Chapter 6 “Where The Dream Bleeds Through”

• Amelia P.O.V
• Sleep seized me quickly, pulling me into a world that felt far too real to question.
• Silver light filtered through the towering trees; the air was charged with the strange energy that always seemed to find me here. I stood in the familiar clearing; the baby pressed tightly to my chest. His quiet whimper trembled against my collarbone, and the moment the sound left him, the forest hushed—listening.
• A figure stepped out from the shadows ahead of me, and my breath caught, not in fear, but in recognition so deep it ached; the bond between us thrummed like a second heartbeat. My mate. That truth lived in my bones, older than memory.
• His eyes softened when they landed on the child. “Give him to me,” he said—steady, gentle. No hesitation. Just certainty.
• I slipped the baby into his arms. The warmth of that connection—our connection—tightened something inside my chest, a silent promise neither of us had words for.
• The forest shifted.
• Shadows peeled away from the tree line, forming into a shape that moved too quickly to be natural. A low, distorted growl echoed across the clearing. My mate stepped back, holding our son protectively against him while I lunged forward, driven by instinct.
• The rogue collided with me, its movements choppy and unnatural, eyes glowing with a distorted silver light. A carved mark seared into its wrist—twin crescents twisted by a jagged slash. The same mark that haunted me.
• It snapped at my neck. I twisted, driving my elbow into its jaw. Pain shot up my arm, but adrenaline numbed it. I grabbed its wrist, cold as stone, and pushed it back. It shrieked, a fractured sound that ripped through the clearing.
• “Behind you!” my mate called, voice tight with urgency.
• I pivoted just in time, ducking under a wild swing, delivering an uppercut before snapping its neck.
• My chest heaved. My mate was suddenly beside me, the baby tucked safely against him, his free hand hovering near my cheek like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure he should.
• “We have to keep moving,” he said, voice low. “They’re getting closer.”
• And I snapped awake.
• I swung my legs out of bed, wincing at the soreness in my muscles. Yesterday’s patrol still lingered in my bones, a dull ache serving as a reminder of the rogue with the mark, of the symbol I’d seen in my dreams, in my parents’ journals, and now in real life.
• Shea stirred beneath my skin, alert.
• “We should train early. Something’s coming.” She says.
• “I know,” I muttered quietly. “I feel it.”
• The halls were quiet as I descended to the main floor. Omegas were already in the kitchen, the clatter of pans and the warm scent of bacon drifting into the halls. I didn’t stop for breakfast. My body felt wired, pulled by a thread toward the outdoors as if something or someone was waiting for me.
• When I stepped outside, the cold air nipped at my cheeks. The training grounds were deserted. Lira wasn’t there yet, which caused a small rush of unease down my spine. She was usually early, especially lately.
• I stretched, letting the cold morning air awaken my senses. The damp grass brushed against my boots, and the forest loomed nearby, dark and quiet, watching.
• Then I smelled it.
• Metallic. Sharp.
• Blood.
• My wolf surged forward.
• “Left. Old pine. Hurry.” She says.
• I broke into a run, heart pounding as I sprinted toward the massive pine tree that had stood for generations. The moment it came into view, my stomach dropped.
• Someone had carved a symbol deep into the bark.
• Not just any symbol.
• The interlocking crescents. My dream-mark. My parents’ mark.
• But now there was something new—a harsh vertical slash cutting between them, splitting the symbol like a wound.
• Shea growled low, her voice vibrating in my chest.
• “This was a message. For us.”
• A rustle behind me made me spin, claws already half-extended.
• Lira stumbled out of the trees.
• Her lip was split, her braid half undone, and her sleeve torn. A smear of dirt streaked across her cheek. Despite that, her eyes burned with sharp focus, even if fear flickered beneath.
• “Lira!” I grabbed her arm, steadying her. “What happened?”
• She breathed heavily, pushing loose strands of hair back. “Rogues. Three of them. They didn’t attack right away; they watched me. Followed me.”
• I swallowed hard. “Why were you out here alone?”
• “Woke up early,” she said, rubbing her ribs. “Something dragged me out of bed. A scent. Familiar, but not from this realm.”
• I stiffened. “The dreams.”
• She nodded. “Exactly like your dream.”
• She pointed toward the deeper trees. “They kept their distance. But all of them had the mark, Amelia. Your mark.”
• My chest tightened.
• “All three?” I whispered.
• “Yes.” Her eyes darkened. “And all three had that slash.”
• That vertical wound splits the crescents.
• My heart hammered. “What did they want?”
• Lira’s face softened with a hint of dread. “They were talking. Whispering, almost chanting.”
• A chill snaked through me. “What were they saying?”
• She looked directly at me.
• "The gate is unguarded.’ Over and over.
• My wolf snapped to attention, ears pricked, tail rigid.
• “The Gate…” she whispers.
• Before I could speak, Lira added, “And they said your full name, Amelia. Amelia Clearwater.”
• Ice crawled through my veins. “Why?”
• She swallowed. “They called you ‘the Chosen.’ And then… the ‘weak link.’”
• My breath caught.
• Weak link.
