The early morning descended like a heavy curtain over the city. The sky was shrouded in thick clouds, hiding the moon behind a veil of shadows. The city felt suspended in time; distant headlights flickered like watchful eyes, and the wind whispered words only the night could understand.
Alara hugged herself, feeling the fabric of her hoodie fail to keep out the cold. The backpack on her shoulders weighed less than the silence surrounding her. She didn't know where to go, but she knew there was no turning back now — not after all the suffering in the hands of her father, a gambling addict and alcoholic, and a mother completely submissive.
As she wandered through alleys and empty streets, a subtle sound began to repeat: the echo of her footsteps. But something was off... there was an extra step. A pace that wasn't hers. A sound behind her.
She turned. Nothing.
And then, she felt it.
It was like a whisper. Not in words, but in sensation. A presence guiding her, pushing her body in a certain direction. Alara's heart pounded, but she didn't resist. It felt familiar, even without explanation. The mist began to rise like veils dancing on the corners. The streetlights stopped flickering. The shadows of the trees seemed to move. And still, she kept going. With each step, the feeling intensified. A constant chill at the nape of her neck, as if something — or someone — was watching her from the dark. It wasn't her imagination. Something was there. Something that didn't belong to the ordinary world she once knew.
She stopped at a deserted corner. Her heart beat hard, trying to scream what her lips couldn't say: "You're being followed."
Then she heard it. A sharp crack behind her. Instinctively, she turned.
Nothing.
But the chill running down her spine wasn't natural. It was deep, bone-freezing — as if her skeleton itself was shivering. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow — tall, stretched, with glowing eyes like embers floating in the dark. A wolf. But it didn't look like it was made of flesh and bone. It was... living smoke. A spirit? A hallucination?
Alara ran. Her boots pounded against the wet asphalt. She darted through alleys, climbed over sidewalks, crossed streets without looking. Panic consumed her like fire. Her heartbeat surged, adrenaline peaking, giving her strength to keep going. The creature behind her kept coming, gliding through the shadows — silent, tireless. She didn't dare look back. The thought of being caught pulled tears and panicked breaths from her chapped lips. She couldn't give up now.
Until she stumbled.
Her body crashed against the rough ground, and a choked scream escaped. Her pants tore at the knee, and her shirt ripped at the shoulder, leaving red scrapes on her skin. Dirty, hurt, and shaking, she crawled toward the nearest wall, her chest heaving in desperation. Tears that had long welled in her amber eyes now ran down her flushed cheeks, and a sob escaped her throat. Panic had taken over, planting thoughts that she shouldn't have left home — and now she was cornered, waiting for death right in front of her.
"Why?" she repeated countless times, her voice breaking with sobs."Was it really that bad to stay in that house?""Am I going to die?" she muttered to herself, crushed by the idea of dying so young.
The wind howled, whistling and ripping leaves from trees. A female voice caught her attention, and Alara opened her eyes, looking around — but found no one. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears, pulling herself together as she noticed the creature was gone, and tried to ignore the idea that she had really heard someone whisper. She was already terrified enough without making the situation more traumatizing than it already was. Exhausted and directionless, she remained there for a few more minutes, struggling to breathe. And in that emptiness, an idea came — she couldn't go on like this. She needed shelter. She needed rest.
Dragging herself down dim streets, she found an old hotel, its front worn down and windows dirty. But the lights were on, and for the first time in hours, it looked... safe. Or at least, solid. Alara hesitated at the door, staring at the crooked sign and her reflection in the glass: pale skin, messy hair, lost eyes. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The lobby was small, musty, lit by a single flickering yellow bulb. An elderly woman stood behind the counter, observing her with small, expressionless eyes.
"A room?" the woman asked, as if she already knew.
Alara simply nodded.
The room on the second floor was simple but clean. A cracked mirror, a bed with rough sheets, and a window half-open that let in the sounds of the outside world — and perhaps something more. She lay down slowly, her body aching. But sleep didn't come. Instead, the feeling of being watched returned — stronger. As if something was lurking, waiting for her to close her eyes. Then she heard a knock at the door.
A soft, almost polite knock.
She rose slowly, swallowing hard. When she opened the door, a boy stood there. He looked about her age, with messy dark hair and an enigmatic gaze. He wore a worn coat and carried a battered backpack.
"I know this seems strange, but... I think I'm here because of you," he said, his voice low but firm."Do you know me?" Alara frowned."Your head must be a mess right now, but I have the answers you need... at least some of them," he sighed, choosing his words carefully."I dreamed about you. For days. And now, here you are. In this hotel. At this moment."
She didn't know what to say. She just felt. Something clicked — not logically, but like a gear that had finally begun to turn.
"Can I come in?"
She hesitated for a long second, then stepped aside, allowing him in. The world she knew was starting to crack. And the life beginning there, in that forgotten room, was only the start of a destiny forged long before her birth.
And the echoes… whispered the truth: she was never truly alone.