Part One: The Wolf's Instinct
The path twisted between gnarled trees and ancient roots. Aisha followed Solomon, her breath still ragged from the echoes of what had transpired at the camp. Moonlight barely pierced the canopy, casting shadows that seemed to whisper her name.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice hoarse with distrust.
"To the only place where you'll stop being a pawn," Solomon replied without turning, his dark silhouette melting into the forest like another shadow.
They arrived soon enough.
The hidden temple emerged from the mist like the skeleton of an ancestral beast. Fallen columns and moss-choked walls were all that remained of its former glory. But the air… the air thrummed with latent power—old, primal. Aisha hesitated at the threshold.
Solomon's gaze pushed her forward.
"Here, you'll face what you truly are," he declared. "Your blood. Your instinct. Your curse."
Inside, the temple felt alive. The walls whispered. The ground trembled beneath her feet. At its center, a stone basin brimmed with water dark as obsidian. Her distorted reflection showed a face she didn't recognize.
"This isn't about physical transformation," Solomon said, sensing her fear. "It's deeper. The beast's awakening is acceptance—of what pulses beneath your skin."
The underground chamber unfolded before Aisha like an ancient secret. Nevri inscriptions covered the damp walls, forgotten symbols that seemed to breathe in the humid air. At the room's heart lay a mirror-black pool, bordered by four stones arranged in a cross—north, south, east, west. At its center, half-submerged, a white stone pulsed with a carved triskelion, beating like a living heart.
Aisha stepped forward. The water's heat reached for her before she touched it, as if the pool recognized her.
"You must submerge yourself," Solomon's voice echoed, grave and certain. "Only then will the true instinct awaken."
She swallowed hard. Her bare feet grazed the pool's edge. The water shivered—as if something beneath had felt her too.
Without another thought, she stepped in.
The water was warm, almost feverish, yet an icy shudder raced through her. It was like diving into two worlds at once.
And then—she saw him.
Beneath the surface, as if the water were a veil between realms, her reflection shifted. Sanathiel floated there, submerged like her, eyes closed, his massive body mirroring hers. As if they were one. As if they shared the same origin—the same damnation.
But when Aisha opened her eyes underwater, it was her own reflection that stared back. Her body glowed. The mark on her abdomen—the one she'd always hidden—ignited like liquid fire. The lines connected, forming a perfect triskelion that pulsed with silver light.
Power surged through her. Not rage. Not fear.
Instinct. Pure. Savage. Ancient.
For the first time, she understood why the Nevri feared her blood.
And why everyone wanted to use it.
She emerged gasping, water sluicing off her luminous skin. The symbols on the walls glowed faintly around her. Solomon watched in silence, his amber eyes darkened by something unspoken.
Aisha was no longer the same.
She had awakened.
Part Two: The Feast of the Fallen
Hours later, Solomon led her to a hidden clearing in the mountains. The sky above was pitiless, its distant stars indifferent to mortal fates.
At the clearing's heart stood a stone table, ancient as sin. Around it, hooded figures—Nevri leaders, exiles, creatures marked by damnation—watched her.
The Feast of the Fallen.
"Welcome to the true gameboard," Solomon murmured, his breath a ghost at her ear.
The air reeked of stale power and lies. Conversations were poisoned whispers. Eyes were knives dissecting her without shame. Words slithered through the dark: prophecies, blood, sacrifices.
Varek's name coiled among the shadows. Some cursed it. Others, in uneasy silence, revered it. No one trusted. Everyone feared.
But there was more.
At the table's center, carved into tarnished silver and ashes, gleamed an ancient symbol: a triskelion of three entwined serpents.
Sariel's mark.
Aisha's throat tightened. A chill crawled down her spine.
Sariel was here. Not in flesh—but his shadow, his condemnation, his will… it seeped among them like invisible venom.
The feast continued. Alliances veiled as courtesies. Threats sugared with smiles. And with burning certainty, Aisha understood:
No matter how much power she awakened. No matter how hard she fought.
In this world, she was still just a piece.
Or worse—prey.
And the jaws were already closing.
The Reflection in the Water
Then—a flicker.
In the ceremonial wine bowl, the dark liquid reflected something impossible.
Babies. Two tiny bodies, swaddled in blood.
Her mind whispered a name before she could stop it:
Crystal.
She shook her head. "It's not what you think," she breathed—but the blood in the reflection swirled, spreading like an omen. A room. A cradle. The echo of a curse.
Elsewhere…
Varek clenched his fist, letting blood—thick and dark—drip into a silver vessel. Elliot watched, torn between fascination and dread.
The wound healed instantly, as if Varek's flesh refused vulnerability.
"You seek answers, but the cost—" Elliot began.
"I know," Varek cut in, eyes locked on his blood. "But it's the only way. If I bleed… Sariel will sense it. If I stir his hunger… he'll come."
Elliot arched a brow. "And when he does… will it be you who confronts him? Or will your brother destroy him first?"
Varek's violet eyes gleamed, predatory.
"We share a father's blood. Only I can bear Sariel's weight… and Aisha's. She is mine. And if breaking the cycle demands sacrifice…" His blood hardened, crystallizing like red obsidian. "Then let them all bleed—but not her."
Every cure… can also be poison.