LOGIN“Be afraid. Be very afraid of yourself, Rhea. You have no idea the amount of destruction you alone can bring upon this earth.” Her words send shivers down my spine. Normally, fear can linger in the presence of someone else; however, I am told to be scared of myself. What possible destruction could I unleash on someone else? “What do you mean by that? Be clear!” I command, desperation drooling off my firm tone. With a deep sigh, she calmly responds, “You will know. Soon you will know everything. The end is near. Very near. And its just the beginning,” Her words are somehow haunting me, giving me the idea that there is no escape. I am surrounded by darkness and every passing moment, it consumes me little by little.
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Nightmares. What are they made of? I used to ask myself that. Are they just scattered fragments of our fears stitched together by sleep? Or... are they warnings? I never found answers. Not until I came back to Ashwood.
The road to this town was just like I remembered—crooked, fog-choked, whispering. Trees leaned in like old men trading secrets. Nothing had changed… except me. And her. Elara.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles becoming white. The signboard for Ashwood passed in a blur, its wood chipped and rotting. Welcome to Ashwood. Home is where the heart is. The words felt like a mockery.
Elara’s cottage stood at the edge of the woods, surrounded by silence and shadows. I had inherited the place, apparently. She had no will, no instructions. Just vanished from the world one night and left behind questions—and blood.
I stepped inside. The air was stale with dust and lavender. Her smell. I stood in the doorway for a moment, bags at my feet, heart pounding. “Home,” I whispered. The word didn’t fit.
There were no pictures of us here. No smiling frames. Just thick bookshelves, empty teacups, scattered papers. It looked like someone had left in a hurry… or expected to return.
And in the middle of the living room table sat a journal. Black leather. Unlabeled. I hesitated before picking it up. My fingers brushed the cover, and I felt a twinge—like static—or maybe something deeper. I opened the first page.
“They follow me at night. Wolves, eyes glowing like fire. I hear them breathing behind the trees. I think they know what I am.”
– Elara C.I froze. Wolves? I flipped through more pages. Symbols. Sketches. Half-spells. Moon charts. One line was circled over and over: "The Crimson blood is not a curse. It's a key."
I closed the journal and pushed it away.
“Okay, Elara,” I muttered, forcing a laugh. “Creepy journal, weird poems, dead girl in the woods. What the hell were you into?” The answer wouldn’t come that night. But something else did.
That first dream felt… wrong.
I stood in the forest, barefoot, the ground cold and wet. The trees were endless silhouettes. Wind howled through them, carrying whispers I couldn’t understand. “Elara?” I called. My voice echoed too loudly. I saw her. Up ahead. Running.
“Elara!” I screamed again, chasing her.
Branches clawed at my arms as I sprinted through the trees. She didn’t turn. Her white dress shimmered between trunks like a ghost. Then she stopped. Slowly, she turned.
“Elara!” I said again, reaching her—only to see the look in her eyes. Wide. Terrified. Her mouth moved but no sound came out.
“Behind you,” I whispered.
They came from the darkness. Four wolves, massive, unnatural. Their eyes gleamed yellow. Their growls vibrated through the ground. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. They lunged.
“Elara!”
She screamed as they tore into her. Blood sprayed across the snow-dusted ground. I ran. Fell beside her. Tried to push the beasts away. But they weren’t real—not in the way animals are. Their bodies shimmered. Half-shadow. Half-smoke.
And then… silence. The wolves scattered into the trees. A growl shattered the stillness. Low. Deep. Ancient. I looked up. On the edge of a fog-drenched ridge stood something… else.
A wolf—if you could still call it that. Twice the size of the others. Fur like ink. Eyes like hellfire.
It stood still, watching me. I felt something pour into me. Cold, like winter, crawling through bone. The forest bowed under its weight. It opened its mouth and let out a howl so loud I dropped to my knees. And then—
I woke up.
My heart felt like it had been running for hours. My shirt stuck to my skin. I stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on my face.
“Elara,” I whispered to the mirror. “What the hell did you drag me into?” I didn’t notice the tiny scratch on my neck until hours later. It looked like a claw mark. A dream… shouldn’t leave scars.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A notification from an unknown number:
“Welcome home, Rhea.”
I stared at the screen for a moment. The chill that crept up my spine wasn’t from the cold. I tossed the phone aside.
I couldn’t sleep after that dream. Not again.
I wandered back into the living room and sat by the window, watching the fog roll across the woods. The journal still sat on the table like it was watching me. I reached out and opened it again, flipping toward the middle this time.
One page was burned at the edges. The writing was hurried.
“The seal is weak. I feel it. The dreams aren’t dreams. They’re warnings. He’s waking. The Red-Eyed One waits.”
My hands trembled.
“The Red-Eyed One…”
I thought of the wolf. That thing on the ridge. Suddenly, the wind outside howled, and something slammed against the window. I jumped. Heart racing. I peeked out. Nothing. But I could’ve sworn… for a second… I saw eyes.
