Welcome to Redwaters - 1. Chapter 1

Hadrian carried within him a troubled aura, a glint of unease that couldn't escape Ouray's discerning gaze. Their deep connection allowed them to understand each other beyond words, and Ouray knew that the apparent calm of Hadrian concealed elusive inner turmoil. He was like a silent guardian, capable of piercing through his friend's veils and deciphering the emotions hidden behind his impassive mask.

The two men were a striking study in contrast. Ouray exuded wisdom, his casual attire highlighting his authentic nature. He wore light jeans and an unbuttoned linen shirt, casually revealing a pendant bearing an ancient symbol that bore the weathered marks of time. His shoulder-length hair was tied in a half-ponytail, uncovering his face marked by a mysterious scar. The faded line that snaked from his eyebrow to the bottom of his right eye lent a fearless aspect to his coppery complexion. Despite this mark, Ouray emitted a serene energy that underscored his decidedly unique character.

Hadrian, on the other hand, seemed to exude coldness and distance, rendering him almost unapproachable. Dressed in a meticulously tailored dark burgundy suit and a black shirt, he stood out with elegance. His rosy skin seemed to radiate a magnetism that transcended the grayness of that day, accentuating his chiseled features. His straight nose, square jaw, and jet-black hair framed his face, granting him an almost ethereal beauty.

"I didn't remember it being so gray here." Hadrian remarked to his mentor and steadfast accomplice as he removed his black sunglasses, allowing his eyes to wander in the shadowy atmosphere of the central square in the small town in North Carolina.

"It's definitely not the weather that brought us back." Ouray quipped, appearing, at first glance, at least a decade older than his protégé.

"I don't intend to linger... I'll talk to Fleur, try to understand what's going on, and leave immediately," Hadrian announced absentmindedly, scanning the small shops, the park, and the cheerful passersby going about their activities on the square. They were oblivious to the looming threat above them, ignorant of Hadrian's true nature and the dark secrets of the town that seemed so charming and unassuming.

"But ... you're not going to miss the wedding now that we're here?" Ouray exclaimed, fixing Hadrian with surprise.

"I don't know, Ray. I just want to get things sorted quickly and leave as soon as possible... This town... It always has this effect on me," Hadrian mused.

Buried memories mingled in Hadrian's mind, casting an air of mystery and nostalgia over his words.

"I know, but... despite everything that's happened here, there's still a unique feeling associated with coming back home, don't you think?" Ouray asked in a gentle and compassionate voice, seemingly showing some satisfaction at their return.

Hadrian ignored the question, captivated by his surroundings, almost in a trance. His piercing gray eyes scanned the square and the passersby with hypnotic intensity. He wasn't used to feeling so many conflicting emotions, or even so many emotions at all.

Anxiety, panic, and even a touch of nostalgia jumbled chaotically and disturbingly within him. These boiling human feelings sent curious electric shocks coursing through him, traveling along his centenarian immortal body, who didn't appear to have crossed thirty years old.

"Why don't you take the car and drop off the luggage at the mansion? I'd rather walk for a bit," Ouray suggested calmly before getting up and leaving without further ceremony.

Hadrian somewhat snapped out of his reverie and mechanically made his way toward the small black vintage car. As he drove away, he recalled all the horrors that the ground he had just set foot on had witnessed: injustice, pain, and blood... He had warned Fleur that staying in Redwaters was dangerous, even irresponsible! But the young woman had a strong character and the naive belief that the meager magical abilities inherited from her ancestors could not only protect her, but also protect her fiancé, who was still unaware of the paranormal world and its dangers.

Hadrian tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling a mix of frustration and worry wash over him. He was aware that their presence in Redwaters stirred dormant dark forces, secrets he would have preferred to keep buried. But now that they were back, he knew he had to confront the demons of the past, for the sake of Fleur and to preserve the fragile balance of their supernatural world.

Hadrian loathed imagining Fleur in harms way, not only because of the promise he had once made to protect her but because she was his friend. She was one of the few people, whether human or supernatural, in whom he had trust. She had proven to him, the skeptic, that kindness still existed in this troubled world.

He couldn't help but hope for a better future for her, far away from this town that was on the brink of being engulfed by its dark past. He didn't want to see her imprisoned in a life of turmoil, condemned to confront the demons that haunted the streets of Redwaters.

His gaze drifted into the distant horizon, imagining an alternative reality where Fleur would be safe, free to live a peaceful existence. He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, the burden of having to protect her from dark forces that continued to hound them.

The few moments spent on the bench and the brief drive through town in his car were enough to turn Hadrian into a true object of fascination. People's eyes turned as he passed by, men, women, and even the younger ones, captivated by the enchanting presence of the stranger. In the small town of Redwaters, where monotony was the norm, the appearance of someone so charismatic was an event in itself.

The man's refined allure evoked a world far removed from this provincial reality. His custom-tailored Italian suit, of exceptional elegance, stood out amid the casual attires of the townsfolk. His vintage car, a gleaming black Jaguar, elicited admiring and envious whispers from those who had never been near such a mechanical gem.

Hadrian, on the other hand, had not anticipated the effect he would have on the residents of Redwaters. His mind was fully focused on Fleur, overwhelmed by her uncharacteristic distress call. Yet, he could have taken the time to adapt, to blend in, to avoid arousing so much curiosity. But in the urgency to respond to his witch friend's unusual concern, Hadrian had put aside these trivial details.

He sensed that something grave was afoot, a looming threat to Fleur and perhaps the entire town. The beginnings of a sinister plot had wormed its way into the shadows of Redwaters, and Hadrian was determined to put an end to this dark machination.

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" Eat something!" Fleur commanded with an adorable determination in her tone, as Elliot hastily pulled on his police uniform near the kitchen table. Without hesitation, he grabbed the toast in front of him and devoured it in an instant, under Fleur's amused gaze. His face suddenly turned red, and to avoid choking, he took a few quick sips of orange juice. As the natural color gradually returned to his face, his fiancée said, "Don't worry, everything will be fine, you'll see."

