Vision of Past
1011 Words
The cold wind whispered through the ruins as I pulled my mother’s crimson cloak tighter around my shoulders. The night had deepened, stars glittering above like silent witnesses. The fire I’d lit earlier had long since died into a few glowing embers, casting faint flickers of light on the broken stones and scattered leaves. My muscles throbbed from the long run, but my heart throbbed harder. Not from exhaustion—but from something else.
I hadn’t shifted in weeks. Dorian had insisted that a Luna should not “debase herself” by running wild. A Luna must act with dignity, he had said. Be composed. Graceful. Silent.
I had obeyed him.
I had allowed my wolf to sleep.
But tonight, I was free. No eyes watched. No orders commanded me. No shackles of the palace clung to my limbs. Just the forest... the moon... and me.
I stepped into the moonlight, letting the pale glow soak into my skin. The forest here—where the ruins of the Crimson Claw's last outpost lay hidden—felt ancient. Sacred. I didn’t need a sign to know this was the place where my ancestors once walked.
I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and gave in to the instinct that had been roaring inside me since I left the palace.
The shift came like a wave.
Bones cracked. Skin stretched. Muscles contorted. My breath caught in my throat as the transformation began—painful, raw, but empowering.
And then, I stood on all fours.
My wolf was no ordinary creature. Silver-gray fur shimmered with streaks of crimson along the spine, like fire etched into moonlight. My eyes, golden and sharp, took in the forest with new clarity. Every scent, every leaf, every beat of a distant owl’s wings—felt alive.
I ran.
Paws striking the earth. Wind howling past my ears. Branches parted for me. The earth welcomed me home. For those fleeting moments, I wasn’t the betrayed Luna. I wasn’t the discarded mate. I was Kira of the Crimson Claw. And I was alive.
Eventually, my energy waned. I returned to the ruins and curled up beneath an ancient tree whose roots had split the stone beneath. There, with the cloak draped over me like a memory, I rested my head and drifted into sleep.
**********
The dream started softly.
First came silence. Then, the sound of distant drums—faint but rhythmic. Not war drums. Heartbeats. The beat of something old.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the forest anymore. I stood in a great hall carved of black stone, the walls aglow with torches of crimson flame. My robes were deep red, laced with gold and silver, heavy with power. A weight rested on my brow—a crown made of bone and woven branches.
Around me knelt figures. Warriors in silver armor. Elders tattooed with sacred symbols. Children with wide, shining eyes. They bowed—not in fear, but reverence.
“Alpha.”
“Our Queen.”
“Our Flame.”
My heart clenched. The words weren’t a title—they were a truth.
I stepped forward, not questioning the vision. I looked out through a tall archway and saw a kingdom. A valley bathed in moonlight. Mountains stood like silent sentinels, and wolves ran free across fields below. Packs howled together—not in chaos, but unity.
This was no dream.
This was memory.
This was legacy.
This is the past, the forgotten past.
Tears blurred my eyes, and I felt warmth grow at my chest. I touched the necklace I always wore—an heirloom from my mother. But here, it shimmered, pulsed, like it held a heartbeat.
Then—
The hall cracked. The vision trembled. The people began to vanish into mist.
I was falling—
The valley shattered beneath me like glass. I screamed, but no sound came. The warmth turned cold.
Then I was floating.
Suspended in space. Stars stretched across the void. A galaxy of distant lights. Time felt meaningless here.
And then came the whispers.
“At last, she has come...”
“The Crimson Claw... shall rise again...”
“Our Queen... the Flame Reborn... the First Flame...”
The voices echoed across time. Neither male nor female. Not words spoken aloud, but carved into the soul. I reached toward them, desperate to hold onto the moment.
“You are the one... the last... the beginning... the blaze that does not die.”
“Awaken... Kira... Crimson Flame... awaken...”
The voices faded like smoke on the wind.
**********
I awoke with a gasp, heart pounding against my ribs.
The wind had shifted. The forest was quiet, too quiet.
I blinked, breathless, as the dream faded, but its emotions clung to my bones.
I slowly shifted back to my human form. The aches from the transformation returned—tender joints, sore muscles—but I barely felt them. I sat up, brushing leaves from my cloak, and that’s when I noticed it.
My hand was clenched.
Fingers tight. Palm stinging.
I opened my fist.
Blood.
Bright crimson streaked my skin, fresh and warm. And in the center of my palm—my pendant.
The sigil of the Crimson Claw.
The necklace had come loose in my sleep and somehow... I had gripped it so tightly it had broken the skin. But the pendant... it was glowing.
No, not just glowing.
It was pulsing.
With every beat of my heart, it shimmered brighter.
And then, before my eyes, the impossible happened.
The sigil began to absorb the blood.
Not soak it in like cloth.
Absorb it—as if the stone itself was drinking it.
The moment felt sacred. Electric.
The lines of the sigil brightened, and then—
Symbols emerged.
Letters in an ancient tongue, ones I had only seen in broken scrolls and forbidden texts, etched themselves along the edges of the pendant. Crimson and gold—fire and bone.
The pendant vibrated softly against my skin, and I could feel it calling to something.
- Writer
