The world looked different from thirty thousand feet. The clouds were like cotton candy stretched across the horizon, the sun melting into them in streaks of gold and rose.

My camera was already rolling, balanced perfectly on the mount in front of my seat.

#TravelWithLuna would be trending again by tonight.

“Good lighting is free lighting,” I murmured into the lens, smiling just enough for my cheekbones to catch the glow.

“And today… we are landing in paradise.” Paradise, in this case, was Bacnotania — an island nation where the sand was white as sugar and the resorts made Maldives look budget.

My inbox was crammed with offers to promote their luxury spas, ocean villas, and exclusive clubs. But I wasn’t here just for ad money. I wanted the series to feel different — rawer, moodier, cinematic.

Behind the curated smiles, I had been restless for months. My followers wouldn’t see that. They’d see the girl who “lives the dream,” not the one who wakes at three a.m., heart pounding from another dream of running barefoot through a silver-lit forest. They didn’t hear the phantom sound of howls that lingered in my ears.

The plane dipped lower, and Bacnotania came into view. Mountains clawed at the clouds, dense forests unfurled like emerald waves, and beaches curved in lazy half-moons. For a moment, I forgot the camera was even on. Something in my chest tightened — a pull, like an invisible string was tethering me to that wild green heart of the island.

My phone buzzed. Clara: Touch down yet? Don’t forget to capture the “first step out” moment! Clara was my manager-slash-friend, or as I liked to call her, my “content drill sergeant.”

I typed back: On it. I’ll make it look like I’m stepping into another world. The airport was small, polished, and buzzing with tourists pulling designer luggage. I hit record as the sliding doors opened. Sunlight poured over me in a way that felt… personal. The air was warm, salted with sea breeze, but threaded with something sharper, wilder — like pine and rain.

The driver held a sign with my name in clean, gold letters. “Miss Veyra, welcome to Bacnotania,” he said, voice accented. “Mr. Draven’s resort sends their regards.”

Mr. Draven? My curiosity pricked, but I played it cool. Probably the billionaire owner whose name was on half the brochures. The drive to the resort was a blur of coastline and jungle. The villas rose like art pieces against the cliffs, each framed by infinity pools spilling into the horizon. My villa was a glass-and-wood masterpiece overlooking the sea. Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows framed a sky that was deepening into violet. Perfect lighting.

I changed into a silk dress, pale gold to match the sunset, and padded barefoot onto the deck. The camera hummed as I filmed the ocean far below, the waves catching fire in the dying light. I added soft background music, my voice low and intimate:

“There’s something about this place… like I’ve been here before.” A shadow moved in the treeline beyond the pool.

I froze.

It wasn’t the lazy sway of branches or the quick dart of a bird. This was deliberate. Heavy. My gaze snagged on it — a flash of black fur, massive shoulders, and… eyes. Silver, even in the dimming light. My heart stuttered. I didn’t even think — my camera swung toward it, autofocus scrambling to keep up. I caught maybe four seconds before the figure vanished into the forest.

“What the hell…” I whispered, replaying the clip. The shape was wolf-like, but far too big. Too intentional. A knock at the door made me jump.

A hotel staffer stood there, holding a cream envelope. “For you, Miss Veyra. From Mr. Draven. You are invited to the Moonlight Gala tonight. Black tie. Our car will pick you up at eight.”

I raised a brow.

“That’s… sudden.”

“It’s Mr. Draven’s way of welcoming his special guests.” The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It is… strongly recommended you attend.”

When the door shut, I stared at the envelope like it might bite me. I didn’t know this Mr. Draven, but the wolf in the forest and the sudden gala invite felt connected.

By eight, I was in a black silk gown that hugged like a second skin, my hair swept up, and a diamond choker glinting at my throat. The car slid through winding roads, deeper into the island until the trees opened onto a cliffside manor bathed in golden light.

Inside, the air was perfumed with expensive cologne and something darker, more primal. Guests moved like they belonged to old money — sleek dresses, sharp suits, champagne in hand. But there was a charge in the atmosphere, almost electric, raising goosebumps along my arms.

