Crimson Reign

Chapter 3: Kiss me like a Weapon

“There are people you meet with your hands. And then there are the ones you meet with your scars.”

We didn’t run.

Even after the sky split. Even after, the sound that shook the bones of the city cracked through the silence like a warning. We stayed on that rooftop. Maybe because we were too tired to run. Maybe because we’d spent too long pretending we weren’t waiting for something like this. Or maybe—just maybe—we both wanted to see what the world looked like when it finally broke.

Kael didn’t flinch. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He looked calm, almost bored, like he’d seen this all before. But I saw the twitch in his fingers. The way his jaw tensed. The way he flicked his lighter open and shut, open and shut, even though his cigarette was already gone.

“Are you going to tell me what that was?” I asked.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” he said.

“Don’t play dumb, Kael.”

His eyes flicked to mine. Darker now. Sharper. “You felt it too. That wasn’t a spell. That was something old waking up. Something that remembers us.”

We didn’t speak for a while after that. The wind passed between us, carrying the scent of ash and iron.

He finally broke the silence.

“You ever wonder,” he said, “if we were made just to end things?”

“I’ve stopped wondering,” I replied. “I accepted it.” He looked at me like I’d just told him his own story. “I don’t think we’re meant to save anything,” I added.

“I think we’re just meant to survive what comes after the burning.” Kael smiled, slow and sad. “Maybe that’s the same thing.”

We left the cathedral. No words. Just steps. He led me down through rusted ladders, cracked windows, old bones of a city that used to matter. I didn’t ask where we were going. I was tired of asking. We ended up in a place I didn’t expect. A room underground. Half-destroyed. Lit only by a single hanging bulb. It was messy, sure. But it felt… lived in.

Like he rested here.

There were old books stacked like towers. Weapons on the wall. A cracked mirror in the corner. And in the middle, a mattress on the floor. No blankets. Just Kael’s jacket thrown over it.

“This is where you sleep?” I asked.

“When I have to.”

I walked the room like I was walking through a memory. Then I stopped at the mirror. There were marks carved into the wall beside it. Not names. Not dates. Symbols. My hand reached for one before I even thought about it. “You know what they mean?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “But I remember them.” Kael nodded, like he expected that answer. Like he was waiting for me to say it out loud.

“Do you think we’ve met before?” I asked. His voice was quiet. Careful.

“I think I’ve been waiting for you for lifetimes.”

Something inside me cracked at that. Not broke. Just cracked—like the beginning of something trying to let light in.

I turned to him. He was standing so still. As if he knew I could run at any second. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” I told him.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to feel anything for someone I might have to bury.”

He walked to me, slow and steady. Stopped inches away. “If you bury me,” he said, voice soft, “do it with your hands. Not your heart.”

I didn’t kiss him then. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I was afraid I wouldn’t stop. Instead, I whispered the closest thing I could give him: “If this world tries to end us… I won’t go quietly.” He smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Because neither will I.”

Outside, the sky cracked again. And this time, it brought lightning with it.

Let the gods wake up. Let the city scream. Let the dead remember our names.

We were no longer just fire.

We were already the spark.