Whispers of the Past

Chapter 6: Whispers of the Past

Celestine's sleep was anything but peaceful.

Dreams—no, memories—wrapped around her like chains, pulling her into the past. A child's laughter, echoing through grand halls. The warmth of a mother's embrace. And then—flames. Screams. A voice whispering her name, urgent and desperate.

She jolted awake, her breath ragged. Sweat dampened her brow as she sat up, the dim glow of the torches doing little to chase away the ghosts lingering in her mind.

Lucien was by the door, watching her with sharp, unreadable eyes. "Bad dreams?"

She swallowed hard, nodding. "Something like that."

Draven's voice cut through the silence from his place by the window. "Memories," he corrected. "You're starting to remember, aren't you?"

Celestine met his gaze, a cold shiver running down her spine. "Remember what?"

Draven didn't answer immediately. He simply stared, as if waiting for her to figure it out herself. The tension in the room thickened, pressing down on her chest.

Lucien stepped forward, his expression hard. "It doesn't matter. Right now, we need to focus on keeping you safe."

Draven scoffed. "Ignorance won't protect her, wolf."

Celestine clenched her fists. "Enough," she snapped. "Both of you. I need answers."

Draven's smirk was slow, knowing. "Then prepare yourself, Celestine. Because the truth is far darker than you think."

A chill swept through her bones. She wasn't sure if it was his words—or the feeling that something, someone, was watching them from the shadows.

Chapter 7: The Mark of the Eclipse

Celestine's breath remained shallow as the weight of Draven's words settled over her. The truth is far darker than you think.

She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear it.

The flickering torches cast eerie shadows along the stone walls of the safe house, their glow barely touching the cold that had settled in her bones. Outside, the wind howled through the trees like a distant wail, as if the forest itself could sense the storm brewing within her mind.

Lucien stepped closer, his presence grounding, steady. "You don't have to listen to him," he murmured. "Not now. Not yet."

Draven scoffed from his place by the window. "Delaying the inevitable won't change it." His crimson gaze flicked toward Celestine. "The sooner you understand who you are, the better your chances of survival."

Celestine clenched her fists. "Then tell me."

Draven held her gaze for a long moment before he moved. In one swift motion, he was in front of her, his gloved fingers catching her wrist. Celestine tensed, but before she could pull away, a jolt of something—power, fire, a whisper of something ancient—rushed through her veins.

A gasp tore from her lips.

The world around her fractured.

Visions crashed into her mind—

A towering castle bathed in crimson moonlight.

A war raging between creatures of the night and beasts of the earth.

And at the center of it all—her.

Celestine stood on a battlefield drenched in blood, her hands glowing with the same eerie energy she felt now, her voice echoing in a language she didn't understand. And then—a mark, burning into her skin, searing with unbearable pain.

She snapped back to the present, stumbling backward. Lucien caught her before she could collapse.

Draven watched, unreadable. "The Mark of the Eclipse is awakening."

Celestine clutched her wrist, where a faint sigil had begun to glow against her skin. Her pulse thundered in her ears. "What… what is happening to me?"

Lucien's grip tightened. "We need to leave. Now."

Draven's smirk was razor-sharp. "Yes, little star. Run if you must. But destiny always catches up."

And deep within her bones, Celestine knew he was right.

Chapter 8: Blood Ties and Broken Truths

Celestine barely had time to process the burning sigil on her wrist before Lucien pulled her forward. His grip was firm but not painful, a stark contrast to the storm raging in his silver eyes.

"We're leaving. Now."

Draven leaned lazily against the wall, amusement dancing in his crimson gaze. "And where exactly do you think you can run, wolf?"

Lucien snarled, stepping protectively in front of Celestine. "Anywhere but here."

Draven sighed dramatically, adjusting his gloves. "Such an overprotective pup." Then, his expression darkened. "But running won't change what she is."

Celestine's patience snapped. "Enough! Both of you! Stop treating me like some fragile thing you need to fight over." She yanked her hand free from Lucien's grasp and glared at Draven. "If you know something, then say it. No more riddles."

A slow smirk curved Draven's lips, but there was something unreadable in his expression. "Very well, little star." He took a step toward her. "Tell me, Celestine—has your blood ever felt wrong? Has it ever burned when you were afraid?"

Her breath caught. He wasn't wrong. Ever since she was a child, she'd felt it—an unexplainable heat beneath her skin, like something ancient clawing to break free.

Lucien's jaw tightened. "Don't listen to him."

Draven chuckled, his voice like silk and steel. "Oh, but she should. Because she isn't just some lost girl caught between a war." His gaze locked onto Celestine's, and the air between them thickened. "She is the key. The last heir of the Eclipse Bloodline."

Silence crashed over the room.

Celestine's pulse roared in her ears. "That's not possible."

Draven's smirk remained, but there was something almost… reverent in his tone. "Oh, it is. And that mark on your wrist? It means your awakening has already begun."

Lucien cursed under his breath, his fists clenched. "If that's true, then every faction hunting her will come in full force."

Draven inclined his head. "Precisely."

Celestine took a shaky breath, her world tilting beneath her feet. The truth was worse than she imagined. She wasn't just running for her life—she was running from a fate written in blood and moonlight.

And she wasn't sure she could escape it.