The dorm was dim and quiet except for the soft hum of Lira's music bleeding through her headphones. She had already rolled over to sleep, one arm dangling off her bed like she'd lost a battle with gravity.
And me?
I couldn't stop thinking about that book. The way it was written, the way it pulled me in like the author had lived in that world themselves. I mean, who even comes up with clans, bloodlines, and rules that detailed?
It was insane. Insanely good.
So when we got back to our dorm a while ago, the first thing I did, before even changing clothes, was flop onto my bed, pull the book out of my bag, and flip back to the very first page.
"Alright," I muttered, tucking a pillow behind my back. "Let's see what your big mystery is."
The first page greeted me with heavy ink illustrations again, with that pale man and his piercing eyes. His face was sharp, almost too perfect, like marble carved to intimidate. His hair, long and dark, was swept back in a way that made him look effortlessly regal. And that cloak, billowing like it had its own personal storm machine, wrapped him in this aura that was both terrifying and… okay, fine, a little gorgeous.
I stared at the lines a second too long before realizing what I was doing. Admiring a vampire. An illustration of a vampire. I let out a small laugh, shaking my head.
"Seriously? Since when did I start crushing on two-dimensional bloodsuckers?"
Shaking the thought away, I flipped to the next page. This time, there were no illustrations but just a single title, bold and heavy across the center, like it wanted to be etched into my memory:
The Bloodline of Night
My heart actually gave a little skip. Like, who starts a book that way? It sounded so dramatic, so theatrical. I grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and started reading.
This is not a tale of myth, nor a story woven for mortal amusement. What you hold is a record, etched in secrecy and shadow, meant only for those whose eyes can bear the weight of truth. For the world of mortals is not alone. Never has it been.
I snorted, pressing my lips together so I wouldn't wake Lira with my laughter. "Rarely survive? Oooh chills. Who writes like this? Genius."
I couldn't help but laugh softly at myself. Here I was, reacting like I was binge-watching a horror series instead of reading an old dusty book.
The next lines pulled me even deeper:
Before mortals wrote their first words, before kingdoms lifted stone upon stone, there were the Nightborn. They were not shaped of clay nor gifted breath like humankind. They were born of Nyxareth, the Daughter of the First Darkness, who drank from the well of shadow at the dawn of time.
"Okay, who is this Nyxareth? Because wow. That's a name." I shook my head, impressed. "If this was published, it would win awards, I swear."
The words painted images so vividly in my mind. The dark fire spilling from veins, children born of shadow, clans forming like fragments of a shattered god. I could almost see them in my head, standing in some endless night, eyes glowing faintly as they carved kingdoms humans never even noticed.
As I turned the page, the clans were listed one by one.
Noctara, the Watchers. Velrith, the Blades. Serythil, the Whisperers. Dravennar, the Keepers.
"Seriously? Even the names are perfect," I muttered, half annoyed, half in awe. "This author must've spent years building this world. Like… Tolkien-level."
But then I read the passage about the wars. The endless shadow battles fought over hunger, over blood, with mortals as pawns who never realized they were just strings in someone else's hand.
And I shivered.
Not because I believed it, but because it was so well-written. Like goosebumps-worthy.
But then came the part that made me pause.
But amid the tide of humankind, there have always been a few who did not fully belong. They are called the Marked…
I froze, blinking at the words.
"The Marked? What is this, chosen one trope?" I said out loud, forcing a laugh.
But my fingers lingered on the page, tracing the letters. The description was so intense. Marked, mortals with fragments of Nyxareth's essence, living normal lives until fate dragged them into something darker.
My chest tightened a little. Ridiculous. Totally ridiculous.
But why did it sound… hauntingly possible?
I quickly shook my head and pushed on, reading about the forbidden unions, the ones born between worlds, and how their existence bent history itself.
"Oh my god. This is better than Netflix," I whispered, my voice shaky but amused.
The final lines of the introduction sent a chill crawling down my spine:
If you are reading these words, know this: the night is closer than you believe. And it is watching you.
I snapped the book shut instantly, heart hammering.
"…Nope. Nope nope nope."
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. I stared at the closed cover for a long moment before groaning and burying my face in the pillow.
"Okay, that was creepy. But also… brilliant."
A smile tugged at my lips despite the way my stomach still flipped nervously.
I stared at the last sentence again.
If you are reading these words, know this: the night is closer than you believe. And it is watching you.
"Wow. Just… wow."
My laugh came out softer this time, not quite steady. I closed the book with a quiet thump and hugged it to my chest for a moment, the way I used to do as a kid after reading scary stories at night.
The room felt too quiet, like the shadows in the corners were leaning closer than before. I sat up, shook my head, and forced a grin.
"No way. Whoever wrote this deserves an award. Creepiest intro ever."
I set the book on my desk, careful not to toss it like I usually did with novels. Something about it didn't feel like the type of thing you treat casually. Which was ridiculous because it was just fiction. A very, very well-written one.
I stretched out on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind replayed the words The Marked, Nyxareth, the clans. My heart beat a little faster every time.
It was silly. Unreal. But I couldn't deny how… captivating it was.
"Tomorrow," I mumbled, pulling the blanket over my head. "I'll read more tomorrow."
And yet, as I drifted toward sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that those words weren't meant to be just read.
