Anny dreamed of silver.
Not the gentle kind that shimmered under sunlight, but something colder—sharper. It stretched endlessly around her like mist, curling at her feet as she stood in the middle of an unfamiliar place.
The sky above her was dark, cracked with faint lines of glowing light.
"Hello?" she called.
Her voice echoed back, distorted, as if the air itself was listening.
She took a step forward—and froze.
Someone was standing ahead of her.
A figure cloaked in shadows, long silver hair flowing freely despite the absence of wind. His eyes glowed faintly, not with warmth, but with awareness.
They locked onto her.
"You shouldn't be here," he said calmly.
Anny's heart slammed against her chest. "Who are you?"
The corners of his lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. "That question," he replied, "has more than one answer."
The ground beneath her feet trembled.
A pressure built in the air, heavy and suffocating, as if something vast was stirring just beyond her sight. The silver-haired figure turned his gaze away from her, his expression shifting—sharp, alert.
"He's getting closer," he murmured.
"Who is—"
Anny gasped as a blinding silver light erupted between them.
She jolted awake.
Her room was dark, her sheets twisted tightly around her legs. Sweat clung to her skin as she sucked in a shaky breath, her heart still racing.
"It was just a dream," she whispered.
But the faint hum lingering in the air said otherwise.
Anny's fingers brushed against the silver pendant resting against her chest.
It was warm.
She frowned.
Slowly, she sat up—and that was when she noticed it.
Her bedroom door was slightly open.
Anny was certain she had closed it before sleeping.
"Abby?" she called softly.
No response.
The hallway lights were off, shadows stretching unnaturally along the floor. Anny hesitated, then slipped out of bed, padding quietly toward the door.
Just as she reached for the handle, she heard it.
A whisper.
Not from the hallway—but from behind her.
"Do not cross the veil yet."
Anny spun around.
Her room was empty.
The whisper faded, leaving behind an unsettling silence that pressed against her ears.
The next morning, Anny barely touched her breakfast.
Kiara noticed immediately.
"You look like you fought a ghost and lost," she said, squinting at Anny across the table. "What's wrong?"
"I had a weird dream," Anny replied slowly. "Really weird."
Abigail stood near the counter, preparing tea. Her movements were smooth, unhurried—but her attention sharpened at Anny's words.
"A dream?" Abigail asked gently. "About what, my dear?"
Anny hesitated. For some reason, the details felt slippery, like trying to hold water in her hands. "I don't know. Someone was there. He… knew me."
Abigail's grip tightened briefly around the teacup.
Just for a moment.
Kiara leaned forward. "Okay, that's creepy."
Abigail set the cup down carefully, her expression calm once more. "Dreams can feel very real," she said. "Especially for sensitive minds."
But her eyes—ancient and unreadable—flickered toward Anny's pendant.
The aura pulsed again.
Stronger than before.
That night, as the city slept, Abigail stood alone beneath the open sky, the mortal world stretching endlessly around her. She raised her hand slightly, tracing a symbol invisible to human eyes.
"Duckan," she whispered.
The air responded with a low tremor.
"She's begun to hear them."
Far away, beyond the veil, something ancient shifted in its slumber.
And for the first time in centuries, the boundary between realms began to thin.