Carina's POV
The dream came like a storm, sweeping through my mind with vivid clarity. I was back in the fields of my childhood, the golden stalks swaying gently under a pale, washed-out sky. The sun was there, but it hung too low, casting everything in a strange, grayish glow.
I was walking, barefoot, the earth cold and damp beneath my feet. The fields stretched endlessly in every direction, and though I knew I was alone, the sensation of being watched prickled at my skin.
Something was wrong.
The air carried an eerie silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the stalks. No birds chirped, no insects hummed. It was the kind of silence that felt deliberate, oppressive.
Then I saw it—a figure standing at the edge of the horizon, just a silhouette against the unnatural sky.
The figure didn’t move, but I felt it watching me.
I tried to turn away, to walk in the opposite direction, but my feet betrayed me, dragging me closer to it. My heart pounded, the air growing heavier with each step.
As I neared, the details of the figure began to sharpen.
It was him.
The shadow, the man, the presence I had loved and feared in equal measure. But this was not the gentle being I had known. His form was distorted, his skin pale as bone and streaked with black veins. His eyes glowed with a dull, silvery light, and his face was contorted in an expression I couldn’t read.
He reached out a hand, and though I tried to stop, my body moved closer. His touch was cold, searingly so, like ice pressed against raw skin.
"You cannot run," his voice echoed, deep and resonant, but it didn’t come from his mouth. It came from everywhere, the fields themselves whispering his words.
"I didn’t—" I tried to speak, but my voice was swallowed by the stillness around us.
The sky darkened, the pale sun vanishing as shadows began to pour out of him, curling and twisting like living smoke. They wrapped around my legs, my arms, pulling me toward him.
"You belong to me."
His words reverberated through my chest, a terrible finality in them. I wanted to scream, to fight, but the shadows were relentless, binding me in place.
The ground beneath me crumbled, the fields giving way to a gaping void. I looked down, and all I could see was darkness, endless and consuming.
The shadows tightened their grip, dragging me closer to the edge.
"No!" I finally managed to scream, my voice breaking through the oppressive silence.
The figure tilted his head, his glowing eyes locking onto mine. There was no anger in them, no malice—only an aching sadness that cut through me like a blade.
"I warned you," he said, his voice soft now, almost tender.
With a final pull, the shadows yanked me into the void.
I fell, tumbling through the darkness, the wind screaming in my ears. Images flashed before me—my childhood, my parents, Ric, the fields, and then him. Always him. His face, his touch, his voice.
The darkness pressed against me, suffocating, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and it began.
And then, I woke up.
I sat up in bed, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. The pale morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. My skin was damp with sweat, my body trembling as the remnants of the dream clung to me like cobwebs.
It was just a dream, I told myself. Just a dream.
But deep down, I knew better.
****
The morning settled into an uneasy calm as I carried a book to the small patio outside the caretaker's house. The drizzle had ceased, leaving the earth damp and fragrant. The sun, still hidden behind a curtain of gray clouds, cast the world in muted tones, making everything feel quieter than it should.
I sat in a wicker chair, the book resting on my lap. But I wasn’t reading. Not really.
My thoughts kept returning to the dream, to the shadows, to the voice that seemed more memory than fabrication. I flipped a page without looking at the words, my eyes scanning the horizon of the fields. The stalks swayed gently, whispering secrets I couldn’t hear.
And then I felt it.
The wind shifted, brushing against my skin like a cool hand. But this wasn’t the usual breeze of the fields. It carried something with it—a sense of familiarity, of comfort, and yet, an unease that made my breath hitch.
It smelled faintly of the fields after rain, earthy and clean, but beneath it lingered a subtle sweetness that reminded me of... him.
I closed the book, staring out at the horizon, my heart quickening. The wind seemed to dance around me, playful and insistent, tugging at the loose strands of my hair. It felt alive, as if it were deliberately drawing my attention.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the breeze wash over me. And then—
"Good morning, Miss Carina."
The voice jolted me, and I nearly dropped the book.
Standing a few feet away was the caretaker, the same man who had brought me food the other night. His weathered face carried an apologetic smile, though his sudden presence had my heart racing.
"Sorry to startle you," he said, wringing his hands. "I just wanted to let you know that the owner has arranged to meet you tonight, after sundown."
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, I couldn’t respond.
After sundown.
The timing wasn’t surprising, but it sent a shiver down my spine nonetheless.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions within me. "I appreciate you letting me know."
