Chapter 3: The Man In Her Dreams
1935 Words
The field stretched farther than the eye could see, its silver flowers swaying gently beneath the light of a full moon that seemed larger than any moon should have been. A cool breeze drifted across the endless sea of blossoms, carrying a faint fragrance that Anaya had never been able to describe no matter how many times she awakened from the dream. It was neither the scent of flowers nor the scent of rain, yet it always filled her heart with a strange sense of peace, as though she had returned to a place she had once called home.
She stood barefoot among the silver petals, her long raven black hair dancing softly behind her while the hem of her white dress brushed against the flowers. The dream never began any other way. Every single time she closed her eyes at night, she found herself standing beneath the same moon, surrounded by the same endless field, waiting for someone she had never met and somehow already knew.
He was there.
Far away, where the silver flowers melted into the pale horizon, stood the silent man dressed in black.
His long hair rested against his shoulders, moving gently with the wind, while his silver eyes remained fixed upon her with the same quiet expression she had seen since she was a little girl. There was nothing frightening about him despite the loneliness that surrounded him. If anything, his presence filled her with a feeling she had never experienced anywhere else.
Safety.
She had tried to explain that feeling countless times, but no one had ever understood. How could anyone believe that the stranger who appeared in her dreams every night made her feel safer than the people she saw every day?
"Who are you?" she called, her voice carrying across the silver field.
As always, he did not answer.
She smiled to herself before beginning the familiar walk toward him, carefully weaving through the flowers while keeping her eyes fixed on the silent figure waiting in the distance. She had lost count of how many times she had tried to reach him over the years, yet the result was always the same. No matter how long she walked, the distance between them never changed, as though the dream itself refused to let them stand side by side.
"This isn't fair," she muttered with a quiet laugh. "You've been making me chase you since I was a child."
The man remained still, his expression as calm as the moonlight surrounding him.
Anaya folded her arms with playful annoyance before continuing forward.
"One day I'm going to catch you, and when I do, you're going to answer every question I've been asking for years."
A gentle breeze swept through the flowers, sending thousands of silver petals swirling into the air between them. For the first time, the silent man slowly lifted one hand.
He wasn't calling her closer.
He wasn't telling her to stop.
The simple gesture felt almost protective, as though he wanted nothing more than to know that she was safe.
Something inside Anaya's heart tightened.
She couldn't explain why, but seeing that small movement always made her chest ache with a sadness that didn't belong to her.
Without thinking, she reached out toward him.
The moment her fingertips brushed the drifting silver petals, the entire dream began to dissolve. The flowers scattered into the wind like fragments of moonlight, the brilliant sky faded into darkness, and the man slowly disappeared with them, his silver eyes never leaving hers until the very last moment.
Anaya opened her eyes with a quiet sigh, the familiar wooden ceiling of her bedroom coming into view as the first rays of morning sunlight slipped through the curtains. For several moments she remained where she was, staring silently above her while listening to birds singing outside her window.
"The same dream again," she whispered, rubbing a hand over her face before sitting upright.
She reached for the silver crescent necklace resting against her chest, gently turning the pendant between her fingers. Her mother had told her the story behind it more times than she could count. According to the village midwife, she had entered the world already wearing it, and despite every attempt to remove it throughout the years, the necklace had stubbornly remained around her neck as though it had become part of her.
The story had fascinated her as a little girl, but growing older had only filled her with more questions than answers. She no longer believed fairy tales about miracles, yet no one had ever managed to explain how a newborn child could have been born wearing a necklace that couldn't be taken off.
"You're thinking about that dream again, aren't you?"
Her mother's gentle voice drifted through the half-open door before she appeared carrying a basket of freshly folded clothes. Although twenty-one years had passed since the night Anaya was born, the warmth in her smile had never changed.
"I suppose I don't have to ask," she continued with an amused shake of her head. "Your face tells me everything."
Anaya laughed softly before climbing out of bed.
"It happened again."
"The man in black?"
She nodded.
"He still won't tell me his name."
Her mother smiled as she placed the basket on the table.
"Maybe he's waiting until you're patient enough to stop asking."
Anaya let out an exaggerated sigh.
"I've been patient for twenty one years."
