The dream of blood & silver
The dream always began the same way.
With blood, and with silver.
Aurora stood in the middle of a burning forest. Trees bent in the wind like wounded things, their branches clawing at the sky. Smoke curled through the air, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of blood. Above, the moon hung low and white too bright, too close.
And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
She spun toward the sound, her breath catching in her throat. The world blurred, edges softening like a half-remembered memory. Between the trees, she saw him again tall, broad-shouldered, more shadow than man. His eyes glowed gold through the smoke.
When he spoke, his voice sounded like thunder and sorrow intertwined.
“When the moon bleeds, you will find me.”
Before Aurora could move, fire swallowed the ground at her feet, and the silver light of the moon turned crimson. The earth split open
And she woke up.
Her scream caught in her throat. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. The air in her small room was cold, heavy, and still. She blinked, disoriented, her gaze darting to the window. Outside, dawn was just beginning to pale the horizon.
Aurora pressed a hand against her neck. Beneath her fingertips, the faint crescent-shaped mark burned hot alive, as if reacting to something unseen.
It had started when she was fifteen, a small, silvery scar that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Doctors had called it a skin anomaly. The town’s priest had called it a curse.
Aurora called it a secret she couldn’t afford to share.
She climbed out of bed and padded downstairs into her little apothecary shop. The wooden floors creaked under her bare feet; the smell of lavender, sage, and freshly dried herbs filled the air.
The dream clung to her like fog, every detail too sharp to be just imagination. She’d been having it for years now, always the same fire, the same voice, the same golden eyes.
The kettle hissed as she poured water for tea. Outside, the cobbled streets of the small town of Haverfell were still asleep, mist curling around the lampposts.
But when the bell over her shop door jingled, Aurora nearly dropped the cup.
No one visited at this hour.
An old woman stepped inside, her black cloak dripping with rain. Her hair was white as frost, her eyes sharp as winter glass.
“Miss Vale,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of knowledge and warning. “You’ve seen him again, haven’t you?”
Aurora froze. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The woman smiled, and the expression was more sad than kind. “The dream. The burning woods. The man with eyes like gold. It always comes before the blood moon.”
Aurora’s throat went dry. “Who are you?”
The woman took a step closer, her silver pendant glinting faintly in the dim light. “My name is Seraphine. I am what this town calls a witch.”
Aurora’s heart stuttered. “A witch?”
“You wear a mark, child,” Seraphine said simply. “That crescent behind your ear isn't a scar. It’s a calling. You were marked by something older than this town, older than even your bloodline. And it is waking.”
Aurora forced a shaky laugh. “You sound like you’ve stepped out of a storybook.”
Seraphine’s eyes softened, but her words came cold and sure.
“Stories are just memories the world forgot.”
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small vial of shimmering dust. “Keep this by your bedside. When the blood moon rises, you’ll need it. It may not save you, but it will help you see.”
Aurora hesitated. “See what?”
“The truth,” Seraphine whispered. “And the beast that binds you.”
Before Aurora could ask another question, the bell over the door rang again
and Seraphine was gone.
That night, Aurora couldn’t sleep. The old woman’s words looped in her mind.
The beast that binds you.
When she finally closed her eyes, the dream came again but this time, it was different.
The forest wasn’t burning. It was alive. The moon was full, shining silver and clean. She stood in a clearing, her breath frosting in the air.
Then came the footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful.
From the shadows, a wolf emerged massive, fur dark as ink, eyes gold as molten fire. It stopped a few feet away, staring at her.
Aurora’s breath caught.
“You…”
The wolf tilted its head. Then, before her eyes, it changed. Bones cracked, sinew shifted, fur melted into skin and standing before her was the man from her dreams.
His voice was the same, low and haunting.
“When the moon bleeds, you’ll remember who you are.”
She tried to step back but his hand caught hers. Warm. Solid. Real.
And then she was falling into darkness, into the pull of his gaze Aurora woke screaming.
The vial Seraphine had given her lay shattered beside the bed.
Silver dust swirled in the air like smoke.
And behind her ear, the mark glowed faintly beneath the skin.
The blood moon was coming.
