Full moon night. Eight hooded figures of the Community of the Thirteen encircled a crystal coffin inside a ruined temple; their black cloaks were embroidered with silver lotuses. Sacrificed youths lay in a circle—their blood spiraled upward and flowed like crimson threads toward the coffin.
A conch shell sounded, a hollow lament that filled the stones. Inside the sarcophagus, Sanathiel's motionless body—pale and scored with scars from another age—drank the vital liquid with the greed of a forgotten god. The lotus embroideries glimmered; the eight voices joined in a chant:
"Blood of the betrayed, awaken the one who was slave. Let his fury be our whip, and his heart… our cage."
At the same time, an oneiric scene: a snowy wood and, at its end, a red door. A boy named Rodrigo—the young version of Sanathiel—stood barefoot before it, wrists wounded, the marks of Fallían's experiments.
The child pressed his palm to the red door and time's varnish showed fragments of his past: Fallían injecting a black serum in the basement as Beatrice coughed blood above; Zaira teaching him to draw a bow in the Nevri woods, her laughter braided with the wind. A voice behind him—the adult Sanathiel, eyes gilded and garments torn—spoke with solemn gravity.
"Why don't you open it?""I'm afraid… of what's behind. Of what he did to me," the boy whispered.
Sanathiel knelt to meet his height.
"Fallían is no more. We are what remains. That door is not a prison—it's the key to return to her."
The child set his bleeding hand on the wood. When the door opened, a flood of memories swallowed them: Zaira fighting shadow-creatures to shield him; the Nevri welcoming him as kin before Fallían's abduction; Fallían's letter to Mica: "Rodrigo is not human. He is death's answer… and my condemnation."
Sanathiel took the child's hand.
"You brought me here. Now I will lead them back."
The boy merged into him; the wrist wounds turned into golden runes. Cracks spidered across the crystal like ruptured veins and the coffin burst. From the shards rose not a man but a white-furred wolf, drenched in blood. His golden eyes burned like embers under the moon.
The eight members dropped to their knees, but he ignored them. He walked toward the wood where Arcángel waited, cloak and blanket in hand.
"I want to see Zaira," Sanathiel said as he opened his eyes.
He stepped forward, stretching out a trembling hand.
"Master Sanathiel… it's been so long," Arcángel stammered, anxious. "That woman you speak of… she might be in the Nevri ruins, but be careful—the Community does not forgive betrayal."
Sanathiel rebuffed his offered support with a sudden motion.
"I don't need your pity, nor the words of a Nevri who never tasted the moon."
Arcángel bowed his head. Silence settled, then Sanathiel's bitter voice cut through.
"Did you really believe I was dead?" he murmured, iron in his tone. "Did you think your sins would be forgotten? Blood to earth, memory to fire. What you broke, I will rebuild."
The words fell like a verdict.
Elsewhere, under the same moon, Rasen faced a different hell. Sirens filled the streets; his phone still held Julio's message: "Dinner tomorrow. Don't fail me." A mundane promise turned into a tombstone. All that remained were fragments beneath a white sheet: bloodied fingers and the watch Rasen had given Julio on his birthday.
Red and blue lights painted the windows. They rushed to the crime scene; the sheet lifted in the wind to reveal death. "Don't look, Rasen," a colleague urged, but his gaze stayed fixed on the mutilated body: Julio—his best friend—unrecognizable.
"Let me through!" Rasen struggled against police officers.
An officer asked the relationship.
"He was my best friend," Rasen sobbed. "I had no one else in this country… only myself."
The weight of it crushed him. Julio had been his family; now there was void, a knot he could not untie.
Rasen looked up. The full moon shone like an open wound; in the distance a keening howl split the night—the same scream Julio gave as he died and the same call Sanathiel, in wolf form, used to summon the Nevri.
Every step led Rasen toward his purpose, and toward the echoing past that haunted him.
Arcángel shadowed Sanathiel, unable to read his master's thoughts. He offered a pair of gloves; Sanathiel regarded him with disdain.
"The owner will no longer need them," he said with a cruel smile, drawing his coat on.
"I didn't give you leave to go. Did you harm them? Answer me, Arcángel," Sanathiel demanded, voice hard.
"Mobilize and disinfect the wound quickly," Arcángel replied. "If you do not answer, I will search myself. Don't forget whom you serve."
Reunion in Soleo
One year later, at the Archaeological Center of Soleo, Aisha and Rasen's paths crossed again. They had tried to move on, but fate had other plans.
Aisha, distracted, collided in a corridor. When she looked up, her heart skipped.
"Sorry, I didn't see you," she blurted, not recognizing him.
Rasen started to pass, but she stopped him with a question.
"Do I know you from somewhere?"
Rasen turned; his face was a wall of withheld emotions.
"Why pretend not to know me?" he answered coldly, his voice edged with resentment.
Aisha froze, searching her fragmented memory. Before she could reply, Steven burst between them.
"Wake up already!" he snarled, venom in his tone. Grabbing Aisha's arm, his words were knives.
"You dragged us to death. Rasen. Falco. Me. Not because you wanted to—but because your destiny devours everything."
The impact left Aisha paralyzed. Her memories were shards. Steven pointed bitterly to the lunar medallion at her throat.
"Now I see why they hold you. But don't you dare come near Rasen again. You've hurt him enough."
Before leaving, Steven added a final threat:
"If I see you again, I'll remove you. You're alone, Aisha. Always alone."
Aisha trembled as Steven's words reverberated. Was she truly alone? In the shadows, Sanathiel watched. He felt the tether to her as something uncuttable. With a cold smile he whispered to the wind:
"Soon, Aisha. When the moon bleeds and the mirror shatters… you will know who I am. And who you were."