Chapter 1
The wind howled louder than I could cry.
It tore at my nightgown like claws, yanking the powder blue fabric out behind me as I flew, soaked and shivering, through the storm. Tiny pastel flowers embroidered along the hem fluttered like petals ripped from their stems. The nightgown hung nearly to my ankles and clung to my skin, heavy with rain. I was freezing and small my tiny hands barely able to hand onto the arms of the saddle I sat in.
The sky was as black as onyx, lit by jagged streaks of lightning that lit up the dark and ominous for a blink. In between the clouds, I could see stars, glistening faintly through the storm. The rain was thick and cold, falling in heavy sheets, which made hanging on even harder, with my hands slipping as we weaved in and out of the clouds, but even that wasn't what scared me most.
I didn't know how I was flying, but I was. I didn't look down. I just held on with all my might.
My arms wrapped tightly around Caradog — my teddy bear which had one ear missing and a some stitching coming apart at the seam . His fur was sodden, the little pink dress my mother had stitched for him to wear clinging wet to his worn body. He smelled like home. He was home. I pressed him to my chest and buried my face in him. Wishing I was back in my bed, with my mother and father cuddling me whilst they read me my favourite story. The large fire in my bedroom cracking with heat, spreading warmth into my joint. But I was far from there, I don't think I'll ever see home again. The saddle beneath me was too big, too wide my feet dangling not even able to reach the stirrups. My small hands could barely grip the slick leather arms of the pommel.
I was too small for this. Too cold. Too scared.
But I couldn't fall. I wouldn't. I need to be brave now.
Something was chasing us. I didn't know what — only that it I could catch glimpses of it through the clouds behind us, it was fast, and it sent smoky tendrils of darkness at us which we avoided with precision shifting, i could feel its anger and wrongness, I couldn't let it catch up to us. It darted through the darkness like it was made of it, weaving between thunder and lighting with hatred in its shape.
I felt it behind me, gaining on us. I knew it was hunting me.
My teeth chattered. My muscles ached. The blood that was not my own was still there, smeared on my gown. I didn't know whose it was. But I remembered the screaming. My mother stepping in front of me shielding me and told me to run, I ran as fast as my little legs could carry me to the place she told me to go. My father, had already fallen. I could still see his body lying on the rug with his eyes wide open as my mother sobbed and screamed.
There'd been so much blood.
Tears stung my eyes as I remembered. I tightened my grip on Caradog drinking his scent of home, He smelled of embers and wild mint, like bedtime stories told by firelight after playing in the rain and i tried to be brave, because Papa would've wanted me to be brave. But I missed them. I missed them so much it hurt.
A roar cracked the sky which made me jump in my seat almost making me lose my footing. Lighting crashed up on the sky lighting up the world, and for a moment, I saw it. The shape in the clouds. Enormous. Winged. Bigger than any bird.
Then it was gone.
The sea raged beneath us, black and churning and angry. Waves crashed against one another, a chaos I could feel deep in my chest — but the fear it stirred wasn't for me. No... it wasn't after me. Somehow I knew the sea was angry at the thing behind us.
And then— It struck.
Something hit us from behind, jarring my body as I try to keep my grip on the leather pommels, sliding around in the slick wet saddle, my feet unable to find purchase and I screamed. My hands slipped. Caradog tumbled from my grip. I reached, sobbing
"No—Caradog!"
The wind tore him away. I watched as he fell, his pink dress fluttering once before he vanished into the dark sea.
A single tear slid down my cheek.
A gentle voice brushed against my mind. Soft. Warm but strong and old.
"Don't worry, little diferu. I'm going to get you somewhere safe."
But I couldn't stop. I couldn't fall I pulled myself back into the saddle and cling on with my life.
Then, just as the shadow surged again as we quickly swivel away from the darkness.
And then I was screaming—
Not in the sky. Not in the storm.
In my bed.
"Kaia—Kaia."
A large warm hand gripped my shoulder. Another gently cupped my face. I blinked, heart pounding, my throat raw.
The dream began to slip away like the tide pulling from the shore... but I could still taste the salt of the sea on my lips.
Sunlight spilled through the curtainless window, golden and soft with the first light of dawn. Dust motes drifted lazily in the glow. I sucked in a shaky breath as the room came into focus — small, worn, but filled with the kind of warmth that came from laughter, not coins.
And then I saw him.
He was leaning over me, brows drawn, his eyes thick with worry. Tousled mahogany hair curled over his forehead, still messy from sleep. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones high, skin tanned from long days outside. A too-tight shirt clung to his toned chest, sleeves cut just above his biceps — which flexed slightly as he leaned closer. His shorts hung low on his hips, like he'd just rolled out of bed.
