When I wake this time, I am not in my apartment. No soft, floral curtains framing the windows, no oak wardrobe with its familiar scratches, and there’s no Zeus, my cat, curling up in the sun. None of it was ever real. How did I manage to fabricate a whole life like that, one so vivid and tangible? It's almost impressive. But the bigger question looms over me like a dark cloud: Why? I shake my head, pushing the thought aside as I take in my surroundings. The room around me isn’t a room at all, but a small corner of what I now realize is a makeshift shelter. It’s closed off from the rest of the space by a tattered curtain, heavy with the smell of smoke and earth. The air around me is thick, the kind of dampness that clings to your skin and makes your lungs feel heavier with each breath. There’s no comforting, sterile smell of clean linens—just the deep, rich scent of pine, moss, and wet stone. I sit upright and realize I’m on a pile of blankets, no bed. The rough ground digging into my skin. No wonder my back hurts. The walls are crude but sturdy, built from rough-hewn logs—some old and weathered, some freshly cut and still weeping sap, their edges jagged and uneven. Moss and lichen cling to the cracks where the wood meets, a makeshift camouflage against the elements. The flickering glow of a fire catches my eye through the curtain, its warmth dancing in the hearth carved into the corner of the shelter. The flames create soft shadows that stretch across the house, only deepening the sense of isolation. The fire crackles softly, almost in rhythm with my heartbeat, but the air still feels cold—cold and heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of the leaves outside, the distant call of birds. The smoke from the fire spirals up toward a narrow hole in the ceiling, where the roof has been hastily patched with a mixture of thatch and bark. Above, the forest canopy looms large, its thick branches forming a dense, tangled web that blocks out much of the sky. The dim light filtering through the leaves barely reaches the inside of the shelter, but what little it does illuminates the mismatched furniture scattered about. A single table, carved from an old slab of wood, dominates the center of the room. Maps, weapons in various states of repair, and half-empty mugs crowd its surface. There are no windows, just narrow slits in the walls, allowing me to see the decaying, orange sun. In the corner of the shelter, a pile of blankets and furs is haphazardly heaped together—likely where others sleep. I was so caught up in where I was that I didn’t even notice that Thorn is lying on the floor, asleep next to me. He looks so peaceful. The falling and rising of his chest is calm, steady. He has daggers sheathed at both of his sides, glistening in the dim firelight. He is in new clothes; A black cotton tunic with gray pants.I watch him for a few moments and then realize how creepy I’m being, so I continue to take in my surroundings. A few personal items litter the area: a tattered cloak tossed across a chair, swords and axes along the wall, and random bags throughout. The swords have all kinds of designs on the hilts, giving them a regal appearance. They all look as sharp as death and freshly polished. I push myself to my feet, my head still spinning with confusion and lingering panic. I look down at myself and see that I am in satin blue pants and a white satin shirt. They fit me perfectly and I can only assume that they used to be mine. I don’t let myself linger on the idea of how I got changed, weirder things have happened within the last 24 hours. I touch my fingers to my forehead, trying to ground myself, but my thoughts are a swirl of fragmented images. The apartment, Zeus... my cat... All a lie. I stand there for a long moment, trying to gather myself, then I hear faint whispers from outside, and my skin prickles from fear as if I’m suddenly remembering the events from last night. My body preparing itself to run, but there are no hissing voices, no screeching, just normal voices. The realization calms me, but not fully. I gain the courage to walk to the door of the house, the cool, dirt floor biting into my bare feet. As I make it to the door, I realize that where we are is a far cry from the ruins and the temple I was at last night. The sky is still black, yet the moon is out so it must be night time. There are no ruins around me. Only trees that surround us fully. The are is hot and damp, and reeks of rotting wood and leaves. A flicker of light catches my eye and I notice there is a bonfire to my right with 3 people surrounding it. I carefully walk outside and try to cling to the shadows and trees around me to avoid being seen. The leaves are wet under my feet, and I run my toe into a hidden branch, holding back a curse. Once I’m within hearing range, I hold my breath and try to listen in on their conversation. “So, she’s really back…” a voice says, the words heavy with something I can’t quite place. “Yeah,” another responds, but there's a tone of disbelief, “but not like she used to be.” The third voice is sharper, laced with frustration. “Thorn had to go and mess it all up by bringing her back too abruptly.” Are they talking about me? My pulse picks up. Do they know me? My heart skips as I cautiously step closer, my steps barely audible. I strain my ears to catch more of their conversation, trying to make sense of their words. “She wasn’t ready,” the third man says again, his voice tinged with annoyance. He’s shorter than the others, with long blonde hair that falls messily around his face. “It’s been three years, Theo. Thorn was getting desperate.” the second voice replies—deep, calm, but carrying a weariness I can’t quite place. This man is familiar, almost too familiar. I can't quite figure it out yet, but there's something about him that feels… almost like Thorn. He’s got the same dark hair and strong build, but his eyes are a cold, stormy brown—nothing like Thorn’s bright blue. “You think we could’ve waited forever for her to return fully?” The first voice, Theo, mutters with impatience, but there’s a flicker of something else, something that sounds like guilt, buried beneath the words. I keep quiet, my mind racing as I continue to listen. Who are they? Minutes pass, their conversation shifting and blurring into the background as I focus on their faces. Slowly, I begin to piece together who they might be—or at least who I think they are. Nicholas, the first man—tall, with a lean frame, green eyes, and brown hair, his body language is basically screaming that he is insecure of himself. He seems calm, but something about him feels unsettling, like a man who’s seen too much. The