Romeo
Sleep hadn't come easy after the dream in the glowing field, and when it did, it brought something else entirely—something I wasn't sure I wanted to see.
At first, I thought I was awake. The air felt heavy, the room too quiet. But when I sat up, the world around me shifted. Gone were the familiar walls of my bedroom. Instead, I stood in what seemed to be a grand hall, its floors gleaming marble, and its towering arches lit by golden sunlight. This felt too real, too vivid. Was this another one of those memories?
I wasn't alone.
At the far end of the hall stood a woman, her back turned to me. Her long, silver-gold hair tumbled over her shoulders, and though I couldn't see her face, something about her was hauntingly familiar.
I wanted to move closer, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. Then, as though sensing my presence, she turned—and the breath caught in my throat.
It wasn't Venecia exactly, but her face, her eyes... They were the same.
"Mira," I heard myself whisper, though I didn't know where the name had come from.
Her lips parted, and the faintest smile played on her face. "Torin," she said, her voice soft but tinged with something—was it guilt?
Before I could respond, the vision shifted violently. The hall dissolved into chaos—flames engulfed the golden light, and the walls began to crack and crumble.
I saw myself—not as I am now, but older, wearing dark armor, a sword glinting in my hand. I was angry, shouting something, though the words were muffled. Across from me stood Mira, her silver hair glowing in the firelight. In her hand, she held a dagger stained with blood. My blood.
"You betrayed me," I spat, my voice trembling with rage.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't deny it. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she whispered, taking a step closer. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I had no choice."
"You always had a choice," I said, taking a step back.
As I collapsed to my knees, clutching my side where the blade had struck, she reached out—but before her hand could touch me, the vision shattered.
Later That Morning
I woke with a gasp, my chest heaving as though I'd just run a marathon. The sensation of the blade in my side still lingered, and my hands instinctively went to the mark on my shoulder. It was burning again, hotter than ever.
Mira
The name was etched into my mind like a curse. What had I just seen? A memory? A dream?
I couldn't shake the feeling that it had been real—somehow, impossibly real. And if it was, it meant that whatever was happening between Venecia and me went far deeper than I'd ever imagined.
It also meant that she had betrayed me once before.
Now, I couldn't help but wonder: if she'd done it then, could she do it again? The thought sent a chill through me. Could I really trust her?
But as the memory of her face—Mira's face—lingered in my thoughts, something else began to creep in, something I didn't want to admit.
Curiosity.
Who was she, really?
And who was I?
I didn't leave my room for hours. I kept replaying the vision in my head—the golden hall, the betrayal, her tear-filled eyes. It all felt too vivid to be a simple dream.
The name Mira clung to my mind like an unwelcome guest. Every time I thought about her—Venecia—and her silver-haired double, the mark on my shoulder itched, a low burn simmering under my skin
Finally, I pulled myself together, throwing on a hoodie and grabbing my phone. Fresh air would help, I thought. Except it didn't.
Everywhere I went on campus, I saw her. Not literally, but in the shadows of students moving between classes, in the faint sound of her laughter somewhere in the distance. It was infuriating.
By the time I found myself by the old fountain—the one where this chaos truly started—I was too deep in thought to notice I wasn't alone.
"Troubled?"
I flinched, turning to find Miss Isolde, the school librarian, standing a few feet away. She was clutching a book to her chest, her sharp eyes narrowing in on me.
"Just... thinking," I said, leaning back against the fountain's edge.
"About your partner for the debate, perhaps?" Her knowing smile sent a chill through me. How did she know so much? It was like she was playing some kind of game.
"How do you—" I began, but she cut me off.
"I know more than you think, Romeo," she said, stepping closer. "About you. About Venecia. About the marks."
I froze. "What do you know?"
She studied me for a moment before placing the book in my hands. Its leather cover was ancient, the edges worn and faded.
"Everything," she said cryptically. "But the answers won't come easily. The truth rarely does."
I glanced at the title—Legends of the Fated Souls.
"Is this supposed to mean something to me?" I asked.
"It will," she replied, turning to leave. "When you're ready to accept it."
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Venecia
The day felt unusually long. Every glance from a classmate, every whispered comment about the debate with Romeo, weighed on me. I'd already resolved to stay far away from him, and yet, somehow, I kept getting pulled back into his orbit.
By the time I reached the library after lunch, my nerves were shot. I needed peace—answers.
Miss Isolde was at her desk, sorting through papers when I walked in. She looked up and smiled as though she'd been expecting me.
"Back again?" she asked lightly.
I hesitated. "Miss Isolde... you gave me that book before. About marks."
"Yes?"
"Do you really believe in all of that?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
She tilted her head, studying me carefully. "Belief is irrelevant, Venecia. What matters is what you feel."
I hesitated, but then blurted, "I've been having dreams. Weird, vivid ones. About... another life."
Her expression didn't change, but I saw something flicker in her eyes—recognition, maybe?
"Tell me about them," she said, gesturing to the seat beside her.
I described the fountain dream, the glowing field, and finally, the name Evanna, Aurelia and Mira. Her expression turned grim as I finished.
"Evanna, Aurelia, Mira" she murmured. "So, it's begun."
"What's begun?" I asked, leaning forward.
She sighed, opening a drawer and pulling out another ancient-looking book. She flipped through it until she reached a page and handed it to me. The illustration showed two figures locked in combat, a golden thread glowing between their wrists.
"The Fated Souls," she said. "Bound across lifetimes, repeating the same cycle—love, betrayal, loss. The marks are their curse."
My heart sank as I stared at the page.
"So, you're saying this has happened before?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"Many times," she said softly. "And unless you and Romeo can figure out how to break the cycle, it will happen again."
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Romeo
I couldn't sleep. The book Miss Isolde had given me lay open on my desk, its yellowed pages filled with strange symbols and haunting illustrations.
One passage in particular caught my attention:
"Fated Souls, once bound, carry the memories of their past lives in fragments, etched into dreams and marks upon their skin. These echoes serve as both a guide and a warning—one must learn from the past or be doomed to repeat it."
My fingers grazed the mark on my shoulder, and an unsettling thought struck me: what if Venecia wasn't the only one I couldn't trust?
What if the problem wasn't her, but me?
I barely noticed when Damien burst into the room, his usual smug grin in place.
"Bro, you've been MIA all day," he said, flopping onto my bed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Something like that," I muttered, closing the book.
He raised an eyebrow. "You, okay?"
I wanted to say yes, to brush him off like I always did. But the weight of everything—the dreams, the marks, Aurelia, Mira—it all came spilling out.
"Dude," he said when I finished. "This is insane. Like, 'are-you-secretly-in-an-action-movie' insane."
"You think I don't know that?" I snapped.
He leaned back, folding his arms. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"
I didn't have an answer. But as I glanced back at the book, one thing became clear.
Whatever was happening between Venecia and me wasn't going to go away. And the only way forward... was through it.
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