"It's my first day; I have to make a good impression, and I'm already running late!" he replied, hurriedly tucking his shirt into his pants.

Fleur approached him to help him button up his shirt, and the touch of her hands on his body instantly calmed Elliot. Since their first meeting, she had the natural gift of reassuring him with a simple gesture, a single word. The young man with wavy blond hair and stunning blue eyes felt incredibly lucky to share his life with her for almost a year, and the thought that she would soon become his wife filled him with unparalleled happiness.

"I set your alarm clock half an hour earlier; you're not late. I knew there would be a panic otherwise!" his fiancée admitted, finishing buttoning his shirt collar.

Fleur, on her tiptoes, brushed his pretty pink lips with a tender kiss. A smile lit up Elliot's face as he quickly checked his watch to confirm her words. He found that he did indeed have an extra half-hour.

"You know me so well!" he exclaimed, a sense of relief spreading through him. He sat down at the table and poured himself some orange juice again, this time without any rush.

Fleur, dressed in her delicate white lace nightgown, gracefully settled on Elliot's lap. She slid onto him in a fluid, almost feline manner, resting her lush red head on his shoulder. Fleur looked at him with her beautiful deep green eyes and spoke in a tone that sounded more serious than usual:

"Couldn't you have chosen a different career path? Something less dangerous, perhaps? Like... I don't know... pottery, for instance?"

Elliot, recalling his commitment to his calling despite objections from some loved ones, assured her, "Fleur, I promise everything will be fine. You know I've always wanted to be in the police force, help people..."

"I know, I know," the young woman resigned herself. "Your altruism is even one of the reasons I fell in love with you."

Elliot then teased with a mischievous smile, "I thought it was my butt!"

Fleur responded by kissing him lovingly, saying, "Your butt is the reason you didn't have to wait for a third date to seal the deal!"

"I promise to be careful. I intend to live very, very, very long... Long enough to see our six children grow up, the ones I'm going to convince you to have with me!" Elliot declared.

Fleur, laughing, replied, "I sincerely hope you've found a way to carry them yourself because as long as it's up to me, the negotiation stops at one child!"

Elliot smiled, hoping to change her mind when the time comes, when suddenly, Fleur jumped up abruptly, landing on her feet and quickly headed to their bedroom.

"Sweetie, is everything okay?" Elliot asked, although accustomed to Fleur's curious behaviors.

"Yeah, yeah, I just forgot something," she replied.

A few seconds later, she reappeared with a small silver bracelet in her hand. She handed it to him and said, "Here, it's a little lucky charm, it really would reassure me if you wore it."

Elliot took the bracelet with a playful look and put it on his wrist. He said with a smile, "Very nice, thanks. But shouldn't i be the one giving you jewelry?"

Fleur looked at the beautiful ring on her finger, a stunning three-carat square stone with timeless classic charm, which had been in Elliot's family for generations.

"You've already outdone yourself in that departement with my ring," she said.

Then, with resignation, she added, "It's important that you never take off this bracelet, Elliot... You know how superstitious I can be, and I'd really feel better if you kept it on, at all times."

Sensible to his beloved's anxiety, Elliot responded, "Even though I doubt my fellow officers wont tease me for wearing this kind of jewelry, I promise you to never take it off if it makes you feel better."

Fleur gave him a grateful smile as Elliot stood up from his chair to face her. "I'll go now; better to be early than really late," he said.

"Are you really, really sure?!" she insisted, making a childish like pout before adding, "I have a better idea! You could simply not work at all ! And I could support you. You know I can! Sugar mama style !You could play video games all day and go shopping! And if you're home all the time, I might even consider renegotiating the number of children... let's say two?"

With a smile on his lips, Elliot planted a tender kiss on his beloved's forehead, swiftly grabbed his jacket that was casually resting on the couch, and prepared to leave. Before exiting the apartment, Fleur gave him a light tap on the behind, teasing her fiancé.

Elliot whispered "I love you" with a charming wink, then slipped out of the apartment.

Once the door was closed, Fleur collapsed into the chair where Elliot had been sitting just moments ago, letting her head fall heavily into her arms on the table, overwhelmed. She was drowning in worry for her beloved .

She was finally starting to understand why Hadrian would have preferred her to move to a safer city. However, just as she had asserted to her friend that Redwaters was the only place she truly felt at home, ignoring his numerous warnings, Fleur could understand why her fiancé insisted on pursuing his career despite its inherent dangers.

This was one of the few instances where Fleur would have preferred to be an unapologetic hypocrite and dissuade him from it. But the thought of becoming someone that could shatter the aspirations and ambitions of the man she loved scared her as much, if not more, than the thought of losing him.

Fleur had spent months crafting the protective spell surrounding the bracelet she had given Elliot. Now magically linked to her engagement ring, the piece of jewelry had the power to change the color of the diamond on Fleur's engagement ring to red if her beloved was ever in real danger, giving her the opportunity to come to his rescue.

Fleur was aware that the only realistic approach to truly protect the love of her life was to reveal the truth about the mystical activities surrounding Redwaters as well as her own witch abilities. However, she was feareful that her confession could plant doubts in Elliot's mind about the sincerity of their love, making her postpone the opportune moment to come clean every time she considered revealing her secret to him.

Unfortunately for Fleur, the concerns weighing on her were not limited to her relationship. The enigmatic dream that had haunted her nights for more than a week now had planted a persistent anxiety within her that wouldn't go away.

