Part 1 – "Welcome Home"
"Welcome home," she said.
Kael flinched.
Not at her voice—but at how familiar it still was.
That was the worst part. That it still sounded like Aria.
Even though her eyes were bleeding black. Even though the thing beside her—the witch—was a storm of shadow, humming with power older than death.
Even though they weren't in the safehouse anymore.
They stood in the ruins of something deeper. Older. Hungrier.
The walls breathed. The floor pulsed like a wound beneath their feet. The ceiling had vanished into a sky made of screaming stars—and behind them, something moved in rhythm with Kael's heartbeat.
He tasted salt. Smoke. Blood.
Dario was beside him, but he didn't speak.
Kael could feel the tension in him—tense, alert, protective—but he didn't step forward this time.
He was watching Kael now. Watching him like he wasn't sure whose side Kael was on anymore.
Kael's voice broke the silence.
"Aria?"
The thing wearing her skin tilted her head slightly. Her hair was braided, just like the last time he'd held her in his arms. But now, her braid dripped with black strands that pulsed like veins. Her skin cracked softly around the corners of her mouth.
"I died for you," she said.
And Kael's legs nearly gave out.
But Dario moved then.
Not to her.
To him.
His hand found Kael's wrist, firm, grounding. "Breathe."
Kael didn't even know he'd stopped.
"Don't listen to her," Dario said, but his voice trembled. "This isn't real. This place feeds off—"
"Off memory," Aria whispered. "Off guilt. Off secrets."
She stepped forward, and the Shrine reacted. The light pulsed darker. The walls folded inward like lungs exhaling. From the ceiling—if it could be called that—dropped a heartbeat Kael remembered.
Aria's heartbeat.
The rhythm it made the night she died in his arms.
Kael's knees hit the floor.
Dario caught him before he collapsed completely, arms looping around his chest from behind. Holding him like a lifeline. Like he wasn't sure Kael would come back if he let go.
"Don't look at her," Dario said in his ear. "Stay with me."
But Kael did look.
Because part of him still wanted to see her.
Her hands were empty. She didn't threaten. She didn't scream. She only watched him like she pitied him—and that was worse than any curse.
"You loved me," she said.
Kael swallowed.
"I still—"
"No." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "You wanted me. You feared me. You loved what I made you feel. But you never loved me. Not the real girl. Not the girl who bled for your sins."
Kael choked.
Behind her, the witch moved. Her face wasn't a face. Just a ripple in the storm. But Kael felt her voice slide into his thoughts like a needle.
He remembers the fire.
But not what came before it.
Not what sleeps inside him still.
"Shut up," Dario growled.
The witch turned her storm-eyes to him.
And for the first time—Dario flinched.
Kael rose to his feet. Slowly. As if gravity fought him. As if the Shrine didn't want him upright.
"I don't care what this place shows me," Kael said, voice shaking. "I don't care what you've become. We came here for answers. For the curse. For you."
Aria blinked.
The blood from her eyes dripped onto the floor—and flowers bloomed in its wake. Black petals. Fragrant. Dying.
"Then look closer," she said.
The Shrine shifted.
The floor beneath them peeled open like a mouth, and from the dark, Kael's voice echoed upward:
"I'll always be your first betrayal."
He staggered back. Dario grabbed his arm—but Kael wasn't in his body anymore.
He was back in the church.
The night of the fire.
He saw himself holding Aria in the smoke. Heard her screaming. Saw his own hands reach for her—and then hesitate.
Because Dario was there too.
Because part of Kael had already chosen.
"Don't show me this," Kael whispered.
But Aria didn't control it.
The Shrine did.
It dragged the truth out of his skin like marrow.
Kael stood in fire.
But he didn't burn.
The memory was real this time—raw, not softened by dream or distance. He could smell Aria's hair scorched by magic. Could feel her fingers tangled in his coat, clutching him as the curse took hold.
And across the chapel, Dario watched. Face unreadable. Waiting. His body half in shadow, hands twitching toward a weapon he never used.
