The Alpha’s last bloodline

Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction. Aurora ran. The sound of her footsteps echoed through a narrow stone corridor as cold air whipped against her skin. She didn’t know where she was. She never did. The dream was always the same. The corridor twisted endlessly before her, illuminated only by flickering torches mounted along damp walls. Shadows danced across the stone floor, shifting with every movement she made. Yet tonight felt different. Something was wrong. A strange sense of urgency pressed against her chest. Run. The thought wasn’t hers. It drifted through the darkness like a whisper. Aurora slowed. The corridor had ended. A massive iron gate stood before her. Beyond it lay a prison unlike anything she had ever seen. Chains hung from the ceiling. Ancient symbols covered the walls. The air itself seemed heavy. And at the center of it all sat a man. His head was lowered. Long chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him to a stone platform. Aurora couldn’t see his face. She never could. Every time she looked at him, the features seemed hidden beneath an invisible veil. Yet somehow, she knew he was staring directly at her. The feeling sent chills racing down her spine. For years she had seen this dream. For years she had woken up before anything happened. But tonight the man moved. Slowly. Deliberately. His head lifted. “Aurora.” The sound of her name froze her in place. Her heart pounded. No. This had never happened before. The prisoner had never spoken. Never moved. Never acknowledged her existence. Yet now his voice echoed through the chamber. Deep. Tired. Filled with something she couldn’t describe. Pain. Hope. Fear. All at once. Aurora took a hesitant step forward. The chains rattled. “Aurora.” The man spoke again. This time his voice sounded closer. As though the distance between them no longer mattered. “Who are you?” she asked. The question left her lips before she realized it. The prisoner lowered his head. For a brief moment, sorrow seemed to fill the room. Then he looked back at her. “They’re running out of time.” Aurora frowned. “What does that mean?” The chains trembled violently. The torches flickered. The walls themselves seemed to shake. The prisoner suddenly stood. The movement sent thunderous echoes through the prison. “Aurora, listen to me.” His voice was urgent now. Desperate. “You have to remember.” Remember what? Aurora opened her mouth to speak. A deafening crack interrupted her. The ground split beneath her feet. Darkness surged through the chamber. The prisoner reached toward her. “Aurora!” His voice echoed around her. “You have to” The dream shattered. Aurora shot upright in bed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Moonlight spilled through her bedroom window. The familiar walls of her room slowly came into focus. She was home. Again. The dream was gone. Yet the prisoner’s voice lingered in her ears. You have to remember. Aurora pressed a hand against her forehead. The dream had followed her for years. Always the same corridor. Always the same prison. Always the same man. But never like this. Never had he spoken. Never had he looked at her as though she mattered. A shiver ran through her. She glanced toward the clock on her bedside table. 3:17 AM. Too early to be awake. Too late to fall back asleep. Sighing, Aurora pushed aside her blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Something stung her wrist. She frowned. Slowly, she lifted her hand. A faint silver mark rested against her skin. Aurora stared. The symbol was unlike anything she had ever seen. Thin lines curved around one another, forming an intricate design. For a moment it appeared to glow. Then it vanished. Aurora blinked. Her wrist looked completely normal. Nothing remained. No mark. No scar. Nothing. A nervous laugh escaped her. She was imagining things. That was all. The dream had rattled her. Nothing more. Yet deep down she knew she was lying to herself. Morning arrived far too quickly. By the time Aurora made her way downstairs, the Blackwood family was already gathered around the dining table. Damian sat at the head. Lydia occupied the seat beside him. Across from them sat Ethan and Isabella. Their laughter died the moment Aurora entered. As usual. Aurora took her seat without speaking. No one greeted her. No one asked how she was. Years ago the silence had hurt. Now it was simply routine. “You’re late.” Isabella didn’t bother looking up from her phone. Aurora glanced at the clock. She wasn’t. Not that it mattered. Correcting Isabella would only start an argument. Aurora reached for a piece of toast. Before she could touch it, Lydia’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Have you completed your assignments?” Aurora nodded. “Yes.” “Good.” That was the end of the conversation. The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Damian eventually stood. “I have meetings today.” Ethan immediately looked interested. “With the council?” Damian’s expression hardened. “That’s none of your concern.” The response was brief. Yet Aurora noticed something strange. A flicker of tension crossed Lydia’s face. It vanished almost instantly. Still. Aurora noticed. She always noticed. An hour later she found herself walking through the gates of Ravenwood Academy. Students filled the campus. Groups laughed together. Conversations drifted through the air. Aurora moved among them unnoticed. Exactly the way she preferred. At least most days. Today felt different. The dream refused to leave her mind. The prison. The chains. The prisoner. Remember. The word echoed endlessly inside her head. A strange feeling settled over her. The sensation that something was watching. Aurora glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. Just students crossing the courtyard. Yet the feeling remained. Watching. Waiting. For what, she didn’t know. As she reached her locker, something white caught her attention. A folded piece of paper rested inside. Aurora frowned. She didn’t remember leaving it there. Carefully, she unfolded it. Her stomach tightened. Three words stared back at her. He’s still alive. Aurora froze. The sounds of the hallway faded. The laughter. The conversations. Everything. For several seconds she could only stare at the message. Then she looked around. Students moved through the corridor normally. No one appeared interested in her. No one appeared suspicious. Yet someone had left the note. Someone had wanted her to read it. Her fingers tightened around the paper. Questions flooded her mind. Who was alive? Who had written it? And why did the words fill her with a fear she couldn’t explain? A sudden gust of wind swept through the hallway. The note slipped from her fingers. Aurora reached for it. Too late. The paper drifted away. Straight toward the end of the corridor. Straight toward a door that should not have been there. Aurora stared. Her breath caught. The door looked old. Ancient. Completely out of place among the modern walls of Ravenwood Academy. Students walked past it without noticing. As though it didn’t exist. Aurora’s pulse quickened. Then the door opened. Only slightly. Just enough to reveal darkness beyond. And from somewhere inside, she heard a familiar voice. “Aurora.” The same voice from her dreams. The same voice from the prison. Calling her once more. This time while she was awake.