In her dream, Fleur found herself plunged into the darkness of the night, a helpless spectator of a supernatural spectacle. The sky suddenly cracked with a deafening noise, releasing a giant and demonic spider in a mystical explosion. Hands then emerged from the ground in a frighteningly synchronized manner at various locations in the city. Flames reflected in her wide-open eyes, witnessing chaos whose meaning still eluded her. Then, a celestial vision, still in the darkness, ascended higher and higher, violently lifting Fleur from the ground, causing intense dizziness. She watched the departure of a blue flame, leaving behind a menacing triangle that stretched for tens or even hundreds of kilometers, and whose power she could feel deep within her. But what chilled her to the bone was the disembodied voice from beyond the grave that had been added to this series of disturbing images two nights ago. Resonating in her mind like a terrifying echo, its warning couldn't have been clearer: "At the full moon, it will begin." Upon waking, Fleur grabbed her phone and called Hadrian in a panic that rendered her incoherent, asking him to come as soon as possible. Her words were almost unintelligible, mixed with the anxiety gripping her voice. The words jumbled together, forming a chaotic melody of disordered syllables, facing the urgency of the situation that was now undeniable. The full moon was scheduled for the following evening, and action needed to be taken without delay.

After a shower that, although long, failed to dispel her troubled thoughts, Fleur quickly chose her outfit. She grabbed the first top she found in her wardrobe, a bottle green color that matched perfectly with her dark high-waisted jeans. Her beige suede boots completed the look. She quickly pulled her long red hair into an improvised ponytail, which turned out to be surprisingly successful. Despite the importance of the day, her appearance exuded a relaxed elegance, even though it wasn't her priority at the moment.

Fleur and Elliot's apartment consisted of a spacious living room open to a small kitchen where the couple had just had their breakfast. The medium-sized bedroom was mainly dedicated to Fleur's clothes, as she had taken over most of the storage spaces. The bathroom, although spacious, was overflowing with all sorts of organic beauty products, a testament to the young woman's typical concerns. In the living room, a large vintage brown leather sofa faced a small black wooden coffee table. Nearby, a television sat on an unobtrusive compartmentalized piece of furniture, containing various items the couple couldn't bring themselves to part with. To the right of the sofa was a large gray canvas pouf, while to the left, a small dark blue armchair, clearly worn, was covered with a lovely beige linen blanket to conceal its condition. A dark gray, long-pile rug added a warm and welcoming touch to the living room, whose decoration clearly had a masculine predominance, considering that Elliot had lived alone in the space before Fleur's moved in.

That's how the two lovers had met, when Fleur had shown this very apartment to Elliot a few years earlier. The almost constant vacancy of the property, owned by her family due to her grandmother's frequent travels out of Redwaters, had ultimately motivated her decision to rent it out before joining Hadrian and Ouray in Rome that summer.

Elliot, who had been completely captivated by the young woman and dreaded returning to live with his mother and stepfather at the end of his college years, quickly signed the lease, investing all his savings into it. Of course, he had no idea that Fleur would depart for Europe just a few days later, separating them for long weeks when he hoped more than anything to see her again. A situation that, in the end, only increased his interest in her.

Now that Fleur and Elliot were engaged, the young woman harbored hopes of soon making a fresh start with him in a more spacious house that would better suit their image. She had decided not to attach too much importance to the cluttered state of their current apartment, knowing they wouldn't be there for much longer. Whenever she contemplated their future together, Fleur felt a tension in her stomach, an uncontrollable apprehension. What if their plans didn't come to fruition? What if the looming threat managed to destroy everything, taking them down with it? As worry continued to gnaw at her, she poured herself another cup of coffee, deciding to take it with her before leaving the apartment located just above the bar she also owned.

Fleur walked through a narrow corridor and descended the steps that separated her apartment from the spacious main room of the bar, a family inheritance, passed down through generations.

The main room of the Creeks was shrouded in darkness, with only a few rays of light filtering through poorly closed curtains. The bar was deserted, and the chairs and tables were still stacked, patiently awaiting the start of the workday to welcome the regulars once again.

In this silent solitude, Fleur stood in the middle of the room, immersed in an atmosphere both calm and melancholic. She paced slowly, letting her fingers graze the surfaces of tables and chairs, soaking in the soul of the place. Memories flowed, familiar faces emerged in her mind, recalling joyful moments and encounters that had marked her life.

Despite the silence and the prevailing darkness, Fleur felt an unusual serenity. It was as if the bar, in its emptiness, offered her a moment of tranquility to reflect and reconnect with the essence of her being. The worries and doubts that had assailed her earlier seemed to fade away, giving way to deep introspection. She knew that soon, the lights would come on, the doors would open, and the Creeks would regain its usual bustle. But for now, she cherished this suspended moment, where she could contemplate the bar in all its simplicity and intimacy. Fleur let herself be guided by the gentle nostalgia that hung in the air, allowing her imagination to wander among laughter, shared stories, and precious moments that had marked this place. She felt privileged to witness the history of the Creeks, and she was determined to preserve this legacy and continue writing new pages in the book of this place steeped in magic and memories.

Fleur followed the same path she had taken many times before, through the door hidden behind the counter. The storage room, dark and narrow, was cluttered with boxes stacked on tall metal shelves lining the walls. She grabbed the swinging string in front of her and lit the bulb hanging from the ceiling, its flickering light struggling to illuminate the room. After placing her coffee cup on a shelf, Fleur headed toward the imposing double-doored cabinet against the wall. She pulled a key from her pocket and used it to unlock the cabinet.

Once the doors were open, she cleared the cabinet of a few boxes filled with empty bottles, placing them on the floor in front of her. Glancing quickly behind her to make sure she was indeed alone, Fleur decided to lock the room to avoid being discovered. She then positioned herself in front of the now-empty cabinet's wide-open doors.

Fleur retrieved her coffee cup before kneeling down and suddenly plunging into the piece of furniture, her head almost bumping against the horizontal wooden board that divided the cabinet into two parts. With her left hand, she searched for something at the bottom of the cabinet, fumbling for a few moments until she finally managed to grasp a tab. With difficulty, Fleur attempted to pull the cord upward, using all the strength in her arm, repeatedly until she succeeded. Her action abruptly raised the false bottom of the cabinet, revealing a gap in the wall. It was as if an optical illusion wooden curtain was folding back, unveiling a small hidden passage that no one could have suspected.

