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The night pressed in around me, thick and unnervingly quiet. The pale moonlight bathed everything in silver, casting long, twisted shadows over the narrow path. Each step I took seemed too loud, the crunch of dirt under my boots echoing in the heavy silence. I could feel the weight of the day lingering in the air, pressing against my skin, making each breath feel heavier than the last.

There was something, pulling me. Tugging at my chest, deeper into the night, though I had no idea where or why. The forest around me seemed to breathe with a life of its own, the trees bending and twisting in the moonlight, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

The wind rustled the leaves, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the pounding of my heart. Why did it feel like something was waiting for me out here? Something unseen, hidden in the dark, just beyond the edges of my vision.

My eyes traced the moonlit grass, the wet blades gleaming unnaturally bright. Everything looked sharper, more alive under the moon's glow almost otherworldly. A shiver crawled up my spine, cold and unsettling. The village faded behind me, swallowed by the shadows.

And then the world around me shifted.

The sound of a crackling campfire filled the air, cutting through the quiet. I blinked, and suddenly, I wasn’t in the field anymore. My heart skipped a beat. Confusion slammed into me like a wave. I wasn’t on the path anymore. I was standing in a camp. A camp I didn’t recognize. The scent of burning wood mixed with the sharp tang of something metallic. Blood. Faint, but it was there.

I looked down at my hands. They were older, but familiar. The warmth of the fire brushed against my skin, the ground beneath me solid and real. This wasn’t a dream.

Sitting by the fire was a woman, her golden hair catching the moonlight like it had been spun from pure light. Valerie. The name crashed into my mind, unbidden. Her presence tugged at something deep inside me, something I couldn’t place. She hummed softly, a melody that wrapped around me like a spell, pulling me closer.

Her voice wove through the air, soft, almost enchanting.

> “In the quiet of the night, where the stars begin to sing,

>

> I feel your warmth beside me, like a soft and distant wing.

>

> Through the shadows, through the sky, we’ll find our way to roam,

>

> In the whispers of the moonlight, we’ll never be alone”

Her words, no, the song, I knew them. The meaning was clear, like a memory long buried but never forgotten. It pulled at my heart, twisting it in ways I didn’t know were possible.

She turned, her crystal blue eyes locking onto mine, and for a brief second, the world seemed to stop. “Did you like the song, my love?” she asked, her voice warm but heavy, like she carried the weight of a thousand nights on her shoulders.

Her voice rang like a forgotten melody, sweet enough to stir the dead from their eternal slumber. Each note pulled at something deep within me, awakening desires I'd tried to bury. I wanted to reach for her, to feel the warmth of her hand in mine, to trace the curve of her cheek with trembling fingers. But when my lips parted, the words that spilled out felt foreign, as if someone else had seized control of my tongue. They weren't mine.

“It feels like home,” I heard myself say. “With you... even this place feels like home.”

I tried to step forward, at least, my mind willed it so. But my legs moved with their own purpose, carrying me with a grace that felt familiar.

Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat, and I could see it. The weariness behind her eyes, the cracks in her strength. She turned back to the fire, her gaze distant. “We’re so far from home,” she whispered. “I’m tired, Einar. I want to go home.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. My chest tightened, like something sharp had sunk into it. I sat beside her, the warmth of the fire and her presence mingling together, both comforting and suffocating.

“When will it end?” she asked, her voice so quiet I almost missed it. “When will we be free?”

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“I don’t know, a few years, maybe,” the words dragged out of me, each one heavier than the last. “But I swear, I’ll always be here for you.”

She turned to me again, her eyes fierce now, burning with something deeper. “And I’m here for you too,” she said softly, but there was a fire in her words. “I’ve always been.”

For a moment, everything around us faded—the camp, the fire, the war. It was just the two of us, sitting under the night sky, the soft glow of the fire reflecting in her eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, but in the best way. I felt a warmth spread through me, a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in... forever. “I love you too,” I said, and for once, the words came easily, like they’d always been there.

But it didn’t last.

