Unseen Shadows
The nightmares came every night, like clockwork.
Stella shot up in bed, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as the vision faded. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the blanket. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
And then the bond kicked in.
Warmth surged through her, calming her frayed nerves. She felt Flora’s soothing presence first, like a gentle breeze brushing against her consciousness. Then Musa’s stubborn defiance, Bloom’s fiery strength, Aisha’s steady resolve, and Tecna’s sharp logic — all of them wrapping around her like a lifeline.
“Bad one?” Musa’s voice broke through the quiet, soft but certain.
Stella nodded, though Musa couldn’t see her in the dark. “Same as always.”
Across the room, Flora stirred. “You saw it again?”
Stella swallowed hard. “The stars dying. All of them. One after the other, like falling dominoes. And I couldn’t stop it.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. They didn’t need to say it aloud — they’d all had similar nightmares. Visions of war and loss, of failure and despair. Memories of what they’d endured in the future, twisted and magnified by the bond.
Aisha’s voice cut through the quiet. “Let’s not dwell on it. We’re here now. It’s different this time.”
“Different doesn’t mean better,” Tecna murmured from her bed, her voice laced with exhaustion.
Musa sighed. “Alright, group cuddle time. Let’s go.”
Despite herself, Stella cracked a small smile. She heard the others shuffle out of their beds, felt the familiar press of their emotions growing stronger as they gathered around her. A moment later, Flora climbed into her bed, wrapping an arm around Stella’s shoulders. Aisha squeezed in on her other side, her steady presence grounding.
Bloom plopped down at the foot of the bed, leaning back against Stella’s legs, while Musa threw herself onto the pile dramatically. Tecna, as usual, hesitated for a fraction of a second before joining them, sitting stiffly at first before relaxing into the group.
It was chaotic and cramped and way too warm — but it worked.
“You guys are clingy,” Stella muttered, though her tone lacked any real bite.
“You love it,” Musa shot back, grinning.
And she did.
The nightmares didn’t disappear, but with the others there, they felt manageable.
The next morning, the dining hall was bustling, the air filled with chatter and clinking silverware. The Winx moved through the crowd like a unit, their bond guiding them instinctively to each other even as they picked up their trays and split off briefly to grab their food.
But the whispers followed them.
“Why are they always together?”
“Did you see the way the redhead just waved her hand and turned on that lamp in class? No wand, no spell words. Who does that?”
“Didn’t Princess Stella get kicked out of Alfea? What’s she doing back here?”
“They’re freaky, that’s what they are.”
The bond pulsed faintly as they sat down, the echoes of the students’ thoughts filtering through. Stella clenched her jaw, her appetite vanishing.
“They’re staring again,” she muttered.
“Let them,” Bloom said, digging into her food like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Easy for you to say,” Stella snapped. “You don’t feel like a spectacle.”
“Uh, actually, I do,” Musa chimed in. “We all do. It’s not just you, Sunshine.”
Flora’s voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. “We can’t change how they see us. But we can control how much power we let them have over us.”
Stella huffed but didn’t argue. Flora was right — she always was.
But then, as Stella glanced around the room, her eyes caught on a familiar face — a second-year witch at a nearby table, her sharp gaze trained directly on the Winx.
The witch didn’t look away.
Stella’s chest tightened, the memory of her nightmare flashing through her mind. The stars flickering, fading, dying.
“Stella?” Aisha’s voice snapped her back to the present.
Stella tore her eyes away, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just. . .distracted.”
But she wasn’t fine.
The nightmares were getting worse. And the bond, while comforting, was becoming overwhelming. She could feel everything — every flicker of fear, every pang of sadness, every spark of anger. It was like carrying the weight of six souls at once.
And the whispers, the stares — they weren’t helping.
That night, as they huddled together once again, Stella stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.
There was something they were missing. Something important.
The nightmares, the tension, the students’ reactions — it all felt connected, somehow.
She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.