“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.
Lihat lebih banyakRhea
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 farmhouse was silent.Rhea pressed her back against the cold stone wall, every nerve in her body trembling. She had watched the guards for days, memorizing their steps, their lazy voices, their carelessness. And finally—tonight—there was a gap.Her chance.She slipped through the door, bare feet brushing against the rough wooden floor. The air outside hit her skin, sharp and fresh compared to the stale stink of the farmhouse. For a moment she just breathed it in—freedom.Then she ran.Her legs carried her faster than she thought they could, dress whipping around her knees, hair flying wild. The trees stretched tall above her, leaves whispering as if urging her forward. She leapt across roots, stumbled through thorns, scraped her palms on branches—but she didn’t stop.Every step pushed her closer to Ashwood.Closer to Kael.The thought lit a fire inside her chest. Her heart hammered, her breath burned, but she kept going. The taste of freedom was almost real—she could see rooftops
The whispers began at dawn.Ashwood was no stranger to strange noises in the night—the forests that ringed the town had always belonged to the wolves, and the wolves were never silent. Their howls rolled through the pines with the moon, sometimes mournful, sometimes wild, and the townsfolk had long ago learned to sleep through them.But this was different.The sound that woke the children and rattled the shutters was no wolf. It was too guttural, too ragged, like the echo of a scream that had been buried alive. Mothers clutched their children tighter in the dark. Men lit lamps and peered from windows but saw only shadows thickening at the treeline. No eyes glowed, no predator prowled into view—just silence, broken by the ragged cry again, sharp enough to feel like it tore at the marrow of the bone.By morning, fear had sunk its claws into Ashwood.The market that usually thrummed with chatter moved in hushed tones. Farmers unloaded crates with darting eyes. The butchers sharpened thei
The night pressed heavy over Ashwood, its silence broken only by the restless sighs of the forest. A pale moon cut through the treetops, silvering the ground where Kael stood, arms crossed, eyes hard as granite. Across from him, Marek waited in composed stillness, his cloak brushing the dirt, his face half-hidden in shadow. Violet lingered between them, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her sleeve, her violet eyes flaring faintly with the remnants of her spell.Kael’s voice broke the stillness, low and sharp.“Will you help us, Marek?”For a long moment, Marek said nothing. His gaze lingered on the treeline as if weighing the very air before he turned back to Kael. “For now, yes. But understand this—” His tone hardened. “Rhea’s greatest threat isn’t Varek. It’s Eloria. The prophecy binds her. The Grand Magestress will never let her go, not while she breathes. If you wish to save her, Alpha, you must do more than fight Varek. You must find a way to take her far from Eloria’s re
Rhea’s POV Darkness had teeth. It gnawed at the corners of her mind, whispering despair as the chains bit into her wrists. The stone floor beneath her was cold, the air damp and stinking of rot. Alder had shoved her into this place hours ago—maybe days; time no longer mattered. Pain licked through her body, bruises blossoming where she’d been struck, but her thoughts weren’t on the pain. They were on him. Kael. Her lips curved despite the ache, a fragile smile blooming through the tears that streaked her face. Foolish, maybe, to cling to hope in a place like this. Foolish to believe that one man could stand against the tide of monsters that hunted her. But Rhea’s heart knew something her mind couldn’t deny: Kael would come. He always did. She remembered the first night, when she thought the wolves in the woods would tear her apart. He’d stood between her and death, blade flashing, eyes burning with fury. She’d seen him bloodied, broken, yet never faltering when it came to her.
The Draven estate had gone silent by the time Kael and Fenrak left. Violet lay unconscious in her chamber, her breath shallow but steady, tended by the nurse who rarely asked questions. Marek’s blood still stained the courtyard stones. Yet neither wolf lingered; the night was not theirs to rest in.Ashwood spread wide before them, black as a wound. Clouds bruised the moon, breaking its light into slivers, while the forest whispered with things unseen. Kael moved with purpose, cloak heavy over his shoulders, every step a silent vow. Fenrak matched his pace, lean and watchful, his eyes sharp even in shadow.They did not speak until the glow of distant torches marked the hidden approach to the Order of Ash’s chambers. The ruined monastery loomed like a carcass against the treeline, its towers broken, its stones veined with creeping ivy. A faint hum of power lingered there, the residue of spells layered thick over centuries.From their vantage point in the trees, they waited.The doors of
The ride back to Draven Estate was heavy with silence. The forest whispered around them, branches creaking under the weight of secrets that never slept. Moonlight slanted through the canopy, painting Fenrak’s arms as he carried Violet against his chest. She barely stirred, her head lolling against his shoulder, her skin pale as parchment. Every so often, her breath caught—ragged, shallow—but she clung to life, and Fenrak clung to her.Kael walked ahead, his stride relentless, as if distance itself could not tire him. His silence was louder than thunder, each step echoing his fury.The gates of Draven Estate loomed at last, carved iron swirled into wolves and thorns, standing taller than any man. Lanterns burned along the stone pillars, their flames steady, unaffected by the wind. Even after centuries, the estate stood proud: a fortress of old wealth and older bloodlines, its walls wrapped in ivy that had climbed there before Kael’s birth.Inside, the entry hall opened like a cathedral
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