He nodded, glancing briefly at the fields before returning his gaze to me. "The owner said he’s looking forward to it. He’s a private man, but kind. He wanted to be sure you were comfortable here."
Comfortable.
I nodded, offering a polite smile, though my thoughts were far from the pleasantries exchanged. The caretaker lingered for a moment, as if sensing my hesitation, but finally excused himself, leaving me alone with the wind and my unease.
I sat there, unmoving, the book forgotten in my lap.
Tonight.
The wind swirled again, as if reacting to the weight of my thoughts. It seemed to whisper something I couldn’t quite catch, a sound just on the edge of perception.
I shook my head, trying to ground myself.
Forcing my gaze back to the book, I tried to read, but the words blurred together, meaningless. All I could think about was what the night would bring.
Would I meet the man who now owned my childhood home?
The rain came down in steady sheets, drumming against the roof and turning the world outside into a blurry canvas of gray and green. Inside the caretaker’s modest home, the warm glow of the single light bulb above us cast a comforting ambiance.
The caretaker, his name Elias, and his mother, an elderly woman with a kind face and sharp wit, bustled around the small kitchen. They had insisted on cooking for me, saying it was the least they could do after I had been left waiting the night before.
The aroma of garlic and ginger filled the air as Elias stirred a pot of soup while his mother fried some fish. I sat at the small wooden table, sipping a warm cup of salabat. The heat of the ginger tea soothed my nerves, but my mind kept drifting to what lay ahead.
We shared stories as we ate, laughter filling the space despite the rain’s relentless symphony. Elias’ mother recounted tales of her childhood, stories of the old days when the fields were rumored to be enchanted.
“The fields have always been alive,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Some say there’s magic in them. Engkantos that watch over it, or… claim it as their own.”
Elias rolled his eyes playfully. “Ma, you’ll scare her with your stories.”
I forced a smile, though my thoughts lingered on her words.
Then, a sound that wasn’t the rain caught my attention—the creak of the door.
Elias looked up, his expression turning respectful, almost reverent. His mother immediately stood, smoothing her apron as if preparing to meet royalty.
And there he was.
A tall man entered, closing the door softly behind him. He moved with an effortless grace that seemed almost unnatural. His presence filled the room, drawing all attention to him.
He was striking—breathtakingly so. His skin was pale, almost luminous, as though he carried the moonlight with him. Long white hair cascaded past his shoulders, impossibly smooth and ethereal. His eyes, pale and piercing, glinted in the warm light, their depths holding something ancient and unreadable. He wore a simple button-down shirt and dark slacks, yet he looked anything but ordinary.
His gaze immediately found mine, and for a moment, the room seemed to fall silent.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice rich and melodic. It carried the faintest hint of an accent, one I couldn’t quite place.
My heart skipped. There was something in the way he smiled at me, a curve of his lips that reached his eyes—but it wasn’t just a smile. It was familiarity, recognition, as though he knew me.
“Miss Carina,” Elias said, breaking the moment. “This is Mr. Alaric Navarro, the owner of the house.”
Mr. Navarro.
The man stepped closer, extending a hand. I stood, my legs unsteady beneath me, and reached out to shake his hand.
As his fingers wrapped around mine, his touch was cool—too cool for comfort—but his grip was firm. His thumb brushed gently against the back of my hand, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
“Carina,” he said, his voice wrapping around my name like a secret. His pale eyes held mine as though trying to pull something from me. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
The words were cordial, but the way he looked at me wasn’t. It was intense, like he could see through me, past my skin and into the very thoughts I tried to hide.
I swallowed, pulling my hand away, though the sensation of his touch lingered. “Likewise,” I said, my voice more breathless than I intended.
He smiled again, an enigmatic tilt of his lips that felt disarming. “I apologize for not being able to meet you sooner. Business in the city kept me away, but I wanted to personally welcome you back.”
“Thank you,” I said, sitting back down, though I didn’t feel like I belonged in the chair anymore.
Elias and his mother exchanged glances, then began clearing the table, leaving me alone with the man who now sat across from me.
“You must have so many memories of the house,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his pale eyes still locked onto mine.
“I do,” I said carefully, unsure of how much to reveal.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. “Good ones, I hope.”
I nodded, but something in his tone unsettled me. There was a weight to his words, an unspoken understanding that made my stomach twist.
As the rain continued to pour outside, I couldn’t help but feel as though the storm had followed me inside. Only now, it wasn’t just outside the window—it was sitting across the table, smiling at me like an old friend.
****