Ash Rising

Ash Rising
Alina

The ringing won’t stop. It’s like the world split in half and forgot how to breathe. I fucking hate when this happens, it's so disorienting. Smoke burns the back of my throat as I blink through the haze, my ears screaming with that high, constant whine that drowns everything else out. The air tastes of ash and sugar, while confetti still drifts down in slow, mocking spirals. Ariana moves first. She’s beside me, coughing hard, one arm braced around my shoulders while she waves the smoke from her eyes. Isla’s on my other side, covered in soot, a gash bleeding down her arm, but still breathing—still moving. We’re alive. That’s all I can manage to think. We’re alive. Bean’s still. Please—A flutter beneath my palm. Okay. He’s alive too. The rest of the world starts to fade back in—the sound of crackling fire, screams from somewhere beyond the garden, the metallic tang of blood. The air’s hot and vibrating with panic.
“Alina.” Isla’s voice is rough, almost swallowed by the noise. “You okay?”
I nod, but the motion’s jerky. “Yeah… yeah, I think so.”
Ariana pushes herself to her feet, squinting through the wreckage. “What the hell—?”
She doesn’t finish because that’s when the shadows move. Figures step through the smoke—dozens of them—guns raised, black uniforms slick with soot. Their boots crunch over glass and gravel as they move in formation. One of them shouts an order. Another fires a round into the air. And that's when I see it, stitched into the sleeve of the man at the front, a crest I know all too well. My father’s. He sent them. He did this.

The noise fades again—not gone, just… distant. Like I’m underwater, hearing everything from the bottom of the ocean. I can see mouths moving, people running, but all I can feel is heat crawling across my skin.
He wanted the heir.
He wanted me.
He wanted power.
Ariana’s hand clamps around my wrist. “Get up.”
I do. The three of us rise together, smoke curling around us like ghosts. Someone near the wreckage screams as the men open fire, bullets shredding the air, cutting through the remains of the party. Glass explodes from the patio doors, firelight spilling across the ground, and people dive for cover. Ariana grabs a broken bottle from the table beside her, shoving me back as a bullet whips past. Isla ducks low, dragging a dazed woman to the ground, then snatches a piece of metal from the wreckage. My heart’s hammering so hard it hurts, but something steadier takes over as the voices start to whisper in my ear.
He’s not taking anything from me. Not again.

Another gunman moves closer, firing blindly toward the guests hiding behind overturned tables. I grab the leg of a broken chair, grip it tight, and wait for him to pass the shadow of the hedge. When he does, I swing. The crack is loud and wet, wood splintering against his skull. He goes down, and I hit him again. I don’t stop until he’s still, then I spin, ready to find my next victim. Ariana’s already on another one, tackling him straight through the buffet table. They crash through glass and icing, rolling until she’s on top. She grabs the shattered bottle and drives it down into his throat. Once. Twice. Three times. Isla swings her metal bar like she was born for it, catching one man in the jaw and another across the back of the knees. She moves fast, fluid, furious. We’re all moving on instinct now. I can feel Bean kicking, the adrenaline flooding through both of us. My lungs burn, but I keep going. Every swing, every hit feels like reclaiming a piece of something that was taken long before today.
“Behind you!” Isla shouts.
I duck just as a bullet grazes past, tearing through my sleeve. Ariana throws herself over me, slamming her shoulder into the gunman. The weapon flies from his hand. She grabs it before it hits the ground and fires twice. He drops. I snatch up her pole and throw it back to her. She catches it with one hand, and we nod in silent communication. Then we're moving again. I let out a war cry as I jump to strike the next guy, hitting his elbow from below as he aims his gun at me. His arm breaks easily, and the weapon slips into my hand even easier. I turn it on him, with no time for theatrics, and I fire between his eyes. I turn in a slow circle, trying to find my bearings. The garden looks like a war zone; half the house is gone. The pool is boiling from the heat, and the sky above us is a sickening orange.

Through the drifting smoke, I spot Hunter. He’s moving fast through the wreckage, shouting orders, dragging people behind overturned tables. There’s blood down his arm, dirt in his hair, but he’s steady, laser-focused, helping Nix pull a child from the debris. For a split second, his eyes find mine across the chaos. The relief that flashes there nearly drops me to my knees. He’s alive. He’s fighting. And I know, deep in my bones, he’ll keep every one of them safe until the last man falls. Ariana wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing hard. Isla’s hair is half undone, her arm bleeding freely down to her fingertips.
They’re both looking at me.
None of us speaks.
We don’t need to.
This is our family’s home. Our people. Our blood.
And if he wants to come for us here, then he can choke on the fire he started.
I tighten my grip on the chair leg, my voice hoarse but steady.
“Come on, you motherfucker.”
Through the smoke, I hear it, the voice I’d spent half my life trying to forget: “Alina.”
My father’s voice, calm and cutting. He’s here. Ariana steps closer to me. Isla to my other side. Three women. Bruised. Bleeding. Unbroken. And fucking pissed.
He should’ve killed us when he had the chance.