second man—Theo—shorter, stocky, and muscular with sandy blonde hair and dark eyes. He seems more like a skeptic, always questioning, always looking for answers that might not be there. And the last one—Cedric—taller than the other two, with dark hair like Thorn’s and a solid build that makes him seem like someone who could both protect and destroy in equal measure. He looks more comfortable, confident. But before I can examine them further, I hear movement behind me. The brush of footsteps on the forest floor sends a jolt of panic through me. I spin around, my breath catching in my throat as I see Thorn coming into view. His gaze is locked on me, his expression unreadable. “Well, that was subtle,” Thorn says, a hint of amusement in his voice. I stand up straight, awkwardly brushing a strand of red hair behind my ear, trying to make myself appear less vulnerable. My nightgown feels wrong, out of place in this crude shelter and woods. But for some reason, I’m more concerned with how he sees me than anything else. Thorn catches my gaze, his lips curling into something that resembles a smirk. “In case you weren’t aware…” he says, his voice commanding as he gestures toward me. “Selene is right here.” I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The three men in front of me turn to face me in unison, their eyes searching, analyzing, as if they’ve been waiting for me to appear. It feels like I’ve been exposed in more ways than one. I stand tall, trying to project confidence, but inside, I feel the creeping weight of fear and confusion. They know me—or at least, they think they do. Their eyes carry the ghost of recognition, but none of them make a move toward me. It’s like we’re all standing on the edge of something fragile. “Selene?” Cedric calls out, his voice warm, familiar, as if we’re old friends. I open my mouth, but my mind betrays me. Words fail. Thorn steps in, his voice cutting through the awkward silence. “Selene has had a long night,” he says with authority, his tone firm and protective. “She’ll take questions in the morning.” Cedric frowns but doesn’t argue. Theo, on the other hand, raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “What? Are you her bodyguard now?” Theo’s voice holds a bite of amusement, but there’s something else there—an edge of suspicion. He crosses his arms, looking Thorn up and down. I watch as the tension between them builds, a quiet storm brewing. Thorn’s gaze hardens, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. I sense the power behind his stare—the kind of look that could silence anyone. “She needs rest.” Thorn says, his voice low and dangerous. Rest? I want to protest, to demand answers. But I’m too drained. Theo looks like he wants to argue, but one more look from Thorn makes him hesitate. He backs off, his shoulders slumping in reluctant surrender. I turn sharply, heading back toward the shelter, hoping to escape their prying gazes. But, of course, I don’t get far before I hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind me. Thorn. I don’t turn around, but I can feel his presence like a shadow, always just a step behind. I make my way to the small space they’ve assigned me, my body tense and aching from everything that’s happened today. As I step inside, I glance over my shoulder. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” I finally ask, my voice strained, barely above a whisper. Thorn doesn’t answer immediately. He watches me for a moment, his eyes studying me like a puzzle he’s still trying to solve. “I assume you now believe this is all true?” he asks, his tone soft but weary, like he’s been carrying a weight for far too long. I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. “Yes,” I say, my voice barely audible. Thorn nods, looking like a man who’s finally been relieved of a great burden. He stands, moving to a small pile of things on the floor, and picks up a book. The same book from my dream. My mother’s book. My heart stutters. He holds it out to me. “This… this is yours.” His voice catches for a moment. “When I gave it to you in your other life, I hoped it would help you remember. Bring you back.” I take the book, my fingers trembling as I trace the worn edges of the cover. The familiar scent of old paper and leather fills the air. I open it to the first page—the same words I read in my dream. The demon inside me will show itself and take over… I close the book, the weight of those words sinking deep into my chest. “Was it true?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Did you… did you kill my parents?” Thorn stiffens, but his expression softens. He steps closer, reaching for my cheek—but I flinch, pulling away instinctively. His face tightens, but he doesn’t force the contact. “Yes,” he says quietly, “but I can explain everything.” My breath hitches at the weight of his words, his confession. When he told me he’d killed my parents before, my mind shut down as if completely denying me the chance to think about it. My emotions are drained, so I don’t even try to show my anger and devastation as his words. I try to focus on something else, then a wave of panic rises in my chest. A moment from yesterday filling my mind. I tried to kill him. I remember the power—the raw energy that surged through me. The strength and terror I felt. With everything that has been going on, I didn’t even think about the fact that I have powers. How is this even possible? I feel a shiver work its way down my spine, as if my power is threatening to rise. I have no idea how to control it or shut it out. I close my eyes and pray that nothing happens, that I don’t try to kill Thorn again. Did I subconsciously attack him on purpose? I have no memory of having that kind of power, yet it felt strangely natural as it happened. I look at Thorn next to me, and for some reason, his eyes looking into mine calm me. Slowly, that thrum of energy ceases. Something about him… he makes me feel safe. I was trying to deny everything about yesterday, and that included the security I subconsciously felt with him. “You really need to rest, Selene. You’ve pushed your limits today.” As if sensing my mood. He’s right. But the thought of rest feels impossible, as if my mind and body are too broken to sleep. Still, I nod, feeling the exhaustion settle in. I lie back down on the floor, bringing the dark gray covers over me, but my mind races, the pieces of my past and future scattered in ways I can’t comprehend. Thorn settles on the floor beside me, as if he expects to keep watch. The sound of his breathing mingles with the crackling fire, and before I know it, sleep takes me.

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