Because he let Kael choose.
"Don't let me die here," Aria whispered, back then. "You promised."
But Kael hadn't answered.
He'd hesitated—just long enough for the curse to finish what it started.
Kael tore himself out of the memory with a gasp. The Shrine reeled as if he'd physically ripped free of something it didn't want to let go.
He collapsed again, and Dario was there—dropping to his knees, arms catching him like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"Kael. Kael. Look at me."
Kael blinked up at him. Dario's face was too close—jaw tight, pupils wide, skin flushed with effort and fear. Their breath mingled. Their lips nearly touched.
And Kael saw it: the fear wasn't of the curse.
It was of losing him.
"I didn't save her," Kael choked out. "I let her—"
"I know." Dario said. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just… true. "I was there, remember?"
Kael laughed—a sharp, cracked sound. "Do you regret it?"
Dario stared at him.
And then leaned closer. His mouth hovered at Kael's ear.
"Only the parts where I let you forget me."
Kael froze.
And the Shrine shifted again.
This time it wasn't Aria who stepped forward—it was Kael himself. A mirror version. Younger. Sharper. Dripping in red. Eyes wild.
The passenger.
"Stop," Aria said suddenly.
Kael looked up—surprised.
The thing in his image stopped mid-step. Breathing heavily. Jaw clenched.
The witch murmured in the background, low and gurgling:
He's splitting.
The boy, the beast, the betrayer.
Choose one. Kill the others.
Dario stood now, knife drawn again, eyes on both Kaels.
"What the fuck is that?" he demanded.
Kael didn't answer.
Because the version of himself standing in the center of the Shrine was everything he'd buried:
The part of him that wanted to run.
The part that wanted Dario's mouth, Dario's blood, Dario's love—even when he didn't deserve it.
The part that enjoyed what the curse did to Aria.
"I'm not him," Kael said to the room. "I'm not that version. I'm not that monster."
"Then prove it," Aria said softly. "Kill it."
The younger Kael lunged.
Kael barely rolled in time. The double of him crashed past, blade in hand—where had it come from? The weapon shimmered like glass, like memory, like guilt forged sharp.
Dario struck out with his own knife—but the doppelganger caught his wrist mid-motion, twisted.
Crack.
Dario hissed, staggering.
"Dario!" Kael shouted, but he was too far.
The double turned on him next—its face snarling, eyes glowing gold now, not red.
Kael moved out of instinct.
No weapon. Just rage.
They collided.
The Shrine howled.
Flesh met flesh. Guilt met guilt. Kael punched the thing in his shape and felt himself fracture on impact.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
It wasn't just a fight.
It was a choice.
The Shrine pulsed again—and in a single, lurching instant, the doppelganger Kael was gone.
Banished? Absorbed?
Kael didn't know.
But he stood alone, blood dripping from his knuckles, heart hammering like a war drum.
Aria watched.
The witch hissed.
Dario rose behind him, eyes narrowed in pain—but focused only on Kael.
"You're not done," Aria whispered. "Not yet."
"I don't care," Kael said hoarsely. "I'm not leaving without the truth."
Her head tilted.
"You want the truth?" she murmured. "Then let me show you what you buried."
She raised her hand.
And the world dropped away.
Part 2 – "The Things We Bury"
The world dropped away.
Kael didn't fall—he was pulled. Through light. Through heat. Through the sound of his own heartbeat accelerating until it collapsed into static.
He wasn't in the Shrine anymore.
He was somewhere between memory and nightmare.
And he was alone.
No Aria.
No Dario.
Just silence—and snow.
The air was thin. Pale flakes drifted through a black sky, landing on a ground made of bone-white ash. Kael stumbled forward, clutching his ribs.
Every breath felt too loud.
Every heartbeat was not his own.
He heard it—just beneath his skin.
That other rhythm.
The passenger.
You're not ready for this truth.
But she is.
Kael's hands curled into fists.
