"Thou hast been charged with a task most dire — to lay waste to the hundred and fifty who do encircle them."
"And how dost thou expect me to accomplish such a feat whilst my form remaineth bound in this place?"
"A vessel befitting thy might hath already come into the world, yet thou must bide thy time, for it hath not yet reached its season. To take the form of a child would hinder thee sorely."
"Is't so? Then why not smite the hundred and fifty now? I possess power enough to unmake them all."
"Foolishness. In that vessel, thy true sorcery would tear it asunder. The flesh cannot bear the weight of thy full might. Thou shalt wield only the basest of spells — healing, and naught more."
"Then how, by all the gods, dost thou expect me to vanquish them!?"
"I have already loosed a thing upon them — a creature sent to learn, to grow. In time, it shall serve thee well."
"This thing of which thou speakest… surely thou meanest not that?"
"What else could it be but Nine — born of the nethermost pits of damnation, a wretch whose magic doth ever swell with each breath it draweth."
Scene Shift
The voices fade.
Now the scene shifts to a remote church nestled high in the mountains—a place of silence, stone, and solitude. Far from cities and roads, it is a refuge where young women from across the country are sent to study the sacred rites and serve God in stillness. The year is 589 AD, March 31st.
That was the day they found him.
A baby, left in a woven basket at the edge of the woods. Wrapped in rags, barely breathing, his skin cold and pale, as if born from the snow itself. There was no note. No sign of where he had come from. Just a child—and a strange mark on his chest, shaped like a flame coiled in a circle.
The sisters took him in, despite their fears. The church named him Rin.
He grew quickly—almost unnaturally so. By the time he turned six, he looked nearly ten. By thirteen, he passed for sixteen. His body changed faster than the other children, and so did his mind. Though he remembered nothing from before that day, he picked up language, history, and scripture with eerie ease.
But it wasn't just learning that set him apart. It was the way others looked at him. The whispers. The unease.
He never cried, even as a baby. He never fell ill. And his left eye… sometimes it wept blood.
Still, there were two people who treated him like one of their own. One was Casey, a senior nun known for her quiet strength and deep faith. The other was Lilith, a younger trainee, bright-eyed and full of compassion.
Lilith especially stayed by Rin's side. She helped him with prayers. She smuggled extra food when he was hungry. She laughed when others scowled. She was family, in a place that often felt like anything but.
⸻
June 14th, 596 AD
"Rin! Rin, wake up!"
He stirred, groggy, half-asleep. The silver glow of the moon painted shifting patterns on the stone walls.
"The moon's still out," he muttered. "C'mon Lilith, I'm too tired for—"
"It's Casey!" Lilith's voice cracked, panicked. "She's gone. No one can find her."
That cut through the fog.
Rin shot upright. "Did she say anything to anyone?"
"No. Nothing. She was here at evening prayer—then gone."
He didn't wait. He grabbed a lantern and ran. Lilith followed close behind.
They had one place in mind.
A quiet glade past the forest, near an old sealed well. Casey had always said it was her favorite place to think.
The forest air was strange tonight. Heavy. The scent of sacred incense—burning sage, thistle, and white oleander—hung low among the trees. But something fouler churned beneath it.
Iron. Warm. Blood.
They broke through the trees—
And stopped.
Wolves. At least a dozen of them, snarling and snapping in the moonlight.
Casey's body was barely recognizable—ripped open, organs exposed, bones snapped like twigs. One wolf chewed lazily on her arm like it was nothing more than a scrap of meat.
Lilith stumbled behind him, barely holding in a scream.
The wolves turned.
"Lilith, go," Rin whispered, stepping forward. "Run. Get help."
"I—Rin—" She froze.
"Run!"
She didn't. Her legs gave out. She collapsed beside him, trembling.
The wolves surged forward.
Rin shoved himself in front of her. One of them lunged and sank its jaws into his arm. The pain was blinding. He screamed as the beast yanked his arm nearly from the socket—flesh tore, bone crunched.
Then—darkness.
And movement.
But not from the wolves.
Casey rose.
Her body twitched unnaturally as if yanked by invisible strings. One eye was gone. Her ribs jutted out like broken wings. Her spine bent backward, dragging her guts through the grass.
She looked down at Rin.
And smiled.
Blood spilled from Rin's left eye.
Then—nothing.
⸻
Thirteen hours later
Rin awoke in the infirmary.
The morning sun filtered through stained-glass windows, painting fractured rainbows on the sheets.
He blinked.
Lilith sat beside him, pale and wide-eyed. When she saw him stir, she gasped—and hugged him hard.
"I—I thought you were dead!" she cried. "You were so cold—your heart stopped—they said—"
Her words ran together in sobs.
"Sister Catherine! Father Axel! He's awake!" she shouted down the hall.
Moments later, footsteps thundered down the corridor. The doctor arrived first, followed by two nuns and Father Axel, his black robes fluttering.
"He's conscious?" the doctor asked breathlessly.
"Just now," Lilith said, not letting go of Rin.
The doctor moved quickly, checking his pulse, his eyes, his arm.
"There's… no injury," he muttered, confused. "No bruising. No bite marks. It's like nothing ever happened."
Rin sat up slowly.
"Wait… what about Casey?" he asked. "Did you find her?"
A beat of silence.
Father Axel frowned.
"Rin, you should lie back down."
"I'm fine!" Rin barked. "Casey—did you find her body? Was there—"
"Rin," Lilith said quietly. "Who's Casey?"
He stared at her.
"What?"
The doctor looked equally baffled. "There's no record of anyone named Casey in this church."
"She was a nun here! She read to the orphans every week! You used to sit with her, Lilith!"
Father Axel's voice grew stern. "There is no nun here by that name. Never has been. Whatever you think you saw… it was a nightmare. Trauma. Your mind trying to make sense of something dark."
"No. No, that's wrong!" Rin snapped. "I saw her. I touched her! I—"
"We'll have the sisters pray for clarity," the Father said, turning away. "But this conversation is over."
Rin trembled with rage and fear.
Blood-tears dried on his cheek.
Everyone he turned to—denied her. Acted like she never existed. But Rin remembered.
And Lilith… she looked like she wanted to believe him.
But something deeper had taken root in her now.
Something afraid.