🌟Let The Games Begin🌟

CHAPTER TWO

🩷Talia🩷

Talia’s alarm didn’t wake her—she was already up, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the pale light bleeding in through the blinds. Her mind hadn’t stopped racing since the dream. Or vision. Or whatever it had been. It left her feeling hollowed out, as if something had reached into her chest and plucked loose a thread she hadn’t known was holding her together.

She tried to shake the feeling, pushing herself into motion. A shower. A clean, crisp button-down. Neatly pressed slacks. The little rituals grounded her. As she twisted her hair into a sleek bun, she caught her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes looked… older. Tired in a way that sleep never seemed to fix anymore.

Work would help. It always did.

---

The office buzzed softly with keyboards and hushed phone calls. Talia moved through it like clockwork, perfectly efficient, her posture straight, her heels quiet against the linoleum. She returned greetings with polite smiles, avoiding any real conversation. That boundary—professional but distant—was one she maintained religiously.

At her desk, she pulled up reports, answered emails, and made it through three client calls without pause. Routine wrapped around her like armor. Nothing in her expression gave away the restlessness gnawing inside her.

But by mid-afternoon, it was harder to ignore.

The lights seemed too bright. The usual office chatter too sharp. Her skin prickled beneath her clothes. Twice she looked over her shoulder, certain someone was behind her, only to find empty air.

Her phone vibrated.

A text from Bria.

You okay? Thought I’d check. You looked pale this morning.

Talia stared at the message for a long second before typing back: Just tired. Bad dreams. Nothing new.

Bria’s reply came almost instantly: You need a real break. Drinks tonight? Or a movie night? You pick.

Talia smiled faintly but didn’t answer right away. A break sounded good. Something normal. But a strange pull twisted in her gut—a sensation she couldn’t place.

Eventually, she typed: Raincheck? Just need to decompress tonight.

Bria sent a sad emoji. Fine. But I’m holding you to it.

Talia dropped her phone and tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her. But her thoughts wouldn’t settle. And the weight between her shoulder blades only grew heavier.

---

The evening was quiet when she arrived home. Too quiet.

Her boots clicked softly on the hardwood as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. The usual creaks of the old house greeted her—but there was something else. A tension in the air. She stood still in the entryway, listening.

Nothing.

She shook her head. Get it together, Talia.

She flicked on the kitchen light and started boiling water for tea. Herbal. Something calming. She moved through the motions automatically, her mind half elsewhere, half stuck on that lingering unease.

The tea steeped, steam curling into the air.

She picked up her mug, turned toward the living room—and froze.

There was a draft.

She hadn’t opened a window.

Slowly, she made her way down the hall toward her bedroom. The door creaked when she pushed it open.

The window was a jar.

Just a crack. But enough for the chill to slip in.

Her heart thudded harder.

Had she opened it this morning? She couldn’t remember.

She stood slowly, eyes scanning the floor, the dresser, the corners. It was probably nothing. Just the wind. A trick of her memory.

Then she saw it.

A smear.

Faint, just beneath the window—like ash or soot rubbed into the hardwood floorboards. Kneeling down, she reached out and touched it. It came away like powder, dark and gritty on her fingertips.

It wasn’t dust. It smelled faintly of something burned and metallic, like scorched earth.

She wiped her hand on her jeans and backed away, throat tight.

Her phone was on the nightstand. She grabbed it and took a picture of the black smear, then hesitated. Who would she even send it to?

Bria would worry. And what could she even say? Hey, weird soot under my window. Any thoughts?

Still holding the phone, she made a slow pass through the rest of the house. Every door she opened, every room she checked, felt more like peeling back a layer of calm that barely covered something else.

When she reached the front door again, she paused. Bent down.

Another smear.

Near the doorframe this time.

Like something—or someone—had passed through her house, leaving behind traces of... what?

She stared at the mark, heart thudding. Her skin crawled.

And then she remembered the dream.

The cold. The shadows. That voice whispering in a tongue she didn’t understand.

A chill crawled over her spine.

This wasn’t just a bad night.

Something was wrong.

---

🩵Ronan🩵

Outside, the night had settled deep. The street lamps flickered against the quiet, casting pale halos over the cracked pavement. Wind rustled through the trees, tugging at the leaves like whispers too soft to catch.

Across the street, nestled in shadow, someone watched the house.

He stood with his back to a tree, still as stone, hood drawn low. Eyes locked on the warm glow of Talia’s bedroom window. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just observed.

She was awake.

Good.

That meant she’d felt it.

The wards were thinning faster than expected. Something had slipped through, and she’d caught the scent of it—if only subconsciously. But that was enough. She wasn’t shielded anymore. Not fully.

And if he could sense the breach, others would, too.

They would come.

She had no idea what she was walking into.

But he did.

And it was nearly too late to turn back.

---

[Anonymous]

Across town, in the quiet solitude of her study, the witch smiled.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, herbs, and something darker. A flickering candle danced in front of her, casting long shadows on the stone walls. She had felt the shift, the tiny crack in the wards around Talia. A tremor in the weave that only those attuned to such things could sense.

She had waited long enough.

Her fingers traced the edge of the ancient tome before her, reading aloud in a tongue forgotten by time. Words twisted in the air, heavy with power. Her smile widened.

Talia Elowen was the key. Whether she realized it or not, her blood was tied to a destiny that would unfold with devastating consequences. Her presence, the pull she had on the world around her, was no accident. It was by design.

The witch let the magic simmer, a heat spreading across her palm as the spell began to strengthen. Soon, Talia would feel the pressure. Feel it all. There would be no escaping the chains that had already been forged in the depths of time.

"Let the game begin," she murmured softly, her eyes gleaming with dark promise.