a/n : Hey friends! Thanks so much for helping me decide which story to share first and don’t worry, Warm Hands is definitely coming, just a little later. Most of you picked Gold-Blooded to go first so I’ll be posting at least one chapter every week. For now, I’m excited to leave you with the Prologue and First Chapter of this new book. I hope you love it as much as I do!
Ayla was raised in a sun-drenched corner of California, cradled by quiet luxury and the hush of spacious rooms. The daughter of a visionary in aviation and a mother once graced by magazine covers, she grew up in a world of beauty and stillness, where time moved softly, and solitude often wore a silken smile.
ay·la /ˈaɪ-lə/ noun a name of Turkish and Hebrew origin; means “halo of light” or “moon’s glow.”
gentle, luminous ; evokes the soft shimmer of something celestial, just out of reach.
Prologue (from Ayla’s POV)
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about all this.
Moving. Starting over. Watching the ocean from the backseat of a car that still smells like California. My dad says we’re lucky. That most people would kill for a house like the one we just moved into, tall and white and cold as a museum. I know I’m supposed to be grateful. I know I am.
But lucky’s never really felt like the word for me.
Kildare is quiet. The air tastes different, like pine and sea salt and secrets. The Outer Banks are all sand and storm winds and empty space, not like the clean, stiff-lined world I’m used to. It’s beautiful. I just don’t know if I belong in it yet.
We moved here because my dad decided to expand the company. Private aircraft maintenance, chartered jets, sleek hangars. He’s good at what he does. He makes money, builds things, breaks them down, builds again. He always says we’re sky people, not ground people. He means it in the business sense, aviation, engineering, altitude. But I think it’s true in other ways too. We’ve always lived somewhere a little above everything.
Growing up, it was always glass windows and marble floors. Everything in its place. My mother was lovely, like one of those porcelain dolls people keep behind locked glass cabinets. She smiled a lot, told me I was beautiful, brushed my curls into perfect shapes. But I never really talked to her. Not really.
My dad was rarely home, and when he was, he was either on the phone or in his office. I don’t think he ever meant to neglect me. I think he just thought if he worked hard enough, I wouldn’t notice. But I did.
I didn’t have many friends. I was popular in high school, if that counts, people always liked how I looked. I knew how to smile the right way, say thank you, wear the clothes that made me look soft and expensive. But talking to people? Actually being present? That was never easy for me. I was always somewhere else in my head.
Nature was easier. Trees didn’t expect things from me. The wind never judged me. I used to sneak out barefoot into our backyard just to feel something real. I would climb trees, draw leaves, name every bird I saw. I liked getting my hands dirty. I liked making a mess.
The only thing I ever really asked for was a dog. I begged for one on my twelfth birthday. I cried over it. Made a slideshow and everything. My mom rolled her eyes, and my dad agreed just to shut me up. They took me to a shelter the next day, all cement floors and metal fences. I didn’t expect to feel anything there. But I did.
He was the last one in his litter. He was some kind of Golden Retriever mix, but not the pretty kind you see in commercials. His fur wasn’t perfect, a little uneven in places, not the shiniest, but still soft enough to bury your face in. He had one golden eye and one pale blue, which always made people stare a little too long. And this little dark mark across his left cheek made him look constantly worried, like he knew more than a dog should.
They said people kept skipping over him. That he wasn’t typical. I didn’t care. I sat down in front of his crate and didn’t move until they handed me the leash.
I named him Solas. It means light, or something close to it. I found it online that same night. He’s been with me ever since.
He doesn’t bark unless he has to. He doesn’t like strangers. He won’t eat unless I’m in the room. Sometimes I wonder if he was made just for me.
Sometimes I think he’s the only thing that’s mine.
So yeah. This is Kildare now. New house, new town, same me.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. I don’t really expect anything at all.
But if this place is going to change me, it’s going to have to try really hard.
Chapter1. For the first time
I had known for a while that I’d be moving here. My dad had been going back and forth between California and Kildare for the past year, and even though I told myself it was just another stretch of time, I think part of me knew we wouldn’t be going back this time.
