EPILOGUE: The Crimson Omen

JIMMIE POV

“Clem, wait!”

My lungs were on fire as I ran through the thick, mangled underbrush of the forest. The moonlight cut through the canopy in jagged flashes of silver, illuminating the back of my cousin’s head as she led the way through the ancient pines.

“Come on, Jimmie! Catch me if you can!” Clem’s laughter echoed through the trees, a musical, taunting sound.

"This isn't funny anymore! I can’t keep up!" I screamed into the night, my heart thudding against my ribs.

"Don't be a chicken, Jimmie!" Her response sounded distant now, fading into the rustle of leaves and the hoot of an owl.

I rolled my eyes, pushing my legs to move faster. I was so happy to see her again—to feel this carefree, even if it was just a game. I burst through the final line of trees, stumbling into a vast open space, but the laughter died in my throat. I froze.

The mood had changed. The living woods were gone, replaced by a clearing thick with a dense, chilling white fog.

"Clem?" I called out. No response.

I turned around frantically, but the path I had just taken was swallowed by the mist. "Clem!" I screamed again. Still, nothing.

A cold dread began to coil in my stomach. Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the fog began to peel away. The moonlight above turned a sickly, pale white, illuminating the ground at my feet. I gasped, my blood turning to ice. I knew this place.

The Cave of the Dead.

The massive, tomb-like entrance stood before me, crowned by the eerie, stone-carved raven with its wings spread wide in a haunting, eternal flight.

"What am I doing here?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Clem?"

Then, I saw it. At the very centre of the cave’s mouth stood a figure, their back turned to me. On the ground before them lay a body.

"Clem!" I shrieked, sprinting toward the centre of the clearing.

As I drew within a few feet, the standing figure rose to its full height, its long black cape snapping in the wind like the wings of a bat. My gaze fell to the body on the floor, and my breath hitched. It was Amira.

"Amira?" I whispered, my confusion fighting with my fear. Why was she here? She looked so still. Her skin was a terrifying, translucent white, as if every single ounce of blood had been drained from her very soul.

"Who are you?" I demanded, looking up at the tall man in the black cape. "What have you done to her!"

Gently, the man began to turn. As he moved, a wave of pure, concentrated coldness washed over me, a feeling of death so absolute it made my vision blur. Finally, he faced me.

I gasped, stumbling back. He was devastatingly handsome, yet his beauty was a lethal trap. Long, wavy black hair shone like silk in the moonlight, framing a face with skin like polished marble. But it was his eyes—deep, bloodshot red—that held me pinned. At the corners of his lips, a fresh, crimson droplet of Amira’s blood sat like a ruby. As he smiled, two sharp fangs glinted.

“What... what are you?” I stuttered, my voice betraying me. “What have you done to Clem?”

The man didn’t answer. He just looked at me, his red eyes burning with a dark, mirthful hunger. Then, without warning, the moon in the sky began to bleed. The silver light turned a deep, bloody crimson—a Blood Moon.

The man threw back his head and laughed, a wild, terrifying sound that reverberated deep into the marrow of my bones.

"I have returned!" he thundered, his voice ringing through the clearing. He turned back to me, his fangs bared in a wicked grin as the red moonlight bathed his face. "It is my time now!"

His manic laughter grew louder, drowning out the world—

I shot up in bed, a strangled cry escaping my throat. I was sweating profusely, my body shaking so violently I could hear the bedframe rattle. I scanned the environment, my eyes darting frantically until I realised I was in my chambers.

It was just a dream, I told myself, pressing a trembling hand to my forehead. Just a dream.

A cold hand touched my shoulder, and I jolted, nearly falling out of bed before I realised it was Devon.

"Hey, hey... are you okay?" Devon’s voice was thick with sleep, his eyes filled with concern as he pulled me toward him.

I couldn't respond. The image of those red eyes was burned into my retinas.

"Is it another vision, Jimmie? Did you have a vision again?"

I shook my head, though I wasn't sure I believed it. "It was just a dream, Devon. A very, very bad dream."

"Tell me about it," he said softly, reaching out to pull the covers over us.

But before I could speak, a loud SLAM echoed through the room. We both turned toward the sound. The heavy, leather-bound Book of Forgotten Truths had fallen from the counter where I’d left it, lying face down on the floor.

I stood up, the midnight breeze from the open window hitting my naked skin. I walked toward the book, my heart racing. As I bent down to pick it up, I realised it had fallen open to a specific page.

The illustration staring back at me held me in place like a beast with its claws in my chest. It was a drawing of a monster with long, dried-up black hair, claw-like nails, and prominent fangs. Below the drawing was a single red drop of blood, as if it were dripping from the fangs.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher the ancient, jagged writing that surrounded the drawing:

"When the Moon bleeds, and the shadows grow long, the heart that beats no more shall find its beat. From the ashes of the ancient burial grounds, the Cold Ones shall arise. They are the hunger that never sleeps, the thirst that cannot be slaked. When the Blood Moon crowns the sky, the Undead shall claim the throne of the living, and the world shall drown in the red of their feast."

Devon yawned tiredly behind me, stretching out on the bed. "Jimmie... will you put the book away and come to bed? Please? Come on, babe..."

I stared at the diagram, then turned to look at Devon. He was sitting up, half-naked in the moonlight, looking so warm, so alive, and so blissfully unaware. My voice felt small and hollow as I asked the question I was terrified to hear the answer to.

"Devon?"

"Yes?"

"What... what are the Undead?"

THE END?