The newly revealed passage led to a mysterious door, situated only a few meters in front of Fleur. The witch passed through the cabinet, rising on the other side. She closed the cabinet doors from the inside and took care to lower the tab to restore the false bottom to its original appearance. With her coffee mug still in hand, she squeezed through the narrow passage, clearly accustomed to this routine. The darkness of the small tunnel with its red brick walls forced her to use the light from her cell phone to guide her.

As she approached the entrance to her secret hideaway, Fleur was struck with shock upon noticing that the door was slightly ajar. A shiver ran through her body as she cautiously advanced towards the room, overwhelmed by a multitude of questions racing through her mind.

Fleur's heart pounded in her chest as she pondered the slightly open door. How could she have forgotten it? Was she so preoccupied or distracted that she hadn't noticed that it wasn't properly closed? Who could have discovered her hiding place? Was it Elliot, or was it related to her nightmare?

She took a moment to regain her composure, thinking that perhaps her caffeine overdose was making her paranoid. Despite her nervousness, she pushed the door open with determination and entered. The room, plunged in darkness, was suddenly illuminated, revealing Ouray comfortably seated in an armchair, the soft light from a small lamp illuminating his impassive face. Surprised, Fleur let go of her cup, which, before shattering, started to float a few inches above the floor, as if controlled by Ouray's hand, which then made it fly to him with disconcerting ease.

Fleur, breathless, one hand on her chest, shaken by the surprise, finally exclaimed, "My God, Ray! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Ray, a smirk on his lips, replied, "An experienced witch like you living in a town like this, and not a single protective spell on this place?! I'm disappointed." He took a sip from the cup he now held in his hands, then furrowed his brow before continuing, "I was hoping it would be a bit stronger... Disappointments keep piling up today."

Fleur looked at him, incredulous. "It's not even ten in the morning, Ray!"

Ouray then shrugged with an ironic smile. "I've spent the last few centuries babysitting the least fun cursed immortal on Earth. My mantra for a while now is that it's always noon somewhere!"

Fleur couldn't help but smile, relieved to see her friend. She rushed to him as he got up to embrace her as well. Their brief hug restored a semblance of calm in Fleur, a feeling that her nightmares had managed to take away. Ouray was not just a friend; he was a fatherly figure for Fleur, who had been deprived of her own father's presence. He had imparted knowledge even more precious than her grandmother Darcey's, teaching her the mysteries of magic and how to cultivate and master her powers. It was during her adolescence, a few years after the tragedy of her mother Carolina's death, that Fleur had discovered her true witch nature. Ouray's comforting presence had been an invaluable support for her during that dark period, helping her navigate those difficult times.

The secret room they were in had an atmosphere that was both intimate and elegant. Despite its modest size, it was tastefully furnished, reminiscent of the charm of a small living room. A powder pink sofa and a sky-blue velvet armchair offered cozy comfort. The floor was adorned with a large Persian rug in rich shades of brown, gold, and green, occupying a significant portion of the space. The soft, warm light came from a Tiffany lamp gifted by Darcey, placed on a beautiful brass side table with a dark green marble oval base. At the other end of the room, an imposing classic-style desk took up space. A more ordinary, aged metal lamp sat on it, illuminating the scattered papers. Behind the dark desk, a modern Scandinavian-inspired gray chair with light wooden legs softened the overall austere appearance. This harmonious arrangement created a balance between tradition and modernity, providing a conducive environment for reflection and concentration.

"I missed you a lot, kid," Ouray confessed with a voice full of sincerity as he gently released Fleur from his embrace.

His gaze then landed on the imposing corkboard, which proudly hung on the wall behind her. Newspaper clippings, carrying troubling stories of urban and peripheral disappearances, were carefully pinned to the board. Photographs of fading faces, drawings depicting esoteric symbols and demonic creatures, as well as excerpts from texts and torn pages from magic books, overlapped on this improvised investigative canvas. Amid the maze of clues, Fleur's scribbles, testifying to her impatience to decipher the mysteries looming before her, also found their place. The thin red tape, like a labyrinthine network, connected the different elements collected by the young woman, stretching in all possible directions. The annotations drawn in red marker followed the tortuous path of the tape, sprinkled with question marks, enigmatic numbers, and various indications. The arrows, on the other hand, danced in a chaotic manner, adding even more confusion to this investigation tableau.

Ouray, attempting to grasp the essence of this intricate web, navigated the twists and turns of the board with a mixture of admiration and frustration. Fleur had undoubtedly invested a considerable amount of time in this investigation. With a touch of sadness, he couldn't help but remark, "You've definitely not been focusing on finding the perfect wedding dress recently, from what I see..."

"Not really..." Fleur replied with a sorrowful voice. Seeing Ouray's concerned expression, she headed to the lower drawer of her desk. She pulled out an old bottle of whiskey and generously poured a portion into the coffee cup that Ray had placed on the side table a few moments earlier. Without saying a word, she handed him the cup and positioned herself next to him, facing the corkboard.

Ray took a long sip, letting the warmth of the drink spread through his being, then asked: "These disappearances, these strange phenomenons, and all these supernatural occurrences don't seem to stand out from what usually happens in Redwaters. What makes you think that what's happening now is different?"

Fleur remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the gathered clues before them. Then, in a voice filled with deep reflection, she replied, "It's that nightmare, Ray... You know what happened to me in the past; I can't help but take these signs very seriously..."

The shaman placed a comforting hand on Fleur's shoulder and gently explained, "Sometimes, a dream is just a dream, Fleur..."

Caffeine, anxiety, and frustration reached their peak when Ray's words echoed in the room. It was precisely Fleur's deepest fear, having to justify that visceral intuition she was so sure of. She dreaded wasting precious time convincing Hadrian and Ouray of the urgency of the situation when they should already be immersed in their research. After all these years, she hoped that her closest friends would trust her more than Ouray seemed to at that moment.

Fleur met Ouray's gaze with determination and firmly declared, "I know what I'm saying, I know what I felt. Something major is about to happen, and it will start tomorrow night. I don't know how or why, but I feel it deep within me, as a certainty! You were the first to teach me to trust my instincts; now is the time to trust me."

