Rasen's decision to join as a protector for the Community of Thirteen marked the beginning of a stage filled with trials, intrigues, and confrontations that would test both his body and his spirit.
That final night before accepting Steven's proposal was unsettling. Steven seemed tense, his usual arrogance overshadowed by a latent concern.—There's no room for mistakes. Learn, adapt, and surpass the others. —His tone was dry, like an order that admitted no reply.
He handed him a bag with basic supplies, an ID under a new name, and a clear mission: prove his worth.
He clenched his fists. It wasn't the desert that burned, but the image of Aisha fading if he failed. Steven was right: this hell was the only path to return to her with armor.
The boarding school, located in the heart of the desert, was more of a prison than an academy. From the very first day, hostility saturated the air.
—Ipse est loser.The laughter echoed behind him. He didn't need to understand Latin to grasp the contempt in their voices.
—New, aren't you? —A carefree voice snapped him out of his thoughts. A young man with sharp features, a confident smile, and eyes that gleamed with restrained mockery—. "Loser," that's what they said. So creative, right?
—And who are you? —Rasen asked, his expression unchanged.
—This year will be fun. I hope I'll have the chance to get to know you… personally. —The young man's smile widened before he turned and vanished into the crowd.
—Ignore them. Especially him. —Another voice, calmer but heavy with warning. A subtle presence watched him with an inscrutable expression—. Here, the weak don't survive, and the curious even less.
The stranger introduced himself as Elliot Kadosh, and though Rasen didn't trust him, there was something in his demeanor that kept him alert.
The first days were hell.Training sessions were grueling; the instructors showed no mercy. Yet each blow and each fall only hardened Rasen's determination. Pain became routine; resistance, his only shield.
But the true danger wasn't the training. It was Björn.
Son of a lesser house, yet with a presence impossible to ignore. He was the king of that territory, and everyone knew it.
Björn pulled out a relic identical to Rasen's. Inside, the symbol of the Thirteen bled over a photograph of Lionel.
—You're Omar, aren't you? —Björn said with a calculated tone, leaning closer—. You interest me.
Björn chose him.
For weeks, he watched him, studied him, tested him. But Rasen didn't yield. And that only seemed to make him more attractive to Björn.
The night Björn appeared in Rasen's room, everything became clear.—You know, I could report you, but that would be boring. I'd rather watch you fight. —Björn slid a finger along the polished wooden table, tracing invisible patterns, his ring spinning between his fingers with a slow, steady click.
Rasen, tired of the insinuations, tried to keep his composure, but Björn's words were a mixture of threat and something else.—I'm not your toy, Björn.
Björn tilted his head, the lamp's light reflecting in his twisted smile.—Not yet.
The tension could be cut with a knife—until Elliot barged into the room.—Björn is dangerous —he said bluntly—. If you want out of this, take a mission. It'll be your only escape.
Rasen didn't trust Elliot, but he knew he was right.He accepted to infiltrate the management hall. Anything, as long as it kept him away from Björn.
But Björn did not forgive rejection.
The Punishment
Retaliation came at night.The door burst open.Rough hands dragged him from his bed.Blows.Ropes tightened.
Björn watched from the shadows, framed in the doorway, arms crossed and his ring spinning between his fingers.—I told you, you can't leave without my permission.
Rasen's blood dripped onto the floor, his breath ragged and broken.—What the hell do you want from me?
Björn leaned down, his voice a whisper.—You.
Silence.—I want to break you, Omar. But I'll admit, you're not easy to break… and I like that.
Before he could continue, Adrian stormed into the room.Björn's followers fell one by one.Adrian reached Rasen, carefully untying his raw wrists.—Thank you, Adrian. I'll handle this.
Björn didn't move. He only smirked, blocking the way out.—A hunter and his pupil. What a touching spectacle.
With calculated slowness, he grabbed Adrian's hand and twisted it.CRACK.The sound of bone snapping filled the room.
The window shattered into a thousand pieces, a sharp fragment embedding itself in Adrian's palm.—No!
Rasen lunged at Björn.A direct headbutt forced him to let go.Seizing the confusion, Rasen pulled a hidden dagger from his boot and pressed it against his throat.
Silence.
The blade grazed Björn's jugular.But Björn didn't look away.His smile curved like a scythe, but…His eyelid twitched.The first crack in his mask.
—Do you think this changes anything? —his voice dripped venom—. Would you kill someone who knows you better than you know yourself?
Outside, the wind howled.The click of the clock rang like a gunshot.
Elliot appeared at the door, his shadow stretching over Björn like a noose.—Lower the weapon, Rasen.