He hated how familiar the voice felt now.
Like it had always been there.
Like it had loved him longer than anyone else ever had.
A shape appeared in the snow.
Dario?
No. Too tall. Too still.
The shape was wearing Kael's old uniform. The one from the war.
The one he'd buried after he met Aria.
It turned. Slowly.
Kael stared into his own face. Again. But this one was older. Tired. Scorched around the eyes.
"Do you remember the massacre?" the double asked.
Kael flinched.
"I didn't kill them," he said.
The other Kael smiled faintly. "You didn't stop it either."
Kael opened his mouth—but the memory rose up before he could speak.
There'd been a village.
One that harbored witches, or so the generals claimed.
Aria had begged him to spare it.
And he had.
But Dario hadn't.
Kael had turned his back. Walked away as the smoke began to rise. Let it happen. Let them scream.
He told himself it was to keep Aria safe. To keep Dario close.
To protect the mission.
But it was a lie.
He let it happen because he wanted to be chosen.
By both of them.
Even if it meant blood.
Kael collapsed to his knees in the snow.
The memory burned through his spine.
He didn't even fight it anymore.
"Do you regret it?" his double asked.
Kael couldn't answer.
He couldn't lie—not here.
The snow knew. The Shrine knew. Aria knew.
The cold vanished.
In a blink, the snow was gone—and Kael was back in the Shrine.
But he was no longer alone.
He was in a room with Dario—but not present-day Dario.
This was a memory.
Dario stood at the window of a half-lit bedroom. Shirtless. Scarred. Smoking. Watching the city breathe below.
Kael remembered this night.
The first time Dario kissed him without anger.
Kael walked toward him.
And the memory played out.
Dario turned slowly. Said nothing. His eyes roamed Kael's face. Then his hands. Then his mouth.
"You're always shaking when it's quiet," he'd said.
"I don't know how to rest," Kael had whispered.
"I know how to shut you up," Dario replied.
The kiss wasn't sweet.
It was rough. Desperate. Mouths pressed too hard. Teeth clashing. Kael remembered the way Dario shoved him against the wall and tore open his collar—not out of passion, but panic.
Like he needed Kael to be real.
Like if he couldn't touch him, he'd forget he existed.
Kael pressed his hand to the wall now. Watched their bodies tangle. Watched the sweat slick their chests, the way Dario's throat worked when he moaned Kael's name.
It had been sex.
But it had also been a prayer.
And Kael had broken it.
He had left.
Left that body. That bed. That version of Dario that might have stayed.
The memory dissolved.
Kael gasped.
And this time, when he opened his eyes—Dario was truly there. Present. Real. Bloody, bruised, pissed off, alive.
They were back in the Shrine.
The witch had disappeared.
But Aria stood at the far end of the hallway. Not moving. Watching.
Kael turned to Dario.
Their eyes locked.
And Kael said it.
"I saw everything."
Dario didn't pretend not to know.
His jaw clenched. His gaze dropped. He took a step back.
Kael caught his hand.
"Stop," Kael whispered. "Don't run. Not here. Not after that."
Dario yanked his hand free.
"You think a vision makes you clean?" he said. "You think remembering what we did means you're better now?"
"I never was better," Kael said. "That's the point."
Dario turned away.
But Kael grabbed him again—and this time, shoved him against the wall of the Shrine. Palms to chest. Mouth inches from his.
"I left you before," Kael said. "I don't want to make that mistake again."
Dario looked at him.
Eyes dark. Throat working.
And for a second, Kael thought he'd punch him. Or curse him. Or walk away.
But he didn't.
He grabbed Kael's collar and dragged him forward into a kiss.
It was a mistake.
It was perfect.
It hurt.
Their mouths crushed together. Not tender. Not soft. Like pain remembering itself.
Kael pressed his body close—hips flush, hearts pounding. Dario groaned low in his throat and bit his lip. The taste of blood made Kael moan.
And then—
"Beautiful," Aria whispered.
