23. Naera
Naera
The dream comes fast.
Too fast. Like falling, like being shoved into something too cold to fight.
I know the place before I even see it.
The Garden. The altar. Stone slick with old prayers and older blood.
But it’s not me stretched across it this time.
It’s her.
Selis.
Her cloak is torn straight through—like something clawed her open. Her braid’s unraveling, strands of pale gold curling through blood and dust. Her eyes are wide. Wild. Her mouth moves like she’s trying to speak, but no sound comes out.
She’s gasping.
No.
She’s choking.
Poison.
It blooms through her like ink in water, crawling up her throat, her jaw, her face—her veins going black beneath her skin.
She reaches for me, not her knife. Me.
And I can’t move .
My feet won’t work. My arms won’t lift. I’m just watching her die—helpless, frozen, as something terrible devours her from the inside out.
Her lips form a single word.
Naera.
My name.
But it doesn’t reach me. No sound. No breath. Only the shape of it—carved in agony.
And then—silence.
The kind that feels final. The kind that feels like rot, creeping through the hollows of my chest, setting roots.
I try to scream.
But the dream swallows me whole.
***
I jolt awake, breath clawing its way up my throat like it’s trying to escape. I sit up too fast—too hard—and the world lists sideways.
The fire’s out. Just cold ash in the hearth.
And she’s gone.
The chaise where she slept is empty. Blanket folded. Neat. Precise.
And something in my chest— snaps.
“Selis?”
No answer.
The name echoes back to me like it doesn’t belong here.
I scramble out of bed, the dress tangling around my legs, and cross the floor barefoot. The carved floor hums faintly beneath me, as if mocking me for believing this room was ever safe.
There’s no handle on the door. Just smooth black wood etched with silver moons—waning, watching.
I press my hand to it. It doesn’t open.
I’m locked inside.
I bang my fist against it, hard.
“Selis!”
Still nothing.
I throw my shoulder into it—once, twice—my palms flat, pounding hard enough that it should hurt . It does. I don't stop.
“Let me out!”
Silence.
The room feels like it’s closing in. The carved moonphases on the walls now look more like eyes. Watching. Waiting.
I slam both palms against the door again.
“Veyra!” I shout, voice raw. “Selis! Someone—open the door!”
No answer.
Only the weight of my own heartbeat, echoing in a room I no longer recognize. I press my forehead to the door, tears threatening.
I don’t know why I’m panicking.
Except… I do.
Because the dreams always mean something.
Because I saw her die.
Because every time I’ve seen her bleeding in the dark, something real has followed.
Because the last thing I said to her was I wish I never met you —and she believed me.
And maybe I wanted her to. Maybe I thought it would make parting easier. Maybe I wanted to hurt her, like she hurt me.
But it was a lie. A stupid, desperate, fragile lie.
And now she's gone…
***
The door won’t budge.
I’ve screamed. Begged. Hit it until my fists throb. No one answers. No one comes.
She’s not here—Selis is gone.
The room is watching me. Something's holding its breath, as if waiting to see what I’ll do next.
I spin, searching—wild, desperate. The velvet-draped chairs. The silver filigree. The black-marble hearth where the fire has long gone cold.
And then… the mirror. Tall. Wide. Framed in twisted iron vines, each one tipped with thorns that catch the low light. The glass is murky, veiled in frost that pulses like breath.
That’s what stops me.
It shouldn’t be fogged. The room is cold—colder than before—but not enough for this. Not enough for the mirror to breathe .
I take a step closer.
My heartbeat thunders in my throat.
Another step.
The frost on the mirror curls inward from the edges, blooming like a frost flower, spiraling toward the center in slow, deliberate motion. Like it knows I’m watching.
Like it wants to be seen.
“Selene, help me,” I whisper, not even meaning to.
I lift my hand. My fingers hover, just for a second, then touch the glass.
It ripples .
A shiver racks down my spine. A sharp wind cuts through my dress like it’s made of smoke.
I stumble back, gasping.
And then—I see her.
Selis.
Just a flicker, a passing glimpse—moving fast down a long, unfamiliar hallway. Her braid swings behind her. Her jaw is set tight. Shoulders squared.
She doesn’t see me.
But I see her.
She’s not safe.
Something’s wrong. I feel it in my ribs. In the glow that sparks to life beneath my skin like a warning.
The mirror shimmers again, and this time, I don’t hesitate. I step forward—and the glass swallows me whole.
It feels like sinking into silk and smoke. Like falling through the crack between two heartbeats. For a breathless second, there’s nothing—no light, no sound. Just cold. Cold that curls into my bones like a question.
And then I’m through.
I land hard on stone. Dust rises in a bloom around my knees. I cough once, the sound too loud in the narrow space.
The hall presses in around me—tight, claustrophobic. Rough-cut black brick, slick with age. The seams between the stones pulse faintly with blue light, veins of magic stitched through old mortar. It smells like dust and iron and something older than time.
I twist around.
The mirror is gone.
No doorway. No seam. Just wall behind me. No going back, not that I was intending to .
Ahead, the corridor stretches—long, winding, lit only by that strange, soft glow. And then… a flicker.
Faint. Unmistakable.
Selis.
Not a dream. A vision.
Like a trick of memory stitched onto shadow.
Selis turns left through a door. Her cloak snaps at her ankles. The air hums in the space where she stepped, like her presence still lingers.
I run, following where she stepped.
My bare feet slap against the stone, heart hammering as the corridor curves around me. Another flicker—
A woman. Veyra. Smiling, holding a glass.
Then gone.
Another turn. Another flash—
Selis.
Holding the glass.
Another flicker—
Selis, falling.
My breath catches. I stumble around the corner, hand skimming the wall to steady myself. I don’t know where I’m going, but the visions pull like threads, unraveling through the hall like fate bleeding into light.
They aren’t dreams.
They’re not prophecy.
They’re warnings .
She’s going to be poisoned.
And I have to find her before the cup touches her lips.