The dorm quieted into that deep kind of silence only midnight knows. Lira was already lost in her music-induced dreams, soft snores slipping past her parted lips, while I curled deeper under my blanket, forcing myself to shut my eyes.
Sleep came faster than I expected. Maybe it was the exhaustion from classes, maybe it was the way that book had wrung out my brain like a sponge. Or maybe it was because my thoughts wouldn't let go of those words.
The night is closer than you believe.
I dreamt.
And it was ridiculous.
I stood in a place that wasn't real...couldn't be real. The sky was split open, heavy with storm clouds that didn't move. The air smelled like iron and fire, but the ground beneath my feet was soft, almost too soft, like stepping on ash.
In front of me, rows of figures stood cloaked in black. Their faces were hidden, except for their eyes. Every single one glowing faintly, red, silver, gold. A hundred pairs of eyes, staring.
"Oh no," I muttered in the dream, like I was fully aware this was just my brain being dramatic. "Of course. Creepy glowing eyes. Because my imagination just loves me."
But my voice echoed weirdly, like the sound didn't belong to me anymore.
Then I saw him.
The pale man from the book's illustration. Standing at the very front of them all, his long cloak rippling without wind, his sharp features carved from shadow and moonlight.
He tilted his head, like he could see me...really see me.
And he smiled.
Not a nice smile. Not a warm smile. The kind of smile you'd see on someone who already knows how the game ends.
My heart skipped so violently that even in the dream, I clutched my chest.
"Okay, subconscious," I whispered shakily. "This is officially too much Netflix before bed."
But I couldn't wake up.
The pale man stepped closer, his boots not sinking into the ashen ground the way mine did. His voice, when it came, was deep enough to rattle through my bones.
"You found it."
I froze.
He was talking to me.
"You should not have found it."
I wanted to laugh it off. I wanted to tell myself this was just my brain recycling the book's creepy introduction. But the way he said it, the way his words carried weight, it didn't feel like fiction.
The rows of glowing eyes behind him moved, shifting like shadows come alive. A whisper rose among them, dozens of voices layered into one, murmuring something I couldn't understand. My skin prickled all over.
And then, in the middle of that terrible chorus, I heard a single word.
"Marked."
I jolted awake.
I almost flinched, blinking against the early sunlight creeping through the dorm curtains. My heart was still thudding like I'd just run a marathon, and for a split second, I couldn't remember where I was.
"Morning already?" I croaked, my voice hoarse from… whatever had haunted me in my sleep.
Lira, fresh out of the shower, was sitting on her bed in a towel, hair wrapped up in another.
"Yep. Sunrise happened. Birds chirped. The world didn't explode. You missed it," she said with a teasing grin. "And yes, you were tossing and turning like a dramatic soap opera character all night."
I groaned and buried my face in my pillow again, half embarrassed, half still feeling that lingering adrenaline.
"It was… weird. Like, really weird. I—uh—had this dream," I admitted slowly, unsure if saying more would make me sound completely insane.
"Oh, you had a dream?" Lira said, raising an eyebrow so high it almost disappeared into her hairline. "I thought you were being haunted by some invisible ghost army."
I shot her a glare, even though I knew it looked pathetic at best.
"Not funny. It felt so… real. I mean, I even felt like I was walking outside the dorm." My hands gestured vaguely as if illustrating something I couldn't fully explain. "There were figures. A pale guy. Glowing eyes. He... he called me Marked."
Lira blinked, slowly processing what I said. Then, of course, she burst out laughing. Not the quiet, polite kind, but the full-blown, shoulders-shaking, hand-to-mouth kind of laugh that made me want to die on the spot.
"Marked, huh?" she said, still chuckling. "Wow. That's… that's some next-level dream, Ayla. Did you at least get a dramatic backstory while you were at it?"
"I didn't get a choice!" I shot back, dragging myself upright, hair messy and sticking to my face. "It was… it was like the book jumped out of the page and shoved me into the story. It felt… wrong, Lira. Like I was really there."
Lira shook her head, still smirking, and swung her towel off to grab her clothes. "Okay, okay, I get it. Creepy, but come on. It's just a dream. You didn't actually go outside, and no one actually called you Marked. It's your brain being extra."
I exhaled slowly, trying to convince myself she was right. I looked over at the book on my desk, its cover catching the morning light. It sat there innocently, spine straight, pages untouched since last night.
"Yeah… yeah, I know. But it felt so real."
Lira rolled her eyes dramatically as she tugged her shirt over her head. "Fine, dramatic Ayla, the Queen of Creepy Dreams. But guess what? Real life is waiting. Shower done, breakfast waiting, and you're still lying here like a zombie."
I groaned again, swinging my legs over the bed. My stomach twisted with a weird mix of excitement and lingering fear. The dream was fading, the edges softening, but there was still that prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like something had brushed past me even after I woke.
"Maybe I need coffee… or ten," I muttered, rubbing my face.
"You need sunlight," Lira corrected, tossing me a towel. "And maybe a little distance from that book before your imagination decides to stage another apocalypse in your head."
I took the towel, still half in a daze, and wrapped it around myself.
"Yeah… yeah, probably a good idea."
But even as I followed her toward the small dorm bathroom, my mind kept drifting back to that pale man, the glow in his eyes… and the word that refused to leave me: Marked...