Aurelia halted at the threshold, her breath still uneven. Julius was waiting, his cloak heavy with rain, his dark hair damp against his temples. The torchlight caught the silver clasp at his shoulder, but his eyes—soft, intent—were fixed only on her.
"You do not look well," Julius said quietly. His tone held no judgment, only concern, as though the storm had carried him here for her alone.
Fira shifted uneasily at Aurelia's side, but Aurelia drew the blanket tighter around her, stiffening beneath his gaze. His kindness made her skin crawl, not because it was false but because it was real. She did not want his pity, nor his attention—not when every word from his lips reminded her that he was another chain, another part of this cursed palace.
"Tenebrarum called for me," Julius said, his tone smooth, practiced, every syllable touched with false warmth. "He assured me that you require protection.." His eyes lingered on Aurelia's face, pale and drawn, the blanket slipping at her shoulders. A faint smile ghosted his lips, too gentle, too ready, as if it had been rehearsed. "I really wouldn't say no."
Aurelia's pulse throbbed at her temples.
Protection...
The word stank of chains hidden beneath velvet. She straightened as best she could, though her knees threatened to buckle, her body trembling from the lingering fever.
At her side, Fira clutched the blanket tighter around Aurelia, shielding her from both the draft and Julius's gaze. But as Julius's voice lingered in the hall, Fira's eyes flickered toward him, softening for only a heartbeat—admiration hidden behind lowered lashes, a look she buried quickly as though ashamed.
From the first day Julius was brought within these walls, Fira's heart had bent toward him, and the flame had not dimmed with passing years. It endured in silence, steadfast as a votive candle before an altar.
Yet Julius had never once beheld it. To him, she was but another shadow of the household, unseen, unmeasured.
And now—crueler still—his eyes began to rest not upon her, but upon Aurelia.
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In the heart of the dream...
Aurelia found herself small once more, a delicate figure dwarfed by the towering marble pillars that soared above her like ancient sentinels. The gown enveloping her was far from a child's attire—it was grand and ceremonial, a lavish cocoon that felt both magnificent and suffocating. Its intricate golden embroidery swept the floor, each step dragging with it the weight of a thousand expectations.
From above, Kaelen's voice boomed like thunder, a dark tempest that rattled the very air around her. His words pierced through the silence, searing her with their scathing verdict:
"Humans are pathetic creatures."
Determined to escape the chains of his contempt, she willed herself to move. Yet the palace ground quaked beneath her feet, shifting like quicksand. The marble trembled and gaped open, swallowing her into its cold embrace. She descended into an abyss, her fingers clutching the heavy fabric that threatened to cast her deeper into darkness until her world faded to black.
When she emerged again, she was no longer enveloped by the stifling grandeur of the palace—she had returned to the familiar chaos of her home.
The air was thick with acrid smoke, a suffocating blanket that stung her lungs. Flames roared hungrily from the wreckage of broken roofs, illuminating the night with a fierce and angry glow. Shadows danced in the harsh light, and the streets bled with the aftermath of war, bodies lying scattered like shattered porcelain dolls, each one a testament to lost lives and dreams. The haunting wails of the dying spiraled through the air like mournful ghosts.
Still that small girl, she pressed forward, each step burdened more than the last as the gown seemed to grow heavier in this grim reality. It dragged her down, a physical manifestation of the despair enveloping her.
She stumbled into a familiar doorway, where the lifeless form of a woman she had once cherished—Gaius' mother—lay motionless, her vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers in the void above.
Aurelia's hands quivered with a rush of emotions, and her voice erupted from her throat—piercing, raw, and filled with desperation:
"GAIUS!"
Her scream shattered the oppressive silence that had settled like a thick fog, the sound resonating off the walls like a shockwave. Shadows pooled at her feet, growing and twisting, shaping into a presence that loomed vast and watchful.
Tenebrarum.
He towered behind her, an unseen giant whose presence enveloped her. His shadow stretched across her fragile frame, draping her in an unsettling silence that was denser than any weight she had ever known, heavier than the gilded gown that clung to her skin.
Her eyes snapped open, wide and unblinking. The palace ceiling loomed above her once more, shadows stretching long across the walls. Only a single candle sputtered on the stand, its flame bending low, as if it too struggled to live.
Her nightdress clung to her skin, soaked through. Every inch of her body trembled, damp with sweat, as though the fire from her dream had followed her into waking.
She dragged a hand across her face, breath jagged, heart hammering. Why now?
Gaius.
The name clawed at her mind, old and sharp. He had died long ago, when she was still a child, torn from her world before she could even understand what loss truly meant. She had not spoken his name in years, yet the dream forced it upon her lips as if time itself had opened and demanded she remember.
Was it Kaelen's words that stirred it—pathetic creatures—the same contempt that had marked the night her world burned? Or was it something else? Some cruel turning of fate that chose this moment, here in this palace of enemies, to remind her of the only friend she ever had… and lost.
Her throat tightened. She pressed her palms into the bedding, trying to ground herself, but the vision clung, a phantom weight refusing to lift.
Gaius.
It was not merely memory. It was a wound reopening.
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To be continued...