Silver Fire

I had the strangest dream last night. Or maybe it wasn't a dream at all.

The full moon was blazing through my bedroom window when I woke up around 03:00, drenched in sweat. I could feel something different about tonight—the moonlight seemed to fill every corner of the room, turning everything silver-white. Even now, writing this the next evening, I can still feel the phantom warmth of that light on my skin. It wasn't the usual restless energy I sometimes get during full moons, the kind that makes me pace around the house until Mum asks if I'm feeling alright. This was different. Deeper. Like something was calling to me.

I must have fallen back asleep at some point because that's when it happened—the mirror dream.

I was standing in what looked like my bedroom, but everything was wrong. The walls seemed to stretch higher, and that silver moonlight was everywhere, but it wasn't coming through the window anymore. It was coming from me. From the mirror. I was facing my reflection, but the person staring back wasn't quite... me.

Same brown hair, same awkward height, same green eyes. But there was something in the way he—I—stood. Shoulders back, chin up. No hunched posture, no nervous fidgeting with my sleeves. And his eyes... God, his eyes held something I've never seen in my own reflection. Confidence, maybe? Power? Like he knew exactly who he was and wasn't ashamed of it.

The air around us shimmered with this strange silver fire—not hot, not burning, just... alive. Like the moonlight itself had taken physical form and was dancing between us. I could feel it on my skin, warm and welcoming, and for once I wasn't afraid of what these feelings might mean.

And then he spoke to me. Not with words—his mouth never moved—but I heard it all the same, felt it in my chest like a low growl I didn't know I could make.

"You can't keep hiding from me. I'm always here."

I wanted to look away, to run like I always do when things get too intense, when I feel that strange stirring under my skin that I don't understand. But something about the silver light around us kept me rooted there. The reflection smiled, and I swear I felt something shift in my own mouth—not painful, just... different.

"I am your shadow, little wolf. You forget your strength."

Little wolf. The phrase hit me like a physical blow. I've never heard anyone call me that, but somehow it felt... right? Like a name that had been waiting for me my whole life. But hearing it from myself—from this version of me that seemed so sure of everything—it felt both thrilling and terrifying.

The silver fire around us pulsed brighter, and I felt something in my chest respond—a warmth that spread through my limbs, making me feel stronger somehow. More solid. More real.

"It weakens us both. Step out. Brush away your fear of us."

Us. We. I keep thinking about that word, even now as I write this. I've spent so long feeling like there's something missing, something incomplete about me. Like I'm only half of what I'm supposed to be. The way I get restless during full moons, the way I sometimes catch myself sniffing the air or tilting my head at sounds others can't hear. The dreams of running through forests I've never seen, of feeling the earth beneath bare feet and wind in my hair.

Mum and Dad think it's just teenage weirdness, growing pains. But what if it's something more? What if there's a part of me I haven't met yet?

The reflection reached out then, pressing his palm against the mirror from his side. I found myself doing the same, our hands meeting with only the glass between us. The silver fire flowed between our fingers, and for just a moment, I felt... complete. Like two halves of something that had been separated were finally touching again.

I woke up with my heart racing, but not from fear this time. From excitement. From possibility. The moonlight was still streaming through my window, and I could hear Mum moving around in the kitchen below—she always has trouble sleeping during full moons too, though neither of us knows why. Dad was snoring softly down the hall, and everything was normal and safe and familiar.

But I kept thinking about those words—your strength. What strength? I've never felt particularly strong. I'm awkward, anxious, always second-guessing myself. But maybe... maybe there's something I haven't discovered yet. Something that's been waiting for the right moment.

The silver fire in the dream felt like coming home. Like finding a part of myself I never knew was missing.

I don't know what any of this means yet. Part of me thinks I'm just being dramatic, letting teenage hormones and too much fantasy reading get to my head. But another part—the part that felt so real in that silver light—knows this is important somehow.

Maybe it's time to stop being afraid of the parts of myself I don't understand yet. Maybe it's time to find out what happens when you stop running from your own shadow and start asking what it's trying to show you.

The moon is still full tonight. I think I'll sit by the window for a while and see what happens. For the first time in my life, I'm not afraid of what I might find.

I can feel something changing. Something beginning.

I just hope I'm ready for whatever comes next.