After changing into a simple cream coloured dress that reached just below her knees, Anaya stood before the old mirror hanging beside the bedroom window. It had been there long before she was born, its wooden frame faded by time, yet it reflected the same face that had become so familiar to everyone in Ashbourne Village. Her long ravenblack hair flowed freely down her back like silk, catching the morning sunlight that slipped through the curtains, while the warm hazel eyes staring back at her carried a quiet kindness that strangers often noticed before anything else. Around each iris rested a thin silver ring, delicate enough to escape attention unless someone looked closely, and although many people had called it beautiful, no one had ever been able to explain why it was there. Her smooth caramel skin glowed beneath the morning light, softening the delicate features of her heart shaped face, and despite her slim, graceful figure, years of carrying water, gathering firewood, and helping around the village had given her a quiet strength that surprised anyone who underestimated her.
She smiled at her reflection before gently touching the silver crescent necklace resting against her collarbone, the same necklace she had worn every day of her life without ever taking it off. As a child she had tried countless times to unclasp it, convinced her mother was hiding the secret, but the clasp simply didn't exist. Even the village blacksmith had failed to remove it, eventually declaring that whoever crafted the necklace possessed skills beyond anything he had ever seen. Over the years Anaya had stopped questioning it quite so often, though every now and then she still found herself wondering whether the pendant had chosen her just as much as she had accepted wearing it.
"You'll be talking to that necklace again if you keep staring at it."
Her mother's amused voice drifted from the hallway, earning a laugh from Anaya before she turned away from the mirror.
"I was only wondering whether it'll ever tell me where it came from."
"If it hasn't answered after twenty one years, I don't think today will be the day."
"You're probably right."
The familiar exchange drew another smile from both women as they walked downstairs together, filling the quiet cottage with the warmth of easy conversation. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, and sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating every corner of the modest home that had sheltered them for so many years. There was nothing luxurious about the cottage, yet Anaya had never wished for anything grander. Every worn piece of furniture carried a memory, every flower growing beneath the windows had been planted by her mother, and every creak in the old wooden floor reminded her that love could turn even the simplest house into a home.
Once breakfast was finished, Anaya collected her woven basket and stepped outside, greeting the cool morning with a contented smile. Ashbourne Village was already awake, its narrow streets alive with merchants arranging their stalls, children chasing one another through the square, and neighbours exchanging cheerful greetings before beginning another day's work. It was the sort of peaceful place where everyone knew everyone else, which meant there were very few secrets capable of surviving for long.
"Morning, Anaya!"
She turned at the sound of her name and waved enthusiastically toward Mrs. Elora, whose bakery had become the unofficial gathering place for nearly every villager before sunrise.
"Morning, Mrs. Elora. Those pastries smell so good you're making it impossible for me to stick to my shopping list."
The older woman laughed so heartily that several customers turned to look at them.
"If you spent less time helping everyone else and more time treating yourself, I'd believe you."
Anaya placed a hand dramatically over her heart.
"Are you saying I'm too kind?"
"I'm saying you never know how to say no."
She couldn't argue with that.
Helping people had always come naturally to her. Whether it was carrying heavy baskets for the elderly, watching someone's children while they finished their work, or comforting a neighbour after a difficult day, Anaya rarely stopped to think before offering a hand. Some people admired that part of her, while others quietly wondered whether she gave too much of herself away.
Not everyone in the village looked at her with admiration, however. Behind friendly smiles and whispered conversations lingered the same question that had followed her since childhood. How could someone born into a werewolf family reach the age of twenty-one without awakening a wolf? The healers had searched for answers, priestesses had offered prayers, and visiting Alphas had tried to sense the wolf sleeping inside her, yet every attempt ended the same way. They found nothing.
Most people eventually accepted that Anaya was simply different, though they disagreed on what that difference meant. Some believed the Moon Goddess had forgotten her, others insisted she had been born beneath an unlucky star, but her mother refused to entertain either idea, reminding anyone who cared to listen that a person's worth was measured by the kindness in their heart rather than the strength of the wolf within them. Anaya had carried those words with her for years, repeating them whenever doubt threatened to creep into her thoughts.
She was passing through the village square when the peaceful morning was shattered by the frantic sound of pounding footsteps. A young messenger came racing down the northern road, breathing so hard that he nearly lost his balance before grabbing hold of the village notice board.
"Everyone..." he called between hurried breaths, struggling to steady himself. "Everyone, listen!"
Conversations stopped almost instantly, and curious faces turned toward him as villagers emerged from their homes and shops.
"The Alpha King of Draven is approaching Ashbourne Village."
Silence swept across the square.
Even those who had been smiling only moments earlier suddenly exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting from curiosity to nervous anticipation as the news spread through the crowd.
Anaya frowned slightly, looking from one frightened face to another.
"The Alpha King?" she asked softly. "Why would someone like him come to a village as small as ours?"
- Writer