Ouray took a moment to absorb Fleur's newfound confidence, a proud smile appearing on his face despite the gravity of the situation. "Fleur, we got here in record time, much faster than your usual morning routine. We've set aside about ten matters, some of them of crucial importance, without caring about the Order or even your grandmother... We wouldn't be here if we didn't take you seriously."

Fleur's face softened, a feeling of relief mixed with gratitude washing over her. How could she have doubted her closest friends? She regained her composure and looked at Ouray, finally revealing, "I really don't know where to start anymore, Ray... I'm completely lost. Any ideas?"

Ouray fell into a brief silence, thinking intensely about all the elements Fleur had presented earlier. He was searching for an approach, a starting point for their actions. Finally, he announced, "We need to go to the source. If something is going to happen tomorrow night, we need to know where it will occur. We need to perform a locating spell."

"I have just the thing for that!" Fleur exclaimed, radiating with the idea of finally having a lead to follow.

The witch took a determined step toward her desk, sweeping away the scattered papers that littered the surface with a resolute gesture, revealing a giant map of Redwaters that had been buried beneath this sea of documents. Fleur carefully placed it on the floor, on the rug. With a swift motion, she opened a drawer, extracting small vials containing mysterious liquids, as well as a pouch filled with magical herbs.

As she prepared the initial steps of the spell, Fleur suddenly looked at Ouray as if she had remembered something crucial and asked him, "But where is Hadrian?"

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Hadrian briskly ascended the grand double staircase, crossing the doors of his colonial mansion's immense living room. Without slowing down, he strode determinedly through the room, heading straight to its end to reach the imposing bay window. The veil of heavy curtains that concealed it was torn aside with a confident gesture, allowing the sunlight to finally penetrate the space.

A brilliant light bathed his face, finally dispelling the grayness that had enveloped the city until now. Hadrian took a moment to savor the gentle caress of the sun's rays on his skin, soaking in the comforting warmth. At that moment, the sun evoked in him the ancient myth of vampires, reminding him of how their fate filled him with compassion. He found himself considering their curse as infinitely more challenging to overcome than his own, momentarily putting his own condition into perspective. Creatures deprived of daylight like this, condemned to live in eternal darkness, he simply wouldn't have survived.

A true aesthete, in his over five hundred years of existence, Hadrian had had the privilege of beholding a multitude of beauties in all their forms. Yet, in his eyes, nothing surpassed the splendor of a sunny day like this one. It far exceeded the magnificence of the masterpieces adorning his walls, the unique jewels he possessed or had once bestowed upon those he deemed worthy of wearing them. Even the architectural perfection of his meticulously designed mansion, stone by stone, every detail to his liking, couldn't compete with this dazzling light bathing the world.

Hadrian got lost in his thoughts, gazing at the neglected landscape outside the window. The once-beautiful garden was now overrun with neglect. Memories of a bygone era resurfaced, reminding Hadrian of his immortal nature and the tragic consequences of his past actions. The fallen leaves littering his garden seemed to symbolize the regrets weighing on him, errors he could never erase.

The mansion was shrouded in a silent sadness. Dust had accumulated on the furniture and objects, bearing witness to the lack of maintenance. The rooms echoed with the silence of oblivion, a constant reminder of the mistakes that had marked his eternal life.

Despite it all, this was where he had to confront his inner demons, in this place that was both his sanctuary and his prison. Returning home meant facing the consequences of his past and finding a way to reconcile with the horrors he had committed. It was a constant reminder of his tormented nature and the solitude that accompanied it.

Hadrian knew he could never fully forgive himself, but perhaps in the quiet of these familiar walls, he would find some semblance of peace and redemption. He had to confront his past, accept his mistakes, and find a way to move forward, even if it meant living with the constant memory of his sins.

This introspective dive into the past brought forth echoes of distant gunshots, gradually approaching, almost invading his ears. Then came screams, initially muffled but crescendoing, pounding his head and triggering a rapidly intensifying migraine. The infernal tumult ended abruptly, as abruptly as it had begun. Hadrian was accustomed to these episodes. He took a deep breath, somewhat calming the frantic beating of his heart, and rushed to the ground floor bathroom.

Facing the large Victorian mirror above the sink, he observed his sweaty reflection, then splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to regain his composure. When he looked up again and reopened his eyes to look at himself, the mirror in front of him was now smeared with a message written in blood letters. "You did this." Hadrian recoiled in shock, taken aback by what he saw. Voices suddenly began whispering the same accusations to him as those written on the mirror. "You did this," "It's your fault," "You did it!"

Terror seized him as he tried to understand the origin of these accusatory messages. Screams resonated in Hadrian's mind again, growing louder, deafening, filling every corner of his consciousness. He desperately tried to shield his ears from this unbearable tumult, but the voices seemed to come from within him, plunging his mind into infernal chaos. The mental turmoil was relentless, and the inquisitive voices threatened to overwhelm him, to plunge him into the darkest madness. Unable to find an escape, Hadrian collapsed on the bathroom floor, clutching his head, panting and sweating, wracked by spasms, utterly powerless.

In a frenzied gesture, he grabbed the pill bottle from the depths of his pants pocket and clumsily popped the lid, spilling much of its contents onto the floor. With trembling hands, he hastily swallowed several pills, hoping their effect would finally calm his tormented mind.

Gradually, the voices began to fade, turning into whispers and then slowly fading away. Hadrian attempted to rise, leaning on the sink, but the terrifying episode seemed to have multiplied his strength, and in an involuntary movement, he tore the sink from the wall, losing his balance and falling to the ground once again. His head struck the ground violently, splitting his eyebrow open in a bloody explosion that spread over the white marble in a crimson burst.

Hadrian's vision blurred more and more, and despite his efforts to regain his senses, he succumbed to the encroaching unconsciousness, plunging into the depths of the unknown.

