Page 32 of Cursed Dreams (Shadow and Dreams #1)

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest, and she felt the vibration where their bodies met.

“I don’t understand this,” she whispered against him, her voice breathless. “Why I need to see you like this. Why I…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say obsessed. But the word echoed in her thoughts.

Caelum rested his chin lightly against her hair. “You feel it too,” he murmured. “The thread between us.”

Thalia’s arms tightened around him before she slowly pulled back, just enough to see his face.

“Where have you been?” she asked, eyes searching his. “Why haven’t you come to me?”

His expression turned wistful, a sadness passing through his gaze. “I tried,” he said gently. “But you were… closed off. Too focused. Guarded.”

She frowned. “I’ve been trying to see you. Every night. I’ve gone to bed hoping I’d find you again. I—”

He lifted a finger to her lips, smiling. “You’ve been thinking. Not feeling.”

She blinked, unsure what to make of that.

“I’ve had so many questions,” she said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I don’t know where to start. I want to know about you, how this is even happening, how you healed Aric—”

“Thalia.”

She stopped.

Caelum’s laugh was soft, low, and fond. “Slow down.”

He brushed her hair behind her ear with a gentleness that sent a warm ache spiralling through her chest. “We have time.”

She stared at him, unsure how someone she’d only just met, at least in mind? Spirit? Whatever this was, could feel so entirely hers.

“You did heal Aric, didn’t you?” she asked, searching his face. “He’s stronger than ever. He’s going home. That was you, wasn’t it?”

His expression was unreadable for a moment, and then he gave a crooked smile. “I’m pleased he’s well.”

That wasn’t an answer. Yet something in the way he said it, the way his eyes softened, Thalia knew. It was him!

She threw her arms around him again, this time less desperate, more grateful. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving him.”

Caelum chuckled again, amused and warm. “You’re welcome, Thalia”

She pulled back, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. “How do you know my name?” she asked, nudging his chest with a finger. “I never told you. Not even in my dreams.”

His smile grew, a glint of something old and secret dancing behind his eyes.

“That,” he said slowly, “is a long story.”

Thalia’s breath caught as Caelum’s gaze drifted toward the shimmering canopy above them, his expression shifting into something more distant, like he was deep in thought.

“I fought in the wars,” he said quietly.

“The Dragon Wars?”

He nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Yes.”

Her heart skipped. The Dragon Wars were a cornerstone of both fae and human history, they had always seemed like something distant, the stuff of bedtime tales and dusty scrolls.

“You were there?” she asked, voice soft. “Really there?”

Caelum’s eyes returned to hers, and there was a storm behind them, crackling at the edges.

“I was a prince of my people,” he said. “It was my duty. The dragons… they were ancient, powerful beings. Visionaries, some called them. They believed the world had lost its way—that it needed reshaping, rescuing.”

Thalia tilted her head slightly, trying to understand the nuance in his voice.

“They thought they alone could guide the realms,” Caelum continued, his tone careful, almost detached. “That they had the wisdom to bring about a new age. That their will was the truest path forward.”

He paused, his expression unreadable. “We… we fought to restore the rightful balance. To return the world to what it was always meant to be.”

There was a weight in those words. Not quite harsh, but definite. Resolved. Something flickered behind his eyes, too complex for her to read.

Thalia furrowed her brow. “You mean the fae fought for peace?”

Caelum’s lips twitched, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We believed we were fighting for what was right. For order. For the survival of the realms.”

A chill ran down her spine at the way he said it—not cruel, but certain. Like a man repeating a truth that had been carved too deeply into his soul to question.

Thalia frowned, hanging on his every word. The soft breeze in the forest seemed to hush around them, as if the trees themselves were listening.

“We fought to restore balance,” he went on, his voice low and steady. “The fae sought peace, a world where magic flowed correctly and the realms worked together. But the dragons… they wanted dominion. They tricked us.”

He paused, his jaw tightening, and Thalia saw something ancient and wounded flicker in his expression.

“What do you mean?” she asked gently.

