CHAPTER FOUR — “The Curse Awakens”

Seraphina didn’t sleep after the dream where she saw Lucan holding the blade.

She didn’t cry either.

She just sat upright in her bed, knees drawn to her chest, eyes fixed on her wrist where the rune still pulsed softly beneath the skin.

It had darkened again.

No longer gold. Now red.

Dim, but steady—like it was syncing itself to her heartbeat.

The memory hadn’t faded. The vision hadn’t blurred in the way dreams sometimes did once you woke.

She remembered the mirrored maze. The girl in red. The broken glass. The fear.

She remembered Lucan standing above her.

And she remembered the look in his eyes.

It wasn’t malice.

It was guilt.

And yet—she wasn’t scared of him.

She should’ve been. Every part of her said she should feel afraid.

But all she could feel was a sinking kind of knowing.

He had been there. Then and now. Through every lifetime.

And this time, he was the only one telling her the truth.

That terrified her more than anything else.

—

By morning, everything had changed.

She stepped into the hallway outside her dorm and immediately felt it.

The tension.

Students were clustered near bulletin boards, voices low but urgent. Some looked confused, others just scared. A few kept glancing at their hands like they were searching for something they didn’t want to find.

Seraphina moved closer to the nearest board, shouldering her way through the crowd.

And then she saw it.

Large sheets of parchment nailed to every wooden surface.

Big, blood-red letters stretched across the top in all caps:

THE SLEEPLESS CURSE HAS AWAKENED.

ALL MARKED STUDENTS MUST BE REPORTED TO ADMINISTRATION IMMEDIATELY.

Her stomach dropped.

She stepped back before she realized it, heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted to break through bone.

The rune on her wrist burned.

Students were whispering now. Glancing at each other’s arms. Some tugged their sleeves down tighter. Others stared openly at classmates like they were waiting for someone to start glowing.

No one knew what it meant. Not really.

But the message was clear:

They weren’t looking to help.

They were hunting.

—

Seraphina skipped class.

Her body couldn’t focus. Her thoughts were too loud, too wild.

She kept replaying the last vision—Lucan holding the blade—and the warning in her chest that hadn’t gone quiet since she’d seen it.

She found him waiting in the south stairwell, leaning against the stone with one hand in his pocket like he wasn’t carrying a centuries-old curse on his back.

His gaze flicked to her wrist the moment she approached.

“It’s spreading, isn’t it?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Lucan straightened.

“They’ve posted warnings,” she said instead. “Everywhere.”

“I know,” he said. “I saw them before anyone else.”

Her hands curled into fists. “Why now?”

“Because they’re afraid,” Lucan said. “This school—Duskmoor—was built over the ruins of an old dream temple. Back when dreamwalkers were real. Revered.”

“Before the curse,” she guessed.

He nodded. “When the curse was born, they buried the temple. Buried everything with it. But the magic… it never went away. It waits. And you’re waking it up.”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened. “They think I’m dangerous.”

“You are,” Lucan said gently. “But not in the way they think.”

He looked at her, then nodded toward the dark end of the hallway.

“There’s something you need to see.”

—

They crept through the forbidden wing just before dusk.

The halls here felt colder than the rest of the school. The light dimmer. The walls more reluctant to echo sound.

Lucan led her down a side corridor and stopped at a heavy wooden door tucked behind a cracked column.

He placed his palm against the center, whispered something under his breath, and the door opened inward with a groan.

The chamber beyond was silent.

Circular. Stone walls lined with ancient carvings. Symbols that pulsed faintly as they entered—responding not to Lucan, but to her.

Seraphina felt the shift the moment she stepped over the threshold.

The air grew heavier. Thicker. Like the room had been holding its breath for years and was only now exhaling.

A raised stone platform stood in the center, and behind it—a carved relief set into the back wall.

Seraphina moved toward it slowly, the carvings drawing her in.

Her breath caught.

The image was unmistakable.

A girl stood at the center of the carving, her head bowed. One arm lifted, defiant. In her other hand—an ornate dagger. Her eyes were closed.

And behind her…

Death.

Cloaked. Faceless. A single black hand resting on her shoulder.

Seraphina’s throat tightened.

“That’s me,” she whispered.

Lucan stepped beside her. “Your name was Sariah. You were one of the last dreambinders. You didn’t just walk dreams—you tried to bind Death itself.”

“Why?” she asked.

He looked away. “To stop time. To save someone.”

“Who?”

“You never told me.”

She stared at the carving.

The way the girl stood so still. Brave and afraid at the same time.

“I wasn’t supposed to survive this life either, was I?”

Lucan turned back to her. “The curse is written into your soul. Each time you wake up, it starts again.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Then why did I come back?”

He stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because love doesn’t follow logic. And your soul… never stopped trying.”

—

Then something shifted.

The room darkened. The carvings seemed to ripple in the stone.

A pressure pressed in from the corners—cold, ancient.

Like something watching.

Or waiting.

Seraphina’s chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe.

The rune on her wrist seared with sudden heat.

“I feel it,” she whispered. “Something’s waking up.”

Lucan’s face tensed.

“We’re running out of time,” he said. “You’re not ready to face it alone.”

“What do I do?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Let me in.”

She blinked. “What?”

He stepped forward, lifted her wrist gently between his fingers—and placed his hand over the rune.

The burn intensified.

Not pain—connection.

The air around them shattered like glass.

And suddenly—they weren’t in the room anymore.

—

They stood inside the nightmare.

The floor cracked beneath them. Ash fell like snow. Flames danced in the distance, but the heat came from somewhere else—somewhere deeper.

Seraphina saw herself again.

On the ground.

Fading.

Lucan—this Lucan—stood in front of her past self, blocking the path of something dark and furious.

The curse.

Not a figure now, but a force. A wind. A scream. A presence.

And Lucan was taking it in.

His body began to burn from the inside out.

Smoke curled from his ribs. His skin splintered with red-hot veins.

Still—he didn’t move.

Didn’t let it touch her.

“You don’t have to fall for me again,” he said, voice strained.

She reached for him. Her hands glowed.

“Just let me save you this time.”