{Music Recommendation: Control by Halsey}
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The night blanketed Dartmoor in silence. Mist curled low, gripping rocks and trees like skeletal hands. In the distance, a clock struck midnight, the sound carrying far across the moor. The village slept, small and still beneath the moon.
It was a peaceful night, undisturbed, save for the whisper of the wind and the occasional rustle of nocturnal creatures.
Sylvara woke with a strangled gasp, her breath hitching as cold water lapped at her skin. She sat up, her platinum hair flowing in the rippling water, catching the moonlight and glowing. Her heart pounded as she scanned her surroundings, confusion tightening her throat. She was not in her bed. The familiar warmth of her home was gone. Instead, the vast night sky stretched above her, stars burning brighter than she had ever seen.
What? Was she in a dream?
Panic surged through her as she sprang to her feet, water cascading down her body. Looking down, she saw her night clothes clinging to her, still the soft fabric of her pajamas. But then—
Her breath caught. The ends of her hair—platinum and shimmering—looked utterly foreign. She reached out with trembling fingers, brushing through the strands, willing them to return to their usual black hue. But they remained unchanged, shimmering in the moonlight as though made from it.
Was this a dream? It had to be a dream. But the chill of the night air, the sensation of water soaking her clothes, the smell of damp earth—everything was too real.
A murmur of voices carried across the night, drawing her attention. She turned just in time to see two young women approaching the riverbank, their gowns—rich, layered fabrics from another time—swaying with each step. The sight was jarring, as though she had stepped straight into a history book.
"I heard Ivana was executed at the gallows in Exeter," one of them said in a hushed yet urgent tone.
"What?! Where did you hear that?" the other gasped, pausing to set down a woven basket.
"From Ivana's cousin. No one else in the village knows yet except her family." the first woman replied, kneeling beside the water.
Sylvara stood frozen, watching them. Relief fluttered in her chest—people. But the comfort was fleeting. Unease crept up her spine.
They spoke in hushed voices, clearly oblivious to her standing just feet away. It was as if she wasn't there at all.
"What in the world was she doing in that cursed human town?" the second woman muttered, shaking her head.
Human town?
Sylvara's brows drew together. What did that mean?
She took a cautious step forward, the water barely making a ripple beneath her.
"Excuse me…" she called hesitantly.
Neither woman flinched. Neither turned to acknowledge her.
They couldn't see her.
"What the hell…" Sylvara whispered.
What exactly was happening?
"No idea, but I don't understand. She knew humans see us witches as the embodiment of evil, so why would she go anywhere near that place?"
The basket was opened, and soap and linens were pulled out as they prepared to wash.
"Riya, are you saying she didn't go there willingly? Then how— No. A handful of measly humans couldn't possibly overpower a witch. Besides, Ivana was one of the most skilled witches here," Lora said, her voice thick with disbelief as she started scrubbing a garment.
"Then why would she walk to her execution? It doesn't make sense. They claim she entered their town, so they had the right to kill her, but I think they were just looking for an excuse."
She paused, realization dawning. "So they lied?"
Riya let out a mirthless chuckle. "Lora, why are you surprised? They're humans, remember? They can do anything." Her expression hardened. "And I think I know how Ivana ended up there."
"W-what? How?" Lora's hands stilled over the fabric.
"The Hunters."
Lora's eyes widened. "W-what—what did you say?"
Riya turned to her, meeting her gaze. "The Hunters. They are—"
A sudden voice, unnaturally loud and urgent, echoed through the village. "Everyone! Lilian has gone into labor!"
Lora turned in the direction of the voice. "Lilian is giving birth?"
Then, excitement lit up her face, and she spun back to Riya. "What are you still doing? Let's go! Lilian is about to have her baby!"
"Sure, but we can't leave our things like this, even if we're in a hurry."
Riya shook her head with a small smile as she quickly gathered their baskets, while Lora impatiently urged her on. As soon as she was done, Lora practically dragged her toward the village.
Sylvara watched in silence, her mind in turmoil.
