CHAPTER 7 : THE DREAM OF FIRE

The dream didn’t just feel real. It felt more real than waking life. Seraphine knew it the instant she drifted off. This wasn’t some silly dream you forget by breakfast. It wasn’t her brain stringing pictures together. Her mind wasn’t playing games. This—it felt like a memory. Or maybe, if she was honest, something even scarier. As soon as the dark closed in, her whole world shifted. The bed vanished beneath her. No sheets, no pillow, no Alpha House. She wasn’t even in her room anymore. She stood under a sky poured from molten silver. A sky she’d never seen before. And somehow, she knew it—like a tune she couldn’t name but could hum by heart. Overhead, twin moons. One blinding silver, the other deep, unnatural black. They cast strange light, spilling over a place nothing like the werewolf lands she’d grown up in. Mountains made of crystal split the horizon. Rivers of silvery fire snaked through old, impossible cities. The air itself seemed to shimmer and pulse with energy. Seraphine felt it breathing. Watching her. A weird ache swelled in her chest. Not fear. Not confusion. Longing. The feeling freaked her out. Because she knew this world—deep down, in a place that had no words. Past memories, past daydreams, past anything reasonable. She simply...knew it. Then a scream split the night. Then another. And another. Seraphine spun around. The beautiful city behind her was burning. Flames ate away everything—towers cracking, bridges falling, streets sinking into oceans of fire. The disaster stretched forever. People ran everywhere. Some screaming, some fighting, some just standing there, shell-shocked. She could hardly breathe. This city—she felt it—was something ancient. Powerful. Sacred. And here it was, turning to ash. Worse yet, deep down, she felt it was her fault. That realization hurt like nothing else. It twisted inside her, sharp and hot. She wanted to move, wanted to help, wanted to do something—anything—but her feet refused. It was like she had already lived all this. Like she was stuck rewatching a tragedy she’d never escape. Just as that thought settled, a ripple moved through the chaos. All across the burning city, people stopped running. They fell to their knees. Not surrendering. Not begging. Kneeling. All of them—toward her. One old warrior, then a mother with a child, then whole crowds. Everywhere she looked, people bowed. Their faces reflected devotion, and faith, and a kind of respect she’d never seen in anyone’s eyes before. Nothing else mattered now—not the fire, not the panic. Only her. It made her skin crawl. Who were these people? Why her? A voice called from somewhere deep in the blaze. “Long live the Queen.” Others whispered it, then more joined in. It swept through the crowds until thousands were chanting, louder and louder: “Long live the Queen. Long live the Queen.” The sound shook the world. Seraphine just stood there, stunned. Queen? That couldn’t be right. She wasn’t royalty. She wasn’t even liked by her own pack half the time. But these people? They looked at her like she’d always ruled them. As if she always would. It made her dizzy. She glanced down and her heart stalled. No nightdress. No familiar PJs. Instead—silver armor, ancient and beautiful, covered her from collar to heel. Strange symbols shimmered over the metal. The same ones she’d found scrawled in hidden places around her room. Now, she didn’t just recognize them. She remembered them. That was terrifying. A silver cloak billowed from her shoulders, and at her brow, not a jeweled crown, but something spun of pure moonlight. And the horrible thing was, it felt right. It belonged there—on her. The terror of that realization cut deeper than everything else—because a tiny sliver inside her liked it. Worse, that part felt whole. Shame burned in her cheeks. Then she realized she wasn’t alone. Standing at her side: Kaelen. Not in jeans and a t-shirt. Not as her enemy. He wore black armor, silver runes etched in its plates, and a broadsword rested against his shoulder. Power rolled off him in waves. What really threw her, though, wasn’t the armor or the sword. It was his face. No cold stare. No icy distance. This Kaelen’s eyes were full of warmth. Loyalty. Devotion. And something else—something that made her chest twist. Love. That truth hit hard, like a slap. This Kaelen—he loved her. All in, no doubts, no regrets. It scared her more than anything. Because he felt real. More real than any version of him she’d known when awake. Kaelen turned. Their gazes locked. He smiled—a soft, genuine smile. She’d never seen it before, not like this. For just a second, the burning city faded away. She didn’t care about the fire or the terror. Right now, there was just this moment and him. This impossible connection. Then he spoke. Quiet. Gentle. Instantly familiar in a way that hurt. “My Queen.” The words broke something inside her. A headache slammed through her skull. Pain shot behind her eyes. A blizzard of memories crashed through her: Kaelen kneeling, laughing, holding her hand under strange stars. Kaelen bleeding. Dying. Screaming her name. They all felt real. Not imagined. Remembered. “No…” Seraphine stumbled back. The pain tightened around her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. None of this made sense—she wasn’t a queen, Kaelen wasn’t hers, cities like this didn’t even exist. Or did they? That question clawed at her. What if all of it was real? Suddenly the dream shifted. She was standing in a vast throne room, ancient pillars reaching up forever, silver flames flickering without fuel. Warriors filled the hall. Every one knelt—silent. Waiting. The air buzzed with tension—the kind you feel before someone loses everything. At the room’s heart sat a throne, solid silver. Hers. That truth came instantly: this was her place. She knew every shadow, every crack, every secret of this hall. She had no idea how. But the knowledge was buried in her, deep and old. A hooded figure appeared at the far end of the chamber. The crowd tensed. Unease swept through them like wildfire. The stranger made their way towards her. Step by step, the air grew colder. Even the flames guttered. Heads lowered. Kaelen’s face darkened, and something about the figure set everyone on edge—including Seraphine. She couldn’t see their face. But somehow, she sensed it. This wasn’t her enemy. It was worse—someone who knew her completely. That realization made her blood run cold. The stranger stopped before the throne. Utter silence. Then they spoke. Their voice was ancient—older than the moons, older than anything. “You cannot hide forever.” The room dissolved. Darkness swallowed everything. The city, the crowd—Kaelen—all gone. Only the voice remained, closer now, pressing right against her soul. “You are remembering.” Over and over those words echoed. Until— Seraphine woke with a start. A scream caught in her throat. Her whole body shook. Sweat dripped down to her sheets. Her heart raced, wild and panicked. Her room looked the same. Dark, quiet, everything where it should be. She was awake. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Her breathing slowed. Moonlight spilled softly through the window. The world seemed normal, calm. But something was wrong. Off. A strange smell—faint but sharp. Smoke. Her chest tightened. Smoke? She scanned the room. No fire, nothing burning. Curtains and furniture untouched. She glanced down at her hands. They were fists—tight, aching, as if she’d been grabbing something and refused to let go. Confused, she forced her fingers open. Ash fell out, spilling across the bedsheets. Cold, fresh, gray ash. She stared, blood draining from her cheeks. The burning city. The silver fire. The destruction. Something had followed her out of the dream. Something real. A cold breeze swept through. Ash scattered across the bed. And in the middle of all that fading gray, a single ember glowed—silver, stubborn. Still burning. Still alive. Still waiting.