A memory surfaced—distant yet vivid—of being an infant cradled in her mother's arms by this very window. The image was a fleeting glimpse of warmth and safety, the soft lullaby of her mother's voice blending with the distant hum of the night. 

She could almost hear the gentle rustle of her mother's clothing as she rocked her, the faint scent of lavender and earth mingling in the air. Emma had been so small then, so vulnerable, yet in that moment, there had been a sense of peace, a sense of belonging that she had never felt since.

She remembered the warmth of her mother's embrace against the night's chill, the soft pressure of her arms around her tiny frame, providing a shield from the cold and the darkness outside. The moonlight had filtered through the window, casting silver shadows across the room, but nothing had seemed more comforting than the closeness of her mother. 

She could almost feel the gentle rhythm of her mother's heartbeat, steady and calm, as she held Emma close, her breath warm against her ear.

Her mother had whispered something then, words that had once felt so clear and certain. But now, they were a blur, lost in the fog of time. A promise? A warning? Emma couldn’t say. The words had slipped away from her, like water running through her fingers, leaving only an echo behind. But the feeling remained—an unshakable sense that whatever had been said was important, something she should have remembered.

That moment, with its quiet intimacy and unspoken meaning, lingered in her mind, refusing to fade. It was as if it were tied to the same invisible thread pulling her tonight, a thread that connected her to something larger, something she had yet to fully understand. 

But the memory was too faint, too elusive to hold onto. The deeper she reached for it, the further it slipped away, as if the past itself had grown tired of being remembered. With a quiet sigh, Emma tore her gaze from the moon and turned away from the window. The feeling, though, lingered.

Tonight it felt different, almost as if the moon itself held a secret meant only for her.

"Emma," she whispered to herself, her breath fogging the glass. "What is it about you?"

Her fingers pressed against the window, the chill seeping into her skin. She closed her eyes, her breath coming shallow, as though the world had shifted, leaving her standing at the edge of something vast.

At this moment, the professor's lecture from earlier echoed faintly in Emma’s mind. His voice, dry and monotonous, had lingered in the corners of her thoughts, even after the class had ended. Something about the Blood Moon, he had said—an anomaly, lasting seven nights instead of the usual one.

He'd spoken of ancient texts, long forgotten, that hinted at the moon’s power—how it acted as a beacon, drawing forth something lost in time, something that had been buried beneath centuries of dust and secrecy. 

His words had seemed absurd at the time, mere speculation tangled in the webs of old prophecies and broken myths. She’d tuned out most of it, her boredom outweighing any flicker of curiosity. Ancient texts, history, prophecies—it all felt irrelevant, as if they belonged to another world entirely, a world of dusty books and endless lectures that had no bearing on her life.

Or at least, it had felt irrelevant then.

But now, as she stood before the window, watching the Blood Moon burn low in the sky, the professor’s words took on a new weight. The moon wasn’t just an anomaly—it was a symbol, a force in the world that was somehow connected to her, to this moment. And as the strange pull inside her grew stronger, Emma couldn’t help but wonder: 

Was the professor right? Had the moon’s power truly awakened something long forgotten? And if so, what did that mean for her? For the strange, unshakable feeling that had been gnawing at her ever since her first dream about the crystals?

Now, on the third night of what people came to call "The Red Nights," the dreams had continued to plague her. Each one more vivid than the last, leaving her waking up drained, as though something was pulling at her very essence 

These dreams had started on the first red night, the night the Blood Moon had risen. At first, Emma had dismissed them as nothing more than the result of late-night studying or stress. But they hadn’t stopped. Night after night, they came, vivid and unsettling, pulling her deeper into a world she didn’t understand.

Each dream was a fragment—disjointed images of the crystals, flashes of light, and distant voices. But the details were always fuzzy, slipping away the moment she opened her eyes. She woke each morning with a restless sensation, like she had been running through a fog and couldn’t quite shake the exhaustion.

