“You are unbelievable,” I snapped, shoving past him toward the door. “I didn’t ask for your help, I didn’t need it, and I definitely don’t need you trying to—”

“Trying to what?” Alec’s voice was a spark against flint, his footsteps loud on the warped floorboards as he followed. “Keep you from getting yourself killed?”

I spun on him, heat curling in my chest. “You don’t get to decide what I can h...

Why Do Roses Have Thorns

by Alec Caereth

Because beauty should never be touched without care.

Because the sweetest thing on earth can still draw blood.

Because even in bloom, a rose remembers winter,

and hides its heart behind steel.

You are that rose.

Your petals catch the light like they’ve stolen it,

soft enough to make me forget the war in your eyes—

until I reach for you.

Until I feel the s...

She was pacing again. Back and forth across the narrow stretch of dirt between the campfire and the tree line, her boots kicking up dust. The sparks from the flames caught in her hair, turning black strands into threads of molten copper every time she passed into the light.

“They think they know everything,” she muttered, not to me, not even to herself, but to the air that wouldn’t talk back. “Li...

When I was little I used to lay outside and reach my hands up to the sky above, convinced I could touch the great moving clouds if I just extended my arms a little further. I remember the warmth of the grass under my back, the smell of sun-soaked earth, and the way the clouds always seemed just within reach, as if they were waiting for me.

Now, sitting here beside Alec, the memory feels impossibl...

The world was all fire and steel.

Sparks rained from the ceiling as the stone archway cracked overhead. Alec’s hand was on my arm, dragging me backward, but the roar in my ears wasn’t just the battle—it was the Hollow Twin pacing inside me, tasting the blood in the air.

“Aria—” His voice was sharp, urgent. “We need to move—now!”

I wrenched free. “If we run, the gate falls. And when it falls, ev...

The moment the door slammed behind us, she wouldn’t look at me.

Her shoulders trembled, but not with rage — with something heavier, sharper. I’d seen her fight through wounds, through blood, through storms that would have broken anyone else. But this? This was different.

“Aria,” I said, soft enough that my own voice felt foreign.

Nothing. Just the sound of her shallow breaths, like each one mig...

The scent of blood still clung to my hands.

I scrubbed them harder, not because it would help, but because I didn’t know what else to do. The basin water had long turned pink, then rust-red. Her magic hadn’t just cut — it had burned. It had torn. The gash in my shoulder was sealed now, but the memory of her eyes — too dark, too hollow — stayed sharp.

Aria had run. I let her. No, I’d watched her ...

The door slammed shut behind us with a final, echoing thud.

I spun around, breath shallow, hand already glowing with flame — but it wasn’t the locked stone door that made my chest tighten.

It was her.

Aria stood in the center of the room, head bowed, hands trembling at her sides. Shadow coiled around her fingers like smoke—dense, wrong, alive.

Then she lifted her head.

And it wasn’t her.

“St...

The stars are still out, though the sun threatens the horizon with its first gold blade.

We won. Not the war—just the battle. Just enough time to breathe. The others sleep in tents and ruined halls, but she doesn’t. Aria.

She’s standing at the edge of the cliffs above the shattered coast, hair unbound, wind curling it like smoke. Her cloak flaps open around her, and for one stupid, heart-wrenchi...

“Sunlit Things”

by Aria Virelion

I love the way the morning breaks—

in golden spills across the floor,

as if the sun itself awakes

to press a kiss against the door.

The wind hums low—a lullaby,

the flowers lift their painted heads.

The world feels light. The sky feels high.

And even silence softly treads.

Today, I braid the morning in,

thread light through loops of memory.

I almost taste what co...