They broke apart.
She was closer now.
Aria stepped forward slowly, arms still at her sides.
"I always wondered," she said, "who he'd choose if it came down to it."
Dario raised his knife again.
Kael stepped in front of him.
"Don't," he said. "She's not attacking."
Aria smiled.
"No. I'm inviting."
The walls of the Shrine peeled back.
Beyond them: a door.
A door made of bone and glass and shadow.
"Behind that door is the truth," Aria said. "Not memory. Not guilt. The real reason this curse binds us."
Kael took a step.
Dario grabbed his arm. "Wait."
"I have to know," Kael said.
"You won't come back the same."
Kael looked at him. Looked at Aria. At the door.
And then—he stepped through.
The Root of the Curse"
The door closed behind him without a sound.
No click. No slam. Just… gone.
Kael blinked.
He stood inside something that wasn't a room, wasn't a memory, wasn't a world. It was inside the curse.
The air shimmered like breath on glass. Light didn't behave normally here—it bent and pulsed with his heartbeat. Each blink of his eyes rewrote the space. A cathedral of shadows one moment, a battlefield the next. Then… a nursery. Then… nothing.
And through it all, a voice whispered:
We are the wound. We are the witness. We are the wish you never should have made.
Kael walked forward.
No floor beneath him—but he didn't fall.
Images swam through the air like smoke trapped in water. Aria's face. Dario's hands. The fire. The night he first heard the witch's name. The pact they made. The lie he buried in the shape of love.
"You're not showing me truth," Kael said aloud. "You're showing me pain."
Same thing. The voice was everywhere now. It was female, maybe. Or maybe just ancient. You made a bargain in blood. And blood remembers.
Kael's pulse thudded in his ears. "I didn't ask for this."
Didn't you?
The shadows curled inward. And then—
She was there.
Not Aria.
The witch.
No longer a storm, no longer faceless.
She wore a crown of thorns and silence. Her body was wrapped in veils of old scripture and skin. Her eyes were fathomless—no iris, no whites, just memory reflected back.
"You came for the root," she said.
Kael swallowed.
"Yes."
Her head tilted. "Then you must ask the right question."
"What is the curse?"
"No," she said. "Ask what you did to deserve it."
Kael's breath caught.
He wanted to scream that it wasn't his fault. That it was the war. The fire. The silence. Aria's rage. Dario's betrayal. Anything but him.
But the Shrine wouldn't let him lie.
So he spoke the truth.
"I made them choose me," he whispered. "Even when it broke them."
The witch smiled.
And behind her, the veil of unreality ripped open.
Kael staggered forward into it.
He didn't see fire this time. He didn't see blood.
He saw a table.
Three chairs.
One occupied by Aria.
One by Dario.
One by Kael himself.
They were younger. Unscarred. This wasn't a memory—it was the moment before all memories. A seed, suspended in time.
The witch stood behind them, her hands on their shoulders.
"I gave you a chance," she said softly. "You asked for love without sacrifice. Loyalty without pain. A life without consequence."
Kael watched himself nod.
"I just want them both."
"And you shall have them," the witch said, "in every version but the one that ends in peace."
She leaned forward.
And cut all three of their palms open.
Blood spilled onto the table, mixing.
That was the moment.
The pact.
The real curse.
Not spoken aloud. Not carved in stone.
But made of three hearts that refused to choose.
Made of love sharpened into possession.
Made of silence in the face of dying promises.
Kael reeled.
"No," he breathed. "I never—"
"You did," said the witch.
The vision dissolved.
And Kael was back in the Shrine. On his knees.
Dario was holding him again—arms tight, mouth near his temple.
"You're burning up," Dario said. "Kael, what did she show you?"
Kael opened his mouth—but the truth sat like coals on his tongue.
Aria stood across from them. No longer bleeding black. No longer weeping.
Just watching.
"She showed him why he deserves us both," she said.
Kael's head snapped toward her.
"I never wanted—"
"But you did," Aria whispered. "And so did I. And so did he."
