Crimson Bloom

Chapter 1: Before the Ashes

Aria Solenne was the kind of girl the world never noticed.

She lived on the third floor of an aging apartment complex nestled between an overgrown library and an always-empty bakery. Her mornings were slow. Her routine, soft. She took her tea with too much sugar and liked watching the sunrise through the laundry lines outside her window. It painted the city in orange threads, like it was quietly bleeding.

She worked part-time at a quiet secondhand bookstore, tucked in the shadow of the old cathedral. The scent of forgotten pages and ancient dust followed her everywhere, lingering like perfume. She never minded. She liked the silence. It made sense to her.

She was the kind of girl who always apologized when people bumped into her.

Who packed extra snacks she'd never eat, just in case someone else needed them.

Who smiled at strangers like she was afraid they'd disappear if she didn't.

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On Tuesdays, she visited her mother's shrine.

On Fridays, she watered the plants in the abandoned classroom of her high school.

On Sundays, she walked the long way home just to pass by the flower shop run by an old woman who reminded her of stories—fragile, but still alive.

Her life was full of quiet things. Unimportant things.

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But something strange was beginning.

Aria didn't notice it, not really. Not when birds stopped flying south. Not when the wind began humming in languages she didn't understand. Not when her dreams started twisting into other people's memories. Not even when she found the mirror in her room frostbitten—though it was summer.

What she did notice was the flower.

A small crimson bloom growing in the corner of her bookshelf. No pot. No water. No light. Just blooming. Waiting.

She touched it once, and it pulsed.

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Her reflection blinked a second too late.

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That night, she dreamed of fire.

Of silver blood.

Of a world breaking in half.

And a voice—soft, feminine, monstrous—whispered:

"When the sky splits, remember your name."