Visions Of The Past

Reya’s POV

I didn’t bleed tonight. But something inside me did.

The packhouse was quiet, unnaturally so.

After the last attempt on my life, Xander had doubled the guards. My room was layered with enchantments, traps, and guards who didn’t blink unless ordered. But even with all that… I couldn’t sleep.

I lay on the edge of the bed like the sheets might burn me. Sweat clung to my skin though the night air was freezing. Every breath felt too loud, every second too long.

Tristan’s face wouldn’t leave my mind.

It had been months since I’d last seen him. Months since the contest at Riverdale, since Chloe sank her claws into what was once mine. Since he let them destroy me.

But now… he kept showing up in the edges of my mind like a wound that refused to scab.

And tonight, my defenses were low.

My eyes finally shut. But peace didn’t come.

The darkness swallowed me whole.

I was in Riverdale.

But not the Riverdale I remembered—the one I’d called home. No, this version was scorched, broken. Fire danced along the old walls of the packhouse. The sky bled crimson. Smoke curled like phantom fingers around my ankles.

Screams echoed.

A figure stepped out from the fire. My breath caught.

Tristan.

But not him—not really. His eyes glowed red, his skin was cracked like burnt stone, and his claws dripped with something dark. A twisted smile stretched across his face like a demon wearing a lover’s mask.

“Hello, little wolf,” he hissed.

I tried to step back, but my feet were rooted. “This isn’t real.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice coiled around me like a noose. “You still think of me. You still ache. Admit it.”

“No,” I whispered.

He took another step forward. The air burned around him.

“Remember the rejection? You begged. Pathetic.”

The world twisted.

Suddenly, I was in the Riverdale throne room. I wore that same damn dress—torn from running, stained from the rain. Tristan stood on the dais, Chloe beside him in a silk white gown, smug and shining.

“You are unfit to be Luna,” he said coldly.

My hands trembled. The words carved into me again like blades. I could hear myself crying, begging him to understand.

“Please, Tristan—”

“Enough.” His voice snapped like a whip. “I don’t love you. I never did.”

I couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t just a nightmare—it was every unspoken fear, every ounce of humiliation I’d ever carried. The betrayal. The abandonment. The loneliness.

And my wolf—Ciara whimpered beside me, eyes glowing gold, chained in a corner.

But something shifted.

This time, I didn’t crumble.

I turned to face him. “You’re not real. You’re just the part of me still chained to the past.”

He laughed; the sound monstrous. “You think you're free now, Reya? That Xander sees you? He’ll use you like I did. You’re a pawn. You’ll always be a pawn.”

“No.”

I stepped forward.

This time, it was his turn to step back.

I looked at my wolf. She met my gaze—and the chain shattered.

A wave of fire burst from her form, golden and wild. She ran to me, leaping into my chest. My body ignited from within.

When I turned back to Tristan, he was trembling.

“Say it again,” I said softly.

“What—?”

“Say you never loved me.”

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

The fire within me surged. “Exactly. Because deep down, you’re just a coward who couldn’t love what he couldn’t control.”

I reached for him.

He screamed as he disintegrated into ash.

I woke with a scream stuck in my throat.

My body jerked upright, drenched in sweat. My hands were shaking, my pulse thundered. My wolf was pacing, no longer wounded—but furious. Awake. Alive.

A knock came at the door.

“Reya?”

Xander.

I almost told him to come in. But I wasn’t ready—not for him to see me like this. So raw. So haunted.

“I’m fine,” I said, voice hoarse. “Just… a dream.”

A pause. Then: “Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I heard his footsteps retreat.

But sleep wasn’t an option.

I reached beneath the bed and pulled out the box.

It was old, carved by hand, lined with velvet that once smelled like roses. I hadn’t opened it in months. But I knew what was inside.

A ring.

His ring.

Tristan had given it to me the night he swore I’d be his mate forever. A stupid, silver promise. I stared at it now, light catching on the curves. My fingers tightened around it.

It didn’t belong to me anymore.

It didn’t belong to her—the girl who was desperate to be loved.

I stood.

