Night fell over Asthraith.
Not the gentle kind of night that kissed windows with dew and lulled farmers to sleep with cricket songs. No, this was a quiet that pressed. The kind that crawled beneath skin and made the bones ache with anticipation.
The moon hung above the village like a pale, watchful eye—round, bloated, and unblinking. Its silver light pooled across the wheat fields, casting the golden stalks in a ghostly glow. A breeze whispered low over the rooftops, tugging at the lantern flames, nudging shutters, prying at doors.
The village slumbered, unaware.
But on the outskirts—just beyond the eastern boundary wall—two guards stood their post in uneasy silence.
One of them, a younger man barely out of his apprenticeship, shifted on his feet. "Did you hear that?" he murmured, eyes flicking toward the field.
The older guard frowned. "I did. Too quiet. Something's... off."
Then came the sound.
A hum. Low. Deep. It seemed to crawl up from the dirt itself. Like the very earth had started to mutter secrets in a voice made of thunder.
The younger guard drew his weapon halfway, uncertain. "It's just—"
SPLAT.
Back in the Clarke home.
I stirred,
Sleep hovered at the edge of my mind, but something pulled at me. Not sound. Not motion.
Eyes.
Two of them.
Sea-blue. Luminous. Impossible.
There was no face. No body. Just those eyes, staring through the blackness.
They didn't blink.
They saw me. Not just the body—but the soul, the mind I kept hidden beneath the smile of a five-year-old girl.
The voice that followed wasn't spoken. It was the space between my thoughts.
"You chose both... now do both, Aria Clarke."
I opened my mouth—confused, maybe to ask something, maybe to scream—but the world shifted.
The dream ripped away.
And I woke up.
To heat. To screaming. To the acrid bite of smoke in my throat.
My room shook violently as something crashed nearby—loud, thunderous, enough to shake my bones.
Lisa was over me in a heartbeat. Her hair was loose. Her eyes wide, frantic, red with tears. She pulled me close like a mother bear shielding her cub. "Stay down, baby! Don't move!"
"Mum…?"
Harold's voice rang out from the window. "Lisa—it's started."
He wasn't yelling.
He wasn't panicking.
That made it worse.
His voice was low. Final.
Outside, the village blazed. Orange fire bloomed across the rooftops like angry flowers. Screams echoed in the night. The sound of swords. Splintering wood. A crying child somewhere nearby. A dog howled once—then stopped.
And then I saw them.
The monsters.
Not from a dream.
Not from a nightmare.
Real.
Walking in the firelight—monstrous shadows with the shape of bears, the posture of gorillas, but none of the warmth of living creatures. They were smoke given muscle. Nightmares given claws. And behind those misshapen jaws—teeth. Rows upon rows. Like a shark, if a shark ate souls.
One of them picked up a house beam like it weighed nothing and snapped it in half.
Another let out a howl—and every window on our street exploded inward.
Glass rained down. I shielded my face instinctively.
Lisa sobbed, clutching me tighter.
"They're here..." Harold muttered, stepping back from the window. His eyes flicked to Lisa. "We have to run. Now."
Then—
One of the creatures turned.
Looked directly at our house.
At me.
It tilted its head—and grinned.
My heart didn't race.It stopped.
We ran.
Harold pushed ahead, clearing the way. Lisa held me tight in her arms, every step frantic but careful.
Behind us, the wall caved in as a beast smashed through it like paper. Its claws tore into the side of the house.
A nearby guard tried to fight it—charging with a pike.
The creature swatted him aside like a doll. His head popped from his shoulders with a sickening snap.
Blood sprayed across the cobblestone.
Lisa screamed.
But I… didn't.
I was five years old.
But I was not five years old.
Not inside.
Still, no amount of mental maturity prepares you to see this. To smell blood and smoke, to see monsters rip apart your childhood home.
We rounded a corner.
Another beast stood waiting.
It raised its arm—and with one swing, hurled Harold like a sack of wheat. He flew through the air and hit the wall with a grunt.
"Harold!" Lisa cried.
The creature stepped forward.
She turned, shielding me again. Her arms were small, trembling—but they didn't let go. She looked death in the face and roared.
That's what motherhood does.
She raised a carving knife. Silly. Futile. Brave.
Then—
Harold returned.
Scythe in hand. Rusted. Old. A farmer's tool.
But wielded like a weapon of vengeance.
He rammed it into the beast's flank.
It howled, staggering.
More guards arrived.
The village commander—Ser Braston—sword gleaming like a silver fang in the firelight.
"Protect the mayor!" he shouted. "Get them out! FALL BACK!"
Harold didn't argue. He lifted me. His hands trembled—but his grip was steady.
We ran again.
The wind howled. The fire roared. The Valley of Joy turned into a grave.
Then—a creature dropped from a rooftop. Landed in front of us.
It reared back.
But this time… something inside me shifted.
Like a knot unraveling.
I squirmed free of Lisa's grasp and stepped forward.
She shouted. "ARIA, STOP!"
Too late.
My hand rose on its own.
Purple mist spilled out from my fingertips. Cold. Sharp. Familiar.
The creature hissed.
Then—BOOM.
A blast erupted from my palm. The monster was ripped apart. Turned to ash. Gone.
I was launched backwards. My body hit the ground and tumbled. Everything blurred.
Pain exploded across my shoulder. My arm twisted. But—
I survived.
Lisa and Harold rushed to me, eyes wide. Not with fear of the monsters now.
But of me.
Yet they didn't abandon me.
I rose. Barely.
Legs shaking. Arm limp. Blood in my mouth.
But I stood.
I looked up at the monsters still circling the village.
And I whispered—
"I'm not done."
The mist answered.
It swirled. Coiled. Expanded.
It swept across the battlefield, coating the fields like fog on a winter morning. Every beast stopped. Every eye—or whatever counted as an eye—turned toward me.
And I unleashed everything.
Power roared from my tiny frame. The sky itself seemed to pulse.
BOOM.
And then—silence.
I collapsed.
The last thing I saw were two figures running toward me.
Mum. Dad.
They were screaming my name.
I smiled.
Then—nothing.
A void.
Still. Quiet. Familiar.
And in the dark—
those same eyes.
Sapphire. Ancient.
The voice came again. Calm. Deep. Gentle.
"Aria Clarke... I am proud of your movement."
"But remember... the story begins now."
I reached out. Tried to speak.
But the void shattered like glass.
I woke up.
My breath caught.
No fire. No blood. No screams.
Just... warmth.
I was lying in a bed. A large, soft, royal thing. Canopy overhead. Velvet drapes. White silk sheets.
The ceiling was white marble. Chandeliers sparkled. Gold trim ran along the columns.
This was a palace.
I gasped and looked down at myself.
Still small. Still the same five-year-old body.
Not a baby again.
Thank the stars.
I sat up slowly, checking for wounds.
Nothing.
Just bruises that didn't hurt anymore. Scars that had vanished.
My heart raced. Where am I?Where's Mum? Dad?
The door creaked open.
Two figures stepped in. Shadows at first—blinding light behind them.
One was tall, armored, broad-shouldered. The other short, bookish, eyes hidden behind thick spectacles.
The taller one spoke, voice rumbling. "She took two days to recover. What do you think, Pepper?"
The smaller figure—Pepper—adjusted his glasses.
He squinted at me.
"...She's rare."
I blinked.
Rare?
And suddenly, I wasn't sure whether to be relieved—
—or terrified.
To be continued.