Elara woke with a jolt, her shirt clinging to her skin, damp with sweat. Her chest heaved as though she had been running, though she hadn't moved from her narrow bed.
It was always the same dream. Always the same night. The night everything ended.
She never saw the worst of it—never saw what happened after the woman's trembling hand slipped from her sleeve to reveal the wound. Her mind always tore her awake before the rest could unfold, sparing her from the horror she had lived through. Perhaps it was her body's way of protecting her. Or perhaps some memories were simply too heavy to bear, even in sleep.
But the fear lingered all the same. Ten years had passed, and still she woke in a cold sweat, heart racing, as if she were still that frightened child in the dark.
Light crept through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting faint lines across the stone wall of her chamber. Dust swirled in the beams, shimmering as they drifted. Beneath it all, the steady hum of a generator vibrated through the floor, as constant now as her own pulse.
Elara pushed the blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The flagstones were cold against her bare feet. She dressed quickly, pulling on patched trousers, a tunic, and her worn boots. Her reflection in the scrap of polished metal above the washbasin showed a girl with green eyes shadowed by exhaustion, hair tangled and long, braided to keep it from her face. Seventeen winters had stripped her of the softness she once had. What looked back at her now was harder, sharper.
She tightened her braid and stepped out into the corridor.
Ravenholt Castle had stood for centuries, carved into the cliffs above the sea. Its walls bore the marks of time and battle, patched with chain-link fencing, corrugated iron, and barricades of welded cars. The old gatehouse was piled with sandbags, bristling with barbed wire. Floodlights scavenged from old highways and parking lots jutted from the battlements, their cables snaking down to the fuel drums and humming generators that kept the settlement alive.
The courtyard was already stirring.
A mechanic hunched over the gutted shell of a jeep, tools scattered at his feet. Children darted between the tents pitched against the inner walls, their laughter thin but real. Makeshift stalls lined the open space, survivors bartering food, batteries, and bullets with hushed urgency. A woman ladled thin stew into tin cups while a man rolled an old generator into place, its wheels squealing.
Above it all, guards paced the battlements, rifles slung over their shoulders, eyes fixed on the horizon. Beyond the walls, the forest stretched to the edge of sight, shadows shifting even in daylight.
"Elara!"
The voice cut through the noise. Caleb strode across the courtyard, a bow slung across his back, his steps steady and confident. He was tall now, broad-shouldered, his brown hair tied back with a strip of cloth. His eyes, steady and watchful, carried the weight of someone who had grown up too quickly.
"You slept late," he said, though his smile softened the words.
"I didn't sleep at all," she admitted.
His expression shifted. "The dreams again?"
She nodded. They didn't need to speak more. He had been there that night too. He understood.
A laugh drifted from the steps of the old chapel. Corin sat there, one knee pulled up, her golden-brown hair catching the sun like fire. There was something about her presence that always seemed just slightly apart from everyone else. Her eyes lingered too long, her smile too sharp, her movements too graceful. People whispered about her bloodline, about magic whispered through generations. Elara knew better than to ask.
"Dreams don't mean much," Corin called, rising to join them. "If they did, Caleb would be feasting every night. Do you know how many deer he dreams of that he never catches?"
Caleb shot her a look, but Corin only grinned, brushing dust from her trousers.
Before Elara could reply, a shadow swept over the courtyard. A raven circled once above the keep before descending to perch on the broken arch above the gate. Its feathers rippled and shimmered, bending the light, until they folded into themselves. Where the bird had been, Torvee now stood.
She carried herself with the same caution as the raven he had been seconds before, every movement deliberate. Her dark eyes scanned the courtyard, then the horizon beyond the walls. She wore leathers stitched with feathers, and her presence carried the quiet edge of someone always ready to vanish into the sky.
"You're late," Corin teased, though her voice was laced with curiosity.
"I was watching the treeline," Torvee answered, her gaze flicking once to Elara before turning outward again. "Something moved at dawn. Too far to see clearly. Could've been people. Could've been ferels"
The courtyard stilled.
Ferals rarely tested the walls in daylight. If they had, it meant hunger. Or boldness. Or both.
Elara followed his gaze toward the reinforced gate, where rusting cars, fencing, and sandbags formed a makeshift bulwark. Beyond it, the world stretched out wild and untamed. Trees rose like black teeth against the pale morning sky, and the wind carried whispers no one wanted to hear.
Caleb's jaw tightened as he adjusted the bow on his shoulder. "They're getting closer," he said quietly. "Closer every week."
Elara's skin prickled.
And then it came.
A howl, distant but sharp, carried across the cliffs. The sound silenced the courtyard in an instant. Guards froze along the battlements, hands tightening on their weapons. Children stopped in their tracks. The mechanic let his wrench slip from his grip, the clang echoing too loudly in the stillness.
Elara felt the sound deep in her bones. She had grown up with it, but it never dulled. It was more than a warning, it was a promise.
Corin's hand brushed against Elara's, grounding her. Torvee's eyes narrowed, calculating distance and direction. Caleb looked at the gate as though daring it to hold.
Elara forced herself to breathe evenly. She had survived ten winters since the blood moon first rose. She had outlasted the nightmares, the hunger, the endless nights. But as the howl echoed again, her chest tightened with a truth she couldn't shake.
The blood moon had taken everything once. And one day, it would rise again.