BLEEDING VELVET

Almond stood at the edge of the rising chamber, the wind of ascension whipping her cloak like it had something to prove.

Below, the ruins of the old world shimmered, warped in gold and ash. Cities that once sang now wept. Rivers of magic bled through the seams of forgotten maps, and the sky—cracked with flame—rumbled like something ancient had stirred.

Beside her, Velda whispered, "They're waking. All of them."

Almond didn't blink. "Let them."

The throne behind her pulsed like a second heart. The crown she wore was no longer ceremonial—it was fused. Part of her skull. Her magic. Her wrath.

And below, in the dark where the names blinked and burned—things began to rise.

The first to awaken was the Faceless Shepherd—once a king, now a shadow crowned in stitched silence. He crawled from the stone like regret made flesh, dragging behind him a staff made of bones from lovers he failed to protect.

He whispered to the air, "She calls. I answer."

Next came the Maiden of Thorns, her dress spun from sorrow, her hair alive with vipers. Every footstep she took bloomed a flower that screamed. She had been buried with her rage. Almond's name woke it.

And then, the Red Twins—mirrored monsters who held each other's hands so tight their fingers fused. They had died laughing, bathed in betrayal. But now they rose howling, blades glinting in both mouths.

Kairo watched from the edge of the platform, trembling.

"These aren't just soldiers," he said. "These are stories. These are legends."

Almond's voice came from deep within her, deeper than any wound.

"They are mine now."

Far ahead, the floating chamber slowed. A platform stretched before them—floating in the void, connected only by magic and willpower.

Waiting at its center was a girl. No older than Almond had been when the world first broke her.

But she radiated power. Her skin shimmered with constellations. Her eyes were made of storm glass. And on her lips?

A smile Almond had seen before. Once. In a dream she wasn't supposed to remember.

"You climbed so high," the girl said. "But you forgot who you buried."

Velda stepped forward, blade drawn. "Who the hell is that?"

Kairo whispered, "I think… that's the version of Almond who never survived."

The girl chuckled. "Wrong. I'm the one she killed to wear that crown."

The space cracked.

Reality split open like paper soaked in gasoline. Flames poured in. So did truth.

Almond stepped down from her throne. Her magic coiled like a whip around her fingers. She looked at the girl—herself. A version where the pain won.

And she said, "Then let's finish what I started."

The battle of the selves began.

Fire against fire.

Grief against grief.

One burned to forget. The other burned to remember.

And neither would kneel.

The duel was not fought with swords or fists.

It was fought with every memory Almond had ever tried to drown.

The ghost-girl hurled dreams like knives—visions of a home Almond never knew, a family she never had, love without pain. They slashed across her mind, each one begging her to surrender.

But Almond had built her power from the wreckage.

She summoned pain like armor, strung betrayal into blades. The ground beneath them split, shattered by raw emotion, time slowing as both versions of her twisted reality around them.

Velda and Kairo watched helplessly as lightning danced between the two. It wasn't just power—it was choice.

"You could be whole," the girl screamed, eyes glowing like stars ready to collapse.

"I was never meant to be whole," Almond replied. "I was meant to be sovereign."

A crown of fire circled her head. Her voice thundered:

"You are my regret. I am my survival."

And then she struck.

The fire she unleashed wasn't red. It wasn't gold. It was voidlight—a flame that consumed not the body, but the possibility.

The girl screamed.

And vanished.

Not destroyed.

Absorbed.

Almond fell to her knees.

Tears streamed down her cheeks—hot, furious, real.

Velda rushed to her side. "What did you do?"

"I accepted what I was," Almond whispered. "And I claimed what I had left behind."

Kairo looked around the ruined battlefield of dreams and fire.

"Then what now?" he asked.

Almond stood slowly, her crown heavier, but her spine straighter.

"Now," she said, "we rise further. The throne was never the final war."

She looked into the distance where the stars wept.

"There's another world waiting to burn."

Beneath them, the awakened ones gathered.

The Faceless Shepherd raised his staff. The Red Twins cackled in languages that had died with them. The Maiden of Thorns wept blood that seeded the void with crimson vines.

Almond descended the stairs of her floating platform and walked among them.

She was not afraid.

They bowed as one, the power of centuries kneeling before her will. She had earned this allegiance not with kindness, not with hope—but with truth. Her truth.

Velda whispered, "What are you making, Almond?"

"A legion," Almond answered. "Not of soldiers. Of stories. Of ghosts that chose fire."

Kairo added, "We'll need more than rage to win what comes next."

Almond turned to him, eyes glowing like dying stars.

"Then it's a good thing I have more than rage."

Above them, a portal opened in the sky—unfolding like a bleeding eye. Through it, another world pulsed.

Almond raised her hand.

The army followed.