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In the secret chamber, a candle placed on a pedestal cast its feeble glow, barely illuminating the focused faces of Ouray and Fleur. Sitting cross-legged, they faced each other, engrossed in the study of the map of Redwaters spread out before them. The flickering candlelight mingled with the scent of sage incense, creating a mystical atmosphere.

"You already know how it works," Ouray said softly, recalling the many magical training sessions they had shared. Then he continued, "To succeed in a location spell, we need a starting point. But since we have little information about the place we're looking for, our options are limited for establishing a connection. Do you remember anything about the locations in your dream?" asked the Shaman while tracing a circle of sage smoke around them.

"Nothing concrete. A clearing, I think..." Fleur replied uncertainly.

"But there are several in the vicinity; it's not very specific," she added with a hint of frustration at not being able to provide more information.

"Are you sure there aren't any distinctive features? No bodies of water, familiar sounds?" Ouray insisted.

Fleur closed her eyes, delving into her memories, but opened them a few moments later, finally admitting, "No, absolutely nothing."

"As I told you, without a starting point, blindly casting the spell would be utterly futile," Ouray reluctantly declared, realizing they were once again at an impasse.

"Not necessarily blindly... we could use my nightmare. Through me, it might be possible," Fleur replied, her eyes sparkling as if she had an idea.

"But you just told me that you don't remember any significant details about the place we're looking for..." Ouray objected. Fleur bit her lip, seemingly anticipating the reaction her suggestion might provoke.

"When I'm awake, I have no useful memories, but if you could access my dream through my subconscious..." she said.

Ouray's expression, previously serene, abruptly changed upon hearing these words. "I'll stop you right there!" he exclaimed before continuing with concern, "What you're talking about is not only theoretical but incredibly complex. Entering your subconscious to try to access your nightmare would be extremely dangerous! Not to mention the risks of rekindling horrific memories in you..." he said, clearly worried about the inherent uncertainties of such a ritual.

"I know, Ray, but I'm no longer a little girl disturbed by..." Fleur tried to convince, hoping she had overcome her childhood traumas enough to engage in such an attempt.

"This could take a very dark turn, Fleur..." he interrupted her. "Such an experience could open the door to much graver ills than the problem we were originally trying to solve! The mind is far too fragile for us to enter it without serious consequences," he concluded, expressing his deep concerns about Fleur's dangerous suggestion.

"We need to find a solution quickly, Ray..." Fleur implored, aware of the urgency of the situation.

Ouray thought for a moment, seeking an alternative. "Then we should seek help. Try to see things from a different perspective. Perhaps if we explore the surroundings of the town, you might naturally remember the place," he suggested, hoping to reason with her.

"You know Redwaters better than anyone. It would be impossible for us to traverse all the forests and clearings in less than 24 hours," she argued.

Ouray shook his head determinedly. "In that case, we will find something else. Another spell, a less risky approach," he declared, refusing to give in.

"We don't have the luxury of waiting any longer," she reminded him, her expression grave. Time was of the essence, and they had to act quickly.

"We could try a hypnosis ritual. It's less dangerous and more targeted," he suggested, hoping to convince her to change her approach.

Fleur remained impassive. "You know very well that a hypnosis ritual requires several attempts; it's almost equivalent to magical therapy. We would need months before we even get a glimpse of a result," she insisted.

"My answer remains no, Fleur. I refuse to be part of something so dangerous," Ouray finally declared firmly. He didn't want to take reckless risks, even though time was running out.

"Ray, these nightmares are eating me alive... They're affecting my relationship, my life, my mental health... If you won't help me, I'll perform the spell myself," the young woman simply stated, visibly at her wit's end.

"But you absolutely need an anchor point; doing it alone would be practically... it would be suicide," he retorted, alarmed by her words.

"I'm aware of the risks," Fleur said, feigning determination even though she was terrified by the idea of this experience.

"Hadrian would never agree to this," Ray pointed out.

"Hadrian doesn't have the power to decide for me; the choice is mine," Fleur reminded him, having always refused to let someone else control her life and not intending to start today.

"This is plain and simple blackmail, Fleur. You know I'll never let you attempt such a ritual on your own," her mentor protested, his voice betraying his anxiety.

"Then let's do it together; it's the only way you can watch over me and make sure I come back," she proposed, trying to find a compromise.

Ray thought for a moment, frustrated and cornered by this exchange. He gave Fleur a disapproving look and suddenly recognized the fear she was trying to hide from him in her eyes. He sighed, touched by her distress, and regained some of his composure. Then he handed her the improvised Irish coffee cup she had offered him earlier. Fleur took a big gulp to bolster her courage, grimacing at the strong dose. He understood that he wouldn't be able to convince her to give up on this ritual, no matter how compelling his arguments might be. Fleur had made her decision, and all he could do was accompany her, hoping to be able to help her if things went awry.

Ray took a deep breath and stood up, positioning himself behind Fleur, placing his open hands on either side of her head, just a few millimeters from her temples.

"Close your eyes," he ordered.

Fleur complied.

"Locate futurae in somnium," Ouray recited confidently.

A few seconds passed in complete silence.

Suddenly, Fleur's head was violently thrown backward, her eyes rolled up. The candle flame flickered before burning more intensely, almost reaching the ceiling. Ouray's head quickly underwent the same fate as Fleur's; his eyes turned white, and his skull was thrown backward. A terrifying tableau that meant only one thing: the connection had finally been established.

Ouray found himself plunged into total darkness. A red-haired girl in pajamas bumped into him before running away, disappearing like a ghost into the surrounding darkness. Ouray cautiously moved forward in the gloom, aware of the danger that even the slightest clumsiness could pose to Fleur in the real world. The little girl in pajamas reappeared in front of him, an adorable version of young Fleur. She took Ouray's hand, and together they moved forward. Images flashed before them and then disappeared again into nothingness. Ray was able to see the triangle of blue flames from Fleur's nightmare reforming in front of him, followed by a portal splitting the sky and releasing a horrifying spider, similar to the one in the witch's nightmare. He instinctively shielded himself as the creature leaped toward them. Pulling young Fleur towards him, they crouched into a defensive position, but the creature disappeared like a ghost just before reaching them.

