The sound of water rushing, almost angry, filled the dimly lit bathroom. Suffocating it, even. Blood spirals down the drain in diluted pinks and reds. Archielle's hands were raw from all the scrubbing, the skin almost translucent from too much heat and rough friction.
She stares into the mirror. Her eyes—wide, glassy, too bright. Her reflection doesn't look back; it judges.
She dries her hands without feeling them, throws on a jacket. Avoids the hallway where Gabriel's silhouette loomed. She didn't make eye contact when she spoke:
"I'm gonna check the perimeter." she said, tone low and clipped, as if calculated. Her gaze never left the wall's.
"Take comms." Gabriel instructed, his tone calculated yet soft. He never looked up at the twin's sleeping figures.
The duo slept, curled into themselves small as they truly were.
She weakly nodded, already halfway gone. Her gaze flicked to the children but as quick as it came, it was gone.
He watched her through the monitors, an ear on her breathing through the comms. He doesn't intervene—Not yet, atleast.
The light inside was low and warm—a deliberate choice.
Enough to be safe, Not enough to see the blood that was here an hour ago.
Astraeus clung onto Archielle's hoodie—not the real her, but the idea of her. He's shaking. She's trembling more.
"Mommy's okay, right? She didn't mean to—She didn't—" Astreaus whispered, panic creeping into her trembling voice.
Azrael crouched down in front of her, expression unreadable but voice soft.
"She's breathing. That's a start." Azrael said, tone uneven but slightly controlled.
Lucian kneeled beside him. The two children–Archie and Astraeus–lean on Azrael, who doesn't move—except for his shoulders, which fall slightly under the weight of too much.
Lucian briefly pressed a hand on Azrael's back, above his spinal cord. A small circle–slow, grounding even.
Azrael doesn't react outwardly. But his breath comes easier after.
"They'll all come back. From this." Lucian muttered, his eyes locked with Azrael's.
"You sound like you believe it." Azrael uttered, his tone low. His eyes welled with small tears.
"I believe in her." Lucian quietly, smoothly chimed in.
Their fingers brush. Not quite holding. But near enough to feel real.
The wind was whispering secrets again.
Not loud—no, just enough to make the broken gate creak like an old warning bell. A repetitive, off-tempo groan that scratched against Archielle's bones. She stopped mid-step, boot halfway in the gravel, breath caught like a hook in her throat.
The earth felt wrong beneath her.
She crouched low, fingertips grazing the frostbitten dirt. Silence stretched thin — almost mocking. That's when she saw it:
A cigarette butt. Still warm. Still smoking.
Her stomach dropped.
No one here smoked. Not anymore.
Her pulse stumbled, then sprinted. The gate — a hundred feet off — swung slow, like it had all the time in the world. But it shouldn't have been open. She always locked it. Always.
Another breath.
Another heartbeat.
And then the world fractured.
White ceiling. The sharp sting of bleach. The whir of machines.
That cry—a baby? Was it hers? Was it real?
She reached for the memory like it was a thread through fog.
It slipped.
Gone.
Then the lullaby.
A melody soft as snowfall, in a language that curled around her spine and whispered "remember."
Her hand went to her sidearm, the cold metal more real than her breath.
The night pulled tighter. Shadows shifted, too long for their owners.
There—between the trees.
A figure. Watching.
Her vision tunneled. The forest pressed in. Her heart roared in her chest like a caged animal.
Enemy.
She fired.
The crack of the bullet tore the silence in half—a gunshot scream that echoed through the woods, through the dark, through her.
And the figure was gone.
Just trees. Just wind. Just that lullaby still ringing in her ear.
The gunshot still echoed like a ghost when Gabriel burst through the trees.
He didn't shout. Didn't breathe her name like a curse. Just ran—fast and sure—feet silent against the frostbitten ground, heart a war drum in his chest.
And then–He saw her.
Archielle stood frozen, the world around her still moving—wind, trees, breath. But she was stone. A storm statue, eyes wide, gun raised. Wild-eyed. Wire-tight.