He hadn't raised his voice, but his presence alone was enough to suffocate the tension in the room.
Björn clicked his tongue, annoyed.—He can't even lie —he muttered, glaring at Rasen with contempt.
Elliot moved forward slowly, his gaze fixed on Rasen's medallion.—Björn doesn't give gifts without hidden intentions.
The envelope on the floor gleamed under the moonlight.
The world around Rasen felt unreal. Björn stared at him with that crooked smile, the mark of the dagger still on his neck, while Elliot remained calm, his eyes locked on the medallion.
A dull heartbeat thundered in Rasen's chest. Not entirely his own.Aisha's.
With trembling fingers, Rasen picked up the envelope.The rough paper felt heavier than it should.
Björn chuckled low.—Open your gift, Omar —he said mockingly, spinning his ring between his fingers—. I don't like impatience.
Rasen slid his finger under the wax seal and tore it open.
Inside, a photograph.Aisha.
Her dark hair blowing in the wind, her lunar medallion gleaming under the sun.
But what froze his blood was the note written beneath:"Do you think her medallion protects her from us?"
Rasen felt a strangled roar in his throat.
Lionel Golmish of Rwanda.
That name, printed at the bottom of the document accompanying the photograph, anchored him to reality.
This wasn't a gift.It was a warning.Or worse… a sentence.
Elliot said nothing, but his gaze pierced Rasen with a comprehension that unsettled him even more.
Björn leaned in, his smile growing like a shadow under the moon.—Seems someone wants you out of here, Omar. And for a very interesting reason.
The wind howled among the ruins of the boarding school.Rasen's blood dripped from his finger, staining the edge of the photograph.
A sudden sting in his wrist. Elliot was beside him, fingers brushing the violet scar pulsing under his skin.A double heartbeat coursed through his arm. Not his. Older, fiercer. For an instant, he swore he heard a muffled growl echoing through his own blood.
—Curious… —Elliot murmured, pulling a pocket syringe filled with purple liquid—. The mark reacts to fear.
Before Rasen could protest, a voice whispered in his mind: "Don't trust them." Identical to Aisha's.
Rasen looked at the photo: Aisha lay asleep, but in her hands gleamed Zaira's obsidian dagger. On the back, his blood revealed a phrase in Latin:"CUM LUPUS ALBUS CADET, ELEGET QUIS VIVAT. SANGUIS SANATHIEL VINCIT."(When the White Wolf falls, she will choose who lives. The blood of Sanathiel conquers all).
Whatever truth hid behind this, there was only one way to find out.Accept the job.And find Aisha.
Because if Lionel was after her, it meant she was in danger.And if he didn't get there first… someone else would.
—We'll meet again, Björn —Rasen whispered, slipping the photo into his jacket.
But before he could leave, Björn lost his smile.—You don't get it, do you? —His voice, always mocking, turned rough, as if each word cost him more than he wanted to admit—. You are what I could have been… before this place broke me.
Silence fell like a guillotine.Rasen turned slightly, but gave no reply.
Björn clenched his fists, the twitch in his eyelid stronger than ever.—If you keep down this path, Omar, you will break —he spat, fury seeping through—. And when you do, there'll be no one to pick you up.
A cold shiver crawled down Rasen's spine.But his decision was already made.
Without looking back, he vanished into the night.
Björn remained in the gloom, Elliot's shadow still watching him.When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow.—That fool… —he whispered, dragging a hand down his face—. Either he leaves this place, or I'll kill him myself.
Elliot smirked faintly, tilting his head.—Are you sure, Björn? —he murmured enigmatically—. Because I get the impression that… if someone else breaks him, it won't be by your hand.
The ring spun once more between Björn's fingers before his hand dropped to his side.And the night swallowed everything.
Post-scene
In the greenhouse, Moira clutched the worn lunar medallion (the same one she stole from the corpse of Luciano's daughter). For a moment, the white flower reflected a dark-haired girl playing under an oak… until it withered.
Her left eye, window to the threads of fate, projected chaotic visions:
Aisha plunging Zaira's dagger into a twin heart.
Lionel drinking from a chalice filled with green blood.
The flower absorbed the visions, withering instantly.
The smoke-creature at her feet raised its many eyes.—Azael asks: will the girl fulfill her role in the pact?
Moira gripped the medallion of Luciano's dead daughter (Preface I).—She will break chains… or become one. The White Wolf will decide.
In the crystal sphere, Aisha's image split: Zaira embraced her from the shadows, their voices fusing: "Blood calls to blood…"