The living room in the house, lit by a lamp that flickered as if afraid of the darkness, was heavy with tension. Cassian stood beside Sienna, holding her dagger, its golden glow now dimmed but still vivid in his memory. Susie, Helen, Terri, and Jill watched in silence, each processing Sienna's story about Art the Clown and the inexplicable power of her weapon. Cassian's eyes, once again blue after the golden flare, studied the blade with a mix of awe and caution.
"Let me show you something," Cassian said, breaking the silence. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his own dagger, a polished steel blade with a hilt engraved with ancient symbols. He held it up, the light from the lamp reflecting off its edge. "This isn't just any weapon. It was blessed by the Pope, but its origin goes beyond Rome."
Sienna, sitting on the edge of an armchair, frowned. "What do you mean?"
Cassian placed his dagger on the table next to hers, the two blades side by lado. "Centuries ago, during the Great Persecution, when Christians were hunted across the Roman Empire, a blacksmith in Judea named Eliam had a vision. The archangel Michael appeared to him, carrying a spear that shone like the sun. Michael commanded him to forge a dagger from the metal of a fallen star—a piece of heaven that had touched Earth at Sinai. Eliam worked for forty days and nights, guided by the voice of the archangel. When he finished, the dagger could not only cut flesh but also wound the spirits serving the Adversary. They called it 'Light of Gethsemane,' because it was consecrated in the garden where Christ prayed before His crucifixion."
Helen, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like legend. How do you know it's true?"
Cassian smiled slightly, touching the hilt of his dagger. "The Vatican keeps records. Eliam was martyred, but the dagger passed from generation to generation, used by hunters of the supernatural. Every century, a Pope blesses it again, renewing its power. I've used it against things that shouldn't exist—and it has never failed me."
Terri leaned forward, looking at Cassian's dagger and then at Sienna's. "It's impressive, but how does it relate to hers?"
Cassian picked up Sienna's dagger, holding it alongside his. "Mine was made on Earth, forged by human hands under divine guidance. But this one…" He paused, turning Sienna's blade, his expression darkening. "In this dagger, I feel the breath of hell… and also of heaven. It's different, like it doesn't belong to this world."
Jill, who had been quiet, spoke up. "What are you saying? That thing comes from somewhere else?"
Cassian didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed, as if a distant memory struck him. Without a word, he stood and walked out of the house, leaving the women exchanging confused glances. "Where is he going?" Susie murmured, uneasy.
Minutes later, Cassian returned, holding a worn leather-bound book. Its pages crackled as he flipped through them, his fingers moving urgently. "The Book of Enoch," he said, sitting down and opening a page marked with a red string. "I keep it in the car for cases like this. There's something you need to hear."
The girls leaned in closer, the lamp casting shadows across their faces. Cassian began reading, his deep voice resonating in the room: "And when the fallen angels, the sons of heaven, were cast into the abyss for their rebellion, the Lord decreed their eternal punishment. Yet some among the celestial watchers, guardians of justice, cried out that exile was not enough. In their holy wrath, they descended to the edge of hell, where demons groaned under the weight of defeat. And the watchers, with swords of fire, forced the fallen to forge weapons of terrible power—blades born of infernal fire and divine light, meant to strike down their own kind. These blades, imbued with the essence of heaven and the torment of the abyss, were created to be wielded by mortal hands, a reminder of their humiliation. And so, in the furnaces of hell, under the gaze of angels, the fallen wept blood, and daggers of vengeance were forged, each one an echo of divine judgment."
Cassian closed the book, silence settling over the room like a veil. He looked at Sienna's dagger resting on the table, its edge catching the lamp's glow. "I've never encountered proof of these weapons before," he said. "The Vatican considers them myth, exaggerations from apocryphal texts. But this dagger… I think it's one of them. Forged in hell by demons, under the command of angels, to destroy its creators."
Sienna, wide-eyed, touched the blade, her fingers trembling. "Are you saying my sword… is a weapon of angels and demons?"
"Not just that," Cassian replied, his voice low. "That you can wield it is what I don't understand. According to the text, these weapons choose their bearers—but only those with a divine purpose or marked destiny can hold them without being consumed."
Susie, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "When I saw Sienna in my vision, she was fighting Art. The dagger was glowing, like it protected her. Could it be that… she was chosen?"
Helen, ever pragmatic, leaned forward. "It's a plausible theory, especially after everything we've seen. Hawkins, the Upside Down, your visions… this doesn't sound absurd to me. But there's a problem. If it's a celestial weapon, why did Sienna's father have it? And more importantly, why can she use it?"
Terri nodded, looking at Sienna. "Your fight with that clown… Art didn't seem human. If this dagger killed him, or at least stopped him, then it's powerful. But how do you fit into all of this?"
Jill, crossing her arms, added, "And if it's that special, why haven't the angels—or whoever made it—claimed it back?"
Cassian looked at Sienna, then at the dagger, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe…" he started, his voice hesitant, as if on the verge of uncovering a secret he didn't yet understand.