Ashes and Oaths
728 Words
Cassandra's POV
I dream of fire every night.
Not the kind that warms or glows. The kind that eats you alive. The kind that smells like melting teeth and boiling skin. It’s the scream of wood splintering and lungs collapsing. That’s the lullaby that rocks me to sleep.
But tonight? The dream changed.
It wasn’t my father burning. It wasn’t me, screaming.
It was Ezekiel, watching from the other side of the flames.
And he didn’t blink.
---
I woke to Aris sharpening knives. One leg draped over the table, sparks flickering as metal kissed stone.
“You were mumbling again,” she said without looking up. “The name. Ezekiel.”
I spat the word like poison.
“Don’t say it out loud.”
She paused. “He’s close, isn’t he?”
I didn’t answer.
But she knew.
I could feel it in my ribs. The way the city pulsed differently now. The way shadows no longer felt like shelter but suspicion.
He’d made his move.
And now I had to make mine.
---
The Second Name
General Hale Hadrek.
Executioner of rebels. Decorated patriot. The man who put the final bullet in my father’s back.
He lived in a fortress disguised as a palace. Hired mercenaries in black suits roamed like sharks on caffeine. Facial scans, encrypted doors, and a drone the size of a car circling his tower.
But I didn’t need to go through the front door.
I had an invitation.
---
The Banquet of Thorns
The Ministry of Unity held its annual banquet that week. Velvet drapes, golden chandeliers, politicians rubbing shoulders with cardinals and generals, all slathered in lies and champagne.
I wore red. Blood red. A dress slit high, backless, with a wire thin blade tucked beneath the curve of my spine.
Aris sewed it in herself. “Wear vengeance like perfume,” she whispered.
The moment I entered the ballroom, I saw him. General Hadrek. Towering. Grey beard like iron wires. Eyes like gun barrels.
He laughed. He drank. He made toasts about loyalty and sacrifice.
I imagined what his throat would sound like when it tore.
But I didn’t move. Not yet.
Because standing beside him, lifting a glass in perfect synchronicity was Ezekiel.
He wore the Ministry’s uniform now.
He smiled like he never knew the name Velasco.
I nearly choked on my own fury.
Aris’s voice echoed in my head: "Timing is the blade’s sharpest edge."
---
The Hall of Saints
Every banquet ends with a walk. The Hall of Saints. Portraits of Velmora’s heroes. Soft lighting. Quiet music.
It was tradition. Reverence. A calculated display of honor.
It was also the moment when Hadrek liked to sneak out for a smoke.
I followed.
He didn’t see me. Not until the lighter sparked.
"Beautiful night," he said, staring into the gardens.
"For some," I replied.
He turned.
Recognition didn’t flash immediately. It rarely does when ghosts show up in satin.
"Do I know you?"
I stepped into the light.
"You knew my father."
He froze.
"Raul Velasco."
His eyes widened.
"No. You died."
I unsheathed the blade from my back.
"Funny. That’s what the fire thought."
He reached for his communicator.
Too slow.
I sliced the tendons in his hand first. Then the one behind his knee. He crumbled like a statue pushed off its pedestal.
"Mercy!" he gasped.
"You don’t get that word. Not from me."
I made sure he saw it.
The bullet.
His name carved into the casing.
Then I pressed it into his mouth.
"Swallow your legacy."
And I left him there. Bleeding into the roots of the statues.
---
The Fallout
His body was found by dawn. Gagged. Eyes wide. Bullet clenched between his teeth like a final curse.
The Ministry called it an assassination.
But on the underground channels, a new video surfaced.
A masked woman. A journal. A second name crossed out.
Hadrek.
The message:
“They thought burning me would end the story. But I am the fire now. And this chapter was personal.”
The people heard.
The city shivered.
And somewhere, in a cathedral filled with polished lies, Ezekiel Crane closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
He knew what came next.
So did I.
There were more names.
More graves to dig.
The best way to kill a villain?
You make their ghosts sing your name.
- Writer