Not glowing. Just… there. Watching.
I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch because the next time I opened my eyes, the sun was bleeding through the trees. I stretched, head pounding. Outside, the air was crisp, and a thin frost kissed the ground. My breath fogged up the glass. For a moment, everything was still.
Then I noticed something. Footprints. Not mine. They led from the woods straight to my door—and stopped. I opened the door slowly, expecting to find someone. A letter. A threat. A joke. Nothing.
Just the fading print of something large. Heavy. Was that a wolf?
Too big. And too direct. It wasn’t wandering. It came to my door. It knew where I lived. A dream… shouldn’t leave scars.But what about footprints?
That afternoon, I tried to forget. I unpacked. I organized. I cleaned. Mundane things, human things. But Elara’s journal pulled me back in like gravity.
One passage stuck with me all day.
“The Draven heir still watches the borders. I saw him yesterday beneath the ridge. He’s grown colder. But he knows the pact. He must.”
The Dravens. I remembered the name. Old money. Private. Mysterious. They owned half the land around Ashwood, including the ridge I saw in the dream.
“Elara,” I whispered. “What the hell did you know?” The wind outside picked up again. I looked toward the woods. Somewhere in the shadows, I swear I heard howling. But not the kind you’d find in nature. No, this howl was something else and it sent shivers down my spine. .
And I felt… for the first time… it was calling for me.
The woods beyond Ashwood breathed in silence.Mist clung low to the forest floor, curling between ancient roots and fallen leaves as four Draven wolves moved cautiously through the trees. Their senses were sharp, ears flicking at every distant sound, every crack of branch or whisper of wind. This deep into the territory, nothing should have felt wrong.Yet everything did.A crack echoed behind them.All four wolves spun at once, muscles coiling, teeth bared.Two sets of eyes ignited the darkness.One burned crimson, vast and unblinking—older than the forest itself.The other glowed gold, sharp and predatory, standing just behind.The wolves froze.A low, calm voice slipped through the air, smooth as velvet and heavy as a grave.“Dravens…”A pause.“You shouldn’t wander the woods alone without your Alpha.”The forest seemed to bow inward.AURA stepped forward, his presence bending the night around him. He did not rush. He did not attack. He watched, his mismatched eyes reflecting somet
The study at Draven Estate felt smaller than it ever had.Not because of walls or stone or space—but because the truth had weight. It pressed down on the room, on every breath drawn within it, thick and suffocating.The Thorne Grimoire lay closed now in Violet’s hands, its cracked leather cover darkened by centuries of secrets. The candlelight flickered against the ancient sigils etched faintly into its spine, as if the book itself still breathed.Rhea stood near the far side of the room, her back to everyone. Her fingers gripped the edge of the window frame, knuckles pale, shoulders tight. Outside, Ashwood stretched endlessly—trees unmoving, shadows quiet. Too quiet.Marek leaned against the heavy oak table, arms crossed, jaw set. His eyes moved between Violet and Rhea, sharp, calculating, as though measuring damage after a battlefield strike.Kael stood at the center.Still.Unmoving.But his aura was anything but calm.It simmered beneath his skin, restrained only by will. His eyes
The silence after Violet’s last word did not feel like peace.It felt like a held breath—one the world itself had been holding for centuries.The fire in the hearth crackled softly, its warmth failing to touch the cold that had settled deep in the chamber. Violet sat motionless, fingers resting on the edge of Thorne’s Grimoire, as if the book might bite if she let go. Rhea stood near the window, her reflection faint against the glass, eyes distant—seeing something none of them could. Marek leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck stood out. And Kael…Kael stood still as a statue.But the Alpha’s aura had shifted—low, dangerous, coiled.Violet swallowed. “This is where the record changes,” she said quietly. “From warning… to war.”Kael nodded once. “Then read.”The candlelight flickered.And the world fell backward into blood and fire.---AURA no longer walked among rogues.He ruled them.The forest bowed when he passed. Wolves—rogue
The room was silent. Not the quiet of peace—but the kind that pressed against the chest, heavy and watchful, as if the walls themselves were listening. Violet sat stiffly in the carved oak chair near the hearth, the Thorne Grimoire resting open across her lap. Its leather cover was cracked with age, the pages yellowed and warped, ink pressed so deep into the parchment it looked etched rather than written. Some of the symbols pulsed faintly, reacting to her touch, as though the book resented being awakened again. Rhea stood near the tall windows overlooking the Ashwood treeline. Her arms were folded tightly around herself, her reflection pale against the glass. She did not look at Violet—or at the book. Her eyes were fixed on the forest beyond the estate, as if expecting it to move, to breathe, to answer something only she could hear. Marek leaned against a stone pillar near the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He hadn’t shifted since Violet sat down. His Alpha instincts were c






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