Ashes of truth
915 Words
The rain hadn’t stopped since the battle.
It fell in steady sheets, soaking the blood-stained soil of the Bloom courtyard, washing away the war, but not the memories.
Zariah sat alone beneath the twisted arch of the rose garden, the vines now blooming wildly as if fed by blood and thunder. Her armor was gone, replaced by a loose black robe that did little to fight the chill, but she didn’t feel it.
She felt nothing.
Not even the warm presence that approached behind her.
Raye didn’t speak. She simply dropped a folded coat over Zariah’s shoulders and sat beside her.
The silence between them had changed. Not heavy. Just honest.
“We lost seven fighters,” Raye said quietly. “Three are still being healed. And the east wall is gone.”
Zariah nodded. “But we’re alive.”
“For now.”
Zariah looked at her. “You sound like something’s coming.”
Raye’s eyes remained on the rain. “Something always is.”
Later that night, Zariah wandered the old family library.
Books lined the walls like watchers. Dust curled in the corners. Magic hung in the air like forgotten perfume. This place hadn’t been touched in years maybe decades.
Until now.
She lit the torches with a whisper and began searching.
The old texts spoke of Bloom queens and blood-forged pacts. Of the Circle’s betrayal. Of sacrifices buried beneath the marble floors.
But one name kept returning: Selene Voss.
Her grandmother.
The last queen before the fall.
Zariah traced the pages. Selene had once tried to leave the mafia life. To turn the Bloom legacy from bloodshed to power that healed. The Circle had branded her a traitor and they’d murdered her entire line.
Except one.
Zariah.
It was never about destroying the Bloom name. It was about controlling it.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She turned the last page.
There, in old crimson ink, was a prophecy:
“One will rise from the ashes. Gold in her blood. Fire in her bloom. She will end what we could not.”
Zariah sat back, trembling.
“It’s me.”
Morning came with a knock at her door.
“What is it?” she asked.
Raye stepped in, holding a box.
“This came by crow. No sender. No seal.”
Zariah opened the lid.
Inside was a single photograph.
Her mother.
Alive.
Standing beside a Circle member the one she’d thought Zariah had killed in the last battle.
And scrawled across the bottom:
“Not all ghosts stay dead.”
Zariah’s breath caught. “This isn’t possible.”
Raye stared at the photo. “It’s real. Which means the Circle was never after you alone. They wanted to use your blood to find her.”
Zariah stepped back. “She abandoned me.”
“Or she was forced to.”
“Or she’s part of it.”
Raye grabbed her hand. “You can’t face this alone.”
Zariah looked up. Eyes sharp. Voice steady.
“I’m not. Not anymore.”
They left the estate that night.
Disguised. Fast. Quiet.
Through the rain and the dying city streets, they followed the only clue they had a mark on the back of the photograph. An old code that led to a part of the city that had long been swallowed by ruin.
They arrived at a broken-down cathedral.
The inside was worse.
Moss crept along shattered pillars. Bones littered the corners. And in the center an altar soaked in old blood.
Zariah stepped forward. “She was here.”
The air pulsed.
A soft voice echoed from the shadows.
“You’ve grown.”
Zariah froze.
Her mother stepped out from behind the altar, eyes sharp, face tired, wrapped in the same black cloak as the Circle.
Raye moved to draw her blade.
Zariah stopped her.
“Don’t.”
Her mother looked at her. “I knew they’d send you. I told them you wouldn’t rest.”
Zariah’s voice was ice. “Told who?”
“The ones trying to stop a war far worse than the one you’ve won.”
Raye growled. “You’re with the Circle.”
Her mother shook her head. “Not anymore. But I know what’s coming. The Circle was just a piece. A fraction. There’s something deeper. Older. Bloom magic was just the surface.”
Zariah stared. “And you left me to figure that out alone?”
“I left to keep you alive. And now you’ve unlocked something they all fear. Which means they’ll come for you next.”
Zariah stepped closer. “Who is they?”
Her mother smiled, sad. “The ones buried below even the Circle. The true architects of the bloodlines. The ones who never die.”
Lightning cracked above.
And in the echo, Zariah realized something:
The war was never the end.
It was just the beginning.
That night, back at their hideout, Zariah couldn’t sleep.
She stood at the window, watching the rain.
Raye came behind her, resting her chin on her shoulder.
“Talk to me,” she whispered.
“She was supposed to be dead.”
“And now she’s not.”
“And I don’t know if I’m relieved or betrayed.”
Raye turned her gently. “You don’t have to know. You just have to keep going. With me.”
Zariah nodded.
And in that moment, even with storms above and war below, she felt something steady for the first time in years.
Not peace.
But purpose.
- Writer
