Chosen Blood

The sun spilled through the tall windows of the Malisorn mansion.

Seventeen-year-old Hima Augustus Malisorn leaned back in her chair, one leg propped on the armrest, scrolling through her phone. Her blazer hung loose, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in a careless bun. Even in her school uniform, her presence was unmistakable—confident, commanding, and ready to throw a punch if needed.

“Hima! Hurry up, your sister and grandma are waiting!” her mother called from downstairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Hima shouted back.

She descended the staircase like the house’s young prince—an easy stride, a cool stare. In the dining hall, her father sat serious, newspaper open. Her mother smiled, but it was the worried smile of someone who feared for a child who didn’t seem to know fear at all.

“Look at you,” her father said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You walk in here like you own the world.”

Hima smirked, sitting down without a care as she grabbed a piece of bread.

“Correction, Papa—I do own this world. At least the part that matters.”

Her mother shook her head, half amused, half worried.

“Child, strength isn’t just about walking like a prince. It’s about knowing when to fight, and when to walk away.”

“Don’t worry, Ma,” she said between bites.

“I’m not stupid enough to start fights I can’t finish.”

Her father folded his newspaper, his tone turning low and deliberate.

“One day, Hima, you’ll understand this world is darker than you think. Money and strength—they’re not always enough.”

Hima paused, eyes steady.

“If the world’s that dark, then I’ll be darker. If anyone dares to hurt you…” she grinned, fierce,

“I’ll erase them myself.”

Her mother sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Bravery without caution is suicide. Promise me, Hima—promise you’ll protect yourself and your sister.”

“Promise, Dad,” she said simply.

Later that night, the black SUV cut through the city streets, headlights slicing the dark.

Hima sat relaxed, one arm slung over the seat, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Something in her gut felt wrong.

Then—SCREECH!

The car swerved. Glass shattered. Gunfire ripped through the night like thunder.

“Ambush!” her father shouted.

Hima’s blood ran cold, but her body moved before her mind caught up. She pulled her mother down. “Stay down, Ma!”

Bullets tore through the vehicle. Her fists clenched, jaw locked. Beneath the fear, fury burned hot.

“Papa, let me—!” she yelled, reaching for the glove compartment where she knew her father kept a gun.

“Stay with your mother!” her father rasped.

Then—BANG!

Her mother’s body jerked violently as a bullet struck. She slumped against Hima, blood soaking through her uniform.

“Ma!” Hima screamed, catching her as tears blurred her vision.

Her mother’s trembling hand reached for her face. “Live… Hima… you’re stronger than you know…”

Another volley of bullets erupted. Hima tried to shield her, but her father’s desperate shout was the last thing she heard—

—before everything went black.

The antiseptic stung her nose.

Hima’s eyelids fluttered before opening to a blinding white ceiling.

Machines beeped in steady rhythm beside her bed. For a heartbeat she didn’t know where she was.

Then it came back—

the screams, the gunfire, her mother’s blood soaking her hands.

“Ma…” she whispered, thin and raw.

The door eased open. Lola Estrella, her grandmother, entered first.

Behind her stood Aya, older sister, pale and swollen-eyed, and Abigail—Abi—Hima’s best friend. Their faces were drained of color.

Abi moved without hesitation. She came to the bedside and took Hima’s hand, squeezing until Hima felt the bones.

Abi’s eyes were dry and hard; she always hid grief behind a wall of fury.

Hima tried to sit up and a bolt of pain stabbed through her ribs. “Where… where are they? Papa? Ma?”

Lola Estrella didn’t answer right away. She leaned close and cupped Hima’s cheek. “Child… they’re gone.”

The words cut like a blade.

Hima’s throat tightened; she wanted to scream but nothing came out.

Her hands curled until her nails bit into her palms.

Aya sobbed openly. “I—I tried to be strong for you, Hima… but they’re gone…”

Abi’s jaw clenched. Hima’s voice came out soft and low, like a promise.

“They won’t get away with this. Tell me who, and I’ll help you burn them down.”

Rage blurred Hima’s vision. She forced herself upright, ignoring the pain. “Who did this?”

“We don’t know yet—” Lola began.

“Who. Did. This.” Each word landed cold and deliberate; the room fell silent except for the beeping machines.

Hima shut her eyes briefly, the memory of her mother’s last words grounding her—Live, Hima… you’re stronger than you know.

Her jaw hardened. “If they think it’s over, they’re wrong.”

Aya wiped her face, incredulous. “What are you saying?”

Hima’s eyes were sharp, almost feral. “I won’t stop until I burn whoever did this to the ground.”

Abi leaned in, voice steady and dangerous.

“Then we start now. No waiting for cops or courts. We find them. We make them regret the day they crossed the Augustus and Malisorn names.”

“A—Abi, but Hima—” Aya began to protest.

“I don’t care if I have to crawl through hell,” Hima said, cold and unflinching.

“I’ll get stronger. Strong enough that no one—NO ONE—will ever take what’s mine again.”

Silence fell. Even Abi—normally the joker—gave only a solemn nod.

For the first time Hima was more than daughter, sister, or spoiled heiress.

She was something else. Something dangerous.

She reclined and stared at the ceiling with eyes that burned. They took my family. Now I’ll take everything from them.

Abi stayed at her side, never letting go. “We’re with you. All the way,” she said simply.

Hima turned, met Abi’s gaze, and for the first time since waking, a half-smile—less joy than an oath—crossed her face.

“Good. You better be.”