Nine Years Ago
The orphanage on Blackthorne Hill crouched beneath a permanent shroud of fog, its stone bones etched in ash and silence. It wasn't built to be loved—it was built to contain. Rules hung in the air like frost: invisible, biting, inescapable.
Children moved like shadows, their laughter smothered before it could rise, their tears swallowed before they could fall.
But Raven Skye didn't whisper.
She never had.
At eight years old, she was a storm wearing skin.
She didn't cry when the power went out and shadows crawled across the ceiling. She didn't tremble when the wind howled like wolves outside the chimney stacks. While the other children huddled in corners, clutching makeshift talismans and whispering bedtime secrets like contraband, Raven stood at the barred window, daring the dark to blink first.
That night, the sky split open.
The storm didn't arrive—it attacked. It clawed at the hill with lightning fingers, thunder cracking the bones of the old building. Caretakers panicked, sweeping the children into the underground shelter like sheep.
But Raven slipped away—barefoot, breathless, furious.
She took the rusted iron stairs two at a time. The wind whipped her face. Her hair thrashed behind her like black fire. The rooftop door groaned beneath her hands—and then she was there.
Above the world. Alone.
Face-to-face with chaos.
The sky screamed.
Rain sliced her skin. The wind howled in triumph. But she didn't bow.
She raised her arms like she could hold the storm itself.
"You hear me, world?!"
Her voice cracked the air. "If you're gonna hurt me—then do it! I'm not scared of you!"
Lightning flickered behind the clouds, like eyes narrowing.
"Strike me if you want!" she cried. "At least I'll feel something real!"
The words tore from her like they'd been waiting her whole life to escape.
And the sky—maybe in rage, or maybe in mercy—answered.
A bolt of white fire fell.
It cleaved the heavens and found her.
Raven collapsed.
And for a breathless moment, the storm held its breath.
Just the sound of a child falling.
Then silence.
Present Day
The boys' bathroom was a mausoleum.
Light filtered through a cracked window in dull shades of orange, falling on slick tiles.
On red.
On blood.
Fresh. Too much.
Raven's boots clicked on the floor, but she didn't hear them.
Her heartbeat was louder.
Her breath was gone.
And then she saw him.
"Kai…?"
His name wasn't a question. It was a wound.
He was slumped in the corner, skin pale as moonlight, his school shirt soaked in red. Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.
A cruel, final period.
"No… no no no—"
She dropped to her knees, into the blood, not caring.
Her hands reached for him, trembling. Gripping his collar. Shaking him.
Gentle first. Then harder.
"Kai, please… Please say something. Anything. I'll take anything."
He was still warm. But fading.
So fast.
She pressed her forehead to his, the scent of iron in her lungs. Her sobs burned her throat.
"I wasn't there," she choked. "I was too busy pretending not to care. Too busy laughing while you were bleeding in the dark."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was accusatory.
"You always tried to be strong. You protected everyone. But who protected you?"
She clutched him tighter. Blood coated her hands. Her arms.
"You don't get to leave me. Not you. Not the one person who never gave up on me."
She cupped his cheek, searching for a flicker of life.
Anything.
"You said I made you feel less alone. So how dare you…"
Her voice broke. "How dare you leave me like this?"
Then—madness, love, grief, all the same—she kissed him.
Desperate. Shaking. Blood on her lips.
Tears mixing with his.
And the world answered.
Lightning split the sky.
A second time.
This time, it fell.
A bolt of electric blue, loud enough to end sound. It shattered windows. Exploded lights. Electricity surged like a monster awakened.
And then—boom.
The school didn't burn.
It ceased to exist.
A flash. A roar. A silence louder than death.
Nearby buildings cracked.
Cars vanished.
Lives ended.
And yet—
Two remained.
The air was ash. Rubble smoldered. Smoke curled toward the heavens like prayer.
Kai stirred.
"Ugh… my head…"
He blinked. His hands went to his chest.
No wound. No scar.
Just smooth, warm skin.
"…My saliva… that wasn't mine… But it tastes well"
He drinked the saliva of Raven
He looked around.
Destruction. Ruin. Fire.
And Raven—standing in the wreckage, eyes wide, pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
"Kai?" she whispered.
He looked at her.
Then down. Then back again.
"…What the hell just happened?"