Chapter 49: Fragments of the past

49: Fragments of the Past

As the room fell into tense silence, Alexander's grip on my hand remained tight. His fear mirrored my own, but deep down, I couldn't shake the certainty that I had no other choice. I would have to confront this power, no matter the cost, and bind the curse to my will before it consumed everything.

But the exhaustion from days of preparation and worry began to weigh on me. My mind clouded with uncertainty, and before I could protest, Alexander ushered me to rest. His words were gentle but firm, insisting I get some sleep before the looming battle.

I didn't fight him. There was no energy left in me to argue. My body sank into the plush bed, but despite its comfort, sleep did not come easily. I tossed and turned, thoughts racing through my mind, questions left unanswered. And then, slowly, the shadows at the edge of my consciousness began to swirl and darken, pulling me into a dream—or perhaps something more.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay. I stood in the middle of a forest, the trees towering over me like skeletal giants, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The moon was nowhere to be seen, swallowed by thick, oppressive clouds. The only sound was the distant rustling of leaves, like whispers from unseen specters.

I didn't recognize the forest, but somehow, it felt achingly familiar.

I began to walk, drawn forward by an invisible force. With every step, the air grew colder, the ground beneath my feet turning from soft earth to jagged stone. The further I ventured, the more the world around me began to warp and twist, as if reality itself was fraying at the edges.

And then I saw them—my parents.

They stood at the edge of a cliff, silhouetted against the roiling sky. My father, tall and proud, his back straight as if facing some unseen enemy. My mother, her figure draped in dark robes, her hands outstretched, her head bowed as if in prayer.

"Mom? Dad?" My voice trembled as it left my lips, but neither of them responded. It was as if they couldn't hear me, as if I were a ghost watching a memory that didn't belong to me.

My mother's voice finally broke the silence, but it was low, almost a whisper. "Curse Keeper…" she murmured, her tone laced with both reverence and fear. "The balance must be kept…"

Curse Keeper? The words struck a chord deep within me, sending a shiver down my spine. I had heard that name before—in the old stories, the legends whispered among the packs. But why would she call herself that?

I took a step closer, my heart racing, but as I did, the scene shifted violently. The forest around us erupted into flames, the trees twisting and writhing as fire consumed them. The ground split open beneath my parents, and suddenly, they were falling—dragged into the abyss below.

"No!" I screamed, rushing forward, but it was too late. The ground swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but ash and darkness in its wake.

And then, from the depths of that darkness, something stirred.

A figure emerged from the shadows, draped in the same dark robes my mother had worn. Her face was obscured, hidden beneath a hood, but I could feel her eyes on me—cold, calculating, and filled with a hunger that sent ice through my veins.

"You will become what they feared," she whispered, her voice a harsh, guttural rasp. "You will become the Curse Keeper."

Before I could react, her hand shot out, grasping my wrist with an iron grip. Her touch was like fire and ice, burning through my skin and freezing me to the core. I struggled to pull away, but she held me fast, dragging me closer until her face was mere inches from mine.

Her hood fell back, revealing a face I knew all too well—my own.

I gasped, stumbling back, but there was nowhere to run. The forest, the fire, the abyss—it all closed in around me, suffocating, crushing, until I couldn't breathe. And through it all, the other me smiled, her eyes glowing with a dark, malevolent light.

"You cannot escape your fate," she hissed. "It's already begun."

I woke with a start, my heart hammering in my chest, my skin slick with sweat. The room was dark, the air heavy with the weight of the dream. I could still feel the echo of that cold grip on my wrist, the suffocating pressure of the abyss closing in around me.

But it wasn't just a dream—it couldn't be. The memories were too vivid, the sensations too real. My mother's voice, the name Curse Keeper—what did it mean? Was it a title passed down through generations? Had my mother been the previous bearer of the curse?

A chill ran through me as I tried to make sense of it all. The pieces of the puzzle were scattered, but they were there, just out of reach. My parents, the curse, the power inside me—it was all connected, but how? What had they known that I didn't?

I sat up, my mind racing. I had to find answers. If my mother had been the Curse Keeper, then perhaps the key to controlling my own power lay in the past—in the history of my family, the legacy I had unknowingly inherited.

But the dream had left me shaken, and for the first time, I wondered if I was strong enough to face the truth. If I wasn't careful, I could become exactly what the other me had warned—what my parents had feared.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cold floor as I stood. The weight of the dream clung to me, heavy and oppressive, but I couldn't let it paralyze me. There was no time for fear. The battle was coming, and I needed to be ready.

The first rays of dawn were just beginning to break through the heavy curtains as I made my way to the library. I had always found comfort in the ancient tomes that lined its shelves, but today, I wasn't seeking comfort. I was searching for answers.

I combed through the shelves, pulling down books on the history of the packs, the curse, the old legends passed down through generations. But there was nothing—no mention of the Curse Keepers, no record of my family's connection to the curse.

Frustration gnawed at me as the hours passed, but just as I was about to give up, my fingers brushed against the edge of a small, leather-bound journal hidden behind a stack of larger volumes. Its cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age, but as I opened it, I knew I had found something important.

The first page bore my mother's handwriting—neat, precise, and unmistakable.

To my daughter, Elara.

My heart skipped a beat as I read the words, my pulse quickening with anticipation. The answers I had been seeking were here, hidden in the pages of this forgotten journal.

But as I turned the page, my excitement quickly gave way to dread. The words that followed were not the comforting explanations I had hoped for. They were warnings—cryptic, fragmented, and filled with a sense of foreboding.

The curse is a living thing, my love. It feeds on power, on fear, on desire. It will demand more of you than you can imagine. And if you are not careful, it will consume you, just as it consumed me.