The castle doors open without a sound.And suddenly… I am inside.
Not outside. Not dreaming.
Inside the heart of what should've been mine.
The golden floors shine like sunlight poured across glass.A staircase splits in two, curling toward the upper balconies like vines.Delicate white stone carved with roses, wings, and moons.
Every window is stained glass — deep crimson, soft lilac, glowing amber.The throne room is draped in gossamer and gold.Light spills from floating lanterns that hum with enchantment.
And at the center — under the domed ceiling painted with constellations — they stand.
My parents.
But I've never met them.
The only image I've ever had is the portrait that once hung in this very castle — the one that I stared at until I memorized the curve of my mother's cheek, the way my father's hand rested gently on her waist.
This is them… rebuilt from scraps of grief.
My mother glows in a gown of layered gold, her hair braided into a crown, her eyes like cut garnet — sharp, radiant.My father is dressed in royal white and soft gray — tall, calm, the kind of strength that makes people kneel.
I freeze.My whole body forgets how to move.My throat locks.
"Aurora," my mother breathes.Her voice is a lullaby and a blade.
"You're home," my father says softly. "You've come back to us."
I don't respond.I take a single step closer — just one.My hands tremble at my sides.
"Stay," she says, reaching for me. "Just stay here. With us. You've fought enough."
My heart cracks.The portrait never told me how she would sound.
But no.No, this isn't real.This is a dream twisted into a trap.
"I can't," I whisper.My voice is hoarse. Ugly. Real.
"I have work to do. People to kill. A throne to take back."
Their faces change.
My mother's eyes narrow into slits of fury.My father's smile collapses like a mask slipping off a corpse.
"You ungrateful child," she hisses. "We gave you life—""And died before you could use it," I snarl.
Magic blasts toward me.
I dive sideways, roll, land hard against marble.The throne room explodes into light and fire.
My mother levitates above the floor — her gown burning with golden magic, her hands stretched like she's going to pull me apart thread by thread.My father moves fast, sword drawn — it glows white-hot, aiming for my heart.
I don't hold back.
I fight with my fists. My fangs. My fury.
I duck, pivot, slam into him with my shoulder.He swings. I leap back, then up — twisting in midair, landing hard behind him and slamming my elbow into his spine.
He falls.
My mother screams and hurls fire.I run through it, teeth bared, and tackle her from midair.
We crash through stained glass.
I hit the floor first — she lands on top of me, claws digging into my collarbone.
I grab her wrist and break it.
She howls.
I roll her over — straddle her — raise my fist.She shifts. Warps. Melts.
It's not her.It was never her.
But I punch anyway.
When it's over — when they both vanish like smoke — I'm on my knees.Hands bloody. Breathing hard.
I still don't cry.
I haven't cried since the day they died.And I won't start now.
I look down at the blade in my hand.
It's shaking.Or maybe I am.
Then, just as suddenly—It's gone.
No clatter, no sound. Just… vanished.
Like it was never mine.Like none of it was.
All I'm left with is the ache in my arms, the sweat on my skin, and the blood that isn't mine drying under my fingernails.
I don't get time to breathe.
The throne room fades — gold bleeding into shadows — and I'm somewhere else.
A cold clearing, half-swallowed by mist.Trees twist into the sky like bone.
The silence is loud.Then it breaks.
"Well," a voice croons, sharp and familiar."If it isn't the little hybrid."
They crawl out of the fog one by one.Half-wolf. Half-vampire.
Just like me.
Except they're wrong.Twisted. Grotesque. Eyes glowing, limbs too long, fangs dragging down to their jaws.
There are four of them. Maybe five.
And one of them looks like me.
Too much like me.
She steps forward — golden curls wild, blood on her lips, my exact face twisted in mockery.
"Look at us," she purrs."We're what happens when you stop pretending to be good. When you stop pretending to be better."
I don't say anything.I just let the change ripple through me.
My spine cracks.My nails lengthen.My pupils go sharp and violet.My canines stretch.
My blood sings.
They attack.
I meet them midair.
The first one leaps — claws swiping for my throat.I duck, pivot, sink my fangs into his arm.
He howls. I rip the tendon with a snarl and throw him into the tree.
Another slams into me from the side — heavier. Stronger.I roll with the impact, slam my knee into his ribs, grab a branch off the ground, and drive it into his chest like a stake.
Two left.One circles wide.
But the one with my face — she stands still.Smiling.Watching.
"You think you're different from us?" she says.
Her voice is my voice.Her laugh is my laugh.
"We are what they say we are. Monsters. Mistakes. Cursed blood in royal veins."
I charge her.
Our bodies collide — claws out, snarling, two shadows made from the same rage.We crash into the dirt, tumble, scream.
She tears into my shoulder — I slam her face into the earth.She flips me — I wrap my legs around her and drag her down again.
She's fast.I'm faster.
