CHAPTER I: Echoes of the Rain

Willow's POV

The rain had not stopped since dawn. It pattered softly against the glass, tracing uneven trails down the window, glistening like silver veins under the dim light of my candle. I sat with my knees drawn to my chest, my fingers resting against the cold glass as I watched the storm outside. The sky was heavy, filled with thick gray clouds, swallowing the moon and stars whole.

I had always liked the rain. It made the world feel quieter, as if everything had slowed down to listen. But tonight, the silence felt different—like something was missing.

I let out a slow breath, watching it fog the window before fading away.

A familiar ache settled in my chest.

I tried not to think about them—about the parents I never had the chance to know. But on nights like this, when the house was quiet and the shadows stretched long across the floor, I couldn't help but wonder.

What did they look like in person?

I had seen their portraits before—framed and untouched, hanging in the main hall like remnants of a story I was never part of.

My father stood tall in his polished armor, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable. His features were sharp, like Charlotte's, my eldest sister—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes of deep green, the color of the forest after rain. But where Charlotte's hair was red like fire, his was a rich, earthy brown, tied loosely at the nape of his neck. There was a quiet strength in his gaze, the kind that spoke of discipline, of battles fought and won, of a man who carried the weight of duty on his back.

My mother, in contrast, was a vision of warmth. Soft, elegant features framed by waves of deep red hair, cascading over her shoulders like autumn leaves in the wind. Her eyes were a shade of blue so piercing they reminded me of the sky on a cloudless day. She had the same quiet grace as Lilith, the same gentle expression, as if she held the world in her hands and treated it with care.

They were beautiful.

But they were nothing like me.

Where Charlotte resembled our father and Lilith was a reflection of our mother, I was something else entirely. I did not inherit their colors, their warmth. My hair was silver, my eyes just as pale, like the glow of the moon against the night sky.

I never knew why.

Maybe I was never meant to belong.

I shook the thought away and turned from the window. A gust of wind slipped through the cracks, sending a shiver down my spine. My blanket, loosely draped over my shoulders, was hardly enough to keep the cold away.

I pushed myself off the windowsill, my legs stiff from sitting too long. The smooth floor was cold beneath my feet as I took slow, careful steps toward my bed.

A soft creak broke the silence.

"Willow?"

The voice was gentle, familiar. I turned my head as the door opened, revealing a sliver of warm candlelight. Charlotte stepped inside, her red hair catching the glow, her green eyes narrowing slightly when she saw where I was.

"You'll catch a cold sitting there," she said, walking closer.

I hesitated before moving. My body was stiff, but I made my way to the bed. Charlotte reached out, tucking the blanket around my shoulders as I sat down.

She sighed. "You're thinking again, aren't you?"

I swallowed, unsure of what to say. Charlotte always knew—she always saw right through me.

She didn't ask what I was thinking about. She didn't need to.

Instead, she ran her fingers gently through my silver hair, the way she used to when I was younger, and whispered, "Get some sleep."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I would.

She gave me one last look before stepping away, her figure framed in the doorway as the candlelight flickered behind her.

"Good night, Willow."

The door clicked shut, and I was alone again.

I lay down, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting—

Darkness.

Then, a voice.

It was distant, echoing through the void, yet it reached me so clearly. It called my name, soft at first, then stronger—urgent.

"Willow..."

It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

I turned, searching through the mist, my breath uneven.

There—standing in the shadows.

I could not see his face. Only the vague outline of his figure, unmoving, waiting. The wind howled, carrying whispers I couldn't understand.

Then, the world twisted.

A sharp, unbearable ache bloomed in my chest, as if something inside me was being torn apart. My body felt weightless, fading—

I gasped, my eyes snapping open.

The room was the same. The rain still fell. The candle still burned low.

But I could feel it.

The cold from my dream, clinging to my skin.

I curled into myself, my breath uneven.

That voice.

It was calling for me.

And it felt so real. As if it was never a dream at all.