The Man In Her Dreams
1277 Words
Aya saw him again.
In her dream, he stood beneath silver trees, their leaves shimmering like glass under a crimson sky. The air shimmered with stillness—like the world had forgotten how to breathe.
He turned to her slowly. Same face. Same eyes. But his hair was long, white like winter frost, cascading past his shoulders. And those crimson eyes—familiar, beautiful, terrifying—held a sorrow so deep it made her ache.
He smiled.
Not the guarded one she saw in the library. Not the polite, unreadable expression he wore around others.
This one was soft. Almost human.
And then he kissed her.
Not rushed. Not desperate. Like it was something ancient. Remembered.
Aya gasped in the dream—because she could feel it. The warmth of his hand at her jaw. The cold air clinging to her skin. The hunger.
And then—
the bite.
Right at the curve of her neck.
Aya tore awake with a cry, hand at her neck, breath snatched from her lungs.
The van was still. Everyone else asleep or pretending. Moonlight poured through the sliver in the window, falling across Dylan’s face.
He was already looking at her.
Not startled. Not confused. Like he’d been waiting.
Aya pressed a hand to her neck, breath unsteady. “It felt real,” she whispered. “It felt like you.”
Dylan looked away. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Because it was him.
Not in body—but in bond.
He had marked her the night she was clawed. When that thing in the woods took her shape and struck her, it left a tear between her soul and this realm. A tear that something else could crawl through.
To save her, he did the only thing he could.
He kissed her. Marked her. Tied her to him in a way that crossed the lines between this world and his.
But she didn’t know.
She couldn’t know.
Because if she remembered everything—if she chose him—she’d fulfill the bond completely.
If the bond completes, her soul will tether to his. And if death comes for him, she’d offer herself in his place—without hesitation.
Dylan closed his eyes, fighting the war inside him.
He didn’t fear the pain.
He feared her tears.
He feared her choice.
He just wanted them back at the university.
Wanted the soft version of this world, the one where he could sit beside her in the library, and maybe—just maybe—ask her to stay a little longer.
But that version was gone.
And her dream?
It wasn’t just memory.
It was prophecy.
When the break of dawn came, pale light stretched across the trees, but it brought no warmth—only a false sense of hope. Everyone was awake, packed, and ready to return to town. The van wouldn’t start, no matter what they tried, so they walked.
And walked.
For hours.
But the road never changed.
There was no gate. No break in the trees. Only the endless path and the same gnawed branches, the same sagging fog curling at their feet.
"It’s like they don’t want to let us go," Mika said, her voice thin with exhaustion. Her legs trembled, and she leaned against Lance. He took her hand without a word, giving it a light squeeze.
"We need to go back to the van," Max said, slinging Lauren’s bag over his shoulder and handing her a bottle of water. His other hand held tightly onto Tiana’s. “Or we head to the resort. If we can reach it, we can call for help.”
“Yeah,” Tiana said, forcing a shaky smile. “We can’t let those creatures eat us alive.” She tried to sound brave, even as her grip on her brother’s hand tightened.
Mang Ramon was at the front, machete in hand, cutting through branches that seemed to grow right back behind them. His breath caught when he noticed something.
A cluster of dead birds, lying in a crooked circle.
He’d seen them before.
Twice.
They had passed this exact spot already.
He turned, his weathered face pale. “We need to go back,” he said firmly. “We’re going in circles. Something’s keeping us here.”
The group stilled. Silence settled over them like a shroud.
Aya stood at the back, barely hearing them. Her shoes dragged through the dirt, her breath shallow. She could feel the trees watching. The locket under her shirt pulsed—once, faintly—like a warning.
She clenched her fist and pressed it against her chest, over the silver charm.
Dylan had been walking beside her. Quiet. Always close, never too far. He saw the motion. Saw the fear flash in her eyes.
Before he could speak, Lance turned to the group, voice low. “We need to move. This place… it’s shifting around us. Like it’s alive.”
Aya looked up.
“I think it is,” she said softly.
Everyone turned to her.
“What do you mean?” Max asked.
Aya glanced at Dylan, then back at the others. Her voice was tight. “This forest isn’t just haunted. It’s cursed. We’re not lost. We’re trapped.”
The branches arched unnaturally, like they were waiting for someone to fall behind.
Suddenly, a soft humming drifted through the trees.
A woman’s voice.
Gentle. Ethereal. Winding through the mist like a lullaby made of silk and shadow.
The group froze.
It was beautiful—too beautiful. Each note curled around their thoughts, pulling at their minds like invisible threads. Eyes grew heavy. Feet slowed. The forest blurred at the edges.
They began to drift.
“Cover your ears!” Mang Ramon shouted, his voice sharp and strained. “Now! If we fall asleep—we’ll be their food!”
Panic broke through the haze. One by one, they clamped hands over their ears, shaking themselves from the trance.
All except Dylan.
He was gone.
No one noticed at first—not until the humming stopped, and the chill in the air deepened. Dylan moved silently through the fog, following the song to its source.
He knew this creature.
A siren of the forest—naked and glistening, her skin laced with green scales that shimmered like wet leaves. Her eyes glowed faintly gold, and her face—inhumanly beautiful—smiled with the cruelty of something ancient and hungry.
She sang for men like him.
But Dylan wasn’t like other men.
Not anymore.
He let her see him.
His eyes shifted—crimson, then black as void.
The siren’s song faltered.
And then—snap.
His fingers cracked the air like lightning, and her body dissolved into ash, scattered like dust through the trees.
Silence fell.
The humming was gone.
Aya’s hand flew to her chest. Her locket—once pulsing with light—flickered, then dimmed.
Everything was still.
Everyone was safe.
They never knew what happened. Only that the van stood just ahead, and somehow, they hadn’t moved at all. Like the forest had folded them back into the same spot.
Tired. Frightened. Silent.
No one spoke.
But Aya turned slightly, her eyes scanning the shadows.
She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t prove it. But something inside her whispered:
It was him.
Dylan returned moments later, silent and composed. No trace of sweat. No signs of the battle.
But she saw the change in his eyes. Just for a second. That flash of something old and wild and sorrowful.
She didn't say anything.
Not yet.
But the bond between them stirred again.
And the forest was far from done with them.
- Writer