There had been moments when Emma considered going to the nurse, hoping that perhaps the restlessness and strange dreams were symptoms of something simple—a mild illness, perhaps, or an imbalance in her sleep patterns. But every time, she hesitated.

What could she say? That she was dreaming of things she couldn’t explain, seeing things that felt so real they almost bled into her waking life? No, it didn’t seem right to talk about it. And yet, the pull of those dreams was growing stronger with each passing night.

Exhausted, Emma crept back into bed, her muscles heavy with fatigue. Tomorrow was her eighteenth birthday, a day she had been waiting for, marking her official entrance into adulthood. She needed to rest. Closing her eyes, she let the night take its course.

---

She awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest as if it had been racing throughout the night. The remnants of the dream clung to her mind, its images still vivid, but slipping away like sand through her fingers.

The soft light of morning filtered through her room and for a moment, Emma lay there, staring at the ceiling, her mind tangled in the remnants of her strange dream.

The colours lingered at the edges of her thoughts-deep blues and shimmering whites, interwoven with a sensation too powerful to describe.Flickering images of glowing crystals surfaced briefly, sharp and radiant, only to dissolve like mist.

Her reverie was interrupted by a pillow landing square on her face.

"Wake up, sleepyhead! It's your birthday!" came Natalie's familiar, excited voice.

Emma groaned but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. She pushed the pillow aside and sat up, only to be tackled by Natalie. They landed on the floor with a soft thud, both laughing.

"I'm finally eighteen!" Emma exclaimed, her grin widening.

"Yeah, you are! Welcome to the club, infant," Natalie teased, ruffling Emma's short, dark brown hair.

Emma rolled her eyes but got up, tying her hair into a ponytail. Her hazel brown eyes sparkled with faint traces of leftover exhaustion. She glanced at Natalie, who was already pulling on a feminine-yet-practical outfit-a tailored shirt and military trousers. Natalie's blonde hair, styled into a messy yet elegant bun, framed her cheerful face perfectly.

"Come on, or else we'll miss breakfast," Natalie said, grabbing Emma's arm.

---

The mess hall buzzed with activity, the clatter of trays and hum of conversation filling the air. Emma, dressed in standard black fatigues, moved through the crowd seamlessly with the familiar motion as if she's been in the camp her whole life. 

The sharp scent of disinfectant mingled with the aroma of eggs and toast. Around her, soldiers and recruits exchanged banter, their movements precise and deliberate.

She received occasional birthday wishes from those she knew, their voices bright and cheerful, but they felt distant, like sounds coming from another world. The clatter of trays and the hum of conversation around her seemed muffled, as if she were in a bubble, separated from everything by the unease that still lingered in her chest. Some of the soldiers offered quick smiles and waves, while others simply nodded as they passed by. Their words were kind, but Emma didn’t feel the warmth they were meant to convey. It was hard to shake the feeling that something was off.

"Happy birthday, Emma!" One of the younger cadets called out, her voice carrying over the table as she passed by with a tray of food. Emma gave a tight smile in return, murmuring a quick thank you.

But it was hard to focus on anything beyond the dreams and the weight of the unknown. Even her closest friends in the camp couldn’t ease the pull she felt toward something far more pressing.

As she sat at the table, picking at her food more out of habit than hunger, Natalie, noticed her distracted air, leaned over with a smile. "You okay? You’ve barely touched your food."

Emma looked up at her, forcing a smile. "Just... thinking."

Natalie raised an eyebrow but didn’t press her further, offering Emma a knowing look before returning to her own meal. The unspoken bond between them was enough—Natalie knew when to give space and when to offer comfort.

---

The day passed in a blur. Military drills, study sessions, and physical training filled the hours. Lucky for Emma she had the afternoon period free so she decided to use the opportunity to rest and set her mind at ease.

When evening finally came, Natalie pulled her out of her dorm room with a force that left little room for protest. "Come on, birthday girl. You're not spending your night sulking," she said, her voice light and teasing, but with an undertone of concern Emma knew too well.