Rain began to pour harder and harder on Ouray and young Fleur. Soaked to the bone, the shaman could barely make out the voice of a young man calling for help in the distance. A visceral feeling overcame him, urging him to go to the person's aid. He tried to concentrate to hear more, but the noise abruptly ceased.

Young Fleur suddenly approached him and firmly announced, "You have to go back."

Ouray tried to convince her by holding her hand tightly, determined not to let her go.

"We've seen enough, Fleur. We need to go back together," he pleaded.

But Fleur remained unyielding. She quickly broke free from his grasp and started running, disappearing into the darkness without looking back.

Ouray tried to call her, to shout her name to stop her, but his words were lost in the surrounding emptiness. He anxiously looked around, hoping to see her reappear, but there was only the oppressive void that surrounded him, intensifying his distress.

Ouray's eyes suddenly snapped open. He woke up with difficulty, out of breath, back in his own body, in the secret chamber. Ray then rushed to Fleur, lying unconscious on the floor. He tried to wake her by gently shaking her, calling her name repeatedly, but she showed no signs of waking up.

Fleur wasn't in a dream; she was reliving a horrible memory. The memory of the night when her life had taken a turn after a nightmare she had. She was barely eight years old when images of her mother, terrified, running away from something or someone, abruptly woke her.

Getting out of her kid bed, Fleur slowly made her way to the window as raindrops began to bead on the glass. Through it, she watched for a moment as the garden lay shrouded in oppressive darkness before hastily leaving her room. Fleur nervously opened the door to her mother's room to make sure she was sleeping there, but her bed was empty. The window in the middle of the room was wide open, its white curtains floating ghostly in the sinister moonlight, while the shutters slammed violently under the menacing thunderclaps, and the rain hammered the ground with increasing intensity outside.

Fleur hurriedly descended the stairs, feeling urgency pushing her toward the back door of the house that opened to the garden. Her bare feet sliding on the wooden steps, accentuating her haste. One last time, she froze, gripped by terror, listening to the thunder resonating in the night's darkness. Her heart raced in her chest as she grabbed the door handle and opened it abruptly.

Without further ado, she rushed outside, facing the pelting rain that slapped her violently. Her bare feet sank into the sodden ground as she ran, indifferent to the raging elements around her. The roaring wind swept her hair, and she passed the fence in a desperate leap, leaving the small wooden gate wide open, marking the limits of their property.

The little girl had an instinctive sense of where she was headed. Her steps led her to a narrow asphalt path that plunged into the adjacent woods. As she ventured deeper into the darkness of the forest, the ground turned into slippery mud clinging to her feet. Her long, red, rain-soaked hair clung to her face, but she remained undeterred. Despite her growing breathlessness and the near blindness caused by the pitch-black night, the determination of the little girl did not waver. However, in a moment of clumsiness, Fleur stumbled over a branch hidden among the dead leaves, causing her to fall forward and crash heavily into the mud.

Pain overtook her entire body as the frigid cold penetrated her to the bone, her soaked clothes accentuating the terrible sensation. With difficulty, Fleur lifted her head, wiped the mud from her face with the sleeve of her pajamas, and tried to make out what layed ahead of her. Her vision, initially blurred, gradually cleared, revealing the silhouette of her mother lying just a few meters away.

"Mom?" she whispered, both worried and troubled.

Fleur jumped to her feet and rushed to her mother, kneeling beside her. Carolina had her eyes open, but her face was motionless. Blood seeped slightly from her mouth, but more abundantly from a wound on her abdomen, staining her white blouse a gruesome red. Fleur tried to wake her by hugging and shaking her, but nothing seemed to bring her back to life. Her mother was indeed dead in those woods.

The little girl, covered in her mother's blood, gently placed Carolina's lifeless head on her lap, embracing her lifeless body, crying and screaming uncontrollably, pleading for help under the fury of the storm.

Fleur had never felt such terror or pain in her life, even though, due to her young age, she didn't fully understand the horror of the scene playing out before her. When this tragedy occurred, Fleur had stayed for hours, embracing her mother's lifeless body in the freezing cold, until a nearby jogger discovered her and finally called for help and the police. But something was different in this memory or dream in which she was now immersed. Fleur felt her mother's body move slightly, breathing laboriously on her lap. She fixed her gaze on Carolina's face, shocked to see her slowly regaining consciousness, and whispered softly to her:

"It's going to begin, my dear... Open your eyes!"

Fleur woke up abruptly, trying to catch her breath in a panicked gasp as she layed on the floor of her secret chamber. A little further away, Ouray hastily flipped through an occult grimoire, desperately searching for a solution to bring her back to reality. He closed the book and rushed over to the young woman, relief in his voice as he said:

"Thank goodness, you're awake! What happened?"

"I think my mother was trying to give me a message..." the witch replied, still shaken by what she had just experienced.

Ouray took her hand and tried to reassure her: "The subconscious is a mysterious and complex place; it contains our nightmares, but also our hopes and dreams..."

"No, trust me, it was nothing like a dream!" Fleur corrected before continuing, "I was reliving exactly the night of her death, everything was the same, the cold, every step, every thunderclap... But this time, it was as if she had managed to pass me a message."

"What was that message?" Ouray asked, eager to learn more.

"She said it was going to begin, that I had to open my eyes!" Fleur repeated, perplexed by her mother's enigmatic statement.

" Was it literal? as in to wake up from the ritual, or more broadly?" Ouray inquired, trying to pierce the mystery.

"I didn't have the time to explore it with her..." Fleur replied sarcastically, still reeling from the experience.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to..." Ouray began, confused.

"And what if she's trying to send me a message? What if she's trying to lead me to her killer or warn us of the danger that awaits?" the young woman interrupted, highly agitated.

"Fleur, try to calm down..." Ouray attempted to reason with her.