Then I saw him. Across the room, framed by tall windows and moonlight, stood a man whose presence cut through the crowd like a blade.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that looked like it had been made just to hold his body. His hair was dark, his jaw shadowed, and those eyes… molten silver. The same eyes that had watched me from the forest.

Our gazes collided, and I swear the room fell away. My pulse thudded in my ears, my breath catching like I’d been running.

He moved toward me with deliberate, predatory grace, the crowd parting instinctively. When he stopped in front of me, the air between us felt too thin. His voice was low, velvet over steel.

“Callie Veyra.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You know my name?” I tried for casual, but my voice wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I know a lot of things about you.” His gaze lingered on my throat, like he could hear the frantic beat beneath the choker.

“Some you don’t even know yourself.” My skin prickled.

“Like what?” He leaned in just enough for his breath to brush my ear.

“Like why the island feels familiar. Why the forest calls to you. And why you can’t seem to look away from me.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, sharp and unwanted. I took a step back, but he followed, slow and deliberate.

“You’re wondering if I was in the forest,” he said, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

“If I’m the shadow you saw.” His eyes caught the light, silver flashing. “The answer is yes… and no.”

I didn’t know whether to run or demand answers. All I knew was that my heart was racing, my skin was hot, and something in me — something deep — recognized him.

Before I could speak, his gaze dropped to my phone, still in my hand from earlier filming.

“Careful what you record here, little Luna,” he murmured. “Some things aren’t meant for your followers to see.”

And then he was gone, melting back into the crowd, leaving me standing in the middle of the gala with my pulse still in his grasp.

"Oh well, impressive." I can't avoid to utter as I glanced my eyes all over the venue.

"This should have been another hit if caught in live but it's pause not post for the mean time." I reminded myself.

The gala was supposed to be another brand story—cinematic shots of gowns, champagne glasses catching the light, maybe a dance or two with some CEO desperate to buy relevance through me. I should’ve been thinking about hashtags, filters, the angle of my smile. But all I could think about were those silver eyes. I stood in the middle of the ballroom, trying to ground myself in the swirl of laughter and clinking glasses, but the memory of his voice—low, sure, like he’d known me long before we’d spoken—clung to me like perfume.

Careful what you record here, little Luna. He had called me that like it was fact, not flirtation. And then he’d vanished, leaving me with questions that tangled tighter than the diamond choker at my throat.

“Miss Veyra.” A waiter in crisp black offered me a flute of champagne. I took it gratefully, hoping the fizz would slow my heart. But the glass trembled in my fingers, betraying me.

“First time on Bacnotania?” a voice asked. I turned to find a man in a pale gray suit—polished, charming smile, the kind of guest who knew how to network his way into photos. He extended a hand.

“Eli Santos. Tech investor. And you’re Callie, right? The Callie Veyra? My nieces worship you.”

I slipped into autopilot, shaking his hand, smiling for the moment. “Always happy to meet fans—even secondhand ones.”

He laughed, too loud, and leaned closer. “I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here. This gala isn’t usually for influencers. More…old money circles.”

The way he said it pricked, though his smile stayed smooth. Before I could answer, his gaze flicked past me. His laughter faltered.

“Ah. Speaking of the devil.” I didn’t have to turn to know who had entered our orbit. The air shifted—like gravity had bent.

My pulse stuttered, breath shortening as if my body had already recognized him before my mind could.

Kael Draven.

I turned anyway, slow, deliberate. He was closer now, striding through the crowd with that same predatory ease, and the guests parted as though some primal instinct told them to. His eyes—silver and sharp—locked on me. And once again, I forgot to breathe.

“Mr. Draven.” Eli’s tone had changed—lower, cautious. Respectful, almost fearful. Kael’s gaze slid briefly to him, dismissing him in a glance.

“Santos.” He said the name like a warning before returning his attention to me. The weight of it made Eli excuse himself in seconds, muttering something about champagne refills. I didn’t blame him.

Kael’s presence wasn’t just commanding—it was suffocating.

“You’re frightening your guests,” I murmured, trying for levity, though my voice was softer than I intended.

“They frighten easily,” he said. His eyes traced my face like he was memorizing it. “But you…” His jaw tightened, as though he were restraining himself. “You don’t.”