"Arch," Gabriel called out softly, hands up, like she was a lightning strike he was walking into willingly. "It's just me."
No change.
Her fingers were wrapped so tight around the pistol her knuckles had gone bloodless. She didn't blink. Didn't breathe right. Her chest hitched like every inhale hurt.
"I… I saw someone," she whispered, voice shaky and far away. "He was there. Watching. I swear I saw—"
Gabriel's eyes scanned the trees. Nothing but wind. Nothing but dark.
"No one's there," he said gently. "Just us."
A pause. She didn't believe him.
"I don't know where the blood ends," she breathed. "I close my eyes and it's still there. On my hands. On the floor. In my head."
She blinked, finally. Just once. But it looked like it cost her.
Gabriel didn't try to deny it.
Didn't offer her some pretty lie.
He stepped forward slowly — one step, two — and rested his hand over hers. The one still gripping the gun. His touch was warm. Steady. Real.
"I was ten," he said, voice low, like a secret meant only for her and the trees. "Saw my uncle die right in front of me. Told me not to cry. So I didn't. Not then. But I never stopped hearing him die."
Archielle's hand shook under his. She glanced at him. For once, not like a soldier, but like someone barely holding their pieces together.
"You ever wonder if it changed you?" she asked.
"No," Gabriel said. "I know it did. But not all of it was for the worse."
He pressed her hand down gently, guiding the gun toward the ground. She didn't resist.
"You guys are the only ones who don't flinch when I fall apart," she murmured.
Gabriel held her gaze. "Because we've all been there. One way or another."
She exhaled, shaky and uneven, eyes stinging but dry.
"We'll find what's hunting you," he said. "Past or present."
Lucian drove a steel bar through the last door, testing the frame. Satisfied, he turned—only to be met with two wide-eyed children staring at him like he was the monster under the bed.
"Door's fine," he muttered. "Won't let anything in."
Astraues sniffled.
Azrael handed Lucian a damp cloth.
"You good with kids?" he asked, teasing.
Lucian just stared. Then knelt awkwardly, offering the cloth to the one who had scraped her hand.
"Hold still," he said gruffly.
To his surprise, the child did.
As he wrapped the tiny hand, his eyes flicked to Azrael—checking the windows, scanning the shadows. A silent promise sparked in him:
'No one touches them. Not while I'm breathing.'
Lucian tightens the last bolt on a reinforced door. His knuckles are scraped, face flushed with sweat.
Behind him, soft crying. One of the kids, Archie probably, hiccups.
Lucian turns, stiff at first—he isn't built for this.
But he crosses the room and crouches down.
"You're safe. No one's getting through that door without me carving through them first." Lucian offered, tone awkward yet comforting.
Astreaus nodded in understanding, wide-eyed.
Azrael stands nearby, arms crossed tight, but Lucian watches him. Just for a beat too long.
A silent vow.
"No one touches this family. Not while I'm breathing." Lucian spoke, tone low, as if it was only meant for himself to hear.
Crackling from the comms. Navy's voice cuts through the quiet.
"I found something. You're gonna want to see this." Navy informed through the comms, everyone who lived in the household perked up after hearing him.
Archielle and Gabriel step through splintered wood and rubble, guided by Navy's flashlight.
He points down—to a partially buried body, barely recognizable. Weathered. Forgotten.
Clutched in the corpse's hand: a crest, A spiral, half-sun, half-shadow–it was strange and jagged. Faintly glowing in the light. Familiar.
Archielle drops to her knees. Her hand hovers over it—not touching.
Her voice is a whisper, a memory cracking open:
"...I know that symbol…" she whispered, voice as low as a raindrop.
SMASH TO BLACK.
(Started: 04/05/2025 - Finished: 04/05/2025 - Published: 05/05/2025)
(Written By OW1 and OW1's - reviewed by OW3 - Proofread by OW2 and OW1's cousin)