Not a Damsel in Distress!

The storm arrived without warning.

Thunder rumbled low like a beast stirring in its sleep, rattling the windows of Ron's house. Rain lashed the glass in crooked streaks. The sky was a deep purple bruise, veins of lightning flashing like memories trying to claw their way out of the dark.

Samantha bolted upright in bed.

Her breath hitched—shallow, frantic. Her skin was clammy, her fingers fisted tight in the blanket. The pendant burned against her chest. Not warm. Not tingling. Burning. Like it knew something was wrong.

She didn't scream. Couldn't.

The dream was still clinging to her like oil—images sticking in her mind: a tower with no windows. A bleeding sky. A voice like velvet and razors, whispering her name from behind the veil.

And eyes.

Red, coal-bright eyes that didn't blink.

She pressed a hand to her mouth.

It wasn't just a dream.

Not this time.

"Samantha?"

The voice made her jump. Her eyes darted to the doorway.

Ron stood there in pajama pants and a hoodie, hair messy, face half-shadowed. His concern wasn't loud or dramatic. It never was. But it was real.

"You okay?" he asked, stepping inside. "I heard—well. I felt something."

She opened her mouth to answer. Closed it. Swallowed.

"I… had a dream," she whispered. "But it felt like I wasn't just dreaming. Like something was watching me."

Ron raised a brow, coming closer. "The hooded guy again?"

"No." Her voice dropped. "Worse."

She couldn't describe it. Couldn't wrap words around what she saw in that floating orb—the way her memories twisted like smoke, how that man, that thing, had looked through her like she was a flickering candle he could snuff out.

She touched the pendant.

It pulsed beneath her fingers. Once. Twice. Then again, like a heartbeat.

Ron noticed. "That thing's glowing again," he said, pointing. "You sure it's not cursed?"

She forced a shaky smile. "Define 'cursed.'"

He sat on the edge of the bed, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the heat of him. His presence steadied something inside her, even as the air in the room grew heavier.

"Sam," he said softly, "what exactly did you see?"

She hesitated.

"The tower," she murmured. "A place that shouldn't exist. It felt ancient. Hungry. There was this orb, and it showed me—us. All of us. You, me, Alaric, J, M… like we were being watched. Like we're just…"

"Pieces on a board?" Ron offered.

She nodded.

"And there was a man. He wasn't like the others. No hood. No disguise. Just… eyes like fire and skin like ice. He knew who I was. Called me the priestess."

That word settled between them like a dropped blade.

Ron ran a hand through his hair. "And you're sure this isn't just stress-induced psychic nonsense?"

"I don't know what it is anymore," she snapped, then instantly softened. "I just… I feel like something's waking up inside me. Something I don't understand. Something old."

Thunder crashed again, and the lights flickered.

Ron stood, walking to the window. "Well. This is officially above my paygrade."

She laughed—barely. But it helped. Until—

A voice.

Soft. Familiar. But not hers.

It came from nowhere. From everywhere. From inside.

> "You were warned, little light. The seals are breaking."

Samantha froze.

Ron turned. "Did you just say something?"

She shook her head, lips pale. "Did you?"

"No."

The temperature dropped.

The pendant pulsed again—brighter. Faster.

And suddenly, she wasn't in the room anymore.

Her eyes remained open, but the world twisted sideways.

The walls dissolved.

The storm faded.

She stood on a cliff, wind screaming past her. Before her, a temple crumbled in slow motion—pillars split like bones, statues cracked, fire dancing in impossible colors. Around her, people chanted. Thousands of them. Calling a name not hers.

> "Saryel."

The name hurt. It echoed in her spine like a wound reopening.

She gasped, stumbling forward. Her robes—yes, robes—whipped around her ankles. Gold embroidery. Symbols that hummed. Her hands weren't her hands anymore. Older. Stronger. Glowing.

Another voice.

A man's.

> "You were meant to protect us."

She turned.

And saw him.

Ramiel.

Not as he was now—but younger. Softer. A face that once might've known love. He stood at the edge of the destruction, eyes glowing with power and betrayal.

> "You chose them over us."

And then the vision snapped.

Samantha screamed.

She was back in the room. Back in the storm. Back in her body.

Ron caught her before she collapsed. "Sam! What was that?! What happened?!"

Her whole frame trembled. "I saw… before. A memory. A real one. I had a name. Saryel."

He stared at her, wide-eyed. "Are you saying you're—"

"I don't know!" she shouted. "But something's coming, Ron. Something ancient. And it remembers me."

Suddenly—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They both froze.

Not the doorbell.

Not a polite knock.

Three heavy, deliberate thuds at the front door.

Ron stood. Instinctively placed himself between her and the hallway.

Another knock.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The lights flickered violently now. The pendant burned so hot, she had to rip it off her neck—but it wouldn't come free. It clung to her skin like it was fused.

A whisper hissed through the house.

> "He wants you."

Ron grabbed the bat he kept behind the door. "Stay here."

"No!" she cried, getting up. "Whatever's out there… it's here for me."

The wind howled louder. The shadows along the walls twisted. And from under the doorframe—

a dark mist began to seep in.

Ron cursed.

Samantha stood her ground, heart pounding like a war drum.

Outside the house, unseen, the cloaked figures watched.

And somewhere far away, in the dark tower with its violet core—

Ramiel smiled.