I almost laughed, except it wasn’t true. He terrified me, but not in the way shadows did. It was a different fear—the kind that made your stomach drop in freefall but left you craving the rush. I shifted, clutching the stem of my glass.

“What did you mean earlier? About me. About the island.”

His lips curved in a faint smile, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “If you’re asking for answers, this isn’t the place.”

“And yet you brought me here,” I countered.

“I wanted to see if you’d feel it.”

I frowned. “Feel what?”

“Home.”

The word struck something deep in me, something I didn’t want to acknowledge. “I’m not from here.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “Aren’t you?”

Before I could form a reply, a woman appeared at his side, slipping her arm through his like she belonged there. She was all sharp cheekbones and scarlet silk, her smile predatory in a way that made the hair rise on the back of my neck.

“Kael,” she purred, ignoring me entirely. “The council is waiting for you. They grow impatient.”

“I’ll come when I choose,” he said without looking at her.

Her smile tightened. Only then did her gaze flick toward me, dismissive at first—until her eyes narrowed, sharpened, and something like hostility rippled in them.

She leaned in closer to him, staking a claim. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, her tone dipped in venom. “And who might you be?”

“Callie Veyra,” Kael answered for me, still watching me. “Our guest.”

The woman’s eyes darted between us, and for a split second, something dangerous flashed across her face. “Guest,” she repeated, almost like it was an insult. She forced another smile. “How…lovely.”

She tugged at his arm again, but Kael’s attention hadn’t shifted from me. “I’ll return shortly.”

Her expression soured, but she left, her heels clicking sharp against marble. I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Who was that?” I asked.

His expression darkened. “Someone who doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really? She seemed to think otherwise.”

“She’s irrelevant.” His voice carried an edge, final enough to close the subject, but curiosity still burned in me.

Instead, I drained the last of my champagne and set the glass aside. “So what am I doing here, then? Why invite me?”

Kael’s smile was small, unreadable. “Because whether you admit it or not, you belong here. And sooner or later, you’ll see that.”

“I belong on camera,” I said, defensive. “This—” I gestured at the glittering ballroom, the predatory gazes, the tension threaded through every laugh. “—this isn’t my world.”

“You’re wrong,” he said simply, like stating a fact. And then, without asking, he extended a hand. “Dance with me.”

I stared at his hand, elegant but strong, veins shifting beneath skin that looked made for power. My throat went dry.

“No cameras,” he added softly, almost like a lure. “Just you.”

Something in me cracked. Against all logic, I placed my hand in his. His grip was warm, grounding, but there was fire beneath the touch. He led me to the dance floor, where the string quartet slid seamlessly into a waltz.

The moment his arm settled around my waist, the world shrank. My hand rested on his shoulder, and every nerve in my body screamed awareness. His eyes caught mine—silver burning into brown—and I forgot steps I’d practiced for years.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I’m not.”

His lips curved, faint amusement sparking. “You are.”

He guided me effortlessly, his presence so absolute that it felt like resisting would only draw me deeper. My breath hitched when his palm pressed against the small of my back, anchoring me.

“This isn’t real,” I whispered, more to myself than him. He leaned closer, voice brushing my skin.

“It’s the only thing that is.” My chest tightened, betraying me.

“Why me?”

“Because fate doesn’t make mistakes.” I swallowed hard.

“And if I don’t believe in fate?”

“Then it will keep proving itself until you do.”

The intensity in his gaze was unbearable, like he could see every secret I’d ever buried. My walls—the ones I’d spent years building for the camera, for the followers, for survival—felt paper-thin.

But before I could answer, a scream cut through the music. It shattered the moment.

Guests froze, heads whipping toward the grand windows overlooking the forest.

The quartet’s bows screeched to a halt. Another scream—shrill, panicked—ripped through the night. Kael’s expression transformed, all softness gone. His hand tightened on mine.

“Stay close.”

The crowd erupted in chaos—heels clattering, glasses shattering, guests rushing toward the exits. But my eyes locked on the windows.

Movement. Something enormous barreled out of the treeline, fur bristling, teeth flashing in the moonlight. It leapt over the garden wall like it was nothing, crashing into the manicured lawn with a growl that rattled the glass.

