The moon hung low over the hilltop town, pale and polished like glass, spilling its silver light across rooftops and quiet streets. Asher walked home with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, footsteps echoing faintly against the empty road. The cool night air brushed against his skin, but what unsettled him was not the chill. It was the feeling that the night was awake—that someone, or something, was watching.
He exhaled softly, violet eyes catching the light. Those diamond-shaped irises often drew attention, but Asher had grown used to the stares. He tugged absently at the silver locket resting against his collarbone, its surface cold yet oddly comforting. No one in his family remembered when or how it came into their hands—only that it had belonged to him for as long as he could remember.
The scent of incense welcomed him as he stepped into his grandmother's house. Elara stood near the altar, lips moving in a quiet prayer. Her eyes, though kind, carried the weight of knowing. "You're late again," she said softly. "The nights grow restless, Asher. Stay away from the forest."
"I will," he promised, though he wasn't sure why her words made his chest tighten.
Before she could say more, a whirlwind of laughter burst into the room. Eli, his younger brother, bounded forward, grabbing at the locket. "It's glowing again!" he exclaimed.
"It's just catching the light," Asher said quickly, tucking it back beneath his shirt. Yet when his fingers brushed the metal, he could feel it—warm, like a heartbeat.
The next morning, the ordinary world returned. Asher met his best friend, Lune, by the market, where the boy was leaning casually against the stone wall. "You always look like you've walked out of another world," Lune teased, eyes lingering on Asher's unusual gaze. "Those eyes of yours… people will start calling you cursed if you're not careful."
Asher smirked faintly. "Better cursed than boring."
Still, Lune's words gnawed at him. Recently, the dreams had worsened—faces he didn't recognize, a woman with his locket around her throat, a man's shadowed eyes filled with grief. They left him waking in cold sweat, heart racing as though he had lived another's memories.
That evening, as twilight bled into night, Asher took the familiar road past the edge of the forest. The air grew heavy, the silence too deep. His steps faltered when he felt it again—that gaze pressing against his back. Slowly, he turned.
A figure stood among the trees. Tall, cloaked in shadow, with silver eyes that glimmered like steel under the moonlight.
Asher's heart pounded. His hand tightened around the locket, and it pulsed against his palm with a faint blue glow.
He blinked—and the figure was gone.
Back in his room, the locket throbbed faintly, a whisper curling against his thoughts.
"…Amara…"
Asher's breath hitched. He spun around, but no one was there. Only the moon, bright and endless, watching him through the window.
To be continued....