The camp, the fire, Valerie—they faded. Dissolved like smoke, leaving me standing in the cold, moonlit night. Alone.

The warmth of her beside me, the sound of her voice, the feel of her head resting on my shoulder... all of it gone. And in its place, a hollow ache that refused to leave. The kind of emptiness that felt like it could swallow me whole.

I kept walking, my feet moving on their own, until I reached the old tree. The grave beneath it sat silent, unmoving, as it always did. But my mind... my mind was still back at that campfire, still with her. Still with Valerie.

Her name slipped from my lips, unbidden, like a prayer I didn’t know I was saying. “Valerie...”

The sound of it hung in the air, unanswered, but it felt like it should’ve meant something. Like saying it could somehow make her real again. But the night remained quiet, cold, indifferent.

A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly, angry with myself. Another followed. Then another.

My fingers curl into fists, nails biting crescents into my palms. The questions storm through my mind, each one sharper than the last. Why does she feel so real? Why can I feel her so deeply? Who is she to me? The memory of her touch burns on my skin, more real than the ground beneath my feet.

I stared at the grave, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides, frustration bubbling under my skin. The dreams, the memories—none of it made sense. But the feelings... my feelings were real.

“Why do I feel this way?” The words came out strangled, a quiet plea to the night that refused to answer.

The wind picked up, brushing through the trees, but the silence was louder than anything.

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Through the cabin's weathered doorframe, Lyna's fingers traced the cool metal of her amulet, her breath caught in her throat. The cold night wind whispered through the pines, carrying with it the weight of secrets long buried. Before her, beneath the silver moon's gaze, her son stood like a shadow against the night.

"My boy," she breathed, the words barely disturbing the air. Her chest tightened as Einar pressed his hand against his heart, his shoulders curving inward like a wounded bird's wings.

The familiar ache of motherhood twisted deeper. Each ragged breath he took pierced her soul, every tremor in his frame echoing the trembling in her own hands. Distance did nothing to dull the connection between them—she felt his confusion as keenly as if it were her own.

He’s suffering. The thought hit her hard, a mother's instinct gnawing at her. Her heart tightened with guilt, heavy like a stone sinking in water. And it was all because of her, even after knowing about his first dream, she kept quiet.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart warring with her mind. Einar had grown so distant, each dream, each sleepless night pulling him further from the boy she had raised. And she knew—she could feel it—that this was only the beginning.

She had promised to protect him, to raise him with love, to keep him safe from the dark. But now, watching him struggle beneath the weight of those dreams, those fragments of a life he didn’t understand, she felt the sharp sting of that promise twisting into something else—something cruel.

Blood pounded in her ears as the crystal pulsed against her skin. Its warmth spread through her fingers, up her arm, a gentle reminder of promises made in desperate times. The moon caught its surface, throwing scattered light across the rough-hewn walls.

"What am I to do?" Her whisper carried the weight of years. The crystal flared in response, casting blue shadows across her tear-stained cheeks. "He suffers, and I..." The words caught in her throat as Einar stumbled in front of the grave, his fingers trailing along its edges as if seeking answers in its stone.

The amulet's pulse quickened, matching the frantic beating of her heart. Its light danced across her vision, neither condemning nor absolving, but present—like the steady gaze of an old friend.

"You would tell me if I was wrong, wouldn't you?" Her fingers closed around the crystal, feeling its steady warmth. "If I should keep silent..." The light flickered, once, twice, then settled into a steady glow that seemed to reach toward her son.

Near the oak, Einar sank to his knees. The sight shattered something inside her—the last of her resolve, perhaps. Or maybe it was the last of her fear.

"The truth then," she whispered, touching her lips to the crystal. "Even if it breaks us both."

Her fingers loosened around the amulet, its warmth fading as the night deepened. She stood there for a moment longer, watching her heart standing under the moon’s glow, before moving towards the same path that he walked, towards the old oak, towards the truth.

Whatever happens now, it’s in his hands. The peace she had built may shatter, or perhaps, just maybe; it would be rebuilt, stronger than before.

But there was no turning back now.

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