I sink my teeth into her neck.I don't stop until she's gasping blood.
Her smile fades.Her face shifts — back to mine — back to nothing.
She vanishes.
The others are already gone.
I stagger to my feet.My breath is ragged.My body hums with rage and victory.
I'm bleeding. I'm bruised.But I'm still standing.
And they were wrong.I'm not a monster.
I'm something worse.
The forest disappears.The blood.The monsters.The castle.All of it.
Gone.
I blink — and I'm in a soft, quiet room.
Pale stone walls.Bookshelves lined with old tomes.A fire flickering in the hearth.
The air smells like honey and lavender.
I know this room.Or… I don't.But I want to.It feels safe.
And after everything I just fought — after bleeding for what feels like hours — I let myself breathe.
Then I hear his voice.
"You did it, sunshine."
Sylas.
I turn — and there he is.
Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, soft smile on his face.His golden eyes are calm.Not teasing. Not mocking.Just… proud.
My shoulders sag.I don't let them.But they do.
"That was hell," I murmur."You looked good doing it," he says.
He walks over.And for once, he doesn't make a joke.He doesn't say anything at all.
He just opens his arms.And I step into them.
I shouldn't.I don't hug.I don't let people hold me.I am claws and venom and distance.
But I do.
He wraps around me like armor.Warm. Solid.Real.
His voice is so soft I almost don't hear it.
"It's almost over."
And then—
Pain.
Not a sting.Not a pinch.
Fire.
My breath catches.My hands twitch.My whole body seizes.
I stumble back.
And I see the blade buried in my side.
It's small.Elegant.
Black hilt.Blood-red gem pulsing at the center.
The dagger.
My dagger.
The one I've only heard of in whispers.
Sylas is still holding it.
His face —It's not him.It is.It isn't.
I stagger.My hand clutches the wound.Blood runs down my side in thick ribbons.My knees give.
"Why?" I whisper.My voice is so quiet, I don't know if he hears.
He smiles.But it's wrong.
"Because this is what you are, Aurora," he says."Everyone who loves you will end up like this. Bleeding. Or leaving."
I drop to the floor.And I scream.
I don't know how long I scream.Long enough to feel it rip something open in my chest.Long enough to taste blood on my tongue.Long enough to remember.
Who I am.
I'm not some girl crying on the floor of a false world.I'm not someone to be pitied.
I'm Aurora Lioren.Heir of two thrones.Wolfblood. Vampirespawn.Made of ash and ruin and legacy.
And this dagger—
I look down at the black blade still buried in my side.The gem glows red, pulsing like it knows me.
This is the dagger.The one made by the gods.The one that can kill anything.The one that belongs to me.
I bare my teeth.And I pull.
Pain explodes across my nerves — white-hot, searing.My vision goes dark for a second.But I don't stop.
I drag the dagger from my own flesh — slow, brutal, every inch leaving a trail of my blood down my arm.I scream through my teeth.And when it's free —I stand.
Sylas is still there.Or the thing wearing his face.
"That wasn't very nice," he says. "You didn't even cry."
"No," I growl."But I'll make you cry."
I run at him.
The blade finds his stomach first.I twist it.Then drag it up — slowly — until it reaches his chest.
He gasps.I keep going.
His face shifts — glitches — stutters.
Sylas.Not Sylas.My worst fear.My oldest rage.
I whisper in his ear."You picked the wrong nightmare."
Then I rip the dagger free and slice his throat open in one clean, glowing line.
The illusion shatters like glass.The world trembles.
And I roar:"ENOUGH!"
The air rips.The sky cracks.
Light explodes — and everything disappears.
I hit the ground hard.Real ground.Cold stone.The scent of snow and steel.
I blink — and the illusion is gone.
I'm back in Aven's chamber.Sylas stands to the side, pale and silent.Aven is in front of me.Arms folded.Watching.
My blood stains the floor.My breath comes out in ragged gasps.
And I move.
One step.Two.
"Aurora," Sylas says gently. "Wait—"
I don't.
I lunge.
Aven doesn't move.I slam him against the wall, my hand around his throat.
My eyes burn.My fangs are out.My claws dig into his skin.
"How dare you," I snarl."You used my parents. You twisted my memories. You put HIS face on a dagger in my ribs. And you watched."
His voice is calm."You survived."
"You think that makes it okay?"
I push harder.He chokes. Just slightly.
"If you ever touch my mind again, if you ever try to break me like that again—"I lean in, my voice like velvet soaked in blood."I'll tear you open vein by vein and feed your magic to the wolves while you scream."
A pause.His eyes meet mine.
For the first time in my life…I see it.Not the cold. Not the control.
But emotion.
Pride.And fear.
I let go.He stumbles. Just slightly.
I wipe blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.My body aches. But it's already healing.
"Send me home," I say simply."Now."
"As you wish… Your Majesty."
The world tilts.And I vanish.