Those Who Burn Blue
Copyright ? 2026 by Ramone Sutherland
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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First edition, 2026.
Chapter 1
Dramaine tore through the brush, branches lashing his arms as he kept his eyes locked on the blood moon hanging low in the sky. Smoke choked the air. Everything was burning.
Screams echoed behind him — neighbors, childhood friends — but he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
Hands reached from the flames, grasping, begging.
He pushed forward.
His house flickered in his peripheral vision. A lifeline.
Almost there.
Just a few more steps.
Papa will know what to do.
He burst through the front door, nearly ripping it from its hinges, and slammed it shut behind him. He collapsed to the floor, lungs burning.
Silence.
For one fragile second.
Then he felt it.
The house was wrong.
The warmth he had grown up with was gone. In its place was something heavy — cold — pressing down on him like unseen hands tightening around his ribs.
Something was inside.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
And he realized, with a sinking dread, that he might be in more danger here than he had been outside.
But he couldn’t leave.
Not without Papa.
He forced himself upright and staggered toward the back room. Each step felt like dragging through mud.
He shoved the door open.
“Papa, we haffi go! Sup’m nuh right!”
A shape shifted in the darkness.
Not his grandfather.
Something else.
“Pickney… run. Leave dis place.” His grandfather’s voice cracked from the corner.
Dramaine’s eyes snapped toward him — bloodied, slumped against the wall.
The dread that had stalked him all night finally took form. A shadow barely shaped like a man. It oozed malice.
Dramaine turned and ran.
He didn’t make it far.
Something cold wrapped around his throat.
He was yanked backward.
The room snapped back around him. He slammed into the wall, suspended by an invisible grip. The shadow drifted closer.
His vision darkened.
The pressure tightened—
And he jolted upright in bed, choking on air.
Naomi stirred beside him.
The room was quiet.
But his heart was still burning.
Dramaine rubbed his neck, trying to steady his breathing.
Naomi stirred beside him. Half-asleep, she squinted.
“D… what’s wrong? You okay?”
She checked her phone. “Three a.m.? Damn.” She flicked on the flashlight, briefly blinding him.
She leaned closer and saw the tears in his eyes.
“That nightmare again, huh? You always wake up crying when you have it.” She studied him for a second, then sighed. “Sir… if you’re possessed, you need to let me know now. I’m not walking down that aisle with a duppy husband.”
“Girl, shut up,” Dramaine muttered, managing a tired smile. “I’m not possessed. Stop with that foolishness.”
“Mm-hmm. Just checking. Now come here.”
He didn’t hesitate. He rested his head against her chest, and her arms wrapped around him. Her hugs always made the world feel smaller. Safer.
“Thanks, babe.”
“Always.”
For a moment, he relaxed.
Then her grip tightened.
And tightened.
And suddenly he was in a full headlock.
“Now I love you,” she said sweetly, “but I told you not to mess with my sleep… or my food.”
“Wait—hold on! I’m sorry!” he wheezed. “Overactive imagination!”
“Too late. The time for talking is gone. Now it’s time for action.”
“Usual rules?” he gasped. “First to pin wins?”
“Bet.”
She released him and headed for the garage.
Dramaine followed, shaking his head.
The overhead lights flicked on, revealing the wide matted space they used for training.
“You ready to get your ass kicked?” Naomi said, rolling her shoulders.
“You must still be dreaming,” he replied.
She dropped into stance.
Naomi had studied capoeira since childhood—after seeing it in a video game and becoming obsessed. Years later, she’d won tournaments, medals, and earned a nickname: Víbora.
Viper.
Dramaine stood across from her, watching the shift happen.
This wasn’t Naomi anymore.
This was Víbora.
And if he slipped up, he was getting bit.
They circled.
In a flash, she closed the distance—three rapid kicks to his midsection. He blocked two, caught the third.
She smiled.
Then cracked him in the chest with her free leg.
“Jesus, love! I have a heart condition!”
“The doctor said that murmur healed years ago,” she shot back. “Stop whining.”
His turn.
Dramaine lunged, palms open, striking fast.
She flowed around him, step by step, guiding him exactly where she wanted him.
Then she moved.
He threw a straight punch. She slipped inside his guard, palm angling for his chin—
And suddenly everything slowed.
Just for a second.
The motion was clearer. Sharper.
He pivoted and used her momentum to flip her clean over his shoulder.
She hit the mat hard.
“Damn!”
“Naomi!” He rushed forward. “You good? I didn’t mean to—”
Her legs snapped around his neck like a trap.
“Tap out,” she said calmly. “Or pass out.”
He tapped immediately.
She released him, and they lay there, laughing, breathless.
She was his person.
He was hers.
And no matter how strange the world got… they would always find their way back to each other.
“Shower?” she asked. “I worked up a sweat.”
“Shower. Then snacks and games.”
“Snacks, snacks, snacks!” she chanted, skipping toward the door.
He watched her go, smiling.
His future wife.
The love of his life.
Outside, the night was quiet.