What the hell is happening? Is this a memory? A dream? And if she was here, then why couldn't they see her, and what sort of dream feels this real?!
Sylvara hesitated for a moment, then glanced at the retreating figures of the two women before shifting her gaze to her surroundings. The mist was beginning to thin, revealing the quiet village beyond the riverbank.
She didn't know when she would wake up, so she had to understand what this dream—if it even was a dream—was about.
"Hey! Wait!" she called after the two women, their silhouettes already vanishing into the dimly lit village. But, as expected, they didn't react.
Gritting her teeth, Sylvara broke into a run, her bare feet splashing through the shallow water before hitting the damp earth.
"Fuck, why are they so fast?" she muttered under her breath, trying to keep up.
As she entered the village, she found herself surrounded by homes built in the early modern style, but with peculiar differences. The houses were made of aged stone and timber, their roofs thatched with golden straw. Some bore intricate carvings on their doors and window frames, sigils that pulsed faintly under the moonlight. The air smelled of herbs and burning wood.
Light flickered from almost every house, yet they were all almost empty.
Did the entire village gather for the birth?
Sylvara couldn't help but marvel. A village this unified… was nothing like what she had ever known.
Then, voices reached her from a house on her left.
"Hey, wait for me, Rob! I'm putting on my shoes!"
"Hurry up! We're the only ones left here!"
"It's not my fault! It's these stupid shoes—ugh! And no, we're not the only ones."
"Whatever! Just come on!"
The door swung open, and two figures burst out—a young man and a woman. The man ran ahead, laughing as the woman cursed him for trying to leave her behind.
Sylvara decided to follow them.
They weaved through the village, running past groups of people who, despite the late hour, were still awake. Middle-aged women sat on wooden porches, chatting. Children played barefoot in the dirt, giggling. Men gathered in clusters, drinking from tankards, while some couples bickered, their arguments melting into the background noise.
The two ahead of her greeted people as they ran, their excitement contagious.
Sylvara glanced at the sky. It was still a deep night. No sign of dawn.
How big is this village? she wondered as she continued after them, her breath coming in short gasps.
Finally, they reached a large house, its windows aglow with warm light. A crowd had already gathered outside—mostly young women, but a few men stood among them.
The sheer number of people packed together made it difficult to see anything beyond the entrance.
How the hell am I supposed to get a look at the baby?
Sylvara's stomach dropped. There was no way she'd see through that. Unless…
If they can't see me—can I move through them?
Bracing herself, she stepped forward—and passed through effortlessly. She gasped but didn't stop until she stood at the entrance.
Just then, a piercing scream cut through the air.
A heartbeat of silence followed. Then—
The wail of a newborn.
A hush fell over the crowd as if the world had paused for that single moment. Then, a voice—possibly one of the midwives—rang out.
"She gave birth to a girl with silver hair!"
Gasps rippled through the gathered villagers.
"What?! S-silver hair?"
"Oh my god! You know what that means!"
"Is it what I'm thinking?"
"What else could it be? Lilian gave birth to the Chosen One!"
"The Chosen One?! Are you serious?"
"Yes! The baby girl has silver hair!"
Cheers erupted, voices overlapping in excitement.
"The Chosen One has finally appeared!"
"After nearly four centuries! Our village has been blessed!"
Sylvara's brows furrowed in confusion.
The Chosen One?
What did that mean?
Before she could process it, movement from inside caught her eye. The door swung open, and a woman—pale but breathtakingly beautiful—stepped out, assisted by a man. In her arms, wrapped in soft cloth, was the newborn.
"Lilian, what are you doing outside?!" one of the older women scolded. "You should be resting!"
"Yes, you shouldn't be up yet," another added, concern etched on her face.
One of the midwives smiled knowingly. "Lilian wanted to show everyone her daughter, Elita."
Despite her obvious exhaustion, Lilian's smile was warm. "Yes," she murmured, her voice gentle. "You all came as soon as I went into labor, and I have no other way to thank you yet… so I wanted you to see my daughter."
