Part II: Feelings
For days, Aisha had avoided speaking, ignoring his presence in every class, every hallway. But that afternoon, before they were supposed to work together, Rasen stepped in front of her, blocking her path with a calm that unsettled her.
—Are you always going to run away every time I get close? he asked. His tone wasn't accusing—just a quiet observation.
She stayed silent.
—We haven't exactly been friends, he went on, but I want you to tell me your name. I don't want to hear it from others. I want to hear it from you.
Aisha studied him. His face showed no mockery, no threat. Only a strange kind of patience.
Finally, she sighed and lowered her guard just a little.—If that's the only way you'll leave me in peace… I'm Aisha.
Rasen gave a small nod, as if confirming something he had long suspected.—Then… your name—Aisha, right?—it probably comes from your mother. You must look like her.
The word mother struck her chest like a whip.—I never knew her… she whispered, lowering her gaze.
—Why do you care so much about what happens to me? she asked at last, almost distrustful, raising her eyes back to him.
Rasen never had the chance to answer.
—Murderer! A voice, sharp as broken glass, sliced through the air.
Estrella stormed forward from the far end of the hallway, a pack of girls at her side, each whisper turned into a knife.—Where's the body? What did you do on the Red Night?!
The murmurs swelled. The crowd didn't intervene. They just stared.
A warm hand wrapped around hers, firm and steady.—Come on, Rasen muttered, pulling her toward the courtyard without asking.
—Let me go! Aisha snapped, struggling. The girls followed with insults. No one moved to help.
In the courtyard, surrounded by stares, Rasen raised his voice.—Say it to her face!
One of the girls stepped forward.—We all know the truth, Aisha. The boy who disappeared… the one who turned up dead afterward. What did you do to him?
Rasen turned to her, his expression shaken.—Is it true…? he whispered, but Aisha gave no reply. She only looked back, filled with shame and fury.
He reached for her, but she pulled away.
From that day on, Rasen searched for her everywhere. In class, in the corridors. But Aisha always avoided him—always one step ahead. Until one afternoon, he spotted her by the door, a cap pulled low over her hair.
The crowd swallowed her, but he recognized her. By her walk. By her silence. By her shadow.
Cristal's mocking voice reached him.—Do you care about that girl? Didn't you know Aisha's dangerous? You could be the next to disappear.
The words made his chest boil.
He went after her. And when he finally caught up, he simply said:—I don't care about your past, or what people say about you. This isn't pity, Aisha. It's something more. And I won't let you be alone.
Aisha pressed the handkerchief to her eyes before he could see the tears, but he was already there: a silhouette stitched into the haze of her memories, offering a hand that promised calm.
—Why stay… when everyone else runs? she whispered, her gaze locking onto his—half plea, half challenge.
The sharp click of heels cut through the air.—You'll pay for what you did! Estrella spat, hatred dripping from every word as she advanced like a storm. Where's the body?!
Aisha clenched her fists, holding back the tremor. She would not cry. Not again.
A warm hand wrapped around hers.—Come on, Rasen murmured, pulling her away once more.
When he turned back to Estrella, his glare sent her and her girls retreating into the shadows.—Disappear.
They fled. Aisha tried to free her hand, but Rasen held it a heartbeat longer than necessary.
—Aisha… wait.
He caught her arm. She tried to walk away, but he stopped her with an embrace she hadn't asked for.
Aisha collapsed against his chest, breathing—for the first time in years—air that didn't taste of ashes.
—I'm no saint, Aisha. I know that. I pressured you. But I don't want you to push me away. You matter to me… despite everything. I want your battles to be mine too. I missed you.
Aisha swallowed hard and whispered softly:—I didn't want you to get hurt because of me. You should stay away.
Rasen met her gaze, unshaken.—I don't care about your past. I care about you. And I'm not leaving. That's my choice.
That night, at the mall…
The ice cream melted between Aisha's fingers, dripping like a bitter drop that failed to sweeten the anxiety coiling in her chest. Its artificial sweetness clashed with the cold tightening around her stomach.
