Bound by Flame and Blood
914 Words
The alley smelled of rot and wet concrete. But Kael and Kira barely noticed it. The blade in Kael’s hand had vanished into smoke, tucked beneath his skin. The mirror Kira held melted back into her chest, its surface forming a faint sigil over her heart.
They wore the forms of older teenagers now—more mature, taller, stronger. The city no longer recognized them. And no one would.
“We’ll need to be careful,” Kael said, his voice lower now, colder. “The world has rules. But we don’t play by them anymore.”
Kira gave a small, bitter laugh. “The world never followed its own rules anyway. Not for people like us.”
They stepped into the neon-lit street like ghosts returned. The rain had slowed to a mist. The people they passed barely looked up—just two more drifters in a world too busy to care.
But under their skin, the power stirred.
Kael could feel it like a storm waiting to be unleashed. Every time his anger rose, his fingers tingled, his vision sharpened, the symbols on his arms itched to glow.
Kira’s mirror gave her visions. Memories. Secrets.
And now, it showed her exactly where their first target was.
Their foster father.
They found him a few blocks away, at the edge of a broken strip of dive bars and corner stores, just like the mirror had shown.
He was older, but not by much. Still wore that leather jacket he used to beat Kael with. Still had the same greasy smile, the same false charm he used on social workers and neighbors. Laughing with two men at the bar like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t burned two children alive.
“Still drinks like nothing’s wrong,” Kael said, eyes narrowing.
Kira’s face twisted into a smile—feral and cold. “Let’s make sure this is his last one.”
They didn’t attack right away.
Vengeance wasn’t about rushing.
It was about precision.
That night, when he stumbled home alone, they followed him.
He lived in a run-down apartment above a pawn shop. No one would hear him scream. No one would care if he vanished. Just another drunk, just another missing person in a city full of rot.
Perfect.
He fumbled with his keys and opened the door, too drunk to notice the cold breeze that followed him in.
The room was dark. Stained couch. Old beer cans. Same cigarette smell they remembered.
Kael appeared in the hallway first—silent as shadow.
Their foster father didn’t see him until the door closed behind him.
“Who the hell—?”
Kael’s eyes flared, and the blade burst from his palm, smoke curling around its edge.
The man’s expression turned from confusion to terror in an instant.
“W-Wait… I don’t know you—”
“You knew us,” Kael growled. “You killed us.”
Kira stepped out from the shadows, her eyes glowing white. The mirror floated behind her, spinning slowly, flashing images of their broken bodies—what he had done to them.
The man backed into the wall, eyes wide. “N-no… this is—this is a dream. You’re dead. I saw you—”
“You saw us burn,” Kira hissed. “And you laughed.”
The lights in the apartment flickered, then died.
Flames erupted from the floor—circling the man, forming a cage of fire.
“Please,” he begged, falling to his knees. “I was drunk—I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think it would catch—”
“You meant every bruise,” Kael snapped. “Every word. Every silence.”
“You were just kids,” he whimpered.
“And now we’re something else,” Kira whispered.
The mirror’s surface rippled, and the man saw himself—aging rapidly, his skin cracking, his soul exposed. He screamed.
Kael raised his blade.
Kira touched the mirror.
Together, they spoke:
“We judge you guilty.”
What happened next wasn’t death. It was worse.
The flames didn’t burn flesh. They burned memory.
They stripped him down to the lies he told himself, forced him to relive every act, every bruise, every scream, over and over—until his soul broke like glass beneath a hammer.
When it was over, there was no body.
Only ash.
Only silence.
The next morning, the police found the door to the apartment open and the place covered in soot. No sign of a struggle. No blood. Just the faint smell of smoke and the charred imprint of a man’s shadow burned into the floor.
No one questioned it.
No one cared.
Just another ghost in a forgotten place.
Kael and Kira stood atop a nearby rooftop, watching the rising sun.
“One down,” Kael said.
Kira closed her eyes, her mirror whispering. “More to go. The principal. The priest. The woman at the orphanage. All of them.”
She opened her eyes.
“But we’re changing, Kael. I can feel it.”
“So can I.”
Their powers had grown stronger after the kill. Kael’s blade no longer needed to be summoned—it pulsed in his blood. Kira’s mirror showed her more than just faces now. It revealed hidden truths, cracks in people’s minds.
They were evolving.
But something else stirred too.
Far off, back in the Firelands… the Keeper watched. Waiting.
And it was pleased.
- Writer
