Chapter 123 DREAMS CARRY WARNINGS
DEREK’S POV
Amber didn’t wake up screaming and that was what scared me. She sat up slowly, breath uneven, eyes wide but focused, like she was still looking at something only she could see. Her hand went to her chest, then to her throat.
“Amber,” I said quietly. “Hey.”
She didn’t jump. She turned to me instead, deliberate, shaken in a way that felt deeper than panic.
“I remember it,” she said.
My stomach tightened. “All of it?”
“Yes.” She said, fear lacing her voice.
Usually, her nightmares came in pieces. Heat, fear, gasping breaths. This time, she was too clear and too steady which shocked me to the core because I didn’t even know what she was feeling within her. It was better if she shouted, raved and called me all ugly names and I would take it all but this, seeing how quiet she got was something I wasn’t expecting at all.
“Tell me,” I said.
She swallowed. “We were standing at the boundary.”
“The old one?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “But it wasn’t broken, it was rebuilt and it was taller and sharper.”
I listened, not interrupting because I realized this was very important for her and I needed her to talk without me adding something, anything to what she was telling me. I wouldn’t like it if she did that to me so there was no point doing that to her.
“You were beside me,” she continued. “But you weren’t looking at me, you were looking past me like I wasn’t there.”
I frowned. “I’d never do that.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “That’s what made it wrong.”
I sat up, fully awake now. “What else?”
“The pack was there,” she said. “Both packs, quiet…too quiet.”
“Quiet how.”
“No arguments, no movement. They were just watching.”
She rubbed her arms like she was cold. “The pups were crying. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them.”
My jaw tightened. “Were they hurt?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the worst part, I couldn’t reach them.”
“What stopped you?”
She hesitated. “The ground.”
“The ground,” I repeated.
“It opened,” she said. “Not suddenly but slowly like it was choosing.”
I reached for her hand just as she gripped mine hard.
“I tried to warn everyone,” she said. “But when I spoke, nothing came out.”
“That’s when you woke up?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “That’s when you turned to me.”
I held her gaze. “And?”
“You said it was too late,” she whispered.
Silence filled the room and it was heavy and suffocating with so many words we wanted to say but too scared to say out.
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know,” she said. “But it felt real, too real.”
I pulled her closer. “Dreams borrow fear, that’s all.”
She leaned into me but didn’t relax. “This one wasn’t just fear.”
“What was it then?”
“A warning,” she said. “Or a consequence.”
I didn’t like the certainty in her voice.
“You’ve been under pressure,” I said. “Your mind is trying to process…”
“No,” she interrupted. “Don’t explain it away.”
I paused. “Alright.”
She looked at me. “I’ve never remembered one like this.”
That mattered because I knew it was going to help later in the future when we sat back to talk about this all.
I pressed my forehead to hers. “We’ll watch everything, nothing happens without us knowing.”
She nodded, but unease still clung to her. I didn’t understand the dream but I understood this.
Whatever she saw had shaken something deep and that meant I couldn’t ignore it.
Amber stayed awake after that, she lay against my chest, eyes open, breathing slow but alert. I ran my hand over her back, steady, grounding.
“You think I’m overreacting,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “I think you’re scared for a reason.”
She tilted her head up. “Even if it makes no sense?”
“Especially then,” I said. “Fear doesn’t need logic to be real.”
She was quiet for a moment. “In the dream, I felt like I’d already failed.”
I frowned. “Failed who?”
“Everyone,” she said. “The packs, the pups…you.”
“You haven’t failed at anything,” I said firmly.
She studied my face. “You don’t know that.”
“I know this,” I replied. “You’re still here and we’re still standing.”
She exhaled slowly. “The dream felt like a future that could still happen.”
That landed heavier than I wanted it to.
“Then we make sure it doesn’t,” I said.
“How?” she asked.
“By tightening security,” I said. “By listening harder and by not assuming peace means safety.”
She nodded. “The rebuilt boundary scared me most.”
“Why.”
“Because it meant division,” she said. “After everything we broke down.”
I thought about the pack. The progress, the fragile calm.
“No one is rebuilding it,” I said. “Not while I breathe.”
She shifted closer. “What if it’s not physical.”
“You think this is internal,” I said.
“I think it’s about trust,” she replied. “About what happens if something breaks between us.”
The bond stirred at that and it was uneasy.
“We talk,” I said. “We don’t let things fester.”
“And if something forces a choice?” she asked.
“Then we choose together,” I said without hesitation.
She searched my face, then nodded.
“You said something else,” I added. “About the ground opening.”
She tensed. “It felt like a consequence, like the land itself was reacting.”
I didn’t like that either because it meant all of this wasn’t really sure for us and I hated knowing that.
“We’ll have the scouts report in detail,” I said. “No skipped checks, no assumptions.”
“And the council?” she asked.
“I’ll keep them close,” I said. “No secret meetings.”
She finally closed her eyes. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t dismiss this,” she said. “Even if nothing comes of it.”
“I won’t,” I replied. “I don’t need to understand it to respect it.”
Her breathing evened out, exhaustion catching up with her. As she drifted back toward sleep, I stayed awake.
I replayed every detail she shared. The boundary and the silence and the feeling of lateness.
It didn’t form a clear threat but it didn’t feel empty either.
Dream or not, it carried weight and if something was coming, I intended to meet it awake, not blindsided. I held her tighter, listening to the quiet c
amp beyond the walls. Peace was real but peace still needed guarding.
A NEW THREAT