"Today is your day—you'll be soon married to Marcus" Tita murmured as she gently passed the comb through Aurelia's hair.
Aurelia stood dressed in an exquisite gown — a garment of pale ivory silk that clung like flowing water, its folds gathered with threads of gold, each stitch shimmering as though the fabric itself breathed light. The dress carried the quiet majesty of a noble bride, the kind whose beauty could silence a hall before she even stepped inside. Today, she was to be wed to Marcus.
"He is a strong man," Tita murmured.
The words were meant to comfort—but they struck Aurelia like a blade turned sideways, bringing only anger and an old, stinging grief. Of course Tira would say that. Of course she would try to fill a space that was never hers.
Aurelia's jaw tightened.
Though Tita had only two children, Fira and Julius , she had always looked upon Aurelia as her own. Yet Aurelia hated the way Tita tried to fill the place her mother once held, as if affection could erase the past or soften the wounds she carried.
To Aurelia, Tita was simply another reminder of pain — another shadow in a house filled with ghosts — and she felt nothing but relief knowing she would finally leave this place behind.
The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a violent crack. Julius stumbled inside—Aurelia's stepbrother—his tunic clinging to his skin, soaked with sweat as though he had sprinted across half of Rome.
"We have to go—now," he said, his voice ragged, clutching his mother's wrist so tightly her bracelets clattered together.
He dragged his mother toward the doorway, not even stopping to catch his breath.
Aurelia rose to her feet, her pulse hammering.
"Julius, wait—what is happening?" she demanded, her voice trembling, desperate for an answer.
But he refused to look at her.
He moved like a man fleeing something unseen, something dangerous, something already at their heels.
Aurelia rushed out into the courtyard —only to freeze when a voice split the sky.
"FUGITE! RUN!"
The shout cracked through the air like thunder, turning every head. Even Aurelia spun toward the sound, her breath trapped in her chest.
A scream followed—sharp, piercing—like a blade hurled through the crowd. One of the guests staggered and fell, clutching his throat, his hands shaking as he hit the marble floor. A dark stain spread beneath him— it was blood , and people recoiled in horror.
Chaos erupted; everyone scattered, desperate for safety in a world that had suddenly turned savage.
Panic detonated across the gathering.
Screams burst from every direction.
Robes tangled as men and women shoved past one another.
The chairs, once arranged with ceremonial precision, now lay toppled and splintered as the guests surged past them in their frantic escape.
People ran as though the Furies themselves had descended.
A man shouted prayers to sun and soon he vanished beneath the shadow of wings as he was torn into pieces,his blood falling like rain drops.
Another sobbed, "Not today—not now—!" before being swallowed by the panicked crowd.
They had all believed the dark creatures came only with the moon—never under the sun, never during celebration.
Then why now? Why here?
Aurelia stood frozen, her breath shattering in her chest.
Confusion—fear—disbelief—everything crashed over her at once.
This was her wedding.
It was supposed to be the beginning of her plans.
At first, fear clutched Aurelia's ribs.
The shouts, the fleeing guests, the bodies on the marble—all of it swallowed her breath.
But when she saw the dark creatures driving through the crowd with brutal, merciless force… something inside her snapped.
Not fear or even weakness.
Fury had come to stay.
Aurelia felt it rise, burning, raw, and ancient—like it had always been waiting for this moment.
She spun, her eyes catching on a sword lying beside a fallen soldier, his shield still raised as if he had died mid-defense. The weapon glimmered faintly, abandoned but not defeated.
She stepped toward it.
"Fatum paratum est," she whispered. Fate has its plans set… and I will move to its rhythm.
Her fingers closed around the hilt.
For a heartbeat, the world halted—sound vanished, movement slowed, even the screams became distant. Aurelia stared at the blade in her hands. It was lighter than she expected, balanced as though carved for her and no other.
She had never trained with a sword, not truly. Her skills belonged to the bow. Yet now—now her grip was steady, her stance grounded, her arms sure.
It felt as if the knowledge had always lived within her bones.
As if fate had simply been waiting for her to lift the blade.
Instead of running with the others, Aurelia lunged toward the dark humans. Her heart thundered, the sword steady in her hand. For a breath, she believed the fire inside her was enough—believed fate had finally chosen her.
With a sharp cry, she swung the blade and struck the nearest creature.
Metal rang.
The air tightened like it waited to see her next move.
But unfortunately Aurelia—
Aurelia collapsed.
The impact jolted through her arm, knocking her flat on the marble. The sword slipped from her grip. Pain splintered across her shoulder as she hit the ground, wind knocked out of her.
Weak, pathetic and stupid.
The words stung her harder than the fall itself. She had thought she felt power awakening inside her—some destiny stirring in her blood. But it was a lie. Or worse… a foolish fantasy.
She was no match for them.
And now she understood it.
The dark creature she had struck—human-like only moments ago—began to change. Its outline warped, shadows spiraling across its skin like smoke tightening into form. Its eyes darkened, hollow and merciless. Its face twisted into something cold and ancient.
It stepped toward her with slow, hungry certainty.
Aurelia's breath seized.
She could not rise,her arm was hurted.
She could not fight.
And the creature—
the creature was ready to end her for her actions.
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To be continued...