This wasn’t a vacation. This was staying.
The car pulled up the long driveway and stopped with a quiet crunch of gravel. Solas shifted beside me, his ears perked, eyes watchful. I opened the door and stepped out into the familiar heat. It was warmer than I remembered, and the trees felt closer, like they’d grown in around the house while we were gone.
The house hadn’t changed. Not really. It still looked like a picture of someone else’s life. Whitewashed wood, stone steps, the faint scent of salt drifting in from the marsh. I followed the path up to the door, Solas trailing behind me.
Inside, the air was cool. Still. The kind of stillness that comes from a place untouched for too long.
My room was upstairs, down the hallway to the left.
It was big. Bigger than I needed. Sunlight stretched across the pale wood floor, spilling in through tall windows that opened onto the backyard. The curtains were soft and sheer, the kind that moved when the breeze did. The walls were a light warm cream, almost golden in the late light. The bed was huge, covered in fresh white sheets with pale beige pillows and one pink throw, probably picked out by someone on staff.
It didn’t feel like mine. But I’d make it work.
I placed the framed photo of my mother gently on the nightstand. Then my matcha-colored sketchbook beside it. A worn bracelet from middle school. A folded letter. A smooth stone I’d kept since I was ten. I lined the perfume bottles on the vanity just like they’d been at home. Soft florals, warm musks. Scents that made me feel like something was still mine.
That’s how I started settling in. Quietly.
I was braiding out my hair near the window when I heard the knock at the door. It was my dad.
He leaned in slightly. "There’s a gathering tonight at the country club. Nothing formal. Ward Cameron mentioned it. Thought you might want to stop by."
I nodded, unsure if I would or not. He didn’t press it. Just paused for a moment longer than usual and said, "You’ll fit in fine. You always do."
That was all. And that was enough.
When I got dressed, I didn’t overthink it. Just slipped into a pale ivory mini skirt and my favorite pink top, soft, sheer, with little frills at the edges and a tie in the center. It was one of those outfits that always made me feel like myself without trying. I put on my small gold hoops, a clover necklace, and my white Air Forces that still looked almost new.
Solas stayed home.
The club was already glowing when I arrived. Fairy lights hung low from the trees. Glasses clinked in the distance. Somewhere, a soft piano played. The people on the lawn looked relaxed, like they’d spent the day at the pool and now drifted into night without needing to change.
I walked slowly across the gravel path, nodding slightly at the doorman. No one really noticed me. I wasn’t used to that. It was kind of nice.
I wandered toward the garden edge, where it was quieter. That’s when someone called out.
"You’re Ayla?"
I turned toward the voice.
A girl stood nearby, her arms crossed loosely over a simple sundress. Her blonde hair was clipped up, a few strands sticking to her cheek in the humidity.
"I’m Sarah," she added. "I think I’ve seen you before."
"Last summer, maybe. I was only here for a week."
"Right," she nodded. "I remember you had a dog. Same one?"
"Solas," I smiled. "He’s back at the house."
She laughed softly, like she hadn’t expected that answer. "He looked like he ran the place."
"He kind of does."
We stood in silence for a moment. She glanced around, then looked back at me.
"You’re here now, for good?"
I nodded.
"Well," she said, "you picked a weird time. Everyone’s in their dramatic phase lately. But it gets better. If you stay long enough, it gets quiet again."
"That sounds nice."
She nudged her shoulder slightly toward the back of the club. "Want to walk?"
We wandered through the dim garden paths, past rose hedges and soft golden lamps. She told me who hated who. Who had a boat. Which families owned which part of the town. None of it felt like gossip. More like warnings, in a gentle way.
And I told her about California. The silence of big houses. How I didn’t really feel like I was from anywhere anymore.
We were nearing the patio again when a low voice cut through the warm air behind us.
“Sarah. Dad said to come inside.”
We both turned.
