Chapter 3 — Visions of Betrayal
Amelia Blackwood
The cold crept through the trees like a living thing, wrapping itself around Amelia as she trudged deeper into the woods. The ground beneath her boots was slick with frost, the frozen earth crunching under each step. The moon loomed above, a pale and indifferent eye, its light barely piercing the thick canopy of branches that twisted together like skeletal fingers. Shadows stretched and shifted unnaturally, as though the trees were leaning closer in silent judgment. The whispers grew louder with every step, threads of fragmented voices tightening around her mind, pulling her toward something she couldn’t yet see.
Her chest tightened with every breath of the damp, icy air, a suffocating weight pressing against her ribs. The world outside Blackthorn Woods had dissolved into obscurity, leaving only the maze of dark trees and the relentless hum of the whispers. Their disjointed words—*guilt, blood, betrayal, truth*—circled her like carrion birds. The forest seemed alive, its roots curling and branches swaying as if her presence were an unspoken trespass.
When the altar came into view, her breath hitched. It rested in a small clearing, cloaked in moss and decay, its surface cracked and stained with time. The stone seemed to pulse faintly, a cold, steady beat that resonated in her chest. The whispers surged now, a deafening cacophony, their fragmented words clawing at her mind. Her boots dragged forward, each step heavier than the last, as though she were being reeled in by an invisible chain.
She stopped at the edge of the clearing, her instincts screaming at her to leave, to turn back. But the whispers pressed harder, insistent and unrelenting, their presence a storm battering against the locked doors of her mind. As she stepped closer, the air thickened, and her skin prickled with a biting cold that seeped into her bones. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, brushing the jagged edge of the altar. The whispers shrieked, the sound splitting through her skull like a knife, and the world tilted violently.
---
The vision struck her, tearing her from herself. She was no longer in her body, no longer in her time. She was standing in the same clearing, but it was alive—blazing with firelight and movement. Hooded figures encircled the altar, their chants rising in an unfamiliar, guttural language that sent shivers down her spine. The thick, metallic tang of blood hung in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke of burning wood. The flames cast flickering shadows across the trees, and the sound of snarls—low, guttural, and inhuman—rippled through the clearing.
One figure stepped forward, her hood slipping back to reveal a face that mirrored Amelia’s own. The resemblance was unmistakable—the pale skin, the silvery-gray eyes that gleamed in the firelight, the dark, wild hair that framed her face. An ancestor. The realization hit Amelia like a blow to the chest. The woman’s expression was a storm of desperation and grim resolve as she raised a blade, its edge glinting cruelly in the firelight. She spoke words that Amelia couldn’t comprehend, but their weight pressed against her, heavy and foreboding.
Across the altar lay the werewolves, their human forms bound and bloodied. Their eyes burned with fury and pain, their breaths ragged and uneven. One of them lifted his head, his green eyes blazing with raw hatred. Amelia’s stomach twisted—those eyes were hauntingly familiar, their intensity a mirror of Cassian’s. The man’s lips curled into a snarl as he spat words, his voice a guttural growl that cut through the chanting. “You will regret this,” he said, his tone dripping with venom. “You will curse us, but it is you who will suffer.”
The ancestor hesitated, her hand trembling as she held the blade poised above the altar. Behind her, the other hooded figures murmured, their voices a rising tide of pressure and expectation. Her resolve hardened. With a flash of steel and a sickening crack, the blade came down.
The vision fractured, and Amelia was bombarded with jagged images: the werewolves’ screams of agony as their bodies twisted and grew monstrous, the hooded figures dissolving into the darkness, the forest itself groaning as if in pain. Blood soaked the ground, seeping into the roots of the trees, and from that blood rose the whispers—born of betrayal, agony, and vengeance. They screamed their anguish, their fury, their promise of retribution.