Outside, the training yard was silent. The moon watched like a silent judge. I walked to the fire pit, lit a spark with trembling hands, and watched the flames rise.

I held the ring one last time.

“Never again,” I whispered.

Then I tossed it into the fire.

Silver hissed. Smoke curled. And something inside me snapped free.

But just as I turned away, a chill rippled down my spine.

From the heart of the flames… a shape began to form. A woman’s figure, cloaked in white, her face hidden. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Reya…”

I froze.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

The flames cracked.

She turned toward me—but before I could see her face—

Everything went black.

I gasped, stumbling back from the fire pit, nearly tripping over my own feet. My heart thundered in my chest like a war drum, echoing the rising panic crawling up my throat.

The image had vanished as quickly as it appeared. But that voice... it wasn’t in my head. It had a weight, a resonance, like it had been pulled from beyond the veil.

"Reya..." it had said.

I spun around, eyes scanning the silent training yard. Empty. The guards stationed nearby hadn’t moved. Whatever had just happened, no one else seemed to notice.

But I had.

I wasn't losing my mind. Something—or someone—was reaching out to me.

And I didn’t know if I should be terrified or intrigued.

I shoved the fear down and stormed back inside. My hands were trembling. The dream. The voice. The fire. All of it was connected. I needed answers, not more ghosts.

I passed Xander in the hallway. His golden eyes locked onto mine instantly.

"Reya? What happened?"

I shook my head. "Don’t. Not now."

He didn’t argue, just watched me as I pushed into my room and slammed the door shut. I leaned against it, breathing hard.

I needed clarity. Control.

And that meant going back into the nightmare. On my terms.

I sat cross-legged on the bed, palms resting on my knees. My wolf was awake, on edge, pacing inside me. She wasn’t scared, just alert. And for the first time in a long time, I felt her strength fully.

“Let me back in,” I whispered.

My breathing slowed. My body relaxed. The world darkened again.

I was back in the dream—but this time, I was in control.

The packhouse stood whole again. Clean. Not a flame in sight.

The same voice from the fire returned, closer now.

“Reya...”

I turned.

The woman from the fire stood behind me, cloaked in white. Her face was still hidden, but she felt... familiar.

"Who are you?"

She lifted her hand slowly and placed it on my chest. It was warm. Comforting.

"The truth comes with pain. But you must remember, Reya. What was taken from you."

I stepped back. “Taken?”

The world shifted.

The dream twisted.

Suddenly, I was no longer in the packhouse. I was somewhere else entirely—a dark forest, fog curling along the ground like smoke. Trees loomed tall, old and gnarled. A child cried in the distance.

I followed the sound.

There, in the clearing—me.

A younger version of myself, no older than eight. Kneeling beside a wolf.

Tristan.

Except... it wasn’t him as I remembered. His form flickered. His eyes were dull. And the younger me was reaching out, touching something glowing at his chest.

A mark.

A sigil, like a binding rune. Etched over his heart.

The woman’s voice returned. “They erased this from you. Buried the bond. Hid the truth."

I staggered back.

Tristan had been bound? To me?

Before the rejection? Before Chloe?

“Who did this?!” I shouted into the void.

The forest echoed with laughter—twisted, cruel. It wasn’t the woman this time.

It was... Dexter Webb.

His image flashed between the trees. Watching. Manipulating.

“Puppet masters,” the woman said, her voice fading. “They’ve always been pulling the strings.”

I tried to run toward him, but the ground cracked, swallowing me whole.

I shot up from bed with a scream.

My hands clutched my chest where the woman had touched me. It still burned. The ring was gone—destroyed. But something new pulsed beneath my skin. A memory. A buried truth.

Tristan had been mine.

Bound by something older. Deeper.

And someone had erased it.

Dexter Webb.

It all connected. The assassination attempts. The cursed visions. The fire.

Someone had rewritten my fate.

And now they were rewriting my future.

I looked to the window. The sun hadn’t risen yet. But I knew where I had to go next.

The archives. The truth was hidden there.

And maybe so was the reason Chloe was suddenly back.

Because if I was starting to remember...

So was she?