"Every shadow whispered his name, yet no one else could hear it."
Isolde Lirien woke to the harsh light of morning, the dream fading but the weight on her chest still there.
She sat on the edge of her bed, hands trembling. The castle courtyard of her dreams seemed so vivid that the stones beneath her fingers felt real, though she knew it was not true.
Her daily routine offered little comfort. Breakfast was cold, chores were endless, and the townsfolk's whispers followed her wherever she went. They think I'm mad, she reminded herself. But he exists. He's real.
The lanterns outside flickered as if echoing the unrest in her heart. Every step she took reminded her of the curse she could feel flowing through her veins.
And then... the face appeared again in her mind. Valerian Ragnar, immortal, relentless, a storm trapped in human form.
"Why me?" she whispered, staring at her reflection. The pale curls and wide blue eyes, the face so like the woman from his past, Izabell... it was a cruel echo of history.
She had decided long ago: she would face this curse herself, find a way to unravel it. But now, the dreams were getting stronger. He was no longer just a shadow in the night - he was a presence, a threat, and perhaps, something more dangerous than she could imagine.
As she left her small home to fetch water from the well, a chill ran down her spine. The streets were empty, but the feeling of being watched lingered. And in the corner of her mind, she could hear it again - his voice, soft, commanding, endless.
Valerian watched from the shadows, as he always did. Each day, he observed her more closely, learning, waiting. The curse was alive, growing stronger with her every heartbeat.
And yet... a fragment of something else stirred in him - recognition, longing, and an ancient, bitter grief he could not shake.