Amelia collapsed to her knees, her hands clawing at the damp earth. The vision faded, but its echoes remained, burned into her mind. Her breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps as the whispers churned inside her skull, their voices now coherent and chilling. *Blood for blood. A debt unpaid.*
---
Her eyes fluttered open, and the clearing was still again. The whispers had quieted to a low hum, their earlier ferocity reduced to an insistent thrum at the edges of her thoughts. The altar loomed above her, cold and unyielding, a monument to the atrocity it had borne witness to.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
The voice sent a jolt through her, and she scrambled to her feet, her pulse spiking. Cassian stood at the edge of the clearing, his green eyes sharp and unrelenting as they locked onto hers. The jagged scar along his jaw caught the faint light, giving his expression a hard, unreadable edge. His presence radiated tension, his stance coiled like a predator waiting to strike.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice shaky but edged with defiance. “Have you been following me?”
Cassian stepped closer, his movements deliberate and measured. “I told you,” he said, his tone calm but laced with something darker. “You’re not the only one tied to this curse. I followed the whispers. Just like you.”
Amelia’s fists clenched at her sides. “You knew I’d find this place.”
“I suspected,” he admitted, his voice steady but guarded. “The whispers... they have a way of leading people exactly where they want them.”
Her stomach twisted at his words. “Where *they* want?” she echoed, her voice rising. “You mean they’re controlling me?”
Cassian tilted his head, his gaze unflinching. “Not controlling, no. But their guidance is... self-serving.”
Her chest tightened, anger and fear warring within her. “They showed me a vision,” she said, her words trembling with the weight of what she’d seen. “The ritual. The betrayal. My ancestor—” She faltered, the words catching in her throat. “She cursed them. The werewolves. She turned them into monsters.”
Cassian’s expression softened, though his eyes remained hard and assessing. “Now you understand,” he said quietly. “Your family didn’t just inherit this curse. They created it.”
The words slammed into her, and she staggered back, her vision darkening at the edges. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’s not true. It can’t be true—there has to be more to it.”
“More to it?” Cassian’s voice cut through her denial, sharp and biting. “Sacrificing others to save themselves? Because that’s exactly what they did.”
Her nails dug into her palms, her breaths quickening as she fought to steady herself. “Why are you telling me this?” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Why now? Why do you even care?”
Cassian hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Because I was there,” he said finally, his voice low and bitter. “Not in the vision, but my family... my bloodline. We were part of the ones betrayed.”
Amelia froze, her heart stuttering. “What?”
“My family wasn’t part of the cult,” he said, his tone sharp with anger. “We were part of the pact. Allies to the werewolves. Protectors, in a way. Until your ancestors decided our lives were expendable.”
Her vision blurred, the full weight of his words crushing her. She gripped the edge of the altar, her knuckles white. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’s not... that can’t be true.”
Cassian stepped closer, his voice unrelenting. “You wanted the truth, Amelia. This is it. The whispers you hear? They’re not some vague curse. They’re the echoes of the lives your family destroyed. And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
Her throat tightened, the whispers rising again, faint but insistent. “And what do they want?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
Cassian’s gaze bore into hers, his green eyes alight with a grim certainty. “Justice. Even if it means burning this whole town to the ground.”
The words left her reeling, the forest spinning around her. Cassian’s voice broke through the haze, quieter now but no less firm.
“You have a choice,” he said. “You can keep running from this. Or you can face it. But if you do, be ready to pay the price.”
Amelia looked up at him, her vision blurred with tears. “What price?”
Cassian’s expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a quiet weight. “That’s for you to decide.”
The forest pressed in around them, the altar standing as a cold, silent witness. Amelia pushed herself upright, her hands trembling. Her breath steadied, her resolve hardening.
“I’ll fix this,” she said, her voice cracking but determined. “Without destroying the town.”
Cassian’s lips twitched in a faint, almost sardonic smile. “Then you’d better be ready for what’s coming.”
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the mist. Amelia stood in the clearing, the whispers humming softly in her mind, their fragmented voices a constant reminder of the burden she carried.
The path back to town stretched endlessly ahead, the shadows deeper than before. But as she walked, her thoughts churned, searching for answers she didn’t yet have. Whatever it took, she would face it. She didn’t have a choice.
