Chapter 01: A Dream Within

It was 3:03 AM when Nora Howell jolted upright in her bed at 12 Rosewood Crescent, gasping as if she'd surfaced from deep underwater. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, a thin film of sweat clinging to her brow. Her dream had been vivid—more vivid than any before, threaded with color and sound so tangible she could almost believe it had happened.

She sat still for a moment, letting the silence of the sleeping house settle around her. The night was cold, and the only sound was the soft tick of the hallway clock, echoing faintly through the floorboards. Nora's small bedroom, lit only by the silvery spill of moonlight, felt both real and distant—like a set that had forgotten its play.

Nora's appearance, even in the half-light, was striking. She was thirteen—tall for her age, with a lithe, graceful frame that often made her seem older than she was. Her long, shiny brown hair hung straight to her shoulders, reflecting the moonlight like polished mahogany. Her eyes, large and sea-green, held an intensity that made people pause—not because she was trying to be noticed, but because she always seemed to be on the edge of understanding something no one else could. Her pale skin and her high cheekbones gave her a quiet elegance. Even at rest, there was a thoughtful tension in her posture.

In her dream, she had stood before a translucent veil.

It shimmered like light caught in water, and beyond it danced thousands of colors—deep violets, brilliant golds, cool silvers—moving in ways light never should. Voices floated around her, sweet and melodic, speaking in a language she didn't know but somehow understood. There was wonder in that place, ancient and wild. But it wasn't just the lights or the sounds.

He was there.

As he always was.

A tall shadow in the corner of the veil, unmoving yet unmistakably alive. Nora never saw his face in past dreams, only his outline—strong, familiar.

But this time, something was different.

The shadow moved.

He stepped forward. And slowly, he reached through the veil.

A hand stretched out—warm-toned, strong—and Nora knew it. The shape of the fingers. The curve of the wrist. It was her father's hand.

"Nora," he had whispered, though his lips never moved.

She had reached for him—so close.

Then she had woken up.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she slid off the bed and padded out of her room. The old wooden floor creaked under her socks as she made her way to her mother's bedroom. She needed comfort—something to anchor her. But halfway down the hallway, she froze.

Voices.

Low and sharp, coming from behind the closed door.

One of them was her mother's—Stella Howell. Kind and light-hearted by day, now sounding... afraid.

"Thalor, I trusted you once," Stella whispered fiercely. "And look where we are. You told me he would come back."

The other voice was unlike anything Nora had ever heard. It was deep, powerful, and oddly kind—like the echo of thunder in a valley.

"She must know, Stella. It is time."

"No. She's still a child."

"She is more than that. You know it. He knew it too. The Starling has been waiting and cannot survive without her any longer."

"But they are still out there, they will find her", Stella sounded fearfully.

Nora reached for the doorknob, her hand trembling. As soon as she touched it, the door burst into a blaze of millions of golden-white illuminated—tiny birds spilling and fluttering out of the brightness. Wind—not air from the house, but something wilder—rushed past her. And then—

Darkness.

When Nora opened her eyes again, it was 7:00 AM.

Birdsong trilled through the windows, and sunlight peeked through her curtains. She was back in her bed.

Again.

Her sheets were smoothed, her hair brushed behind her ear. As if she'd never left the room at all.

"Nora!" called a familiar voice from downstairs.

"Coming!" Nora called up from the landing, her voice small and hoarse.

It was Elie.

Her younger sister—ten years old and already more fearless than most grown-ups Nora knew—was calling for breakfast.

"I made toast and jam! But the toaster tried to kill me!"

Nora blinked slowly. The dream clung to her like morning fog—thick and slow to lift. But this one had layers.

A dream... within a dream.

She dressed slowly, her mind adrift. She stepped quietly into the hallway, and as she walked past her mother's room, something made her stop.

The air around the door shimmered faintly, charged with the same aura from her dream—a stillness threaded with memory. Her hand hovered near the doorknob, but she didn't touch it this time. She just stared, then slowly turned and descended the stairs.

Elie—wide-eyed, mischievous, and bursting with energy—stood at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips, her jet-black curls tied up with a pink ribbon that never quite stayed in place.

"You look like a ghost," she said cheerfully. "Did you not sleep?"

Nora gave a wan smile. "I've been having those dreams again."

Elie's grin faded. Her big eyes widened, brows knitting together. She squeezed Nora's hand. "When will those dreams leave you alone?"

