Blood of the Forgotten

The sky should have cried for her mother. Instead, it hung heavy and silent, a bruise-colored dome pressing down on the cemetery as if even the clouds were holding their breath. Aurelia Wynn stood alone beside the fresh grave, her fingers curled around the stem of a white rose that had already begun to wilt. She hadn’t dropped it yet. She wasn’t ready. Everyone else had left hours ago. She stayed because leaving felt like betrayal. Her mother had been her anchor, her shield, her only family. Now she was nothing but a name carved into stone. Aurelia’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to breathe evenly. She couldn’t afford to lose control. Not here. Not anywhere. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind, sharp as broken glass. Never let anyone see your eyes when you’re upset. Never let your emotions get too strong. Never trust anyone who asks about your bloodline. She used to laugh at those warnings. Now she wondered if her mother had been afraid of her. Aurelia finally let the rose fall. It landed softly on the soil, petals trembling. She turned away from the grave, her boots sinking into the damp earth as she walked toward the cemetery gate. The world felt wrong without her mother’s presence — too quiet, too still, too empty. The house was worse. Aurelia stepped inside, greeted by silence so thick it felt suffocating. Her mother’s favorite mug still sat on the counter. Her sweater hung over the back of the couch. Everything was exactly as she left it, except she wasn’t here to fill the space. Aurelia swallowed hard and moved to the mailbox, expecting bills or sympathy cards. Instead, she found a single envelope. Thick. Ivory. Sealed with black wax. The symbol pressed into the wax made her heart stutter — a circle of wings surrounding a burning star. She didn’t know it, yet it felt familiar, like a memory she couldn’t reach. Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal. Inside was one sentence, written in elegant, sharp handwriting: “Aurelia Wynn, your mother’s lies have kept you hidden long enough. Come to Blackthorn Ridge before the hunter finds you.” Aurelia’s breath caught. Hunter? She read the line again, pulse quickening. Before she could process it, a low growl rumbled behind her. She spun. A man stood at the edge of her yard, tall and broad-shouldered, amber eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His dark hair was tousled, his expression sharp and alert. He looked like danger wrapped in human skin. “Aurelia Wynn?” he asked, voice deep and rough. She stepped back. “Who are you?” “Fenric Hale,” he said. “I’m here to protect you.” “Protect me from what?” His gaze flicked to the woods behind her house. “From the hunter.” Aurelia’s stomach dropped. “What hunter?” Fenric’s jaw tightened. “The one who thinks he knows what you are.” “What I am?” she whispered. “I’m human.” His eyes softened with something like pity. “No, Aurelia. You’re not.” Before she could demand answers, a sharp c***k echoed through the trees — a gunshot. Fenric lunged, grabbing her and pulling her against his chest as another shot rang out. The bullet hit the mailbox, exploding metal into shards. Aurelia screamed. Fenric snarled, his eyes blazing gold. “Inside. Now.” He shoved her toward the door as a shadow moved between the trees — tall, deliberate, hunting. Aurelia’s heart hammered. The hunter was real. And he was here. Fenric slammed the door behind them and locked it. “We need to leave. Immediately.” Aurelia backed away from him, shaking. “Why? Why is someone trying to kill me?” Fenric looked at her with a truth she wasn’t ready for. “Because you’re the last Seraphyx,” he said. “And if he gets to you first, the world will burn.” Aurelia’s knees nearly buckled. Seraphyx. Hunter. Destiny. Her life had just shattered — and she didn’t even know how to pick up the pieces. Fenric stepped closer, voice low. “I swear I’ll explain everything. But right now, Aurelia… you need to trust me.” Another gunshot cracked through the night. Aurelia swallowed hard. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone. But she didn’t have a choice. Not anymore.