Paris breathed beneath a spectral haze, as if the Seine had vomited its secrets onto the streets.
Rasen adjusted his camera, capturing shadows writhing beneath streetlamps—
—Until a scream paralyzed him.
"Stay back! I don't want your help!"
The cry shattered the crowd's murmur. A figure cowered against stone, trembling. Matted orange hair. Torn clothes. And on her arms…
The burns.
Not scars. Spirals carved into flesh. Symmetrical. Perfect. Identical to the containment runes etched into Sanathiel's silver parasol.
Sanathiel had rejected that symbol.
But on Clear… they lived. Throbbed beneath her skin. Like something caged within her fought to break free. As if she were the seal for something greater.
Rasen understood instantly.
These weren't ritual marks.
They were the same seal used by Arcángel and Risas.
Clear wasn't just a victim.
She was part of the sacrifice.
And she still lived.
Which meant…
The ritual wasn't over.
They could still reclaim her.
Still bind her.
Still—
"Clear?" The name burned his throat like poison.
Her blue eyes blinked, slow to recognize him. Then her gaze locked onto his—not with relief, but pure terror. As if seeing him confirmed her damnation. As if surviving this long only meant the true horror was beginning.
And at her throat…
The howling-wolf pendant.
The one Rasen gave her before she vanished.
But the metal sizzled. Sparks danced across its surface—rejected by the curse in her blood. As if it no longer belonged to her.
As if it never had.
"Why didn't you come?" she whispered, collapsing into his arms.
He wrapped her in his coat, ignoring onlookers. Her body felt light. Hollow.
Soulless.
Streetlamps cast claw-like shadows that pointed his path.
In the hotel suite…
Lionel waited beside a smoked-glass display.
Inside, preserved hearts pulsed in formaldehyde. Labeled: Adrián. Itzel. Falco.
"Touching," Lionel murmured, watching Clear sleep. "Arcángel let her live. An amateur's mistake."
He sipped from a goblet of effervescent living blood. Drops splattered marble, forming a bleeding eye—Arceo's symbol.
"He thinks he wielded this mark. He's merely another tool."
"Why her?" Rasen asked, masking his trembling fist.
"Her death binds Sanathiel to my web." Lionel showed a photo of Aisha. "Keep her safe. For now."
When Lionel smiled, Rasen felt ice down his spine.
No doubt. Only certainty.
In Falco's kitchen…
Steel gleamed in the gloom. Steven charged Aisha, his breath reeking of hellebore—wolfsbane poison.
Numbness spread through her limbs, but her mind flooded with foreign images:
FLASHBACK:
Centuries ago. Firestorms devoured stone walls. Zaira, white-robed, knelt in a blood circle—her own blood. The same dagger Aisha now held glinted in her hands. Not raised against an enemy. Plunged into her own chest. A sacrifice. A seal. Arceo roared within a shattered mirror. Zaira's final words:
"Sever the threads."
PRESENT:
Aisha gasped. Steven gripped her wrist. His eyes widened—he'd seen it too.
"Falco used you!" he roared, brandishing an Arceo-marked knife. "Your blood will open the chest!"
The blade stabbed Zaira's portrait. The canvas bled amber—the same glow as Sanathiel's eyes.
Then—
Zaira's painted eyes snapped open.
Staring directly at Aisha. A warning. A summons. The whisper returned:
"Sever the threads."
Aisha tore the knife free, her blood mingling with the canvas. Eerie light flooded the room. Steven stumbled back—fear in his eyes for the first time.
"No… She can't awaken."
"My brother died rather than follow you!" Aisha aimed the blade. "I'll live to see your end!"
Steven bit his lip bloody:
"If Itzel doesn't return… you and the White Wolf will pay."
Aisha's hidden phone vibrated. A warm voice echoed:
"I've waited long enough to meet you."
The screen flashed:
LIONEL.
Outside Falco's mansion…
A black Bentley waited. Lionel emerged with black roses. His golden eyes fixed on Aisha's bleeding hand.
"Macabre charm," he purred, lapping her wound with a predator's smile. "Sanathiel thinks she saves you… but you and I know the truth."
Aisha peered into the car. On the back seat—
A golden chest.
Inside, a heart pulsed wrapped in bleeding runes. She didn't just see it. She heard its rhythm syncing with her own.
Lionel followed her gaze:
"Just as I hoped…" he whispered, triumphant. "The first of many."