• A challenge? A threat? Or something worse, some prophecy?
• A sharp snap sounded behind us. We both spun, claws out.
• A figure stood between the trees.
• Tall. Wrapped in shadows. Eyes glowing blue-silver like moonlit ice.
• My heart seized.
• The same eyes from my dream.
• “You,” I breathed.
• Lira moved in front of me instantly. “Stay back!”
• The figure didn’t step forward. Didn’t move at all. Its voice was layered—ancient, echoing, distorted like wind through a cavern.
• “Bloodline. The Gate stirs, and the paths tremble. Run while you still can… or stand and become what you were meant to be.”
• My wolf leaned forward, listening.
• “That’s not rogue. That’s something else. Older. Stronger.”
• Before I could demand answers, the symbol carved into the pine pulsed once, bright as moonlight.
• Then—
• The figure vanished.
• Not flickered.
• Not shifted.
• Vanished.
• Lira exhaled sharply, lowering her claws. “What. The. Hell.”
• I stared at the empty space where the figure stood, my pulse racing.
• “I think,” I whispered, “that my parents were hiding more than journals.”
• We headed back to the pack house immediately. Lira limped slightly but refused help. Inside, the atmosphere was still quiet—the calm before the day began.
• We made our way straight to the Alpha’s office. Rayven met us in the hallway, her healer’s instincts kicking in immediately.
• “Lira, your face—what happened?”
• Lira shook her head. “We need the Alpha. Now.”
• Rayven frowned but didn’t argue. She ushered us inside.
• Alpha Darien sat behind his desk, broad shoulders tense as he looked up from paperwork. His gaze sharp, calculating, shifted between us.
• “What’s going on?”
• I inhaled slowly and told him everything.
• The dreams I have been having since my parents' death.
• The smell of blood.
• The carved symbol.
• Lira’s early patrol.
• The rogues with the crescents.
• Their words.
• The shadow figure.
• Rayven’s hands tightened on the back of the chair she stood behind.
• Alpha Darien leaned forward. “Amelia. Are you sure the symbol matched what you saw in your dreams?”
• “Yes,” I said. “And what was in my parents’ journal.”
• He exchanged a look with Rayven, one I couldn’t decode.
• “What did the figure say?” the Alpha asked.
• “The Gate is stirring,” I whispered. “And that I have a choice—to run or become what I was meant to be.”
• Silence settled over the room like thick smoke.
• Rayven spoke first, her voice soft. “Amelia… this isn’t normal. Dreams don’t manifest symbols in the waking world.”
• “Unless,” Alpha Darien added, “they’re not just dreams.”
• A weight settled in my chest.
• “Explain,” I said.
• He stood, pacing slowly. “There are old stories, myths, really, about bloodlines tied to moon paths and gates that connect one realm to another. They were dismissed generations ago.
• “If the journals are accurate… then the crescent symbol is real. And so is the Gate.” Rayven says.
• Lira shifted, wincing. “This isn’t a myth anymore. It’s happening.”
• Alpha Darien exhaled, calculating. “I’ll call an emergency meeting tonight, only high-ranking members. Until then, Amelia, stay close. No solo patrols. No wandering off.”
• My jaw tightened. “I’m not fragile.”
• “We’re not treating you as fragile,” Rayven said gently. “We’re protecting a potential target.”
• A target.
• Great.
• After Lira was sent to the infirmary for treatment, Rayven caught my arm as I turned to leave.
• “Amelia,” she said softly. “These dreams… they’re changing. They’re not warnings anymore.”
• “I know.”
• “They’re calling you.”
• “I don’t want them,” I whispered.
• Rayven brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. “Wanting has nothing to do with destiny.”
• I looked away. “That shadow figure, Rayven, he felt familiar.”
• Her brows furrowed. “Familiar how?”
• “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “Like something in my blood recognized him.”
• She squeezed my shoulder once. “Then we’ll figure out why.”
• I tried to train afterward, focusing on something normal, but my body felt off. Too alert. Too wired. Every sound made my wolf twitch.
• During drills, my kicks became sharper, and my punches grew heavier. Lira joined later after the healer patched her up, though her movements were stiff.
• “You okay?” I asked during a break.
• “Fine,” she replied. “More worried about you.”
• “I’m fine.”
• She snorted. “Liar.”
• Shea rumbled lightly in my head. “She’s right. We’re not fine.”
• I ignored them both.
• We continued sparring until the sun climbed high, but my focus kept drifting to the trees. Every shadow looked too deep. Every breeze carried phantom scents. The forest felt alive humming beneath its surface.
• Watching.
• Listening.
• Waiting.
• After training, I went straight to the pack library. The room was silent except for the turning of pages from a few warriors studying strategy maps.
• I pulled out every book on mythology, symbols, lunar legends, anything that might help.
• Hours passed. My stomach growled. My head throbbed.
• I found nothing.
• Nothing except vague mentions of “moon guardians” and “passage keepers,” both dismissed as exaggerated stories for pups.
• When lunchtime rolled around, I left the books scattered across a table and made my way to the dining hall, feeling no closer to answers.