Rasen walked beside her, distracted by the crowd, until suddenly he stopped.A sudden pressure struck his chest, forcing him still. He didn't know why, but his steps anchored to the ground, as if an invisible hand held him back.
Aisha, unaware, kept walking. Closer and closer to the shop windows. Too close.
And then she saw him.
Behind the glass of the jewelry store, a blond man slowly turned a Victorian pocket watch.The golden chain swung with a violet glow—not born of the mall's lights, but from some buried memory clawing its way back into Aisha's mind.
"Stefan…" she whispered, her voice breaking, barely a breath.
Above them, the red moon—the same one that haunted her nightmares—rose in the sky like an open wound, swallowing every shadow, every star.
A thunderous crack tore the air.
The glass shattered into a thousand fragments, exploding outward like burning blades.Aisha was thrown back, the cold marble mixing with the iron taste of her blood.
Amid the wreckage, the ticking of the watch beat a relentless rhythm, synchronized with the ragged heave of her breath.
"Aisha!" Rasen roared, rushing toward her.
But when he looked up, the blond man was gone.Only the echo of his laughter remained, slithering through the debris like invisible poison.
In the air, violet smoke traced a symbol:S.S.V.
Rasen froze, his chest iced over. He hadn't truly seen him… and yet, something deep inside howled as if he had.
The red moon still glared above, devouring the world.
Part III: Secret
The hospital lamp, with its dim glow, carved Aisha's silhouette against the shadows, her breath rising and falling in sync with the ticking of the monitor. Rasen watched each flicker of that machine as though it were a countdown. The smell of antiseptic couldn't mask the trace of bergamot and iron emanating from him—a reminder that his world no longer belonged to the living.
"Don't leave," Aisha whispered, her nails digging into the sheet. It wasn't a plea—it was a challenge.
Rasen took her hand without asking. His calloused fingers brushed against the IV line, and for a heartbeat, the violet glow of the relic under his shirt lit the room.
Aisha squinted: in the worn photograph inside the pendant, a little girl with braids played beneath an oak tree. Herself—years before the Red Night had erased everything.
"I'll take you away from here," he said, following her gaze to the window. "Somewhere even ghosts can't reach you."
In the fogged glass, Rasen's reflection merged with Sanathiel's: two silhouettes, two beasts, one destiny stitched in violet scars. Aisha turned her face away, but he caught her wrist with the gentleness of a man taming serpents.
"Why?" she asked, feeling his pulse beat in sync with the relic. "I'm not your burden."
Rasen smiled—a restrained smile that promised storms."You're the bullet that will tear through my demons."
A thunderclap rattled the windowpanes. Aisha tried to pull free, but his thumb slid over her bandaged scar, lingering where the skin flared purple.
"Tell me his name," he demanded, the relic burning against his chest. "The one who carved this sin into your flesh."
The monitor quickened. In the hallway, a nurse hummed Clair de Lune. Aisha squeezed her eyes shut: that same melody had floated through the room the night Stefan appeared at her crib.
"It's… an illusion," she lied. But Rasen smelled the truth in her sweat.
Even if she denied it, her skin still remembered the icy touch of Stefan's fingers—the way he whispered her name as if it already belonged to him.
Rasen leaned in until his lips brushed the scar on her neck, sealing the vow:"Illusions burn with fire."
Aisha gasped. In her mind, Sanathiel howled behind the bars of memory, Stefan's clock glowing with the same violet that marked Rasen's flesh.
But it wasn't just a memory.
A chill ran down her spine as the air in the room grew heavy, suffocating. The IV shivered with a faint click. A pressure pressed against her chest, as though cold fingers slid along her collarbone.
It couldn't be him.Not now.
The shadow in the glass stretched, twisting into something neither human nor beast.
"He wants me dead!" she spat, her voice a mixture of venom and fear.
Rasen gripped the relic until the chain cut his neck and bled."You'll die," he whispered against her skin, "when I breathe my last. And I still have air enough to set worlds on fire."
Outside, the storm ripped a wire from the building. The spark lit three circles etched into the window frame—fleeting as the laughter of a nightmare that wasn't finished.