The scent of burning flesh always comes first.
Then the screams-sharp, distant, and desperate. Hers, maybe. It's hard to tell anymore.
She ran barefoot over shattered stone and snow soaked in blood, her heartbeat louder than the war drums of the storm above. The world burned around her, trees collapsing like paper, the sky torn by moonlight and something howling in agony-something not human.
But it was the man in the shadows who broke her. Always him.
He stood at the edge of it all, half cloaked in smoke, half drenched in blood. His eyes weren't human-glowing gold, with grief etched deep into every line of his face. He dropped to his knees as she stumbled forward, her body already failing.
"No," he whispered, voice trembling, broken. "Not again…"
She reached for him-fingers barely brushing his jaw.
"You always die for me."
His arms wrapped around her, and she collapsed into them, warmth vanishing from her bones. A heartbeat. Two.
Then only cold.
Aarya jerked upright in bed, gasping as if drowning, a silent scream caught in her throat.
The room was dark, save for the flicker of a candle she didn't remember lighting. Shadows clung to the corners, and the wind scratched softly at the old windowpane. Her skin was slick with sweat, her hair tangled like vines, and her heart thudded like it was trying to escape her chest.
Third night. Same dream. Same death.
She rubbed her arms, but the chill inside wouldn't leave. It clung to her ribs, her spine, her soul.
Getting out of bed felt like dragging herself out of a grave. The wooden floor bit into her bare feet, but she welcomed it. The cold was real. The dream wasn't.
At least, that's what she told herself.
She glanced at the clock. 4:03 AM. Again.
Something about that time made her stomach twist.
By morning, the gray sky outside did little to lift the weight pressing on her. She moved through her routine mechanically-shower, coffee, toast. Every sound felt too loud. Every movement too slow. Even her reflection in the mirror looked wrong.
Pale skin. Haunted eyes. Like she'd walked through smoke in her sleep and brought some of it back with her.
At work, everything felt like a blur. The office buzzed with conversations, emails, laughter she couldn't touch. Her coworker, Naina, waved a hand in front of her face at one point.
"Earth to Aarya. You okay?"
Aarya blinked. "Yeah, sorry. Just… tired."
Naina gave her a concerned look but didn't press. Aarya appreciated that.
But by lunch, the silence in her head was louder than ever. She found herself staring out the window, watching the trees sway in the wind, and for a second-just a second-she thought she saw golden eyes in the reflection of the glass.
Her breath hitched. She turned quickly. Nothing.
Just her reflection.
And yet, her heart didn't stop racing for minutes.
"Why do I feel like I'm waiting for something to break?"
By late evening, Aarya returned home to her grandmother's cottage—a small, weathered house at the edge of town where the forest began. The kind of place stories whispered about but few ever visited. A place that smelled like old books, candle smoke, and secrets.
Her grandmother sat by the fireplace, knitting in soft candlelight, her white hair twisted into a bun and a shawl draped around her shoulders. She didn't look up when Aarya entered.
She didn't need to.
"You had the dream again, didn't you?" she said softly.
Aarya hesitated, then dropped her bag by the door and slumped onto the couch. Her bones ached like she'd actually run through fire.
"It's not just dreams anymore," she whispered. "I feel him. Even now. Like he's watching me. Like he's close."
Her grandmother set down her knitting and looked at her with eyes too sharp for their age. "Some dreams are doors. And some doors should remain closed."
Aarya frowned. "So I'm just supposed to ignore it?"
"Yes," her grandmother replied without hesitation. "Just like the others before you. Let it fade. It always does."
Her words chilled Aarya more than the wind outside.
"The others?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean others?"
A pause. Too long.
"Nothing," her grandmother said quickly. "I just mean… we all dream strange things. It's the season. The blood moon is near. It always stirs memories best left buried."
"But they feel real. Too real."
"Dreams often do."
Aarya leaned forward, her voice low. "He said… 'You always die for me.' What kind of dream says that?"
Her grandmother's expression faltered.
And there it was-that shadow of knowing behind her eyes.
"Go on the trip," she said after a long moment. "The one with your friends. With Rihaan. Let your heart anchor itself in something real, not float toward the past."
Aarya hesitated. "You think I should go just to forget?"
"I think you should go before remembering becomes dangerous."
The fire crackled. Outside, the wind howled through the trees like a warning.
That night, Aarya stood on the porch wrapped in her blanket, staring at the forest just beyond the hill. The trees swayed like they knew her. Like they remembered her in ways she couldn't understand.
The cold bit into her, but she didn't move.
Her fingers brushed her collarbone absently, and for a moment, she swore she felt warmth there-right where the stranger in the dream had held her.
Right where the ache never seemed to leave.
A soft whisper floated through the wind. Not words. Just sound. But it curled around her name like a secret carried through centuries.
She closed her eyes.
"You always die for me."
The words echoed again, not from memory, but from something deeper-something waiting.
She didn't know what they meant. Not yet.
But something inside her whispered that she was getting closer.
Too close.
And whatever waited on the other side of the dream…
It had already started waking up.