The ache in her shoulder refused to fade.
Freya sat on the edge of her bed, sunlight casting pale stripes across her skin. She traced the tender spot where the burning had struck her right above the collarbone. No bruises. No marks. But it still hurts.
She didn't know if it was just the slap that her sister gave her in an attempt to wake her up or something else entirely.
Just a dream.
That's what everyone kept saying. Her sister Mia had hugged her tight, whispered reassurances in her ear, told her she must've had a nightmare, maybe even sleep paralysis. But Freya knew what she'd felt. The forest had been too real. The silence. The shadows. The name whispered into her mind.
"Freya."
She still heard it, like a thread pulled taut through her memory, refusing to snap.
And the shadow… it had known her. It had seen her.
She rubbed her eyes, then stood slowly. Her limbs were heavy. The air in her room felt too warm, too still. Yet a shiver slithered down her spine.
Freya had always been prone to daydreams, to little fantasies of a life more adventurous than her own. A life filled with drama, purpose, meaning. But now those same fantasies were bleeding into her reality, and she couldn't tell where the dream ended and her life began.
She didn't want to go downstairs. Not yet. Not until the chill left her bones.
Instead, she walked to the mirror.
It felt childish like checking under the bed for monsters but she needed to see herself. To confirm she was still here. Still real. Still whole.
Her breath caught.
There was something on her shoulder.
Faint. Barely visible. But there.
A mark.
Not quite a bruise. Not a burn. Just… a circular outline. Old-looking. Almost like a symbol etched into the skin, long forgotten by time but now awakened.
It shimmered faintly under the light. If you didn't know where to look, you'd miss it. But she knew exactly where to look now.
Her fingers hovered above it, afraid to touch.
Freya's heart hammered. Her mind screamed that it was all in her head but her gut said otherwise.
Then came the knock.
Sharp. Three times.
She jolted. "Yes?"
"It's me," Mia's voice came through the door, soft and hesitant. "Can I come in?"
Freya hesitated, then opened the door.
Mia stood there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, worry stitched into her features like it had been sewn there over months. Maybe even years.
"You really scared me last night," Mia said gently, stepping in. "You were thrashing. Screaming. I thought " She broke off.
Freya sat on the bed again, cupping the tea between her palms but not drinking.
"I thought it was just a dream," she murmured. "But it didn't feel like one."
Mia's eyes flickered, something passed across her expression. Concern? Recognition?
"Do you… remember what it was about?" she asked.
Freya nodded slowly.
"The forest," she said. "I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. And then something was there. Watching me. It whispered my name."
Mia paled.
Freya looked up sharply. "What?"
But Mia shook her head too quickly. "Nothing. You're just… processing stress. Maybe a memory. You've been through a lot lately."
There it was again. Lately.
As if they could forget the months before.
As if forgetting could erase what had already carved itself into Freya's soul.
She wasn't the same girl she used to be. She'd survived things most people never even imagined. And yet the nightmares still came, like they had found a home inside her.
She took a sip of the tea, eyes unfocused, lips pressing against the rim like she was trying to pull comfort from the warmth.
"I need air."
Before Mia could stop her, Freya was up, slipping into a coat, stepping out the front door into the soft light of late morning. The air met her with a gentle bite, a breeze brushing past her face like a whisper of reassurance.
She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to move.
The town was small, quiet. Nestled between sleepy hills and thick woods. They'd moved here for peace. For distance. That's what they were told.
But today, even the sunniest path felt like it carried a shadow.
She found herself walking the trail behind the house—the one she'd explored a thousand times. Familiar. Harmless. Safe.
Or so she thought.
Birdsong floated between the trees. The earth beneath her boots gave gently, still damp from the night's rain.
And yet… with every step, the air seemed to change.
Heavier.
Thicker.
Like she was wading through something unseen.
Freya slowed.
Not again.
This wasn't her usual dream. This wasn't her usual imagination. This felt… real.
Too real.
And she hated that she couldn't explain it. Couldn't tell Mia. Couldn't tell anyone.
They already thought she was fragile. That she was still healing. That her mind had never fully come back from what happened before.
And maybe they were right.
But still, the mark on her shoulder pulsed softly like it had its own heartbeat.
She touched it again, through the fabric of her coat.
It was warm.
And then…..
A flicker.
A shape between the trees.
Still.
Watching.
Just like in the dream.
Freya froze.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
It was tall, human-shaped, but cloaked in shadow darkness clinging to it like smoke. No face. No features. Just… presence.
She blinked.
It was gone.
But the feeling wasn't.
The silence around her was too complete now.
Even the birds had gone quiet.
She turned in a circle, trying to find the path home, but every direction looked the same.
Panic curled in her chest.
No. No, she wasn't lost. Not here. Not in her own backyard. She knew these woods. She knew them.
But her feet felt rooted. Her breath came faster. The mark on her shoulder flared again sharper this time. Like something awakening inside her.
Freya stumbled back, nearly tripping over a root. She caught herself, heart pounding, and forced herself to breathe.
One step. Then another.
Then...
A sound.
Not an animal. Not the wind.
A voice.
Soft. Echoing. Familiar.
"Freya…"
She turned sharply. Her hands trembled.
There was nothing there.
But she knew that voice.
It was the same one from the dream.
Low. Commanding. Like velvet and thunder.
And it knew her name.