Gasps turned into terrified cries. The beast—wolf, but impossibly large—snapped its jaws, eyes glowing red.

My heart pounded. Not silver. Not Kael.

Kael pulled me against him, his voice a low growl in my ear. “Don’t move.”

“Is that—” My words stuck in my throat.

“Rogue,” he spat, eyes blazing.

The wolf lunged, sending bodies scattering. Guests shrieked, tripping over gowns and chairs.

The beast tore through a table, snapping wood like twigs. And then its gaze landed on me.

It froze.

Snarled. Recognition—or hunger—burned in its eyes.

A chill ripped through me, deeper than fear.

The rogue wolf bared its teeth and charged.

Kael shoved me behind him just as the windows shattered inward, glass exploding,

and the beast leapt straight for us—

The moment Callie opened her eyes, the golden sun was already spilling across the wide glass doors of her villa, scattering diamonds of light onto the marble floor. For a second, she forgot where she was. Bacnotania still felt like a fever dream—too vibrant, too alive. The ocean’s steady roar was louder here, punctuated by the faintest hum of cicadas hiding in palm fronds outside.

She rolled onto her side and stretched, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand. Notifications. Always notifications.

“Morning, Queen! Your reel hit 2.1M overnight!”

“Babe, your Bacnotania gown clip is trending globally.”

“Everyone’s saying you look unreal—like a goddess.”

Her lips curved into a practiced smile. She’d worked her whole life for this—millions of strangers hanging on her every post. And yet, when her eyes flicked toward the balcony, that smile faltered.

Something about this island tugged at her bones in ways likes and comments never could.

Callie pushed the covers off and padded barefoot to the balcony. She opened the doors, letting the warm, salt-laced wind wash over her. The air was heavy, thick with scents she couldn’t name—like damp earth after rain, but sharper, wilder. It clung to her skin, sank deep into her lungs.

And then, she heard it.

A low hum. Almost like a growl.

It was faint, hidden beneath the crash of waves, but unmistakable.

Her breath caught. “Okay… that’s creepy.”

She spun, half expecting to see someone behind her. No one. Just the pristine villa, sunlight glinting off the infinity pool below. She shook her head and forced a laugh. “You’re being paranoid, Callie. Get your content, then coffee. That’s the plan.”

---

By midmorning, she was dressed in a flowing white sundress—light enough to flutter with the ocean breeze but cinched perfectly at the waist for that effortless chic aesthetic. Her hair cascaded in soft waves, lips brushed with coral gloss.

Camera mounted. Microphone clipped. The influencer mask slipped back on.

“Good morning, sun chasers,” she cooed into the lens, voice smooth and honeyed. “Today, I’m exploring one of Bacnotania’s most exclusive resorts, hidden along the cliffs of the island. And trust me… this place is unreal.”

She panned the camera over the villa’s view—crystal water shimmering turquoise under the sun, jagged black cliffs rising like guardians around the beach. Her smile widened for the lens, but inside, her chest still felt tight.

As she walked the resort’s winding paths, locals in crisp uniforms greeted her with polite bows and smiles. She returned them with her practiced warmth, but her attention kept slipping elsewhere—to the forest that loomed just beyond the manicured gardens.

The trees were impossibly tall, ancient, their trunks wide enough for three men to wrap their arms around. The leaves whispered in the wind, not like rustling, but like… words.

She froze mid-step, camera still recording.

“…Did anyone else hear that?” she whispered into the mic. Her laugh came too quickly after. “Maybe it’s just me.”

But the sound was still there. Soft, rhythmic. Like chanting.

She tilted the camera toward the forest edge. Shadows stretched unnaturally between the trees, long fingers curling over the ground. She couldn’t see anything moving, yet her pulse leapt, faster, harder.

“Okay, creepy forest. Check,” she muttered, lowering the lens. “We’re done here.”

But her feet didn’t move.

Instead, she found herself drifting closer, as if some magnetic thread was tugging her toward the tree line. Each step deepened the déjà vu. Her skin prickled, her chest tightened, and flashes rippled across her mind—running barefoot under those very trees, breathless laughter, silver eyes glowing in the dark.

