The shadowed throne
625 Words
The cold seeped into her bones. Aeris gasped, her breath a thin wisp of fog against the darkened air. She wasn’t in her bed. The warmth of her blankets was gone, replaced by the icy grip of something ancient, something watching.
She stood in the center of a vast throne room, its obsidian pillars stretching toward a ceiling lost in darkness. Flames flickered within blackened sconces, casting ghostly shadows along the walls. The air crackled with energy, thick and suffocating, pressing against her like unseen hands.
This isn’t real.
She had told herself this a thousand times before, but tonight, the vision felt different. Stronger. More vivid. She clenched her fists, willing herself to wake up, but the dream held her captive.
A low murmur rippled through the vast chamber, voices overlapping in hushed, urgent tones. At the far end of the room, figures in heavy cloaks stood gathered around an imposing throne. A throne carved from what looked like solid night, absorbing the dim light around it. And seated upon it was a man.
Aeris’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t see his face—only the way he sat, commanding yet tense, his fingers curled over the armrests as if restraining a restless power. His presence radiated authority, dark and unyielding. And then, as though sensing her, he turned his head.
Run.
The whisper wasn’t her own, yet it slithered into her mind, a warning too late to heed.
Piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.
The room fell silent.
Aeris’s breath hitched as an invisible force clamped around her, dragging her forward. The shadows coiled at the edges of her vision, the torches dimming.
The man rose from the throne, his movements slow, calculated. He was tall, his broad frame wrapped in dark furs and armor that shimmered faintly with a silver sheen. His gaze never wavered, those striking blue eyes filled with something she couldn’t name—something that burned.
“Who dares trespass in my domain?” His voice was deep, resonant, laced with quiet fury.
Aeris tried to speak, but the air had turned to stone in her lungs.
He descended the steps, each footstep echoing in the silence. He moved with the kind of grace that came from power—the kind that made men bow and enemies tremble.
She should not be here. She had never been here before. Had she?
Something cold brushed against her wrist. She glanced down.
Marks.
Thin, silver lines wove across her skin, faintly glowing against the darkness. Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs. She had seen these before—woken up with them burning against her flesh, only for them to fade by morning.
His eyes flickered to her wrist, a sharp gleam of recognition flashing through them before his expression hardened.
“How did you get here?”
His voice was softer now, but no less demanding.
“I… I don’t know,” Aeris managed, her own voice barely a whisper.
The moment stretched between them, taut and dangerous. His brows furrowed, and for a fraction of a second, something unreadable crossed his face.
Then the shadows moved.
They surged from behind him, dark tendrils that lashed out like living things. Aeris barely had time to flinch before they struck. Pain erupted across her arm, searing and cold at once.
She screamed.
And woke up.
Her body lurched upright, a strangled gasp leaving her lips as she clutched her wrist. Her skin burned, the same spot where the shadows had struck. She tore back the covers, heart hammering.
The mark was still there.
A thin, silver gash ran across her forearm, as real as the breath shuddering past her lips.
Aeris stared.
The dreams were getting worse.
And now… they were leaving scars.
- Writer