Too close. Too handsome. My breath hitched.
"You're okay," he said softly, voice low and calm. "It was just a dream."
His thumb brushed my fiery red curls away from my face. His touch was careful, steady.
I nodded, slow and silent. My heart still raced, but his presence grounded me.
I looked around the room — the faded rug beneath the bed, the cracked but clean walls, the chipped mug on the windowsill. This house was poor, yes. But it was safe.
I tugged the woven blanket up to my neck — the one my mother had made with threads dyed from hibiscus, passionfruit rind, and morning-glory leaves. Bright coral pinks bled into gold and soft indigo, like the sunrise that now spilled through the wooden shutters. It was beautiful... and itchy as hell when damp with sweat.
I was still shaking — not from fear now, but embarrassment.
Hao, my best friend since we were children, flopped down beside me with a dramatic groan, his long limbs stretching across the small bed like he owned the place. One arm bent under his head, the other draped lazily over his stomach, toned from years of swimming and climbing trees with me since we were little, his muscles had only gotten more defined since he started helping his dad father, Pono on his fishing boat. His mahogany hair stuck out in lazy curls from the humidity, tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed — which, knowing Hao, he probably had.
"You scream like that in your sleep often, or should I be honoured this one was just for me?" he asked, raising a brow. That familiar cocky grin tugged at his lips — the one that usually meant he was about to say something stupid, or funny. Probably both.
I groaned, tugging the blanket tighter around me. "Don't start."
He nudged me gently with his elbow. "Come on, Kaia. Tell me. What was it this time? Another giant eel stealing your lunch?"
My face warmed, and not just from the sweat. "It's stupid," I muttered.
"You say that every time," he teased, propping himself up slightly on his elbow. "But I still want to hear it."
I bit my lip, chewing on the corner of it. I wanted to lie, to make something up and wave it off. But the words tumbled out anyway — like they always did.
"It was the flying one," I said softly.
The smirk vanished from his face.
He sat up straighter, eyes wide and suddenly serious. His hand found mine, his fingers warm and rough from nets and paddles. "Kaia... you haven't had that dream since you were little."
I nodded, barely able to meet his gaze.
"What happened this time?"
I swallowed. "It felt the same... but not. I was flying — just a little girl maybe three I think — over the sea in the storm, cold and soaked through. I lost something.... Caradog." My voice caught a little on the name, touching a memory I can't quite place. "Something was chasing me. A shadow in the clouds. And when it hit me... I screamed and woke up."
He didn't say anything. Just kept looking at me like I might shatter.
"It didn't feel like a dream," I said after a pause. "It felt... real."
Hao leaned back a little and scratched the back of his neck. "Well. Hate to break it to you, but last I checked, you don't have wings. Or magic. Or any idea how to fly. Unless you've been hiding something from me, and honestly, I'd be very offended."
I smiled, small and sheepish. "Maybe I was a bird in a past life."
"Hopefully not a gull. They're arseholes."
I laughed, finally loosening enough to throw back the blanket. My nightgown clung to my damp skin.
I padded over to the carved dresser in the corner and picked out a pale blue blouse, soft from wear, and a pair of woven cream shorts that hit just above my knees. Loose and breathable — perfect for a day thick with heat and salt.
Behind the old dressing screen, I peeled off the nightgown, my skin still sticky from the dream. I was lean and athletic from climbing trees, running the beach, and swimming nearly every day — not graceful, exactly, but strong. Scars flecked my legs from misadventures, my elbows perpetually bruised. My skin, pale and freckled, hadn't tanned like the others' — but I'd always stood out here. Pale skin. Fiery red curls. Ocean eyes that shifted when I felt too much. I'd never belonged, not really — not even to myself.
As I pulled the blouse over my head, Hao's voice called lazily from the other side of the screen.
"You know, if you ever want a second opinion, I volunteer as dressing assistant. Very professional. Very discreet."
I chucked my nightgown at his head.
It smacked him square in the face, damp and tangled.
He yelped. "Rude!"
I peeked around the screen, arching a brow. "You deserved that."
He tugged the nightgown off and held it like it had personally offended him. "That's no way to treat your best friend. And the man who bravely rescued you from the horrors of your own pillow."
I snorted, shaking my head — but for a moment, I wished he wasn't always joking. That just once, he'd say something that wasn't meant to make me laugh.
Because my heart had loved him for as long as I could remember — and I was always the punchline.
He tossed the nightgown back onto the bed, the grin never quite fading. But his eyes lingered on me a moment longer than they should've, full of something that wasn't quite teasing anymore.
And just like always, I pretended not to notice.
