The wind whispered through the branches as Aisha moved cautiously through the forest. The shadows twisted around her, the air smelled of damp earth and blood, and the echo of the creatures' growls filled the night. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt the warmth of her own blood dripping onto the grass. The beasts followed her, drawn like moths to a flame.
Her hands, stained with blood up to the elbows, trembled from the effort.
Her body resisted. Her mind, not so much. Every drop of blood that fell, every strangled breath, was not only proof of her strength… but of how close she was to breaking. But the eyes lurking in the darkness left her no choice. If she fell, there would be no redemption. Only oblivion.
Her breathing was uneven, but her gaze, fierce, locked onto the deformed silhouettes closing in. With a final war cry, she hurled her sword. The blade cut through the air, splitting in two the last beast that lunged at her. Dark blood splattered her face and hair, dripping in sticky strands onto her shoulders. The air filled with the metallic stench of death.
Aisha didn't flinch. Only then, with the blood still warm running between her fingers, did a pang of strangeness hit her. As if her body moved by a will not her own, as if she were just another weapon in the dance of violence. A faint sense of being used crept over her, leaving a bitter taste in her throat.
"Don't forget, Aisha… we're close to the one who sent these things. In that cabin. Stay away," whispered a familiar voice. Its chilling tone sent goosebumps down her arms.
She clenched her jaw and nodded with renewed determination, ignoring the barely perceptible whisper of the white wolf lingering at the edge of her vision.
"White wolf, get there safely," she muttered without turning.
"Did you say something, Aisha?" asked Salomon.
"Let's keep moving."
As they advanced deeper into the forest, the light disappeared, swallowed by absolute darkness. Each step felt as if the forest itself resisted her, as if the roots and shadows whispered in a language her mind refused to comprehend. She wasn't just walking toward Rasen. She was walking toward the part of herself she had sworn to bury.
A soft, ethereal scent of flowers filled her lungs. Her chest tightened painfully, and visions flooded her mind: a boy with black eyes, a flicker of innocence and promises. Then that boy became a man: tall, with an intense gaze. His face shifted, and when he turned—it was Rasen. His crimson eyes, like living flames, stared at her with a mixture of pain and desire.
"Your blood can bring him back," whispered a disembodied voice, echoing like a distant memory.
Aisha gasped and blinked, shaking her head. Her hand pressed against her chest, as if she could calm the frantic rhythm of her heart. But before she could recover, a deep voice filled the room.
"You've arrived, my dear Aisha," Rasen murmured, his voice low and resonant. "I've waited so long for you and your precious blood to break the curse that holds me captive."
"Stay close to me," Salomon ordered, his voice tense as he saw her behaving strangely.
He was not a man who feared losing. But seeing her respond to another's call… he realized battles weren't only won with claws and fangs. They were won in the heart. And there, Aisha still didn't belong to him.
He advanced cautiously, each step echoing across the worn floorboards of an old, dusty workshop. The air was thick with dust and the stale scent of old paper. On a decaying table lay an open book, as if left there deliberately. Something inside him stirred with unease.
With uncertain fingers, he flipped through the yellowed pages. Fragments of prophecies and ancient tales spoke of a union of blood, an ancient, dark bond that transcended time and will. His throat went dry as he read the final line:
"For this curse, only two paths exist: destruction or salvation."
The weight of those words clung to his chest like a frozen claw.
"The blood of the Nevri and Sanathiel… linked?" he whispered, incredulous.
But there was more. A hidden warning between the lines, an echo of the past that hinted at something even more dangerous. A bond destined to awaken a dormant entity. The room seemed to close in around him.
A shiver ran down his spine, as if the very walls of the workshop held a secret that should never have been revealed. Salomon felt the urge to move, to confirm what his instincts screamed at him.
Following the cold breeze seeping through the cracks, he stepped into the shadows until he found an abandoned cabin. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet as he approached. And there, shrouded in gloom, Rasen lay resting.
Meanwhile, Sanathiel followed the trail of Varek's beasts. His sword cut through the darkness like a silver beacon, his eyes burned with determination. Every step brought him closer to the chaos looming ahead.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. Skiller. His scars were more than physical wounds; they were fractures in his very existence. His vacant gaze spoke of battles that had stolen more than his blood.
Skiller clenched his fists and raised his chin rigidly.
"Sanathiel?" he growled, his voice tense, still debating whether to believe what he saw.
"I am."
A heavy silence stretched between them, thick with memories and old wounds.
"Take me with you," Skiller demanded, gripping his jacket like an anchor. "I want Varek's head."
"That means risking your life, Skiller."
They measured each other for a moment. It wasn't a pact of trust, but of necessity. Two warriors with the same enemy, but with motives that could clash at any moment.
Then, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature dropped sharply, as if the forest itself held its breath. An ominous silence wrapped around them, thicker than the darkness itself.
Sanathiel stopped. His eyes scanned the nearby trees. Dark symbols glowed on their bark, pulsing with an unnatural light.
He frowned.
"This is… a resurrection ritual."
The ghostly light intensified for an instant, and an invisible whisper swept through the air. He didn't need confirmation—he knew in his gut. His lips barely moved as he uttered the name that would unleash a storm from the past.
"Sariel."
The wind moaned through the branches, and for a moment, the entire forest bowed to the shadow awakening.
The shadows of the past loomed over them.
Elsewhere in the forest, Aisha noticed Salomon's absence. A bad feeling wrapped around her chest like an invisible thorn. She slipped into the darkness, her steps a muffled echo among the trees. An invisible trail guided her, a voiceless call drawing her helplessly onward.
She found him there, in front of the cabin. And by the dim candlelight, she saw a figure wrapped in shadows.
His eyes ensnared her like invisible chains. It wasn't just Rasen standing before her… it was every doubt, every broken dream, every sleepless night wondering if she'd see him again. And there he was. Darker. More dangerous. More hers… even if she refused to accept it.
Aisha's heart pounded violently against her chest. A shiver ran down her spine as Rasen stepped forward. His lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile, oscillating between devotion and possession.
Deep, teetering between desire and threat.
"You've always been mine, even if you don't understand it yet. Mine in blood. Mine in the curse. Mine… where neither time, nor Salomon, nor your resistance can reach you."
His tone was neither a threat nor a plea. They were words etched into his soul, as if they had been written into her fate long before their paths crossed.
Aisha's soul fought not to extinguish beneath that overwhelming energy. Her blood burned, as if memories that didn't belong to her were awakening within. Her skin prickled, the tightness in her chest suffocating.
The air grew heavy. The crossroads of destiny had arrived.
And then, in the shadows, a deep voice filled the room.
"You've arrived, my dear Aisha."
Fate had spoken… but Aisha had no intention of surrendering.
Her fingers closed tightly around the hilt of her sword, feeling the cold metal against her skin.
Her heart trembled. Her pulse was a frantic drum. And yet… her fingers tightened around the sword's hilt. If fate wanted to devour her… it would have to rip out her throat first.
The air around her thickened, laden with dark anticipation. An echo in her blood, a whisper in her mind, told her that this time… the choice was hers.
And Aisha wouldn't run.
If the past wanted to catch her… it would have to bleed for it.