Aria didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment she was sitting at her desk, trying to finish a design draft for a client who wanted "holiday magic with modern minimalism," and the next, the world dissolved into darkness—soft, velvety, familiar darkness.
Then came the snow.
It fell all around her in her dream, silent and slow, each flake shimmering like a tiny star before dissolving into the shadows around her. She felt her breath fog the air, but the cold didn't touch her skin. Everything was muted, like she'd stepped into a memory wrapped in cotton.
A forest rose around her, dark pines stretching toward the sky, their branches heavy with frost. The world was quiet, too quiet. It was the kind of silence that pressed against her ears.
"Where… am I?" she whispered, though she already knew the answer.
This dream again.
The same dream she'd had since she was a child. The one she never understood, the one she sometimes convinced herself wasn't real—even though every fiber of her body told her otherwise.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
Soft. Controlled. Approaching.
Her pulse jumped. She spun around.
A man stood several yards away, his figure tall and broad, wrapped in a long dark coat that fluttered in the wintry breeze. His face was shadowed, just like every other time—blurred, as though the dream itself refused to show her the truth.
But his eyes…
His eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
Silver.
The exact silver of fresh frost glinting beneath moonlight.
"Aria," he said softly.
Her breath caught.
He knew her name.
He always knew her name.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. "Who are you?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took one step forward, snow whispering beneath his boots. His presence wrapped around her like a gentle storm—powerful, warm, dangerously familiar.
"You called me," he said.
Aria shook her head. "I didn't."
"You always do."
Her throat tightened. "I don't understand."
"You will." His voice was deep, low, like a melody she had heard before. "Soon."
Something about him—his tone, his stance, even the way he watched her—felt like déjà vu, like a memory she hadn't lived yet.
Aria tried to step closer, but her feet wouldn't move.
Dream logic. Always trapping her. Always keeping him just out of reach.
"Why are you in my dreams?" she whispered.
The shadowed man tilted his head. "Because your heart remembers me, even if your mind does not."
Her knees weakened.
Her heart remembers?
What did that even mean?
She bit her lip, restless, trembling. "What do you want from me?"
His voice gentled, almost tender. "To keep you safe."
A gust of wind blew through the trees, swirling snow between them like a curtain. For a second, she thought she saw a faint scar running down the side of his jaw. Then it vanished into the shadows again.
He took another step.
This time, she could see the outline of muscles beneath his coat, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
He felt real.
Too real.
"Keep me safe from what?" she asked, fighting the urge to reach out.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he extended his hand toward her.
"Come here, Aria."
Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched.
The warmth in his voice wrapped around her like an embrace. It wasn't seductive. It wasn't commanding.
It was… protective.
Like he had been waiting for her for a very long time.
Her legs trembled as she tried to step closer—but again, her body refused to move.
She clenched her jaw and tried again.
Nothing.
A flicker of frustration tightened her chest. "I can't."
"You can," he murmured. "You just don't trust yourself yet."
"I don't trust you," she whispered.
A faint exhale left him—half amusement, half pain. "You will."
The snow thickened, whipping around them, turning the dream into a snow globe. The storm grew louder, the wind rising in a howl.
But he didn't move.
He stood there like the eye of the hurricane—still, steady, unshaken.
Something changed in his expression. She couldn't see his face clearly, but she felt it. A shift. A tension.
Danger.
He turned his head slightly, as if listening to something far away.
"What is it?" she asked, fear threading her voice.
His silver eyes snapped back to her.
"You need to wake up," he said urgently.
Her pulse spiked. "W–Why?"
He didn't answer.
He reached for her again.
"Aria. Wake up now."
The ground cracked beneath her.
A deep, thunderous sound tore through the forest. The trees bent as though something enormous pushed through them. Shadows spilled across the snow, stretching toward her, reaching for her ankles.
She gasped. "What's happening?!"
"Wake up!" the man shouted now, voice sharp with desperation.
The ground split open completely.
She fell.
The world spun.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
—
Aria jolted upright in bed with a cry.
Her chest heaved, her breath ragged, beads of sweat clinging to her forehead. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, like she'd been fighting something in her sleep.
Her heart hammered so violently she could barely hear anything else.
"Not again," she whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. "Why this dream again?"
She had dreamed of the man before—but never like this. Never so vivid. Never so real. She could still feel the icy wind on her skin, still hear the thunder splitting the ground, still see his silver eyes locked on hers.
Still hear the urgency in his voice.
Wake up.
Aria swallowed hard.
Her room was dim, lit only by the glow of the Christmas lights she left running along the window. Outside, faint snowflakes drifted from the sky—the first snowfall of the season.
Her eyes widened.
That was the exact same snowfall from her dream.
The same gentle pattern.
The same pace.
Her blood ran cold.
No. It couldn't be.
Her phone buzzed suddenly on the nightstand, nearly making her jump.
3:12 AM.
A string of messages lit up her screen—from an unknown number.
Unknown Number:Stay inside.
Unknown Number:Lock your doors.
Unknown Number:Whatever happens, do not open your windows.
Aria's breath stopped.
Her hands trembled violently as she picked up the phone.
Another message arrived.
Unknown Number:Aria, wake up. You're in danger.
She dropped the phone.
Her heart stuttered painfully.
The last message had a silver eye emoji.
The same eyes as the man in her dream.
The same man she had never met.
The same voice telling her to wake up.
She whispered, terrified:
"Who… are you?"
Before she could catch her breath, a soft creak echoed from her living-room window.
Someone—or something—was outside.
Watching her.
Cliffhanger continues…