The town of Crescent Hollow was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Amara Elyssian sat cross-legged on the edge of her small balcony, clutching a steaming mug of chamomile tea. The soft glow of string lights tangled around her balcony railings barely illuminated her figure. She looked up at the vast expanse of the night sky, searching for constellations she had learned as a child. The air smelled of rain, though the sky was cloudless.
Her thoughts wandered. Life in Crescent Hollow was predictable to the point of tedium—a small-town bubble that left little room for adventure or the unknown. She couldn't quite place it, but there was a restlessness brewing inside her, a gnawing sense that she was waiting for something. Or someone.
Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine. The temperature seemed to drop, and a faint hum vibrated through the air, so subtle that she thought she might have imagined it. She glanced over the rooftops of the surrounding houses and noticed a shadow darting across them—too fast for anything human. Her breath caught, and she squinted into the darkness.
"Probably a bird… or just my imagination," she whispered, trying to shake the feeling of being watched.
But the feeling didn't leave.
The events of the day replayed in her mind as she prepared for bed. Nothing unusual had happened—just another day at the bookstore where she worked, filing returns and dusting shelves. Yet, the sense of unease lingered like a shadow clinging to her. She switched off the light and pulled the blanket over her shoulders, but sleep didn't come easily.
When it finally did, the dream came with it.
Amara stood in a forest drenched in moonlight. The trees were tall and ancient, their gnarled branches twisting together like hands clasped in prayer. A soft wind carried whispers she couldn't understand. She felt something—a presence—just out of reach. Her feet moved on their own, taking her deeper into the woods, though she had no idea where she was going.
Then, she saw him.
A figure cloaked in shadows emerged from between the trees. His features were obscured, but his eyes—violet and glowing faintly—pierced through the darkness and held her in place. She tried to speak, but no words came out.
The figure stepped closer, his voice deep and haunting.
"You don't remember, do you?"
Amara's chest tightened. "Remember what? Who are you?"
"Not yet," he said softly. "But soon… you will."
Before she could respond, the ground beneath her began to crumble, and she fell into a void.
Amara woke with a gasp, clutching her chest. Her heart pounded against her ribs as if trying to escape. For a moment, she was disoriented, unsure if she was still dreaming.
Throwing off her blanket, she swung her legs off the bed and flipped on the bedside lamp. That's when she saw it—a faint, glowing mark on the inside of her wrist. She stared at it, wide-eyed, tracing the intricate spiral design with trembling fingers.
The mark was warm, pulsing faintly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
"What the hell…?" she whispered.
The glow faded within seconds, leaving no trace of its existence. Amara stared at her wrist, her mind racing. It had felt real, but now there was nothing. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the strange dream and the mark as a lingering effect of her restless mind.
But deep down, she knew this was no ordinary dream. Something had awakened, and her life would never be the same.
As she lay back down, her thoughts spiraled into questions. Who was the man from her dream? What did he mean by "remember"? And why did her wrist still feel like it was burning?
Outside, the wind howled, and in the distance, a pair of violet eyes watched from the shadows.