• Lunch was loud and lively. Warriors joked, omegas carried trays of roasted chicken, rice, fresh vegetables, and fruit. Lira and I sat together, both quieter than usual.
• “You’re thinking too loudly,” she muttered.
• “I can’t help it.”
• She nudged my plate toward me. “Eat.”
• I forced myself to take a few bites, but everything tasted distant—like chewing on fog.
• “Lira,” I said softly, “Why would they call me the weak link?”
• “Because they’re cowards,” she said instantly. “Trying to scare you.”
• “But what if it means something else?”
• She stopped eating, expression serious. “Whatever it means, you’re not facing it alone. Got it?”
• Shea hummed in agreement. “Pack. Wolf. Blood. You are never alone.”
• I swallowed hard and nodded.
• Despite Alpha Darien’s warning, Lira and I were still assigned for afternoon patrol, but with two senior warriors shadowing us.
• The forest felt different today. Heavier. The constant pressure behind my ribs made breathing seem shallow.
• Lira walked beside me, senses alert. “I don’t like this,” she whispered. “Too quiet.”
• I nodded. “Feels like yesterday.”
• Every bird call felt wrong. Every rustle is deliberate. And sometimes, when I blinked, shadows seemed to stretch a little too far.
• Then the scent hit me
• Cold. Metallic. Like wet stone and moonlight.
• Shea snapped to attention.
• “He’s near.” She whispers.
• Before I could warn the others, the air shimmered, just slightly.
• Then the silhouette appeared again.
• Tall. Still. Watching.
• My heart lurched.
• “Show yourself!” I shouted, claws half-extended.
• The figure lifted its head, those icy eyes piercing through the daylight.
• This time, it spoke to me alone.
• “You are late, bloodline.”
• The forest air trembled.
• Lira moved in front of me immediately. “Back off!”
• The figure ignored her. It raised a hand slowly, palm facing upward.
• Moonlight—not sunlight—glimmered in its palm.
• “The Gate calls for its guardian.”
• “What gate?” I demanded. “What do you want from me?
• Its voice rippled through the clearing.
• “I want nothing. The realms want everything.”
• Then—
• Wind ripped through the trees.
• The figure dissolved like smoke.
• Gone.
• Again.
• My wolf howled inside me.
• “This is escalating. The Gate is waking. And he’s not done with us.” She says.
• I stood shaking for several seconds before I could move again.
• By the time we returned to the pack house, my whole body buzzed with restless energy. Dinner passed in a blur—venison stew, bread, and vegetables. I barely tasted any of it.
• When the hall finally quieted, I slipped back to my room, locked the door, and dropped to my knees beside my hidden wooden panel.
• I pulled it open.
• The journals sat exactly where I’d left them—worn, soft leather covers, faded ink.
• I opened the first one again.
• My father’s handwriting stared back at me:
• “The Gateway is not a place, but a pulse. A living bond between realms.”
• I swallowed.
• The following line hit harder:
• “Only those with crescent blood can open or guard it.”
• My chest tightened. “Crescent blood… me.”
• I flipped the page.
• A drawing, detailed, the exact symbol carved into the pine.
• The crescents. And the slash.
• A note beneath it:
• “If the mark is broken, it means corruption has begun.”
• Corruption.
• My heart raced.
• I flipped further.
• The last entry in the journal was shorter.
• “If someone seeks the Gate through the corrupted mark… the guardian will be hunted first.”
• My breath caught.
• A soft knock sounded at my door.
• I jerked, shoving the journals back into the panel just as Lira’s voice came through.
• “Amelia? It’s time.”
• Time for the emergency meeting.
• Time for everything to change.
• The Alpha’s office was complete. Beta Rowan. Gamma Jonah, Rayven, and several senior warriors. Everyone tense.
• Alpha Darien stood at the front.
• “Amelia,” he said. “Tell them what you told me.”
• I did.
• Starting from dreams. Ending with the figure’s last words.
• Every face shifted, disbelief, fear, curiosity.
• Rayven spoke softly. “The journals confirm her bloodline.”
• Gamma Jonah frowned. “You’re saying Amelia is tied to these… realms?”
• “Yes,” I whispered. “And something wants me to open the Gate.”
• The room went deathly quiet.
• Alpha Darien looked at me with something I’d never seen before in his eyes, something between protectiveness and fear.
• “From this moment,” he said, “Amelia Clearwater is under full guard. No exceptions.”
• “What?” I protested. “I’m not a prisoner!”
• “No,” he said firmly. “You’re the key to something ancient and dangerous.”
• Lira crossed her arms beside me. “She won’t be alone. I’m not leaving her side.”
• “Nor am I,” Rayven added.
• A warmth spread through my chest.
• But under it all… a tremor of dread.
• Shea whispered what I already knew.
• “This is only the beginning. The Gate wants you. The realms are waking. And someone—something is coming.”
• Hours later, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep wouldn’t come.
• The forest whispered through the cracked window. The moonlight cast strange shadows across the floor.
• And deep in my chest, my wolf murmured:
• “The Gate is calling us.
• Soon, we will have to answer.”
• I closed my eyes.
• But something told me—
• Tonight, the dreams won’t be dreams at all.