Chapter 1 – Blood & Bells
The bells were screaming.
They tolled through the storm, iron throats ringing out their warning across the night. Rain lashed the battlements and turned the dirt underfoot into black mud that clung to her bare feet. Lightning split the sky, and for an instant the whole scene was thrown into stark, merciless relief —the castle walls, slick with rain; the guards, shouting and stumbling through the chaos; the red splash of blood on stone.
Someone slammed into her shoulder, nearly knocking her down. A noble? a guard? he ran past shouting words she couldn't make out over the ringing in her ears. Another figure fell hard to the ground in front of her, his sword skittering away. She reached for it before she even thought about what she was doing, her fingers closing around the blood-slick hilt.
That was when she saw them.
The creatures moved through the night like shadows come to life — slick and chitinous, their four glassy eyes glowing a faint, corpse-blue light. Their legs clicked against the stones like knives tapping glass, and their mandibles worked as if they were laughing. One of them stopped, its many eyes locking on her.
She couldn't breathe.
The rain ran down her face, mingling with sweat, blurring her vision. She raised the sword, every muscle in her arm trembling. The creature lunged, faster than thought, and all she saw were its claws stretching toward her.
And then she awoke.
She sat bolt upright, heart hammering in her chest, her sheets tangled around her legs and damp with sweat. The small fan in the corner buzzed softly, and pale morning light filtered through her curtains. Everything was quiet... a little too quiet and yet normal in a way that felt wrong after what she had just seen.
"Just a dream," she muttered to herself, pressing her palm to her forehead. Her skin was hot, her pulse racing, but she forced herself to throw off the covers and get up. There wasn't time to dwell on it.
She rushed through her routine, brushing her hair with quick, jerky strokes and pulling on her socks while hopping on one foot. The red digits of the digital clock glared at her from the nightstand —7:42. She was late, again.
By the time she skidded into the kitchen, her father was sitting at the table with the morning paper, his coffee steaming.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"When am I not?" she said, grabbing her toast and grinning at him.
It felt good, the normalcy of it. By the time she was racing down the street toward school, the memory of the nightmare had already started to fade, like ink washed from paper.
The school day passed in a blur of chalk dust, murmured lectures, and shuffling notebooks. She laughed with her friends in the hallway, teased one of them for their hopelessly messy locker, and even told them about the dream over lunch. They groaned at the details and told her she watched too many scary movies. By the time the final bell rang, the whole thing felt more like a story she had read than something she had lived.
Her father's antique shop was quiet when she arrived. The familiar jingle of the bell above the door greeted her, and the scent of dust and wood polish wrapped around her like an old blanket. Shelves stood in shadow, their glass cases filled with clocks, porcelain dolls, rusted keys, things no one had touched in years. The ticking of the clocks filled the silence in uneven rhythm.
Her father poked his head out from the back room, keys already in hand. "Close up for me, will you? I've got to run an errand."
"Got it" she said, dropping her schoolbag behind the counter.
The routine was comforting sweeping the floor, straightening the display cases, humming to herself as the last light of evening spilled through the front windows. Everything was where it should have been. Everything was in its place.
Until she saw the box.
It was tucked half-hidden under a shelf, its lid slightly ajar. She crouched down, frowning. She had cleaned this very shelf yesterday.
Sliding the box out, she found a single object inside — a tarnished locket on a broken chain. It was heavier than it should have been, the metal cold enough to make her shiver. Strange, curling symbols were etched into its surface, letters she didn't recognize but somehow felt she should.
The air shifted.
At first it was so subtle she thought she imagined it — a faint hum in her bones, the tick of the clocks slowing until they almost stopped. The shop seemed to hold its breath. Then the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and she heard the sound.
A single bell, tolling far away.
Her heart leapt to her throat. The locket burned white-hot in her palm, and the whole world tilted. Shelves blurred and swam around her as if she were falling sideways. The bell rang again, louder this time, and everything went black.