"You don't understand, Ray, it's the first time since that night that I've received a message from her! No one knows what happened to her or the circumstances of her death... If she's trying to tell me something, I have to try to find out more!" Fleur declared with determination.

Carolina's death remained an unsolved mystery, despite numerous investigations and significant resources deployed to solve the case.

"Well, if that's indeed the case, I have both good and bad news for you," Ouray announced.

Fleur looked at him, fearing the worst, until Ray continued, "I warned you that this type of spell could have consequences. I did some research while you were unconscious, and one common side effect of this kind of rituals, is that both of us are at risk of being randomly thrust back into your subconscious over the next few days."

"What?!" Fleur panicked, not having fully recovered from the already unsettling first experience.

"The positive side is that if your mother is really trying to send you a message, you'll have a better chance of intercepting it by going back," Ouray added, trying to find a silver lining in the situation.

Fleur didn't know what to think anymore. She was mentally exhausted, and the idea of reliving a similar experience didn't appeal to her. Ouray was right; performing this spell wasn't her brightest idea, but the slim possibility that this perilous journey might have allowed her mother to finally communicate with her filled her with unexpected hope.

"Did the location spell work at least?" Fleur suddenly remembered, concerned.

Ouray then picked up the map of Redwaters that he had placed on the desk to show Fleur. A point marked on the map was clearly burned, leaving a charred hole.

"That's where what's supposed to happen will begin, at tomorrow's full moon," Ouray confirmed, staring at the point on the map with Fleur.

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"Samuels, you're treating us to a round at The Creeks to celebrate your first day!" Oliver exclaimed with enthusiasm, addressing Elliott as they were getting ready to leave the police station.

"That's his fiancée's bar, Oliver. I'd say a minimum of two rounds!" Nina chimed in, joining them and positioning herself between the two men.

Elliott had met them some time ago during his police training and probation period, and an instant camaraderie had formed between them. Oliver, a thirty-two-year-old redhead, had an imposing presence, but beneath his rugged exterior lay great clumsiness and a certain shyness. As for Nina, twenty-eight years old, she was an enchanting mixed-race woman with captivating charm, an outgoing personality, and boundless energy.

That day, Elliott was surprised by the light-hearted atmosphere at the police station. He almost attributed this change in mood to the lucky charm given to him earlier by Fleur, despite his usual skepticism. The reports filed at the police station were limited to minor thefts and missing pets. A few calls also reported the presence of wolves roaming in town, possibly explaining the mysterious pet disappearances.

"This morning, when I arrived, I saw a man I'd never seen in town before getting into his vintage car, very, very sexy! And I'm talking about him, not just the car! Rumor has it he's the owner of the mansion on the outskirts of Redwaters. I genuinely hope he'll be at the bar tonight!" Nina declared, a radiant smile lighting up her face at the prospect of running into Hadrian at The Creeks, while Oliver suddenly seemed uncomfortable with her comments.

Elliott took a moment to consider their proposition before relenting, "Well, why not! A first day deserves to be celebrated!"

As they headed for the exit, a couple of officers passed them by. Oliver, in a cheerful mood, extended an invitation to them, "Are you coming for a drink with us? Samuels is treating!"

Frank, appearing interested, was about to respond, but before he could utter a word, Marcy pulled him away by his jacket, apologizing to the group, "Sorry, but we have three kids, including two teenagers!"

The couple walked away, with Frank being scolded by Marcy, who appeared quite spirited. The trio, absorbed in this comical scene, didn't immediately notice that the Sheriff had arrived behind them and was eavesdropping on their conversation.

Suddenly, in a deep voice that almost made them jump, he commented from behind, "And what about me? No one's inviting me?!"

Elliott, Oliver, and Nina turned to Tucker, slightly embarrassed. The Sheriff was looking at them, his usual stern expression still plastered on his face. Nina couldn't help but think that he seemed literally incapable of displaying any other facial expression, not even a hint of positivity.

Elliott broke the awkward silence by attempting to justify himself, "I didn't think you'd be interested; we never see you there."

Tucker, in a firm tone, asserted, "I don't like crowds."

Elliott tried to persuade him, "You could make an exception, you know."

But the Sheriff remained unwavering, "No. And as for you, be careful. The town is more dangerous than you think, Lieutenant Samuels," he concluded before walking away toward his office.

As the trio prepared to leave, Tucker paused halfway and added, "And above all, be cautious. The mansion you were talking about earlier has a sinister reputation..." he warned them, paying no heed to their reaction.

"What do you mean?" Nina asked, intrigued by his words.

The Sheriff had already returned to his office and was closing the door, ignoring the question. The three colleagues looked at each other, taken aback by the unsettling exchange.

"He gives me the creeps," Elliott admitted, suddenly aware of Tucker's disconcerting behavior.

"We've been working with him for three years, Nina and I, and he still has the same effect on us..." Oliver added.

"It's more him that has a sinister reputation, if you ask me..." Nina remarked, recalling Tucker's strange behavior and the numerous rumors circulating about him.

The trio left the police station, troubled and increasingly perplexed by the mysteries that seemed to hide behind the Sheriff's impassive façade.

Meanwhile, in his dimly lit office, Tucker was restless. The balding fifty-year-old man, with an imposing presence, paced the room heavily, a worried expression on his face. Suddenly, he came to a halt, his eyes fixed on a drawer in his desk. His brows furrowed even further as he approached, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. With a swift motion, he emptied a pile of inconsequential papers onto his desk, paying little attention to the growing disorder.

At the bottom of the drawer, hidden beneath the insignificant documents, was an old rusted metal box containing Tucker's darkest secrets. He opened it carefully, extracting a stack of red folders, each labeled with the names of individuals who piqued his interest. With the tips of his fingers, he brushed over the various labels, hesitating for a moment before settling on the folder bearing the inscription: "Fleur Willard." A sly smile crossed his face momentarily, but he quickly put it back, choosing instead to pick up the folder labeled: "Hadrian Archer."

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