With delicate care, she unwrapped the cloth, revealing a tiny, sleeping baby.
The child had a fair complexion, her expression serene, and curling silver hair that shimmered in the torchlight.
Sylvara stared, her breath caught.
Then—
Something yanked at her.
The world twisted, folding in on itself—until darkness swallowed her whole.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the darkness shattered.
Cold.
A shock of freezing water engulfed her.
———
Water. Cold. Suffocating.
Sylva's eyes snap open. Darkness swallows her whole. The weight drags her down. A shimmer of moonlight wavers above, too far, too distant.
Her lungs burn. She kicks, fights, but her limbs feel heavy—numb. Up. Just a little more. Just a little further—
Then—
Air.
She gasps, coughing, the lake stretching endless around her. The trees stand like silent giants, watching. Where am I?
She stumbles to the shore, collapsing onto damp earth. Her hair. Still glowing. Still the same.
This isn't a dream.
It can't be.
⸻
Voices. Fading in and out. Distant.
"You think I killed her?"
A woman's voice—soft, lilting.
"Why would I?"
Another voice. A man. Raw, grief-stricken. Lior.
Blood on his hands. A lifeless woman in his arms. Mariela.
"She never loved you," the woman murmurs. Elita. Silver hair, glowing like moonlight.
Lior's voice shatters. "Liar."
But his hands tremble.
The body in his arms is so still.
⸻
A spell. A choice.
"She met a black witch," Elita whispers.
The words slip through the air like falling leaves.
"She didn't want to kill herself. She wanted someone to do it for her."
A dagger. A heartbeat. Blood blooming across fabric like ink on paper.
Lior's breath catches. "She… wouldn't…"
Wouldn't betray him. Wouldn't choose death over him. Wouldn't—
But the truth stands there, silver-haired and sorrowful.
⸻
Rage.
Fur. Bone cracking. A monster in the moonlight.
Elita stands still, her eyes shining with something unreadable.
"You may be the Werewolf King…" she whispers.
The wind howls. Magic crackles in the air.
"…but that title doesn't grant you the power to kill me."
⸻
A battle. Wild. Relentless.
Claw meets spell.
Blood stains the ground.
"You should've killed me," Lior growls.
Elita wavers. "Maybe I should've."
Then he lunges.
Pain—searing, sharp. Magic screams in her veins.
She moves without thinking.
A silver spear. A heartbeat. Silence.
⸻
Lior's eyes go wide.
Blood drips from the wound.
"No…" Elita whispers, hands trembling.
She falls to her knees, cradling him. Too late.
"Wake up."
Her voice breaks.
"Lior—please…"
But the light in his eyes is gone.
⸻
A scream splits the night.
Magic explodes, sending the world shuddering.
Sylva flinches, barely breathing.
Elita sobs, her tears mixing with blood.
Minutes stretch into eternity.
Then, a whisper—barely there, almost lost to the wind:
"Our destiny was never to love. It was to ruin each other."
⸻
Lior's body, still and cold.
Elita presses a trembling kiss to his forehead. "Wait for me."
The silver spear gleams black with magic. A whispered incantation. A single, final thrust—
Pain. Blood. Silence.
She collapses beside him. The world slows.
Then—
A shift in the air.
"I know you're there."
Sylva freezes. Run. Run. But she steps forward instead.
Moonlight catches Elita's fading gaze. Soft. Knowing.
"You're not from here, are you?"
Sylva swallows. "I don't even know where 'here' is."
A bitter smile. "Of course not… You're not meant to be."
Blood on her lips. Tears slipping free.
"You came because of me. My last tie to this world… But it's over now."
Sylva trembles. "I don't know how to go back."
Elita's fingers—cold, weak—grasp hers. A final gift. A final warning.
"Visions are only pieces. Never the whole."
A breath. Fading.
"Fight when you want to give up. Survive. Love for yourself. Don't make my mistake."
A flicker of power.
"Be better than me."
A final whisper—
"Go home."
Light engulfs her.
And then—