Flashback: Solomon and Aisha
The air in the Nevri camp was thick, charged with an electric silence that hummed like a latent threat. Every step Solomon took wasn't mere observation—it was a predator stalking its prey.
"Your blood isn't just a curse, Aisha," Solomon said, his voice a razor-edged whisper, soft enough to cut deeper. "It's a key. A tool you can shape… if you learn to control it."
Aisha clutched the dagger with trembling fingers. Its edge glinted under the moonlight, a cruel reminder that her very existence was an anomaly. She wasn't like the others. She never would be.
But it didn't matter.
Her mission was clear: save Rasen.
There was no room for doubt. No room for the fear coiling like poison in her chest.
She exhaled slowly—then drew the blade across her palm in one firm motion.
The cut was clean.
"The steel reflected the moonlight, a cruel reminder that her existence was a mistake. A whim of blood and damnation.
But the whim didn't matter.
Her mission was clear: save Rasen. Even if it shattered her in the process."
Blood welled, bright and gleaming, like liquid rubies spilling onto the parched earth.
Was this what Rasen had felt when possessed? A promise of power… or an abyss that would never stop swallowing her whole?
The effect was immediate.
The watching Nevri tensed. Their pupils dilated. Their breaths turned ragged. A low, guttural growl rose from their throats—a storm on the verge of breaking. The air thickened with a primal, ravenous hunger.
Solomon smiled. He recognized his own downfall in it. How long before Aisha understood? Before she accepted that some paths could only be walked stained in red?
"You feel it, don't you?" He stepped closer, his presence smothering. "This is what you are to them, Aisha. You could be their ruin… or their salvation. But you'll be neither if you keep fearing what you are."
Aisha shut her eyes for a heartbeat, fighting the surge of power tearing through her. It was too much. Overwhelming.
Like her blood was devouring her from within.
But when she opened them again, her gaze was steel. She wiped her bloodied hand on her dress and lifted her chin.
The warm blood dripped onto the earth like an oath. And for a moment, the power throbbing in her veins whispered how easy it would be to surrender. To stop fighting. To stop being human.
But no.
Aisha was no tool. Not Solomon's. Not anyone's.
"I'm not doing this for you, Solomon," she said coldly, each word sharp as the dagger in her hand. "I'm doing it for Rasen. Nothing else."
A shadow flickered in Solomon's eyes. He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper.
"That's what you think. But soon, you'll learn that survival in this world demands sacrifices… including yours."
Before she could retort, an icy wind slashed through the camp.
The temperature plummeted.
The air turned viscous.
And from the darkness, a figure emerged with the grace of a predator.
Every step he took resonated—too sure, too arrogant—as if the very world shrunk in his presence.
The ground crunched beneath his boots. Cold slithered through the branches.
"An interesting spectacle."
Varek's voice lashed through the air.
Solomon's brow furrowed. His jaw tightened.
"Who the hell are you? This isn't your business!"
But Varek ignored him. His gaze slid to Aisha, assessing her with a mix of curiosity and warning.
"I'm only here to warn you," he said, his tone slow, measured—every word double-edged. "You're playing a dangerous game, Aisha. And not everyone around you cares for your well-being."
Aisha stared, searching for lies in his words.
She found none.
Only truth.
A truth that unsettled her more than she'd admit.
"If you have something to say, say it now."
Varek smiled. There was no warmth in it.
"I know more than you think, Aisha. I know what you are. And I know what he—" He flicked a dismissive glance at Solomon. "—intends to do with you."
His expression darkened.
"But that's not my problem. My problem… is him."
Before Varek could continue, a deafening roar split the forest's silence.
Everyone whirled toward the trees.
A massive shadow moved in the undergrowth.
Then—it emerged.
Sanathiel.
His mere presence shook the camp like an unyielding force.
His eyes burned with contained fury, a wildfire reflected in the night's gloom.
His gaze swept the clearing in silent judgment.
First Solomon. Then Varek.
Finally, it settled on Aisha.
His voice resonated, grave and final:
"Is this your choice, Aisha? Allying with traitors and manipulators? When you have me… why waste yourself on them?"
Disappointment laced his words. Pain.
"Sanathiel didn't speak. His silence was that of a wolf scenting the blood of its pack… and deciding who deserved to die."
Aisha clenched her fists.
"You don't get to judge me, Sanathiel." Her voice was firm, but emotion bled through. "I'm doing what I must to save Rasen."
The forest bent to his arrival. Trees held their breath. Beasts cowered. Even the moon seemed to pale.
Sanathiel stepped forward. The tension swelled, thick as a gathering storm.
"Save him?" He scoffed, but bitterness lingered. "At what cost, Aisha? Your humanity? Your soul?"
From the camp's edge, Skiller felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Something—
Someone was watching.
He turned toward the treeline.
There, in the forest's gloom, a tall, slender figure slipped between the trees.
Even from afar, he could feel its gaze—cold. Calculating.
A strange scent wafted on the wind. Not earth. Not beast. It smelled of ashes and cold metal.
"Someone's there."
Skiller's murmur was barely audible, but Aisha heard it.
Her eyes followed his gaze—
And the air turned heavier.
The trees whispered warnings. Brush rustled without wind. The silhouette advanced, graceful in a way that defied nature.
"It wasn't a step. It was a blink. An absence where none had been. And then, Aisha knew: whatever watched them wasn't Rasen. It never had been."
Aisha swallowed hard. Her throat locked.
The name left her lips like a forbidden secret:
"Sariel."
And the forest listened.
And fate trembled like a curse.