Aurora didn't remember falling asleep.
One minute, she was seated on the wooden floor beside her fireplace, clutching her mother's grimoire. The next, she was… somewhere else.
The world around her was moonlit and warped. Trees towered like giants with twisted limbs. Their bark pulsed like veins, and their leaves whispered in a language she couldn't understand.
She stood in the middle of the forest — barefoot, in a white nightdress. The same one she used to wear when her mother tucked her into bed after spell lessons. That couldn't be a coincidence.
"You are dreaming," she whispered aloud.
But her voice didn't echo.
Nothing moved. No wind. No sound. Just the soft rustle of something slithering far off in the trees.
Then came the whispers.
"Aurora…"
"Witch-born… first flame…"
"Come closer…"
She turned sharply.
There, standing between two crooked trees, was the Marked One — or something shaped like it. Its limbs too long, its body hunched, its smile wide and filled with black teeth. But its voice was calm… almost soothing.
"We've waited so long to meet you."
Her heart slammed in her chest. "You're not real," she said, backing away. "This is just a dream."
"Is it?" it asked, tilting its head. "Then why do you bleed?"
She felt it — a burn on her wrist.
She looked down. The sigil it carved into her window was now etched into her skin, glowing red-hot.
She screamed as pain lanced up her arm. Her knees hit the dream-ground. "Stop—!"
"Say his name." The Marked One moved closer. "Call your Alpha. Let's see if he comes for you…before we wear your soul."
The sky above cracked like glass. Thunder without clouds.
And then—
Fire.
A wall of flame erupted between her and the creature.
The Marked One shrieked, recoiling into the shadows. "He comes! The cursed Alpha! The bonded wolf!"
From behind the fire stepped Damien, not in a suit this time.
Bare-chested, eyes gold, his wolf form half-pulled across his skin like molten armor. He looked furious. And afraid.
He rushed to her, kneeling, gripping her wrist. "You're in the dream realm. You cast the grimoire open too long. You invited them in."
"How are you here?"
"Our bond," he said. "Even without the spell, it's forming."
The Marked One's shrieks turned guttural. It began to multiply, shadows splitting from its limbs, becoming three… four… five creatures, all snarling.
Damien stood, shielding Aurora with his body.
"You want her?" he roared. "Come through me."
And they tried.
The next moments were chaos — all flame, fang, and snarls. Damien moved like fury incarnate, his half-shifted form tearing through the shadows.
But one of the Marked Ones slipped past him, darting for Aurora—
She reacted on instinct.
Both palms out. Eyes shut. Words rising from deep inside her, not remembered but inherited.
"Lux es mei! Exuro tenebras!"
Light. Blinding, golden, searing.
The creature screamed — and vanished in smoke.
When she opened her eyes, Damien stood there staring at her.
"You speak High Tongue," he said.
"I don't know how I knew those words," she whispered.
"You're more than you think, Aurora."
She reached for him — and just before her fingers touched his chest, the world shattered.
She woke up.
Gasping. Covered in sweat. On her shop floor. Still holding the grimoire.
And Damien… was standing in the doorway.
His shirt was torn. A scratch bleeding down his chest.
He had dream injuries.
Which meant…
It hadn't been a dream at all.
----
Damien collapses from magical backlash. Aurora must now choose — bind them with the ancient spell… or risk losing him forever.
But something stirs in the woods… watching, waiting.
----