The dream returned again.
It never started the same way, but it always ended in fire.
This time, Rhea Carter stood in a vast stone chamber—cold, ancient, alive with forgotten echoes. The floor pulsed with glowing lines that twisted beneath her bare feet, forming runes she couldn't read. A sword, floating in midair, shimmered before her, its sword humming like a heartbeat. A gem hovered beside it, spinning slowly, casting fragments of light like shattered stars.
Then came the voices.
Not words—not language—just sounds full of power, of pleading, of prophecy. Her fingers reached out, shaking, drawn toward the gem—
And then the earth cracked.
Fire erupted around her. A silhouette with eyes of gold stepped from the flames. Five shadows rose behind him, each radiating a different color—green, red, blue, white, and golden light. But their faces were blurred. Unseen. Unknowable.
As she screamed, the gem split in two, and the sword turned to ash in her hand.
Rhea jerked awake, her breath caught in her throat.
Sweat drenched her skin, and her heart raced like it had run a mile. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her bed, mocking the chaos she just left behind.
Again, she scribbled in the notebook by her bed. Swirling symbols, pieces of the sword. Her hands moved on their own, like someone else was guiding them. But the lines didn't make sense.
They never did.
Across the city, beneath shimmering stage lights, Kael Draven strummed the final chord of his guitar.
The crowd at the underground club roared, neon flashes lighting their faces. For a moment, everything else vanished—only the music, the beat, the power in his fingers.
But as the applause faded and Kael stepped backstage, something strange stirred inside him.
A chill.
Not nerves. Not exhaustion. Something deeper.
He gripped the edge of the mirror in the dressing room. His reflection stared back—black tousled hair, sharp blue eyes, and that same old disinterest he always wore. But tonight…
Tonight, something was off.
His forearm prickled. Ice-cold lines slid beneath his skin, crawling like frost. He rolled up his sleeve, heart slowing, breath caught in his chest.
There it was.
A tattoo he never remembered getting—thin, silver, almost like a blade etched into his skin. It glowed faintly, just for a second. And then it vanished, like it had never been there at all.
"What the hell…"
Kael backed away from the mirror. No one else had seen it. No one else could. He knew that instinctively, like he knew the rhythm of a song before playing a single note.
Something had awakened.
And it was only just beginning.
The morning sun crept through a cracked curtain, washing Rhea Carter's tiny room in dusty gold. A single bed, a rusted metal shelf stacked with second-hand books, and a chipped desk made up her entire world. The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbor's alarm clock, and the paint peeled like skin shedding from old memories.
But to Rhea… this was home.
She pulled on a faded hoodie, slung her worn-out backpack over her shoulder, and brushed her fingers over the edge of her dream notebook before slipping it inside. The pages were nearly full now—sketches of glowing blades, half-seen eyes, runes she didn't understand.
A sigh escaped her lips. Same dream. Same silence. Same missing face.
Outside, the air was sharp with the smell of old city smog and freshly fried samosas from the corner stall. She passed the orphanage gate, giving a soft smile to Sister Mayra, who waved with a knowing glance.
"Still drawing that dream of yours?" the old nun called.
Rhea just smiled, "I'll figure it out. Eventually."
By the time she reached Crescent Hill University, the campus was buzzing with students and the usual Monday chaos. Her best friend, Elena Voss, spotted her instantly from across the fountain.
"Dream girl strikes again!" Elena called, marching over in ripped jeans and bubblegum pink headphones looped around her neck. "So? Spill."
Rhea groaned, already knowing where this was going. "Yes, I had it again."
"The dream?" Elena widened her eyes dramatically, grabbing Rhea's shoulders. "The symbols? The sword? The drama? Please tell me this time you finally saw his face."
Rhea looked away, biting her lip.
"Nope. Still... shadowed. Like always. I see five glowing figures behind him—each with this weird elemental energy—and then him. Standing right in front of me. But… it's like his face is always blurred out. I feel like I know him… but I can never see him."
Elena blew out a dramatic breath. "Girl. This is either some cosmic soulmate thing... or you're reading way too much fantasy at night."
Rhea gave a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I wish it were just fantasy. But the dream… it feels so real, Lena. Every time."
"Have you ever considered," Elena raised a brow, "that maybe this guy doesn't want to be found yet?"
Rhea blinked. "That's... oddly specific."
Elena just grinned. "Well, when his hot mysterious butt does show up, can you please fall in love and tell me first?"
They laughed together, walking toward the architecture wing, the heavy weight of Rhea's dream only slightly lighter with every teasing step.
But deep down, a whisper lingered in her mind.
He's real. I just haven't met him yet.
and they both leave for the college as they rhea went on nagging.
The tattoo hadn't reappeared. But Kael could still feel it—like something etched deeper than skin.
He sat alone in the club's backroom, silence replacing the roar of the earlier crowd. The stale scent of spilled whiskey and sweat hung in the air, but he barely noticed. His fingers hovered over his guitar. The strings had always felt familiar, like an extension of himself.
Tonight, they felt different.
Tentative, he plucked a soft chord.
A low hum answered—not from the strings, but from inside him. A resonance that echoed through his chest and up his spine. Cold spread from his wrist where the tattoo had blinked into existence, crawling toward his shoulder like frost kissed by moonlight.
"What the hell is happening to me…"
He adjusted the tuning pegs and played again. But this time, the sound shifted—twisted. A single note rang out that didn't belong. Not something he played. It was...
Old.
Ancient.
Wrong.
His eyes narrowed.
The strings hadn't moved. But he heard the note again, echoing like a whisper through stone halls. Like something calling to him from someplace far beyond this grimy room. A language he didn't understand curled at the edge of his thoughts.
He dropped the guitar, stepping back.
It wasn't just music anymore.
It was a message.
A sudden knock snapped him out of it. His friend and manager, Theo, peeked in with a raised brow. "Kael, man. You okay? You looked… pale. And freaked out."
Kael blinked, forced a shrug. "Didn't sleep much."
Theo chuckled. "Yeah, join the club. Anyway, great show. There's this girl out front who wants to know if you take song requests or souls—your usual fan types."
Kael smirked faintly, "Tell her I'm out of souls for the week."
When Theo left, Kael sat back down, eyeing his guitar like it might explode.
The mark. The note. The frost.
It was starting. Whatever "it" was.
And somehow, he knew… that girl in his dreams—the one with the silver eyes and voice he couldn't remember—was real.
And she was calling to him.