What is happening to me?

“Callie?”

The voice snapped her back.

A staff member—a young woman with long black hair pulled into a sleek bun—stood behind her, holding a tray of refreshments. Her expression was polite, but her eyes were wide, watchful.

“You shouldn’t wander near the forest, Miss Veyra,” the woman said softly, almost urgently.

Callie blinked. “Why not?”

The woman hesitated, then forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s easy to get lost. The paths are… not safe.”

Not safe.

The words sent a shiver down Callie’s spine.

But the woman quickly added, “Would you like something to drink? Fresh calamansi juice. Very good for the heat.”

Callie studied her for a moment, but the woman’s composure was unshakable. She accepted the glass with a nod, turning her camera back on with a practiced flourish.

“See, sun chasers? The service here is unbeatable. Fresh juice in paradise. I could definitely get used to this.”

Her smile was flawless, but her hands trembled against the glass.

---

The rest of the morning blurred in a haze of vlogging and staged shots—sunlit pools, exotic dishes, luxury suites. Callie moved through it like muscle memory, every gesture perfect, every laugh melodic. But under the surface, her nerves thrummed like a wire pulled too tight.

Because the forest kept calling.

Even when she sat for lunch overlooking the ocean, the wind carried faint echoes she swore the mic picked up—low growls, hushed whispers, the snapping of twigs.

She replayed the clip on her camera.

At first, nothing. Just her own voice, cheerful and bubbly.

Then—crack. A heavy footstep. Followed by a sound like… breathing.

Her fork clattered against her plate.

“Jesus Christ…” she whispered, pressing the camera closer to her ear. She adjusted the audio, isolating the background track.

The sound was there again. Louder. Ragged. As if something—someone—was watching her, just beyond the frame.

Her stomach twisted.

And then—clear as day—came the faintest murmur: Zyphira.

Callie shot to her feet, chair scraping against the deck.

Nobody looked up. Guests chatted idly around her, sipping wine, laughing. The staff moved with calm efficiency. She was the only one who seemed to hear it.

Her heart pounded as she clutched the camera to her chest.

---

By late afternoon, she was pacing the edge of the pool, phone pressed to her ear.

“Liv, I’m telling you, something’s off about this place,” she whispered.

Her best friend and assistant’s voice crackled on the other end. “Callie, you’re always saying that whenever you’re in some remote paradise. Creepy noises, weird vibes—it’s part of your thing. Your audience eats it up.”

“This isn’t just vibes, Liv. I have it on camera. There was a voice. It said…” She hesitated. Saying it out loud felt like making it real. “It said a name. Zyphira. Do you know how insane that sounds?”

There was silence, then a sigh. “Babe, you’re exhausted. Jet lag, pressure, all that. Take a break, okay? Swim, sleep, drink champagne. Forget the forest.”

Callie chewed her lip. Forgetting was impossible.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll try.”

But when the call ended, her gaze immediately drifted to the treeline again. The sun was sinking, painting the sky in streaks of fire. The forest shadows stretched longer, darker, as if reaching for her.

And she knew, with bone-deep certainty, that something inside those woods was waiting.

---

That evening, dressed in another designer gown, Callie forced herself through the motions of a sunset shoot. She twirled on the beach, laughed at the waves, let the camera catch her glow. But the entire time, her skin tingled, her ears tuned to every shift in the wind.

And then it happened.

A howl split the air.

Low. Powerful. Not far.

The sound froze every muscle in her body.

The camera slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the sand, still recording.

She turned toward the forest.

Another howl rose, answered by a chorus—wild, haunting, and close enough to rattle the ground.

Guests gasped, some pulling out phones, thinking it was just local wildlife. Staff hurried to usher them inside, faces tight with something like fear.

But Callie stood rooted, her pulse thundering.

Because in the fading light, just beyond the tree line, two silver eyes gleamed—locked on hers.

The world narrowed to that single gaze. Cold fire rushed through her veins, her chest tightening like it might burst.

The howls grew louder. The shadows moved. And the last thing she heard before everything drowned in noise was that same word—

Zyphira.