Cathedrals of Smoke
738 Words
(Ezekiel’s POV)
There is no silence in a cathedral.
Even when the hymns die, even when the priests sleep, there is always the hum. The prayers trapped between marble ribs. The ghosts in the incense. The screams that once bounced off its stained glass now whisper through me.
I sat beneath the golden arch of Saint Elros Cathedral, watching the smoke curl upward. It was early too early. The ministers wouldn’t arrive for another hour.
But I didn’t come to pray.
I came to hide.
From the smell of blood.
From Cassandra’s eyes.
From what I did.
And from what I have to do.
---
Ashes Never Sleep
The news spread faster than plague.
General Hadrek slaughtered.
Mouth stuffed with a bullet. His own name engraved into the casing.
My fingers trembled around the communion wine.
I recognized her handwriting.
Her touch.
Her message.
Cassandra.
Back from the dead and making the Ministry sweat. One corpse at a time.
They tried to pin it on rebels. Foreign spies. Anything but the girl they buried in Sector 9.
But I knew better.
Because I was the one who gave the order.
---
The Weight of Surviving
I still remember the fire. The way it devoured her house. Her family. Her face.
She’d been sixteen. A rebel’s daughter. A thorn. A flame.
And I... I had been so hungry.
For power.
For favor.
For the Ministry’s attention.
I sold her family’s coordinates like candy. Watched from the cliffside while the purifiers rained down heat.
I told myself it was justice. That they were insurgents.
But at night?
At night, I hear her scream.
And now she’s returned to return the favor.
---
The Meeting
“Crane.”
Minister Arven’s voice cracked the silence like a whip.
I turned.
He walked into the cathedral with his usual arrogance black robe, silver cuffs, an entourage of soulless eyes.
“Your pet ghost is making headlines,” he hissed. “Hadrek’s death was an embarrassment. We need a counter-narrative.”
“She’s not a ghost,” I murmured.
“Then kill her.”
I nodded, but my blood curdled.
Because I didn’t want her dead.
Not yet.
Not like this.
---
The Assignment
By sunset, I was suited up again.
Ministry uniform.
Gloves to hide the trembling.
A team of six shadow agents. Silent. Deadly. And loyal only to orders.
Target: Cassandra Velasco.
Location: Unknown.
Last seen: The Ministry Banquet.
But I knew her better than they did.
She’d go underground. Find the cracks. Speak to the hungry.
She’d weaponize truth. Let blood be her ink.
And I, her former betrayer, now her hunter.
But I didn’t tell them the full plan.
Because I didn’t want to kill Cassandra.
I wanted to see her.
To look her in the eyes.
To ask if there was still anything of the girl who once carved stars into the floor with me when the world still had color.
---
The Whisper Cell
We found a lead.
A girl fifteen, sharp, furious. Caught spreading holograms of Cassandra’s message.
She screamed at us. “She’s hope! She’s fire! You can’t kill what’s already burned!”
I told the others to leave.
I stayed.
“Where is she?”
The girl spat at me.
“She’s already inside the walls, sir. Every c***k. Every whisper. You lost before you started.”
---
The Trap
That night, I returned to my quarters.
Alone.
The lights flickered.
The room smelled like smoke.
My fingers brushed the mirror—and there it was.
A message.
Scrawled in ash:
"The third name is next. Sleep well, traitor."
My chest collapsed.
The third name.
Minister Arven.
My boss.
My shield.
My last excuse.
And that meant...
She was coming for me, too.
---
The Ghost & The Guillotine
I stood by my window as the city howled beneath.
Flames in alleys.
Chants in tunnels.
Children drawing her face on walls.
They called her the Ash Widow now.
And I... I wasn’t sure what I was anymore.
A puppet?
A coward?
A villain praying to be forgiven by the one he crucified?
---
Endgame
In the end, it won’t be the bullets.
Or the drones.
Or the Ministers.
It’ll be the reckoning.
Two children who loved under candlelight.
Now monsters raised by different fires.
She will come.
And I will open the door.
Because some betrayals demand a face.
And some ghosts deserve an answer.
- Writer
