silver light spilling through the trees. A figure moved toward her tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes glowing like molten gold. Her breath caught as the voice reached her again, deep and resonant. "You cannot run from me, Lyara." And though she tried to scream, her body refused to move. The dream wrapped around her like chains, pulling her deeper
into its hold.