Between Realms
1025 Words
The storm dream came again—but this time, it didn’t devour her.
Aeryn stood at the edge of a cliff, thunder rolling in her bones, the wind tangling through her hair like fingers of something alive. Below, the forest sprawled in every direction—ancient, breathing, knowing. The sky above churned, not in fury, but anticipation. Clouds gathered in reverent silence, like an audience holding its breath.
She felt barefoot and wild. Whole.
Behind her, a voice rumbled—not a whisper, but the quiet pressure of something vast and unseen.
“What do you fear?”
She didn’t turn around. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where lightning flickered like a heartbeat beneath the storm’s skin.
“I fear forgetting,” she said, her voice steady in the dream. “That they’ll win. That I’ll vanish into what they made me.”
The wind stilled.
“Then remember.”
When she woke, the fire was nothing but embers. The night pressed soft and silver over the clearing. Mist threaded through the trees, and somewhere distant, wolves howled—a mourning sound, or maybe a warning.
Theron sat nearby, arms resting on his knees, face unreadable in the low light. But his eyes met hers the moment she stirred.
“You were speaking in your sleep,” he said.
Aeryn rubbed her face, pushing the remnants of the dream back. “What did I say?”
He tilted his head. “You said you wanted to burn it all down.”
Her mouth parted slightly, then closed. A strange calm filled her chest. “Then I probably meant it.”
She sat up slowly. The aches in her body were still there—ghosts of old bruises, the pull of healing bones—but something deeper had shifted. The jagged fear that had clung to her skin like old blood was fading.
Theron tossed her a bundle of dried meat and a flask of water. “Eat. There’s strength in you, but it needs fuel.”
She chewed quietly, watching him.
“You said last night… that there’s more. A prophecy. A truth I was denied.” Her eyes sharpened. “Tell me about the Thunder Moon.”
He didn’t flinch. “It only rises once every fifty years. Bloodlines watch for it. Pray under it. Fear it.”
“Why?”
“Because it marks a thinning. Between realms. Between what is and what could be.” He paused. “Children born under it carry the echo of that veil. Especially if no bloodline lays claim.”
“Like me.”
He nodded. “You’re born of the wild ley—raw, untouched. Most packs trace lineage. Alpha lines. Ritual births. But you? You came from something older. Not ordered. Not claimed.”
She frowned. “Then who were my parents?”
Theron’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. But I think your mother hid you for a reason. And someone found out.”
The memory stung. Her mother’s voice again—Don’t let them make you small.
“Daric always said my blood was impure,” she muttered. “That I was tainted.”
Theron’s voice sharpened. “Because he couldn’t read it. Couldn’t bind it. You were a variable he couldn’t predict.”
Aeryn stood, pacing now, energy crackling at her fingertips. “I need to go back.”
Theron blinked. “Back?”
“To the ruins. To where I grew up. I need to see what’s left. Maybe find something. A clue. A name.”
“You’ll be hunted,” he warned. “If Daric’s bloodline still holds power, they’ll sense your return.”
“I don’t care.”
He stood slowly. “Then we’ll prepare. You can’t go in as you are. Not unguarded.”
Aeryn met his gaze. “Will you teach me?”
His smile was slow, like dawn breaking through storm clouds. “Everything I know.”
They began that morning.
Theron taught without gentleness, but never with cruelty. His movements were precise, honed by years of survival and blood. He taught her to feel the earth beneath her feet, not just stand on it. To summon the storm not with desperation, but with discipline. He showed her how to breathe through pain, how to listen not just with ears but with instinct.
The days blurred. The clearing became their sanctuary, their battleground, their crucible.
Each night, the storm inside her grew less wild—and more willing.
Each morning, her wolf felt stronger.
But with power came something else.
Connection.
The bond between them deepened—not rushed, not forced. It pulsed beneath her skin like a second heart. She felt it when he moved behind her, correcting her stance. She heard it in the stillness between words, when silence felt full, not empty.
But she didn’t name it.
Not yet.
On the seventh morning, she woke before him.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes turned toward the horizon. Her palms crackled softly with contained current. She felt the world breathe with her.
Then, something shifted.
Her senses flared.
Not Theron.
Something else.
From the north—too far for sound, too faint for smell.
But real.
She turned. “We’re not alone.”
Theron was already rising. He didn’t ask how she knew.
He simply said, “They’ve found us.”
They didn’t speak after that.
They packed light. Left no trace. Moved like shadows through the forest, until the clearing was a memory and the wind once more held its breath.
But something followed them.
A scent she didn’t recognize. Bitter. Cold.
And in the night, as they took shelter beneath a low outcrop of stone and vine, Theron spoke one name.
“Elric.”
Aeryn frowned. “Who?”
“An old ghost,” Theron said grimly. “One who hunts thunder-born.”
Her blood went cold.
She had no name for what waited on the path ahead. No map. No prophecy to guide every step.
But for the first time in her life, she didn’t want one.
She only needed the storm.
And it was hers.
- Writer
