His Descendant (Book 2 / Trials of Fate series)

Chapter 1: Theseus

I was told tales as a child. Tales of what I could do, who I could hurt, but I never believed those tales. And as for the person who had told me those stories—who had always spoken with caution about my dreams, who had always warned me of my nightmares—I know that they're the reason I've grown wary of my life.
Of my choices.
My desires.
And I blame their advice, really, and the various ways they had told me to avoid tricks of the mind. Because several of those tricks—I haven't seen in a long time. 
Not until now.
And if they could visit me today, if the person I considered a false storyteller could speak, I often wonder about the words they would say. I wonder if they'd be able to dissect the dream I'm currently inside of. I wonder if they'd be able to explain the dreams I've found myself inside of for the past few days.
Without underestimation, I've been inside of these dreams for the past eight weeks, and the stories I've been told urge me to stay inside of these dreams.
These repetitive scenes.
I want to claim this repetitive scene—my days and nights spent in this imaginary field—as the beginning of something great. Something I should believe in.
Something I should hold onto.
In the beginning, I was confused; because the first dream of this cycle had forged an image I didn't understand, a moment from a childhood that I didn't have.
But it's hers.
I applied that first dream to Havena, and every moment inside of my imaginative mind has become hers ever since.
All of it is hers.
And maybe it's because of her absence on the Human Plane—from our friend group, from her best friend Leah who she considers family—but I want to believe in that; I want to believe Havena's happy, because I wake everyday to see that Gale is not.
I want Havena to remain happy, for Gale's sake.
I watch Havena now behind my eyelids, with her arms thrown into the air, her body enjoying the freedom of the midday breeze upon her brown skin. Her dress flows to her toes and the sleeves of it—the lace—trickles to the edge of her fingertips. Her abundant brunette curls run free as she twirls in this meadow, a meadow surrounded by trees, a field enraptured by flowers.
I've seen this place on the Human Plane before, just once during one of my missions when I had become a Nurturer. It's no surprise that Havena's happy within this gorgeous landscape.
It's no surprise that I know exactly how to keep my distance here either.
But I have to keep my distance...
For Gale's sake.
My loose long-sleeve catches in the wind, and the thin fabric utilizes this moment to catch itself against the burn on my arm—a burn that has blackened like ink against my shoulder; a mark, a tattoo.
I honestly don't understand it, how the mark shines whenever I sleep, but tonight, or any other time when I decide to close my eyes—or when I feel compelled to—I lean against this tree, a tree that rises tall and has thick branches—I think it's maple—and I carve Havena's initials into the bark with a rock in hand, leaving her a mark as well.
HB.
My mouth turns up at the memory in my brain, and I blink away the urge I have to smirk at the recollection—like a fool. I can laugh about it now, because Havena dances and twirls within this field.
Havena holds a smile on her face.
But at the time of the burn, when Havena's hand had met my arm and marked my flesh, when the flames had touched my veins... something changed, that much I remember.
Her initials on the maple tree should be less painful.
Havena suddenly comes to a stop in the field, bringing her hands to her stomach as she pauses her feet in the grass.
She's hungry, or starved, and a gurgle resonates into my stomach to mirror her own.
Somehow... her demeanor mirrors my own.
I pull myself away from the tree. I take a single step towards her—towards Havena as she pulls her hands away from her body.
She examines her arms, and one single blink has placed her back into a set of clothes I haven't seen for some time; clothes that Gale, Ares and I had found her in on the Human Plane.
The sweater and jeans against her skin hold shards of glass, the tips of her fingertips drip with the color red. Her forearms shiver with the metallic liquid.
The blood.
"M-Mom," Havena stammers to herself, to the air, every breath spewing with disbelief. The rock in my hand slips to the forest floor from her fear.
This dream becomes a nightmare.
Her nightmare.
"N-No! No—!"

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Hello! It's the author here! Make sure to mark your calendars for His Descendant, releasing October 20th (Preorder opens October 1st)! Sending love + light (And I hope you enjoyed the teaser 👼🤍).