She whispered, her voice trembling as she turned in circles, trying to make sense of the surreal beauty that engulfed her. Her hands instinctively reached out, brushing against the delicate mist that clung to her skin.
Then it struck her.
Did I die?
The question lingered in her mind, sharp and cold. Her breaths quickened as panic began to creep into her chest.
"Is this heaven?"
She murmured, her voice barely audible over the faint hum of the air around her.
It can't be. Did I die without even going back to my real world?
She took a hesitant step forward, the sensation beneath her feet unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. Her mind spun with possibilities.
Is this where souls come to be judged? Will I meet God?
Her thoughts spiraled as she imagined standing before a divine throne, recounting her deeds, both good and bad. Would she be praised for her strength or condemned for her mistakes?
The stillness was unnerving, broken only by the soft rustle of unseen winds. She moved forward, her steps tentative, drawn by a strange compulsion to explore. But the solitude weighed heavily on her, the absence of life around her unsettling.
Then she heard it.
A sound drifted through the mist—a melody so hauntingly beautiful it made her heart ache. The voice was soft, otherworldly, its gentle hum weaving through the air like a silken thread. It pulled at her, captivating her senses.
She turned instinctively, her feet carrying her toward the source of the sound. The closer she got, the more she felt a peculiar warmth wrapping around her, calming yet unnervingly powerful.
Through the fog, she spotted a figure.
It was a woman, standing with her back to Zara. Her presence was mesmerizing, otherworldly. Her long, flowing hair cascaded down her back, a silver-white waterfall that shimmered with an ethereal glow. She stood beneath a tree unlike any Zara had seen before.
Its bark was a deep iridescent blue, its leaves golden and translucent, swaying as though in rhythm with the melody. The woman's delicate hands plucked fruit from the branches as she hummed, the sound weaving itself into the stillness.
Zara opened her mouth to call out, but no sound came. Her voice was gone, stolen by the overwhelming awe of the scene before her. She stepped closer, her movements cautious yet eager.
But before she could reach her, the humming stopped.
The woman's hand stilled mid-reach, and her head tilted slightly as if sensing Zara's presence.
Panic surged through Zara. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest. What should I do? Should I run? Should I stay? She wasn't prepared for this confrontation, unready to face the unknown entity before her.
Before she could decide, the woman spoke, her voice soft yet commanding, a sound that resonated deep within Zara's soul.
"Kill them, Zara."
The words sent a jolt through her, chilling and electric. They echoed in her mind, repeating like a haunting refrain. She staggered back, her breath hitching as the weight of the words settled in.
"Kill them?"
She whispered to herself, her voice finally breaking through. But before she could grasp their meaning, the mist thickened, and the world around her seemed to dissolve.
---
She woke up with a start.
Zara's chest heaved as she gasped for air, her body drenched in sweat. Her hands clutched at the sheets beneath her, and her wide eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything—that made sense.
It was just a dream. Or was it?
Her heart thundered in her chest as the woman's voice lingered in her mind, chilling and unrelenting.
"Kill them."
What did it mean? Who was she supposed to kill? And why did it feel like the words were not suggestions but a command?
The questions swirled in her mind as she struggled to steady her breath. The warmth of her room felt suffocating now, a sharp contrast to the chilling purity of the place she had just been.
But one thing was certain. Nothing about that dream was ordinary. And whoever that woman was, Zara was certain of one thing.
She wasn't just a figment of her imagination.
---
Far from Zara's restless chamber, in the depths of a desolate and shadowy realm, two figures stood shrouded in darkness. The air was thick, pulsating with an eerie hum, and the only light came from a faint, unnatural glow emanating from the object the first figure held.
The figure, draped in a tattered cloak that seemed to shift like living shadows, extended its skeletal hand. In its palm rested a vial filled with a crimson liquid that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Its glow cast fleeting, sinister shadows across the jagged terrain.
"This," the figure rasped, its voice sharp as shattered glass, "will ensure her downfall. But it will not be enough."
The second figure, taller and more imposing, stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"What do you require, Master?"
"I need the Queen's blood. Every last drop."
The words carried a venomous weight, echoing through the void like a deadly promise. The taller figure nodded solemnly, its featureless face tilting slightly, as if in reverence or fear.
"It will be done," it said with a deep, guttural voice before vanishing into the shadows with unnatural speed.
The remaining figure stood alone, its hood lifting slightly to reveal a glint of something metallic beneath—eyes, perhaps, or something far worse. It tilted its head upward, as if speaking to the heavens, though its voice was laced with mockery.
"Fate thinks it can repeat itself? Not this time. The Queen will fall, and with her, the Lycan Kings."
It chuckled softly, an icy, hollow sound that sent tremors through the barren ground.
"No prophecy will bind me. No goddess will stop me. This time… history ends here."
With that, the figure dissolved into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint, pulsing glow of the vial, its crimson light the only trace of the malice that had just unfolded.
Just now, the real story started. Let's see how Zara is going to rewrite her destiny.