"We never stopped loving each other.
We just learned how to do it wrong."
—Almond
Rain kissed the broken stained glass as the storm rolled in—soft at first, like it pitied what was about to unfold. The fire under the altar still smoldered. Kairo's breath came in sharper, steadier waves. He was alive, yes. But his soul? Still chained to something dark.
Almond stood now, her palm bandaged in cloth she'd ripped from her sleeve. Her blood still shimmered on the edge of the altar, soaked into the stone, humming with power that shouldn't have been awakened.
She should've left.
But she knew better than anyone:
You don't run from prophecy.
You meet it with knives.
She heard the footsteps before she saw her.
Soft. Deliberate.
Like the click of heels on memories she thought she buried.
Then—
The wind shifted.
The church doors creaked.
And Velda stepped through like a ghost dipped in designer sin.
Her hair was still white as frost, but longer now, braided with black threads. Her lips—deep plum, pierced at the corner. She wore a fitted black trench coat with nothing visible beneath, and her boots kissed the floor with that same sensual arrogance Almond once loved.
She looked like power.
She looked like pain.
She looked like regret.
"Still dramatic, I see," Almond said, without turning.
Velda smirked. "You kissed me in a thunderstorm, darling. Don't pretend subtlety was ever your kink."
Almond exhaled, slow. "Why are you here?"
"To bring you back," Velda replied. "To Him."
"Try again."
Velda moved down the aisle, each step deliberate. "Okay… maybe I missed you."
Almond turned, finally facing her fully.
"You missed my blood, you mean."
"No," Velda said, eyes narrowing. "I missed the way you never begged."
The tension between them wasn't new—it was just louder now. The kind of tension that made gods jealous and sinners confess. Almond's body tensed, ready to strike, but her soul?
Her soul still remembered how Velda kissed like she was searching for something inside her.
And that's what made this dangerous.
"What did He promise you?" Almond asked. "Power? Legacy? My body?"
Velda didn't blink. "Your heart."
Almond laughed once, dry and sharp. "That's funny. You were the first to throw it out."
"I didn't throw it out," Velda snapped. "I buried it because it scared me."
That stopped Almond.
Velda stepped closer, voice dropping.
"You scared me. Because you were the only one who saw me—not just as a prophet's heir. But as someone broken. And beautiful. And hungry."
"You were hungry," Almond whispered. "But not for me. For control."
Velda's jaw tightened. "Maybe. But don't act like you weren't hungry too."
Almond stepped forward, their chests almost touching.
"I still am," she said. "But not for you."
Velda's hand moved fast.
Grabbed Almond by the throat—soft, not choking, but claiming.
"I could still make you mine," she whispered. "You'd beg if I asked nicely."
Almond didn't flinch.
Instead, she leaned in and bit Velda's lower lip—hard enough to taste blood.
"I don't beg," she murmured. "I bite back."
The kiss was explosive. Brutal. Messy. Two souls colliding like storms.
They kissed like exes who wanted to murder each other.
They kissed like tomorrow was promised to no one.
Velda shoved Almond against a broken pillar. Almond clawed her coat open.
But then—
A voice.
Low. Male. Familiar.
"...Almond?"
She froze.
Aren.
He stood in the church's shadowed entrance, soaked from the rain, shirt clinging to him, dark tattoos bleeding into skin like ink that didn't want to stay put. His chest heaved. His eyes?
Glowing faintly. Too faintly.
Not natural.
Not human.
He looked at the scene before him—Almond pinned by Velda, lips red, breath caught—and he broke.
Something inside him snapped like a whip in a silent room.
"You told me," he growled, stepping forward, "I was different."
Almond stood, fixing her belt, cool but cautious.
"You are. But you're not mine."
"I'm marked." He pointed to his chest. "You branded me."
"I didn't," she said quietly. "You let something else in."
Aren's eyes flashed. "So you fuck her instead? After crawling into my mind?"
Velda rolled her eyes. "Oh gods, he's one of those."
"She's mine," Aren said, walking closer now, body shaking. "Mine to protect. Mine to bleed for."
Almond shook her head slowly.
"I'm not anyone's."
"But you were mine—until he came," Aren spat, voice trembling.
He stepped forward—
—and then stopped. Hard.
Because Kairo stood now. Weak. Pale. But awake.
And when his eyes met Aren's…
The church went still.
"Kairo," Almond whispered.
He took a shaky breath. "Almond. He's in him."
She froze. "What?"
Kairo pointed at Aren.
"The Prophet. He's using him. Like a shell."
Almond spun, eyes locked on Aren—who now smiled.
But it wasn't Aren's smile.
It was too wide. Too calm. Too old.
"Oh darling," the thing inside Aren purred. "I've missed your rage."
Flash.
Almond flung a spell forward, slamming Aren's possessed body into the pews. Wood exploded. Rain poured in through the ceiling. Velda raised her hand, summoning a shield.
Kairo coughed blood.
Aren stood again. Unbothered. Possessed. Unhinged.
"Try, little witch," the Prophet said through him. "You gave me the key the moment you let him love you."
Almond whispered an ancient word—and the church shook.
Velda pulled a dagger from her thigh.
"We have to kill him."
"No," Almond said, stepping forward. "We have to separate him."
"How?"
Almond's eyes glowed.
"I have to make him want to live more than he wants me."