Aurora’s POV
The cold bites into my skin as I run.
    My feet pound against the pavement, faster than my thoughts, but not fast enough to outrun them. They scream in my ears, louder than the wind, louder than Loni’s voice, louder than the truth.
Mavilla and Bruce…
My lungs burn, but I can’t stop.
     Not when every step echoes it’s your fault.
 Not when every blink shows me their faces; my parents’ faces, etched into that damn photo, smiling like they weren’t about to die for a child who would forget them.
Who did forget them.
   I stumble, hands scraping the edge of a stone wall as I veer off the sidewalk. Trees blur past. My vision spins. My heartbeat isn’t even mine anymore, it’s pounding like a drum summoning ghosts.
And they come.
Flash.
    She’s tall. Regal. Eyes like fire. My mother, no, Mavilla. Her silver hair is tied back as she leans over a map spread across a table. “They’re coming,” she says, voice tight. “We don’t have time.”
A man beside her slams his fist down. His face, it’s him. Bruce. My father.
“I’ll hold the southern pass. You take her. Don’t look back.”
Flash.
There’s fire everywhere.
The sky is bleeding. Screams fill the air like a melody of agony. Fairies soar above, casting light and flame. Vampires tear through soldiers, their fangs flashing crimson. Wolves, giant ones, leap into the chaos, claws gleaming like daggers.
And in the middle of it all, my mother was holding a baby. Me.
   “No matter what happens,” she tells a woman in a maid’s uniform, her eyes wet and fierce, “you take her and run. Don’t let them find her. She’s the key.”
The woman sobs. “But what about-”
“I said run!”
Flash.
I scream. Out loud this time.
My knees give way and I fall to the ground, gravel digging into my skin, but I barely feel it.
My chest clenches like something inside me is shattering. Like everything that held me together has collapsed and now I’m just… pieces.
I curl into myself on the side of the road, shaking. Everything hurts. My head is a battlefield. My heart a graveyard.
    I see them again, my parents, turning back, facing the oncoming army, their hands clasped for a second too long before letting go.
They died for me.
They died for me.
I claw at the ground like I can tear the truth out of it, scream until it vanishes. But it won’t.
It won’t.
“I didn’t ask for this!” I sob, voice raw and ugly. “I didn’t ask to be born into some prophecy! I didn’t ask them to die for me!”
    A flash of silver armor. Blood. Screams. My father howling as he shifts, my mother wielding blades made of moonlight. The maid vanishing into the trees, my baby form bundled against her chest.
   Another scream tears from my throat, but it doesn’t sound human. It sounds ancient. Like something buried deep in my soul is cracking open.
I think I’m dying.
Or maybe I deserve to.
My vision blurs. Everything spins. The road beneath me turns into waves, undulating, pulling me under. My breath comes in shallow gasps. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
And then...footsteps.
    A pair of strong arms wrap around me. I try to fight, but I’m weak. Too weak.
    “Aurora,” a voice breathes near my ear. Deep. Smooth. Laced with panic and something raw underneath. “Shit, you’re freezing. Hey, hey, look at me.”
Arc.
Of all people - Arc.
    But I can’t look. I can’t move. My body is a prison and my mind is still stuck in the past, watching my parents die again and again.
   “Don’t do this,” he mutters, his voice cracking. He lifts me gently, cradling me against his chest like I’m something precious. His warmth bleeds into my skin, but it can’t thaw the ice inside.
“I didn’t mean for this,” I whisper, barely audible.
    He doesn’t respond. Just pulls me closer, pressing his forehead to mine.
“You’re okay now,” he murmurs, but I don’t believe him.
Because I’m not. I’m not okay. And I don’t know if I ever will be again.
I drift in and out.
There’s a sound...thumping. It’s steady. Not mine. His.
Arc’s heartbeat.
    It’s the only thing anchoring me as he carries me down the roadside, his grip careful but firm, like if he lets go even for a second, I’ll shatter again.
I want to speak. I want to tell him everything; the visions, the war, the look on my mother’s face before she handed me away like I was some sacred relic.
   But all that comes out is a broken whimper. He flinches like it physically hurts him.
   “Where the hell were you going?” His voice is low, hoarse. “You could’ve been hit by a car. Or collapsed. Or worse.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. The pain’s still too sharp, the memories still tangled around my throat like vines.
    He mutters something under his breath probably a curse but there’s no real anger there. Just… fear. Raw, unfamiliar fear.
Then I feel it. The world shifts.
     We stop moving. A door opens. The scent of old leather and pine floods my nose. A car. He sets me in the backseat like I’m made of glass and rushes around to the other side. The engine rumbles to life. Warm air begins to hum through the vents.
   I press my forehead against the cold window, watching nothing. Just blurs of trees and streetlights as they pass.
I feel him watching me.
   Not the way he usually does. Not with annoyance or cold calculation. But like I’m a puzzle he’s only just started to see the shape of.
“Talk to me,” he says quietly. “Please.”
    I turn to him slowly, eyes heavy, throat raw. “They were my parents.”
His brows knit. “Who?”
“Loni’s friends. Mavilla and Bruce.” My voice breaks. “They’re not just some story. They were my story.”
    His lips part slightly, shock flashing across his face, then something softer. Sadder.
“You saw them?” he asks.
    I nod, and the tears return. Hot and unforgiving. “I saw everything,” I whisper. “The war. The way they fought. The moment they let me go.”
   Arc doesn’t speak right away. His hands tighten on the wheel until his knuckles go white. Then, without a word, he pulls over to the side of the road.
   We sit in silence for a moment, the engine humming beneath us, the world quiet outside.
   Then he turns to me, slowly. “Come here.”
I hesitate. But something in his voice, low, unsure, not Arc which makes me move.
   I crawl into the passenger seat, and he reaches for me immediately. Pulls me into his arms like I belong there. Like I always have.
I melt into him.
    And I hate it. I hate how good it feels to be held by someone who once made it his mission to hurt me. I hate how my heart still races around him, not from fear, but from something I don’t want to name.
    “I didn’t know how to help you,” he murmurs against my hair. “Back then. When I first found out what you were. I thought pushing you away would make it easier.”
“For who?” I whisper.
He exhales. “Me.”
There’s no excuse in his tone. No justification. Just brutal honesty.
   I don’t pull away.
Because right now, I need this. I need him.
     Even if I don’t understand it. Even if it scares me more than anything else.
    “I thought I could carry this alone,” I say. “But it’s too much, Arc. I don’t know how to do this.”
    “You don’t have to,” he says, and this time, his voice is steady. Solid. “Not alone.”
His hand slips into mine and for the first time tonight, the chaos quiets.