They entered the small kitchen together. Their home—12 Rosewood Crescent—was a simple two-story cottage, old and filled with books. Stella owned a bookstore downtown and believed in reading like some people believed in medicine. Every corner of the house had a stack of novels or dusty volumes.

As Elie buttered her toast with exaggerated flair, she suddenly turned toward their mother with wide, eager eyes. "Mum! Don't forget—it's my sports day today!" she announced, nearly bouncing on her stool. "I've been looking forward to it all week. I'm in the relay team this time, and I've been practicing my sprints every day! Remember when I beat Jamie by a whole second?"

Stella's face lit up a little as she looked at her younger daughter. "Of course I remember. And you'll do amazing today, sweetheart," she said with gentle pride. "Just don't outrun your shoes."

Nora chuckled softly, watching Elie beam at the praise. "You'll be the fastest blur on the field," she added, giving her sister an encouraging wink.

The kitchen seemed momentarily brighter with Elie's excitement filling the air, like sunlight streaming through clouded glass. Their father had built the shelves himself, years ago.

Their mother sat at the table already, her usual calm expression replaced by a distant gaze. Stella was in her early forties, a soft, delicate woman whose grace lingered in every movement. She smiled when they walked in—but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Morning, girls," she said quietly, stirring tea she hadn't sipped.

Nora noticed how her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the spoon. Her mother's thoughts were elsewhere. And though she tried to appear normal, the tired slump of her shoulders betrayed her.

Still, Nora stepped closer, pulling out a chair beside her and giving her mother a soft kiss on the cheek. "You okay, Mum?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Stella blinked as though pulled from deep water and looked at Nora with warmth softening her expression. "Just a lot on my mind, sweetheart. But thank you." She reached for Nora's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Nora held her gaze for a moment longer, then sat down, comforted in small ways by the familiar rhythm between them. Stella's face softened and she reached across the table. "How are you this morning, love?" she asked gently. Nora hesitated, then admitted, "I've been having those dreams again." For an instant Stella looked more worried than usual, the worry flickering across her features, but she quickly smoothed it away and squeezed Nora's hand. "It'll pass," she said, as if it were nothing, though the concern lingered at the edges of her voice.

"I need to tell you both something," Stella added gently. "I'll be late from work today. So, after school, you girls will go with Elizabeth. I've already spoken to her, and she's expecting you."

At once, Elie beamed. "Yes! Elizabeth makes the best lemon tarts!"

Nora's smile lit up more genuinely this time. "And I finally get to spend time with Lila outside of school."

They both adored visiting Elizabeth and her family. There was something magical about the warmth in that house, the easy laughter, the smell of herbs and freshly baked bread, and especially the company of Lila—Elizabeth's daughter and Nora's dearest friend. The thought made her morning feel a little steadier.

"Thanks, Mum," Nora said softly, reaching for a piece of toast.

Four plates. Only three were ever used.

Three years ago, their father, Mr. Howell—strong, curious, and hopelessly adventurous—had set out on what was supposed to be a short hiking trip into the Aravalli Hills. He had kissed them both goodbye with a wink and a promise to bring back something "mysterious and magical." He had always treated life like a treasure hunt, especially for the girls, who grew up on stories of his youthful adventures. But this time, he didn't come back. Days turned into weeks. Search parties scoured the hills. There were volunteers, posters, phone calls, even whispered prayers. But nothing. No body. No clue. Just the silence of unanswered questions. His disappearance became a void that reshaped their family in quiet, painful ways—each of them learning to live around the absence like furniture around a hole in the floorboards.

Their mother had buried herself in work. Elie had buried herself in make-believe. Nora had buried nothing. She carried it all—every possibility, every if.

As she chewed slowly on a piece of toast, her mind wandered again.

That voice.

That veil.

And the strange words she heard in the night—if it had even been real—echoed louder now, as if they had soaked into her bones while she slept. The cadence of that otherworldly voice lingered like mist at the edges of her thoughts, each syllable charged with meaning just beyond reach. Was it prophecy? A warning? A memory awakened. Her pulse quickened at the thought that she hadn't merely imagined it. She must know.

The weight of it settled like a stone in her chest. Something had changed.

And as the light spilled across the floor and Elie chattered beside her, Nora wondered—

Was it all a dream?

Or had something just begun?