Blood And Branches
1079 Words
The dream always began the same way but these time around they were getting louder.
A dense, misty forest. Moonlight filtering through skeletal trees. The air thick with silence — and a smell she could never place. Wet earth. Burned leaves. The trees stretched endlessly above her, tangled and ancient, their bark covered in something darker than moss. Blood.
The air was too still, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Ahead of her, the familiar tree appeared. The same tree where she’d been found as a baby. Gnarled roots, twisted branches, and that faint shimmer in the bark like a scar etched by magic. It pulsed faintly under moonlight—just like the mark on her shoulder.
Lyra stood barefoot at the edge of a clearing, her nightgown clinging to her like second skin. The ground beneath her feet pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. She could hear something, someone breathing.
And then she saw him.
The cloaked man again. Closer this time. His face half-shadowed, but familiar. His presence wasn’t threatening… it felt like home.
While she was looking around she heard a voice.“Selene… she’s coming. she’s coming.”
The forest fell away and Lyra was pulled into another scene, like being dropped into memory.
Rain fell on the rooftop of a crumbling stone chapel, flickering candlelight was the only source of warmth inside. A young woman, who looked pale and was sweating, screamed on a bloodstained altar. Her silver-blonde hair was stuck to her face as she gripped the edges of the stone slab beneath her.
Selene Caelum.
Lyra knew it instinctively. Her mother.
Beside her, a man knelt, holding her hand. He was worn, covered in dirt and bruises….
The sudden knock at the door pulled her from her dreams.
Her bedsheets were soaked in sweat, her skin slick with sweat.
The Clock read 2:55AM
Later that morning, Lyra sat in silence, spooning cereals into her mouth without having a taste of it. Marianne was on the phone in the living room, her voice low. Whispering. Silas sat across from Lyra, eating noisily, clearly unaware of her spinning thoughts.
She stared at the window, the forest beyond the fields calling to her. That tree again, always in her dreams. Always by her birth. It had something to do with her parents and father. .
But she was confused why her foster dad had something to do with the tree.
But now something else was forming in her visions… something older.
“I need to know”, she muttered to herself
That night, the dreams returned.
It was clearer this time around.
A woman with silver hair braided back tightly, her eyes the same electric piercing blue eyes. Lyra saw in the mirror. She was in pain. Her body trembled, her arms clutched around her belly, as a man guided her into the old Gravemoor chapel, now long abandoned.
The man was tall, his jaw clenched. Protective. Familiar. Homely.
Her father?
No…
Suddenly, the scene shifted.
The woman screamed. A circle of witches all dressed in red ceremonial robes surrounded her, their chants rised. The wind howled outside, shaking the building.
Then, silence………
A baby’s cry pierced the air. Invoking all manner of emotions.
A newborn, wrapped in cloth and marked by a faint crimson birthmark over her arm, the same one Lyra now bore as a scar.
Her dreamself turned to look at the man who lifted up the child.
His face was clearer now.
Damon Caelum.
Her foster father. The man who had raised her like his own yet still had some resentment for her
Only…that he wasn’t her father.
He was her uncle. They were actually related but whyy??
The vision blurred, but not before she heard one final whisper in the dream, coming from a voice she didn’t recognize.
The voice said something but it was all shady, she didn’t hear clearly, she was eager to know what person had said.
Lyra awoke in tears. Eyes filled with tears, curiosity, rage and love for her parents even though she didn’t know them.
She stumbled to her desk and scribbled down every single detail she could remember right from the chapel, the circle of witches, the storm, the blood and Damon holding her as a baby. The voice as well.
She couldn’t ignore it anymore. Something powerful was awakening in her.
And someone had wanted her gone before she could grow into it.
Now, she needed answers.
Starting with the old chapel at Gravemoor……..
Back at school, she ran through the lawn, down to the hallway and then landed in the classroom just to see Rhett and Marek. She needed guidance and since they were no ordinary humans, they were supernaturals, they could help her.
“Why are you panting so much, like you ran for miles” Marek said jokingly.
“Calm down Lyra, what’s wrong?”,Rhett said calmly.
“Everything is wrong, I don’t even know what I am saying, who I really am, I need answers. I need answers” Lyra said while crying and make body gestures.
“Every day unfolds with new events, if it’s not changes with me, then it’s new visions or should I say dreams, I don’t even know what to call them. I need answers before my thoughts overwhelm me”
“Take a breath Lyra, you’ll get those answers”.Rhett said silently.
“Tell us everything”, Marek interrupted.
She sat across them and explained everything in details.
Inside, Rhett’s mind was a storm. It’s true. She is the one. The bloodline’s alive. But how?
But he couldn’t say that not here, not with Marek watching and other ears possibly listening.
He reached for her hand, ignored Marek’s low growl, and gently turned her palm over to the other side. “You should be more careful who you let see this,” he murmured, his voice was low enough that only she heard.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might tell her more. Instead, he released her, stepped back, and shoved his hands into his pockets like nothing had happened.
“Come on,” he said, “bell’s about to ring. We wouldn’t want to be late for algebra.”
But as they walked back towards the building, Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhett Vale had just looked straight into the core of her soul… and decided to keep whatever he’d found all to himself.
- Writer
