Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 408. Full Moon III
They entered. A low hum followed them in, like the house itself was curious.
Silvan shut the door behind them, bolting it with one practiced hand. He gave the pair a glance, then gestured toward the inner sitting room.
"Mind the rug," he muttered. "It's older than all three of us and very dramatic."
Angel's gaze drifted around the room as they stepped inside. He noticed everything. The ash-blown fire. The layers of warding etched into the walls. The open book on the table. The tea gone cold.
Rose moved more comfortably—her fingers trailing along a nearby table, brushing over a faded family painting.
"I expected you earlier," Silvan said once they were seated. "Or not at all."
"So did we," Rose said. "But things delayed us."
"Danger?"
Angel's voice answered calmly. "Not yet."
Silvan didn't like the sound of that.
He poured what was left of the bitter tea into three cups anyway, then sat down slowly.
"I assume you didn't come all this way to surprise an old man."
Angel shook his head. "No. We came for your expertise. And your memory."
The fire cracked again. Outside, the wind clawed at the windows, rattling the glass like a creature gnawing from the other side.
Silvan took a sip and let out a breath. "Then let's begin."
Angel reached into his cloak, slow and deliberate. He didn't draw it like a weapon, but the room reacted like he had. The fire dimmed slightly. The air thickened. Even the protective wards etched into the manor's walls gave a faint shimmer—as if flinching from whatever was coming out.
Then Angel laid the item on the small oak table between them.
An antique bracelet. Tarnished, but not dull. Not the kind any jeweler would brag about. This wasn't something worn for beauty or fashion. It was old—centuries at least—crafted with a care that had nothing to do with style and everything to do with purpose.
Silvan didn't say a word.
But his eyes locked to it instantly. All the practiced calm of a long-lived scholar drained from his expression in one heartbeat. His gaze narrowed. His fingers twitched faintly on his cane.
Because he could feel it.
Faint… but real. Something asleep inside it. Something ancient. Strangled. Dying.
The old man leaned forward slightly, voice quiet now. "May I touch it?"
Angel gave a small nod and gently slid it across the table.
Silvan's hand hovered for a moment, then lowered. As soon as his fingertips brushed the cold metal, something shifted in the air. A deep, slow tremor beneath the skin of the world. Not loud. Not violent. Just… a breath. As if the bracelet itself noticed him.
He inhaled sharply through his nose.
The dark power in Angel hadn't startled him like this. He'd felt it, sure—recognizing it immediately for what it was. Angelus wore it well. Wore it like armor. But this?
This little thing?
It held a memory that was older than Angel's power. Older than Silvan's own studies.
And far more haunted.
He let his fingers run lightly along the etched edge, tracing the uneven carvings—not letters. Not symbols. More like... scars.
"This isn't noble jewelry," Silvan muttered. "This was forged by something desperate. Something trying to survive."
Angel sat still. Watching.
Rose, beside him, leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed. "What do you feel?"
Silvan didn't answer her right away.
Instead, he shut his eyes.
And listened.
Not with his ears—but with the kind of senses he only earned from years of studying things most people refused to believe existed. Things found in the back corners of tomes written in dried blood. Things whispered about in death rites. Forgotten magic. Dark arts.
Then it hit him.
A pulse.
A flicker of a scream—not heard, but felt in his spine.
He saw a blur. No, not a blur—a memory, half-eaten by time. A figure running. A woman. Barefoot. Hair wild. Forest around her—too tall, too black, too wrong to be any place near here.
The air was thick with fog. But behind her—something chased.
He couldn't see what it was. Only that it shouldn't exist.
And then—
Erebus.
He saw the peak.
Silvan's eyes snapped open.
The fire cracked so violently it threw sparks across the rug.
Rose flinched. Angel didn't move.
Silvan let out a long, slow breath, his hand pulling back from the bracelet like it had bitten him. "Where did you get this?"
Angel's voice was low. "About a month ago. I spotted it on the wrist of a noble's daughter. I don't think she knew what it was. But I did."
"She just wore it?" Silvan asked, almost disbelieving. "Just… casually?"
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