It feels like my soul is being yanked through space, pulled by invisible hooks embedded in my chest. The mountain path dissolves, reality fragmenting like shattered glass.
Suddenly, I’m standing in a forest clearing. A ritual space. Prepared for a mating ceremony.
But it’s been destroyed. The ground is covered with blood.
No. No, this can’t be real.
Dead bodies everywhere. Guests in their finest clothes, slumped against trees, sprawled across the forest floor. Flowers that had been woven into garlands and scattered across the ground are stained red. Ceremonial torches still burn, their flames casting grotesque shadows across the carnage.
I hear gurgling sounds. Wet, desperate breathing. People dying.
Screaming in the distance. Running footsteps. The sounds of slaughter still happening somewhere beyond the trees.
I look down at my hands—still those small, delicate hands—and they’re covered in blood.
This is a dream. Wake up. Wake up!
But I can’t. I’m trapped here, trapped in this moment of horror.
Someone screams my name—not Daciana, but something else. A name that sounds like music, like home. The woman in this body recognizes it instantly, knows it belongs to her.
“Elara! Run!” The voice is raw with desperation, coming from somewhere in the chaos. “Run!”
I want to turn, want to see who’s calling, but my body is already moving. The woman—Elara—knows that voice. Loves that voice. And she obeys without question.
Arrows fly. They whistle through the air like death itself, thudding into trees, into bodies, into earth.
I begin to run.
My hand goes to my stomach, which is slightly swollen. The gesture is instinctive, protective. Elara’s terror isn’t for herself; it’s for the life growing inside her.
Oh gods. She’s pregnant.
Behind me, I hear the snarl of a wolf—the man who told me to run, now in his shifted form. Fighting for me. For us. I hear the clash of bodies, the vicious sound of teeth tearing flesh. His roar of fury and pain.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
There’s a rustling sound beside me as wild wolves fall into step. Five, six of them, running alongside me through the trees. They appeared from nowhere, drawn by something in Elara’s blood. My pack, some part of me knows. My protection.
But my pursuers don’t stop.
I hear them behind us: shifted wolves, dozens of them, closing the distance. Their snarls echo through the forest. The wild wolves growl and peel off one by one, sacrificing themselves to buy me—her—us—time.
This is wrong. This already happened. This is a memory, not—
An arrow pierces my thigh, and I fall, crashing hard into the ground. Pain explodes through my leg, hot and blinding.
I try to keep going, crawling now. My hands dig into the dirt, pulling my body forward inch by agonizing inch. Blood trails behind me, warm and sticky. Roots and rocks tear at my palms.
The baby. I have to protect the baby.
My wolves are being killed. I hear them—each death cry distinct, each one tearing at my insides. The wild wolves who came to protect me, dying because of me.
I see their bodies drop. Gray fur stained with red. Brown eyes going glassy and empty.
I scream, but the sound is swallowed by the thunder of approaching footsteps.
Faceless shifters surround me in human form. Closing in from all sides. I can’t make out their features—everything about them is blurred, indistinct—but I can see their weapons. Blades glinting in the torchlight that still reaches us from the ceremony grounds.
