"You don't save someone like me. You burn with me."
—Almond
It was raining harder now.
Thunder peeled open the sky like a warning that came too late. Inside the church, time had fractured. The lines between lover and enemy, truth and hallucination, past and present—they blurred like smeared lipstick after a war kiss.
Aren wasn't Aren.
And Almond knew it.
But gods, his eyes still looked like the boy who kissed her spine the night he said, "If pain is the price, I'll pay in blood."
Now?
His smile belonged to the Prophet.
"Get. Out. Of. Him."
Her voice cracked across the ruined church like a lash. The sigil on her palm burned bright, pulsing with a rhythm she hadn't heard in years. Velda was beside her, blade in hand, breathing like a goddess drunk on rage.
But Kairo was behind them—weaker by the second.
And Aren?
He stepped over shattered pews like they were just bones.
"You begged to be mine," the Prophet said through him. "I'm just collecting."
Almond raised her hand, magic swirling dark around her fingertips. But this wasn't a spell to bind. This was personal. Old. An incantation from her bloodline's original sin.
"This is your final warning," she hissed. "Give him back, or I'll rip you out claw-first."
The Prophet-Aren smirked. "Then come. Bleed for him."
She launched first.
Magic cracked like lightning, colliding with Aren's body in a flash of white and red. The impact sent him skidding backward into the pulpit, which exploded in a storm of wood and flame.
Velda followed, blade spinning.
But the Prophet was faster.
He caught Velda mid-swing, twisted her arm, and flung her like a ragdoll into the altar.
"Stay out of this, child," he growled.
Almond blinked and was on him—hands glowing, eyes like molten silver. She slammed her palm against his chest, right over the mark she'd once kissed.
"Come out, you fucker."
And for a split second—Aren screamed.
The voice cracked. The mask slipped.
"Almond… help… me…"
She hesitated.
And that's all it took.
The Prophet surged back, slamming her into the stone wall, pinning her with a force no human should carry.
"He still wants you," he whispered. "That makes him weak. That makes you mine."
Velda coughed blood.
She stumbled upright, grabbing the blade she'd dropped. Her vision blurred, but her mind was steel. Almond was going to die if she didn't do something.
And Velda couldn't… couldn't lose her again.
So she whispered the spell she swore she'd never use.
A memory bind.
Suddenly, Almond wasn't in the church.
She was inside Aren's mind.
It was empty and endless. A black field under a blood-red sky.
And he was there.
Naked. Shivering. Alone.
"Aren," she said.
He looked up slowly. Bruised. Hollow-eyed. But him.
"You came?" he whispered.
"Always."
She ran to him, and when she touched him, the field cracked like glass.
"He's in me," Aren gasped. "I can feel him. He won't leave."
Almond placed her forehead against his.
"Then we tear him out together."
Back in reality…
Aren's body trembled.
Almond opened her eyes. Her magic flared.
Velda chanted faster.
The Prophet screamed.
"NO—NO YOU DON'T GET TO TAKE HIM—"
But it was too late.
Almond kissed him.
Not the Prophet.
Aren.
That kiss was her spell. Her anchor. Her exorcism.
Their mouths met and the energy burst outward—a light so blinding, it shattered every stained-glass window in the church.
When the dust cleared…
Aren collapsed.
Unconscious.
But his eyes were his again.
Kairo stirred behind them. "He's free," he whispered.
Velda fell to her knees. Shaking.
And Almond?
She stood in the wreckage.
Bloodied. Burned. Alive.
But as she looked at Aren's body—she knew it wasn't over.
Because in the corner of the ruined church…
A single red candle burned itself back to life.
And a whisper echoed off the stone:
"This was only the beginning."