Hayley

Chapter 27

No one knows where Tanya went or whether she is still in this world.

Later for a thousand years, the White Wolf Clan no longer dared to discuss this girl.

***

A thousand years have passed in the blink of an eye.

Hayley's POV

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the fields, Kat and I made our way back to our village with baskets of bountiful harvest. As we walked, the sweet scent of ripe fruit wafted up from our baskets, mingling with the crisp evening air.

"Hey Hayley, how was your day out there?" Kat asked me with a grin.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as I held up my basket, showcasing my impressive haul. "As usual, I am a skilled fruit picker," I replied, beaming with satisfaction.

Kat rolled her eyes in amusement before reaching over to take two bright red apples from my basket. "Well, you certainly don't want Viola to scold us for not bringing back enough, do you?" she teased while eyeing her own empty basket enviously.

I chuckled indulgently at her antics, knowing full well that Viola would have something to say if we didn't bring back ample provisions. "Alright, let's head back now," I said, motioning towards the path leading to our village.

As we walked back, I found myself lost in thought, staring off into the distance as the sky turned from orange to pink. It wasn't long before Kat noticed my absent-mindedness.

"Hey, what's going on with you these days? You seem a bit preoccupied," she said with a raised eyebrow. "Have you secretly fallen for some strong and muscular man in our tribe?"

Despite Kat's teasing, I couldn't help but feel a faint twinge of sadness deep within me. I shook my head gently, my voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's nothing like that. Let's just go back."

And with that, we continued on our journey home, the fading light of the sun casting long shadows across the grassy plains.

My name is Hayley, and though I am proud to have been born into a family of witches, my past is shrouded in mystery.

The story I was told by Viola, my mother's sister and the elder of our witch clan, is that I was born to a powerful witch who had been deceived by a werewolf.

However, before I could even begin to understand who I really was, my memories were lost to me as if I had been trapped in a dark and endless nightmare.

It was not until I opened my eyes and saw Viola watching over me that I began to realize how little I knew about myself.

She taught me what it meant to be a witch and shared stories of my mother, the most gifted witch in our clan. Though my memory of her is fragmented, I can still recall the faint silhouette of a woman who radiated power and grace.

Despite the loss of my memories, I inherited my mother's talent for witchcraft, and Viola made it clear that I was destined for greatness.

She told me that I should train hard and use my abilities to lead our clan out of the continent.

At times, she would speak of my mother with bitterness in her voice, telling me in a vicious tone that she had been abused by my so-called father and had left this world after giving birth to me.

My heart ached for the mother I never knew, but I also felt a sense of duty to fulfill the destiny that had been laid out before me.

With Viola's guidance, I trained tirelessly, mastering spells and incantations that had once seemed impossible to me. As my powers grew, I began to feel a sense of purpose stirring within me - a drive to lead our clan to greatness and unlock the secrets of my past.

Yet, as much as I longed to know more about my mother and the life I once led, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing - a piece of myself that had been lost in the void of my forgotten memories. And so, I continued to train, to hone my skills, and to search for the answers that would help me uncover who I really was.

The hatred I felt towards my father was almost all-consuming. The mere thought of him made my blood boil with anger and resentment.

All I wanted was to take revenge against the man who had caused so much pain to my family, especially to my mother.

And so, I devoted myself entirely to practicing and becoming stronger, determined to one day lead my clan to greatness and prove my worth as a witch.

But as of late, a strange feeling has been creeping up on me, tugging at the edges of my consciousness. Every night, I find myself caught in the same dream, replaying over and over again like a broken record.

In this dream, I am intimate with two men - not just any men, but two with long scars that stretches from the arm to the belly. As I trace my fingers along the length of their scar, I can feel the pain, and for some inexplicable reason, I sense that it they connected to me somehow.

The dream leaves me feeling raw and vulnerable, emotions I cannot begin to comprehend. I yearn to see the man's face, to understand why they are haunting my dreams, but every time I get close, they disappears into the ether, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

It's a strange feeling, one that I cannot shake off. But amidst the confusion and uncertainty, I know one thing for sure - something is changing within me, a shift that threatens to upend everything I've ever known.

The dreams that plagued me were not limited to just the one with the scarred men. I found myself caught in the middle of wars between races that I could not even begin to comprehend, battles that were more gruesome and violent than anything I had ever seen before.

The screams and cries of soldiers filled my ears as I watched the carnage unfold before me. Broken hands and feet littered the battlefield like some twisted form of decoration, and I felt a deep sense of sorrow and despair wash over me at the sight of so much death and destruction.

It was strange how the dreams affected me. Even though I knew that it wasn't real, that it was all just a figment of my imagination, the emotions I felt were genuine. Watching those soldiers die filled me with an indescribable sense of loss and grief, as if I had lost something precious to me.

At times, I would try to intervene, to shout and plead with the opposing sides to stop their fighting. But no matter how hard I tried, my words fell on deaf ears, and the war continued to rage on around me. It was as if I was powerless to stop the destruction, a mere spectator caught in the crossfire.

As the dreams persisted, I began to wonder if they held some deeper meaning, if they were trying to tell me something about my past or my future. But for now, all I could do was bear witness to the horrors within, hoping that one day, the nightmares would come to an end.