🩵 Chapter 4 : What They Don't Say
557 Words
Dani
The dream started in smoke.
Thick and gray, rising from the forest floor like breath from the earth itself. The trees loomed above me—twisted things, not quite dead but not quite alive either. Their limbs reached down like fingers, swaying in a wind I couldn’t feel.
I was barefoot, standing in cold dirt.
Somewhere behind me, a heartbeat echoed.
Not mine.
Louder. Slower. Like a drum buried in the bones of the mountain.
I turned.
And it was there.
A bear made of shadow and ash, taller than any living creature should be. Its eyes burned gold—not with light, but with memory. Like it had seen lifetimes, wars, gods fall, and forests burn.
It stepped toward me.
I couldn’t move.
The trees bowed in its presence.
And then… it spoke.
"He is coming. So must you."
Its voice wasn’t a growl. It was a presence—in my ears, in my chest, in my very blood.
I opened my mouth to ask who.
But I woke up gasping before I could speak.
---
I sat up in bed, soaked in sweat, the covers tangled around my legs. My hands were shaking.
A dream.
But not just a dream.
It hadn’t felt like one. Not like the silly, subconscious, finals-induced stress kind. This had weight. Power. It felt like a vision.
And I’d had those before—small ones, flashes when I touched certain things or wandered too far from the path in the woods. I didn’t talk about them much. Not even to Dylan. Definitely not to Taylor.
But here, in this house? In this family?
They’d know.
I threw on a hoodie, padded into the kitchen barefoot, and found my mom standing at the stove in a robe, already pouring tea.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked without looking at me.
I hesitated. “Nightmare.”
She slid a mug toward me. “Chamomile. Sit.”
I did. I watched her in the dim kitchen light, the way her hands moved slower than usual. Tired. Worried.
“I dreamed of a bear,” I said quietly. “Made of smoke. It spoke to me.”
She stopped.
Just for a second.
Then turned around. Her face was calm, but her eyes were too still.
“What did it say?”
“That he’s coming,” I murmured. “And so must I.”
She sat across from me. Folded her hands. Let out a long breath.
I waited.
But she said nothing.
“Mom,” I whispered. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll talk at dinner,” she said gently. “Your father and I—we’ll both tell you. You deserve the whole truth. Just not at three a.m.”
“I don’t want protection. I want answers.”
“And you’ll have them,” she said, brushing a hand over mine. “But not like this. We do this as a family.”
---
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.
Every rustle outside the window sounded louder. Every owl call made my skin prickle.
The bear’s voice still echoed in my ears.
He is coming.
Who? What?
Was it a warning?
A prophecy?
A promise?
I didn’t know.
But I could feel it.
The world was changing.
And I was right at the heart of it.
- Writer