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Natalie was already ahead of her, grabbing her arm and steering her toward the door. "I don’t care how weird you’re feeling. Tonight, we’re doing something normal. We’re going to have fun."

Emma shot her a half-hearted smile, though the heaviness in her chest remained. "I’m not in the mood for a party."

"I didn’t say anything about a party," Natalie replied with a grin, her tone mischievous. "But there’s no way I’m letting you sit here by yourself on your birthday. We’re getting out of here, even if it’s just for a walk around the camp."

Emma hesitated, glancing back at the room that felt more like a cage lately than a place of comfort. The weight of her thoughts pressed down harder with every passing day, but she knew Natalie wouldn’t let her retreat into herself. And in some strange way, she was grateful for it, even if she didn’t fully understand why she was resisting so much.

"Fine," Emma said, her voice softening as she gave in. "But I’m not in the mood for much, okay?"

Natalie simply smirked. "You never are, but I know you’ll feel better once you get out and stretch those legs."

The two of them made their way out of the building and into the cool evening air, the camp still bustling with the usual sounds of soldiers preparing for the next day's drills. The night sky was clear, but Emma couldn’t help noticing the faintest hint of red lingering in the atmosphere.

It was a far cry from the vibrant crimson of the Blood Moon, but there was something in the air that made her skin prickle with awareness. Something that made her uneasy.

"How's the food in the mess hall?" Natalie asked, trying to make small talk as they walked along the edge of the camp a few blocks away from the mess hall. "Did you at least get a cake or something?"

Emma shrugged, offering a small chuckle. "The food was fine. No cake. But I guess I wasn’t expecting one anyway".

Natalie continued to lead her through the camp’s winding paths. When they reached the mess hall, Emma's eyes widened in surprise.

The usual sterile, utilitarian space had been transformed. Blue streamers hung from the ceiling, fluttering gently in the air, adding a touch of festivity to the otherwise plain room. Soft lights twinkled along the walls, casting a warm, inviting glow. 

In the center of it all was a modest cake, its surface adorned with frosting and a single candle waiting to be lit. Around the cake stood a small crowd of familiar faces—fellow cadets, a few officers, and even a couple of soldiers from other units—all gathered to celebrate her birthday.

A chorus of cheerful voices greeted her as she entered. "Surprise!" they exclaimed in unison, and for the first time that day, Emma felt a flicker of warmth in her chest. The people who had come to wish her well, to celebrate with her, were more than just fellow soldiers; they were her friends. People who cared, even if it was only for a brief moment between the endless duties and drills that consumed their lives.

Natalie gave her an exaggerated bow. "I knew you wouldn’t expect this, so I decided to bring the party to you."

Emma shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. "You didn’t have to do all this. I... I wasn’t really in the mood."

"I know," Natalie said with a wink. "But that’s exactly why I did it. You’re not allowed to sulk on your birthday. So get over here and make a wish."

Emma felt a warmth spread through her as the small crowd cheered her on. It was a strange, fleeting thing—this celebration—but it grounded her in a way she hadn’t expected. It was easy to forget, amid all the strange occurrences and unsettling dreams, that there were still moments like this—moments of light, of connection, of normalcy.

With a deep breath, Emma made her way toward the cake, the candle flickering in the soft light. She closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of the past few days settling in her chest again, but she pushed it aside. For now, she focused on the here and now. She made a wish, though part of her knew it was an empty gesture—how could she wish for something she didn’t understand?

The room erupted in cheers as she blew out the candle, and Natalie gave her a playful shove toward the cake. "Go on, birthday girl. You get the first slice."

As Emma cut into the cake, her friends gathered around, laughing and chatting in a way that felt almost surreal given the tension she had been carrying. She didn’t know how long she could keep the weight of her thoughts at bay, but for this moment, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of the celebration, the simple joy of being surrounded by people who cared. 

Even if the mysteries of the moon and the strange pull of her dreams still lingered, tonight—just for tonight—she could let them go. At least for a little while.