Raised From The Wild-Chapter 437: Amaya’s Nightmare

Princess Amaya drifted deep into sleep, and the dream took her—softly at first, like the hush of silk across skin, then suddenly, as if pulled through water into another world.

She was in Miraga again and she was six years old.

The air shimmered with golden light, and the wildflowers swayed in the warm breeze. Her younger self—barefoot and laughing—ran across sun-drenched meadows, her long hair flying behind her like a ribbon of light. Around her bounded two familiar shapes: Cirrus, the white-furred wolf, and Kala, the mischievous tiger with fire in her eyes. Laughter filled the skies like music.

Watching from under the great fig tree was her father, Ibrahim—his eyes kind and warm, his smile carved from sunlight. He was the pillar of her world, tall and unshakable, hands behind his back as he watched her with pride.

The scene shifted, the grass withered beneath her feet. Shadows lengthened unnaturally. Her younger self, still giggling, chased after Cirrus and Kala—but with a sudden crack, the earth split beneath her.

Amaya screamed.

The ground vanished.

She fell into a mouth of blackness. There seemed to be no end. There was no light and she shivered with the cold as she continued to roll down. The crushing darkness enveloped her.

Then her body struck stone, and she faded into unconsciousness.

She awoke in the belly of the earth.

It was pitch-black. The air was damp and stale. Her tiny hands trembled as they groped blindly around her. Pain throbbed through her knees and ribs. Her skin was scraped raw, blood mixing with dirt.

She knew she had bruises all over her body but she did not cry.

Daddy had always told her, "Don’t panic. Don’t cry. The more you panic, the more that danger would come."

Somewhere in the void, she heard a low, trembling whimper.

"Cirrus?" Her voice was small but steady. "Cirrus, come here."

Cirrus had better vision. It was right for him to go over her instead of her finding him.

She felt movement, a warm body pressing against her. Then she saw eyes. A pair of luminous amber orbs blinked at her from the dark.

She exhaled in relief.

"Cirrus, do you know where we are?" she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder, she would attract a predator. "I think I passed out. But don’t worry, Daddy will find us," she said in her childish voice.

She waited. Seconds dragged into minutes. Minutes into a cruel eternity. But no voice called her name. No light broke the dark.

"Do you think it is already nighttime? Did Kala find Daddy?" She asked, and there was a growing concern in her voice.

Cirrus gave a soft whine in response, curling tighter beside her. Of course, he said. Kala will find him. She always does.

As time crawled on, her eyes began to adjust. She studied her surroundings and found mysterious things against the blackness. Faint glimmers danced along the stone walls—tiny sparks, glowing like distant stars.

"Cirrus... look." Her voice carried awe. "They look like the stars in the night sky..."

She reached out, crawling toward one of the glowing patches—but her hand sank into something wet and alive.

It slithered. Her heart stopped. Then she screamed. Her voice echoed through the darkness. The sound echoed like a chorus of ghosts in the cavern.

Cirrus snarled.

Then Amaya felt a blur of movement and air shifted beside her.

Crunch!

The wolf lunged. There was a wet, horrible snap of something beneath his powerful jaws.

Did Cirrus just bite something? Amaya couldn’t make out what was in Cirrus’ mouth, but she suspected it was a snake.

Amaya’s breath hitched in her throat. "Cirrus... what was that? D-Don’t tell me this is a... a snakes’ nest..."

Cirrus growled low, then whimpered—just one snake, he said. No others nearby.

Still shaking, Amaya crawled forward, her hands and knees raw and scraped, until she reached the glowing object embedded in the cavern wall. It pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own.

She tried to pry it with her fingers but she failed.

"Cirrus... can you dig it out?"

The wolf obeyed. His claws tore into the earth, sending bits of stone and dust flying. It took time, but finally—with a heavy clink—the object fell to the cave floor.

Amaya picked it up with trembling fingers.

It was warm. Luminous. The soft blue light spilled across her face, casting her in an otherworldly glow. And then—within the stone—a face began to form.

Her mother. She was smiling brightly at her. Radiant. Ethereal. Exactly as she remembered from the paintings her father had made. But more than a memory—this was real. It was her.

"Mommy..." Amaya gasped. Tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled. "Mommy..."

She reached for the glowing surface, her fingers just inches away.

But the moment she touched it—the face vanished.

Amaya stared, stunned, her tears finally breaking free and streaking down her face. "No... no, come back..." Her voice cracked. "Please...Mommy, don’t leave, please. Don’t you want Aya anymore?" She sobbed. "I missed you so much, Mommy."

She clutched the stone to her chest, the bluish glow reflecting on her face.

The dream quivered. The walls around her pulsed with a strange energy, as if the entire cavern were breathing. The stone slipped from her fingers.

And the dream shattered.

Amaya gasped—her whole body lurching forward as if pulled from deep waters. Her chest heaved. Cold sweat clung to her skin like a second layer. She blinked rapidly, her vision blurred by tears and confusion.

The warmth of Miraga was gone. The cavern was gone and so was Cirrus.

She was no longer the little girl of six. She was twenty again. And she was not in a dream.

She was in a room, a white room. Was it a laboratory?

The room was brightly lit by the white light coming from the three corners of the wall. But something shifted.

She was in a cell.

The room was dim, lit by a single torch mounted high on a stone wall. The flame crackled with a sickly yellow hue, casting flickering shadows that danced like demons across the damp, uneven walls. The air was heavy with mildew and rot. Somewhere nearby, water dripped in a slow, maddening rhythm—tap... tap... tap...

Her wrists ached. She looked down.

Both her hands were shackled, bound by rusted iron links that scraped her skin raw. Her ankles were chained, too—just long enough to let her shift and stand, but not escape.

Her heart pounded.

The stone floor beneath her was cold and unwelcoming. There was no window, no way to tell how much time had passed—or where she was. The only exit was a thick iron door, bolted shut, with a slit for food.

Where was she? It was a white room earlier and then how did it turned into an ancient cell?