Dario didn't deny it.
His hand was still on Kael's chest, and he didn't let go.
"Then what now?" Kael asked. "We all wanted what broke us. So what the fuck are we supposed to do with that?"
Aria looked toward the door of bone.
It was open again.
And this time, all three of them were standing before it.
Beyond it: a bridge made of light and void, suspended over nothing.
"If we cross," Aria said, "the curse ends. But so does this."
"This?" Kael asked.
She looked at Dario.
At Kael.
"At us."
Dario stepped forward, voice low.
"No more lies. No more versions. No more dead girls trapped in memories."
Kael nodded.
And then—he held out his hand.
To both of them.
His fingers shook.
But he didn't pull back.
Aria stared at it.
Dario stared at her.
And then—
She took Kael's left hand.
Dario took the right.
And together—they stepped onto the bridge.
——-
The bridge did not hold their weight.
It held their guilt.
Every step forward, the light beneath their feet dimmed—shimmering gold turned to ash, then to bone-white glass. The void below rippled with things Kael couldn't name. Things that watched.
Dario's hand gripped his tighter the farther they went. Aria walked slightly ahead, braid swinging behind her like a blade. No one spoke. The Shrine had taken enough of their voices.
But the witch waited at the center.
Not storm now.
Not shadow.
She looked like a woman. Young. Beautiful. Terrifying in her stillness.
"Kael," she said.
Only his name.
But it echoed like a bell in a ruined temple.
Kael stepped forward, flanked by the two halves of his past. His curse. His loves.
"I know the truth now," he said. "I know the pact."
The witch's eyes flicked to Dario. Then to Aria.
"Do they?" she asked.
Dario tensed beside him. Aria's mouth twisted.
"They will," Kael said.
But the witch only smiled.
"No. They already do."
Aria inhaled.
And for the first time—Kael saw it.
She wasn't just bound by the curse.
She helped make it.
"I asked her for the spell," Aria said, voice shaking. "Not to hurt you. Not at first. I just wanted… a way to make you choose."
Dario's breath caught.
"You told me it was an accident."
"It was," she said. "Until it wasn't."
Kael turned to her. "The night you died—"
"I died because I loved you more than I hated what you became." Her voice broke. "And because you didn't stop me."
Kael reeled. Dario swore under his breath.
"I watched you hesitate," Aria said. "And I hated you for it. But I hated myself more—for wanting to be chosen at all."
The bridge cracked.
Not beneath them—inside them.
The witch stepped closer now.
"You see?" she murmured. "The curse was never mine. It was yours. All I did was listen. All I did was answer."
Kael's hands were shaking.
"Then end it," he whispered.
"Why?" the witch said. "You need it. Without the curse… what would bind you?"
Kael looked at Dario.
At Aria.
And he felt it, finally—not magic.
But memory. And want. And wounds.
They weren't bound because of her.
They were bound because they refused to let each other go.
Dario reached for his blade.
But Kael stopped him.
"No more violence," Kael said. "We end it with choice. With truth."
The witch tilted her head.
"You choose now, then?"
Kael nodded. "I choose what I should've chosen back then."
His hands dropped from theirs.
He stepped forward, alone.
And offered his blood again.
"No more sides," he said. "No more lies. I choose the pain. I choose the truth. I choose the price."
The witch smiled.
And opened her mouth.
Not to speak—
But to scream.
The sound shattered the bridge.
Kael fell.
So did Dario.
So did Aria.
Not into void—
But into fire.
They were back.
In the church.
The night it all began.
Except this time—it wasn't a memory.
It was happening now.
The fire ate the walls. The sky howled. The Shrine burned. And in the center of it all—
A child stood.
Small. Eyes wide. Hands outstretched.
Watching the flames.
Kael gasped.
He knew that face.
He remembered the moment.
But he'd forgotten this part.
The child turned.
Looked at him.
Spoke a single word:
"Father?"
Kael's world broke.