He was standing in the shadows just beyond the archway, dressed in black. A glass of whiskey hung from one hand, a sharp look settled on his face that didn’t waver. His button-down was undone just enough to look careless. His hair was a mess, but not in an accidental way. His stare was bold, direct, and just this side of predatory.
We stepped inside together.
The Camerons were gathered around a long table near the back. My parents were already there, standing just off to the side with drinks in hand, chatting quietly.
Ward stood first, towering, charismatic, and extended a hand with a sharp, business-like smile.
“You must be Ayla. Your father and I go way back. Known each other since we were your age, maybe younger. Glad to finally meet you.”
I smiled and shook his hand. “Thank you. It’s nice to be here.”
Rose sat beside him in pale silk, sipping from a delicate glass. She barely looked at me.
Then there was him.
Rafe stood like he hadn’t really been sitting. A lowball glass dangled from his fingers, the ice barely melted. The smell of whiskey drifted off him in waves, sharp and familiar.
Rafe glanced at his father, then at me. His stare was detached, slow, like he was sizing up something he didn’t ask for.
He stepped forward, casual. “Hard to forget a California princess,” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
I didn’t flinch. Just gave him a neutral nod.
“And I can’t believe you know what California is, you genius !” I then murmured sarcastically.
His expression flickered for a second. Then he raised his glass a little.
“Adorable.”
I smiled, short and clean.
He held my eyes a second too long before stepping away.
…
Later, outside.
The air had cooled. The sky looked like velvet, thick with clouds and light pollution. I needed a second alone. Maybe more than a second.
Then I heard the flick of a lighter behind me. A breath pulled in.
Rafe.
He was leaned against the porch railing, shoulders loose, cigarette between his lips like it belonged there.
“You always bail halfway through a party?”
I didn’t turn fully. “You always follow girls out into the dark?”
He shrugged one shoulder, lazy. “No. Especially not ones who think they’re smart.”
Silence lingered for a moment.
“You like making exits, then?” he added.
“No. But I like being as far as I can from pricks like you.”
He exhaled, a dry breath of smoke. “Sounds like a you problem. Everyone loves me here.”
A humorless laugh. “That’s why you won’t last long, California princess.”
I didn’t understand what he meant by that, but I preferred to step further out, past the reach of the porch light.
“You act like you’re not curious,” he said, voice flat.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not a very good liar.”
I turned to look at him. “And you’re not smart.”
He tilted his head. “Yeah, and you should stop pretending you are. No one here likes princesses who think people care about them just because they’re pretty, when really, they’re just being a bitch.”
I didn’t react. I wasn’t trying to win. Or give him a point.
“Must be exhausting,” I said. “Being an asshole all the time.”
He snorted. “You think I care what you think?”
“No,” I said. “I think you care that I don’t.”
That clipped something in him. Not enough to crack. Just to harden.
He let the cigarette burn in his hand a moment longer before crushing it under his shoe.
“You’re gonna have a hard time here if you keep acting like no one can touch you, Carrington.”
“Well, it’s kind of you to worry,” I said, already turning away. “But I don’t need advice from someone who can’t even act likable, Cameron.”
His eyes tracked me as I walked off. I didn’t offer a goodbye.
He didn’t say anything either.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading this piece 💌 I’ll see you again very soon!
I’ll be adding songs to future chapters, so if you’d like a playlist for this story (or for upcoming ones), let me know. I’d love to share the soundtrack behind the words with you!
Cast The Dice is an actual play podcast using the Pathfinder role-playing system published by Paizo. The podcast has a custom campaign setting, with species customized using the Custom Race Builder rules found in the Advanced Race Guide.
Our first campaign, Gold Blooded, follows 4 youths from prestigious families in the Rainbasin, who plan on attending a famous festival and end up dealing with much more. With a world where important social structures have suddenly changed, and separated from their families and the resources that have been available to them all their lives, the youths must find their way. Joining them is a steelsoul, a sapient construct displaced from his own time. All of the party has a wealth of secrets – their own, or their family’s – that could endanger them or their loved ones if discovered. Together they band together, trying to find order, trusting each other slowly and sparingly.
