Chapter 2 Dreams And Duty

• Amelia P.O.V
• The morning light hit hard, shining through the blinds. My muscles ached as if I’d run a marathon in my sleep. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Something about the world felt… off.
• “Shea?” I asked.
• “I’m here,” she replied, pacing lightly in my mind.
• I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Every bone protested. Sweat clung to my skin, and the faint scent of pine from the forest outside lingered in my hair. The dreams were already calling me back, but real life demanded my attention first.
• I woke up at five, as usual, and slipped out of bed before the sun fully rose. By 5:15, I was on the training grounds, stretching and running agility drills in the soft morning light. The dirt track was quiet except for the crunch of my boots and the occasional bird call. My parents drilled me from a young age—control, strength, speed, endurance—but they also taught me strategy and patience. Their voice echoed in my mind as I moved: “Anticipate, don’t react. Let the forest tell you where danger hides.” Even though they were gone, their lessons were embedded in my muscles and instincts.
• Sparring with Lira followed. She was my closest sparring partner, a fellow warrior with hair the color of burnished copper and eyes that gleamed like embers when she fought. Fiery and fierce in battle, yet calm and confident when it mattered most—Lira had a way of grounding me even when my thoughts spun out of control. The rhythmic sound of our strikes echoed across the clearing. I found myself repeating a technique my father had shown me, perfecting the fluid counter he always said relied more on observation than brute strength.
• Then came the forest trail runs—leaping over roots, dodging fallen branches, balancing along narrow ridges. Sweat ran down my back, but I didn’t slow. My wolf sharpened my senses; every sound, scent, and movement became instinct.
• By seven, I was back at the pack hall. Rayven was already in the kitchen, stirring her tea with a small, knowing smile. Rayven wasn’t a warrior like Lira, but a healer—gentle and nurturing, with long dark curls that framed her soft features and eyes that always seemed to see straight through the walls people built. Her presence carried quiet strength, like sunlight filtering through the trees after a storm.
• “Morning,” she said, sliding a plate of fruit and oatmeal toward me. “You look like you wrestled a bear in your sleep.”
• I chuckled faintly, sitting down. “Feels like I did. Rayven… I had it again last night.”
• Rayven raised an eyebrow. “The dream?”
• I nodded, spooning a bite of oatmeal. “I was running through the forest… shadows chasing me… then he was there—our mate. The baby… It’s real in the dream. Too real. And I wake up exhausted, like I never slept at all.”
• Rayven reached across the table, her hand warm on mine. “Amelia… I can’t say I understand exactly what you’re going through, but maybe it’s not just a dream. Your instincts are strong, and your wolf… she knows more than you think. Maybe it’s a kind of vision, or a calling. Either way, you’re not alone.”
• I swallowed, letting her words settle. “I don’t know if I can keep up. The forest… the child… I feel like I’m always a step behind.”
• “You’re stronger than you realize,” Rayven said softly. “Trust yourself. Trust Shea. And trust that whatever happens, you’ll find the way. You always do. Besides…” she smiled slyly, “you have wolf blood and witch blood. That’s not something most people can handle.”
• I let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks, Rayven. I needed that. I just… I feel like the dreams are pulling me somewhere, and I don’t even know where yet.”
• “Then you follow them,” Rayven said, her blue eyes steady. “And when you feel lost, remember, you’ve got me, Lira, and your wolf guiding you. Perhaps consider sharing this with our alpha as well. My brother would understand and probably be able to help. I can understand if you’re not ready to do that yet. But you’ll figure it out, Amelia. You always do.”
• Her words warmed me, a small comfort before the next step of my day.
• After breakfast, I headed to the pack library, a quiet, dusty room filled with scrolls, books, and artifacts. I ran my fingers along the spines until I found a small loose board behind a book I pulled out to look at. I moved the loose board to find one more hidden journal of my mother's. Opening it, I sensed a familiar energy, her presence in every carefully written line. Notes about spells, wards, and battles stood out, but one passage froze me in place:
• “The Last Jumper shall bear the child of two worlds. Protect it. Hide it. The bloodline must not fall into the wrong hands.”
• I swallowed hard.
• “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Shea asked.
• “Too soon to know,” I murmured. But it fit… too perfectly.
• Hours passed as I pored over the journal and any book I could find about realm jumpers. The more I read, the clearer it became that people had crossed realms before, wielding powers that shouldn’t exist, and a child capable of opening doors no one else could. It was unbelievable. And yet, I could feel it pulling at me, calling me forward.
• By mid-morning, it was time for warrior duties. First, I patrolled the forest borders, watching for rogues or intruders. My parents’ teachings echoed in my mind: “The forest never sleeps. Neither should you, even when it seems quiet.”
• After patrolling, I assisted in training younger pack members, focusing on controlling wolf shifts, sparring techniques, and maintaining alertness in the forest. I passed on small tips my parents had drilled into me: “Move with intention. Never waste a step.” Watching them struggle and improve reminded me of my mother’s patience and my father’s precision. Encouraging them reinforced my own skills.
• By afternoon, I checked supplies, prepared for spell work, and took care of small pack chores, honoring my parents' legacy with every movement.
• As night approached, I grabbed a quick snack since I missed dinner, then took a shower and a quick bath to soothe my sore muscles. Changing into pajamas, I crawled into bed, letting exhaustion pull me under.
• I drifted into the dream world.
• The forest suddenly closed in around me—thick, shadowy, alive. Instinct drove me forward. Every snap of a branch, every sigh of the wind, could spell danger.
• I inhaled sharply, catching his faint scent—pine, earth, sweat, and something uniquely him. Barely perceptible, but enough.
• Shea nudged my mind. “There. Keep moving.”
• Roots and rocks snagged at my feet. I leapt over them, jumping over a fallen log. The forest twisted unnaturally; shadows stretched like fingers, trying to deceive me. I sharpened my senses, noticing every movement, every shift in the wind.
• A rustle in the underbrush made me freeze. Something lunged—fast, sharp, dangerous. My heart jumped, but I reacted instinctively. A smooth strike sent it yelping into retreat. My pulse raced, but I didn’t hesitate.
• The forest thinned, revealing a small clearing. There he was—our mate, holding our son. Relief surged, but I didn’t pause. Shea guided me closer until I could reach him.
• I took the baby into my arms, feeling the warmth of his body and the weight of his little frame. Our eyes locked in silent understanding. I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and then he began to fade, called back to the waking world. One of us was always there, always guarding our son in this strange, shifting realm.
• Adjusting the sling across my chest, I scanned the clearing. He had been heading toward the distant ridge, and instinct told me to continue that way. I moved forward, weaving through underbrush, jumping over roots, senses alert to every sound. The forest whispered threats, but I pressed on.
• Hours, or what felt like hours, passed, twisting trees, uneven ground, shallow streams. A low growl made me spin. Another shadow, smaller but fast, darted at me. I blocked, struck, and pressed onward, feeling Shea pacing anxiously in my mind.
• “Careful. They’re close,” she warned.
• I found a small cave and listened carefully. A brief rest, a moment to feed my son, and to catch my own breath, and to go through the little supplies we had left.
• Eventually, the scent of my mate returned, stronger now. Relief and anticipation surged. Soon, he would appear to take the child before my consciousness pulled me awake. One step at a time. One moment at a time. Always vigilant.
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