Damien sat on the balcony of his room, the late‑evening breeze brushing against his skin as he turned a page of his book. The sky was painted in fading streaks of orange and violet, but he barely noticed. A tightness had settled in his chest—subtle at first, then growing, pulsing, as if something unseen was knocking from the inside.
Something was coming.
He didn't know what. Only that it wasn't good.
His fingers stilled on the page. A single thought rose above the noise in his mind, sharp and cold.
His sister.
His twin.
Her name echoed through him like a warning bell. Damien closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady the sudden tremor in his hands. But the moment his lashes met, the world lurched. The air around him warped, bending like heat over asphalt. His stomach dropped.
He knew this feeling.
When he opened his eyes again, the balcony was gone.
He stood in a forest swallowed by darkness. The trees were tall and skeletal, their branches twisted in unnatural angles, as if reaching for him. The air was thick—too still, too quiet. Even the moonlight seemed wrong, filtering through the canopy in fractured, trembling beams.
A sound broke the silence—a sharp crack of movement.
Damien's instincts flared. He moved silently, slipping behind a tree, pressing his back against the rough bark. His breath caught when he peeked around the trunk.
Seraiya was on her knees in the dirt.
Her clothes were torn, her skin smeared with blood and earth. Her golden eyes—usually bright, fierce—were dimmed with pain. She clutched her side, trembling.
"Damien… please." Her voice cracked as she lifted her head. "I am begging you not to do this."
Damien froze.
Because standing before her—rage twisting his features, eyes burning with a feverish determination—was… himself.
"I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU!" the other Damien roared, his voice echoing through the trees like thunder. "If I do this, it saves you from the wrath of the gods!"
"And if you do this, it destroys you!" Seraiya shot back, her voice raw. "This isn't who you are. You would never hurt an innocent person."
She coughed suddenly, violently, and when she pulled her hand away, blood glistened on her palm. Damien felt his heart stop.
"You're the only innocent I care about," the other Damien said, softer now, but twisted with desperation.
Seraiya's expression shifted—grief, resolve, love, and sorrow all tangled together. Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself to her feet. Her hand slipped behind her, retrieving a small dagger from her pocket. The blade caught the faint moonlight, gleaming coldly.
She lifted it to her throat.
"I won't let you do this," she whispered, her golden eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
"You wouldn't," the other Damien breathed, horror creeping into his voice.
"If it means protecting who you are meant to become…" Her voice trembled, but her grip did not. "I will."
Before either Damien could move, she dragged the blade across her throat.
"NOOOOO!" both Damien's screamed, their voices overlapping in a shattering echo that tore through the forest.
The world snapped.
Damien gasped, eyes flying open.
He was back on the balcony—book in his lap, the sky now fully dark, the breeze cold against his sweat‑damp skin. His heart hammered violently, his breath ragged.
But the ache in his chest remained.
And he knew—whatever he had seen wasn't just a nightmare.
It was a warning.
The night air felt colder now.
Damien pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat. The balcony around him was unchanged — the stone railing, the soft hum of crickets, the faint glow of lanterns below — but he wasn't the same. The vision clung to him like smoke, refusing to fade.
Seraiya's blood.
Her voice.
His own face twisted with desperation.
The forest that felt wrong.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. "Rai…" he whispered, though she was an ocean away.
A soft creak sounded behind him.
Damien turned sharply.
His mother, Piper, stood in the doorway. Her expression alone told him everything — she had felt it too. Her eyes, usually warm and steady, were wide with a fear she rarely allowed herself to show.
"Damien," she said quietly, stepping onto the balcony. "Tell me you didn't see it."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Piper exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her mouth. "I knew something was wrong. The moment the air shifted, I felt it in my bones. Like a thread snapping."
Damien nodded, jaw tight. "It was Seraiya."
Piper closed her eyes, pain flickering across her face. "Describe it."
He did — every detail. The forest. The other version of himself. Seraiya bleeding, pleading, choosing death over letting him fall. Piper listened without interrupting, her hands trembling at her sides.
When he finished, she whispered, "The gods are moving again."
Damien's stomach twisted. "You think it was a prophecy?"
"No," Piper said, shaking her head. "Worse. A possibility. A path they're trying to force." She looked out over the dark horizon, her voice barely above a breath. "They've been quiet for years… too quiet. And Seraiya has been away from us just as long."
Damien's chest tightened. "She won't come back. You know that."
Piper turned to him, her expression suddenly fierce. "Then we make her."
Damien blinked. "Mother—"
"She's alone in London," Piper said, stepping closer. "Surrounded by a pack that respects her but does not know her. Not the way we do. Not the way family does." Her voice cracked. "If the gods are reaching for her, she needs us. Whether she admits it or not."
Damien looked away, gripping the railing. "She left for a reason."
"And she can keep her reasons," Piper replied. "But she cannot face divine interference alone. Not when they're showing you killing her." Her voice softened, trembling. "Damien… that vision wasn't just about her. It was about you."
He flinched.
Piper placed a hand on his arm. "We need her home. Even if she hates us for it."
Damien swallowed hard. "She won't hate us."
Piper gave him a sad smile. "She might. But she'll be alive."
A moment of silence stretched between them, heavy with fear and determination.
Finally, Damien nodded. "I'll go to London."
Piper's shoulders sagged with relief. "We'll go together."
Damien hesitated. "Do you think she'll listen?"
Piper looked out into the night, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "She's your twin," she said softly. "She'll listen to you… even if she pretends she won't."
Damien exhaled, the weight of the decision settling over him.
The vision wasn't just a warning.
It was a countdown.
And they were already running out of time.