“They lured us into a final stand,” Caelum said, his voice growing quieter. “They made us believe we could end the war. But it was a trap. A spell of forgetting was cast, stronger than any I had ever seen. It didn’t just take lives. It erased our names, our legacy, our realm.”

Thalia felt her breath catch.

“Even now,” Caelum continued, “I cannot speak the name of the land I once called home. The magic holds, even here. All that remains is a title. The Forgotten Realm.”

She could feel the truth of it. The weight of his words settled into her chest, and her heart ached with something she couldn’t name.

“You were erased,” she whispered.

Caelum nodded. “All of us. Scattered to time, trapped between worlds. Lost to history. And I… I was left behind.”

“Why you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“In the final days,” he said slowly, “I met a seer. A powerful one. She told me I would cease to walk the waking world. That I would become... unanchored—drifting between what was and what could be.” “A dream realm”

Thalia’s breath caught in her chest “That’s… horrible.”

“But she also told me to hold on,” Caelum said, his voice gentling. “That my salvation would come. A light in the dark. A healer of fates. A goddess named... Thalia.”

Her mouth fell open. “A what?”

He smiled.

“She said your name would be Thalia. That you would come when all was nearly lost, and that you would remember me, even if you didn’t know why.”

Thalia gaped at him. “That’s—no. That can’t be. I’m not a goddess. I’m just a lesser fae. A healer. I grew up in a cottage with my mother fretting about wildflowers and my father charming the stones out of the earth. I can’t even ride a horse.”

Caelum chuckled, the sound deep and warm.

“To me,” he said softly, stepping closer, “you are divine.”

Thalia blinked up at him, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“From the moment I saw you,” he murmured, “I knew. You were the one the seer spoke of. The one who would change everything.”

He cupped her face again, his fingers warm against her skin.

“My goddess,” he whispered, eyes shining with something too tender to be anything but real. “And I would fall to my knees and worship you every day of eternity, if only you’d let me.”

Thalia’s breath stilled, for a moment, all she could feel was the space between them, crackling, glowing, humming with the weight of his words.

Caelum’s gaze never wavered.

He stared into her like she was made of something more than skin and bone, like she was woven from starlight and dreams, from the ancient threads of fate itself.

She couldn’t look away.

His eyes weren’t just blue. They were swirled with something deeper, something almost impossible, silver glints, faint traces of light moving like galaxies behind his irises. She stared, breath caught in her throat, and fell into them like a plunge into warm, glowing water.

Her heart stammered. There, in that breathless silence, she felt it.

That pull. That thread. Something ancient.

Something sacred. A soft, glowing light shimmered faintly between them, elusive and warm, like the echo of a half-remembered touch.

It edged into her very being, slipping beneath thought and reason, settling in the hollow of her chest as if it had always belonged there.

It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. But there was no denying the way her soul responded to his. The way her very blood hummed in his presence. Suddenly, she knew, deep down in the marrow of her being, that she was already falling for him.

Not with the slow bloom of curiosity. Not with the fumbling innocence of a crush. But with something old, something buried in the roots of the earth and written in the stars long before she ever took her first breath.

He was a part of her. He always had been.

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Caelum,” she whispered, “If I’m meant to save you, how do I do it?”

His expression shifted, softening, warming, as if the question stirred something in him, he wasn’t quite ready to answer. He opened his mouth.

Thalia’s chest squeezed tight, burning like an inferno.

The forest shimmered.

The trees blurred, and the ground tilted beneath her feet. A tug, sharp and sudden, yanked at the core of her being.

No.

Not yet.

“Caelum,” she gasped, panic flooding her chest, “something’s happening, I’m being pulled back ..”

“Thalia,” he said gently, stepping closer, pressing his palm to her cheek again. The warmth of his skin grounded her for a heartbeat.

“I’ll find you again,” he whispered. “Soon.”

Her vision flickered. The mist grew thicker, the moonlight dulling.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please, ”

“Shhh…” His forehead leaned into hers, their breath mingling, the space between them humming with the unbearable weight of goodbye.

“I’m always with you,” he murmured. “You’ll see me again. I promise.”

Just before the darkness swallowed her, he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her brow, full of reverence. Of gentle aching affection, and then he was gone.