On the surface of the falling asteroid, a single sigil ignited—
the Seal of Solomon.
Its lines burned across the colossal rock, glowing with divine symmetry, until the entire mass shuddered and burst apart like glass struck by the hand of God.
Light engulfed everything.
Shards of burning stone scattered through the night sky, raining upon the earth like a second creation, like a storm of stars.
Azazel's vision blurred.
He no longer felt his heartbeat.
The dagger slipped from his hand, disappearing into nothingness.
The last thing he saw was the sky filled with falling light, the fragments of the asteroid descending alongside him.
Then—nothing.
For a moment that felt like eternity, there was no sound, no feeling, no thought.
Only the quiet replay of a life—his own—rushing past his eyes:
Aurelius's voice.
Johann's laughter.
Juan's smile.
The blood, the trials, the battles.
And the prayer.
Then, light again.
Azazel's body jolted upright.
He gasped for air—his lungs burned.
The world around him was no longer fire and ruin.
It was quiet, painted in the soft glow of morning.
He sat on a narrow bed, sweat clinging to his skin.
A window to his left spilled sunlight into a small room lined with strange herbs and wooden charms.
From the balcony, a woman leaned casually against the railing.
Her silhouette glowed in gold.
Baba Yaha.
She wasn't the crooked crone of tales.
Her hair fell long and black, her skin pale and flawless, gleaming faintly under the sun.
She wore a black dress, elegant, modern.
She turned to him with a sly smile.
"Good morning, Maksym… or should I say, Azazel Weyer?"
She wore the nun's habit, her silhouette resembled someone...
"Sister...Iris?"
But she looked different, young.
Her voice rolled like smoke, amused.
"The team's been waiting for you."
Before he could speak, a shadow crept along the wall.
Out of it stepped Sister Iris in her youthful form... Or better to say Baba Yaha? Her expression playful, eyes like blades of obsidian.
She leaned close to Azazel's bed and whispered:
"Still easy to scare, I see."
Then she turned to the window, her smile fading.
"The plan we started three centuries ago—finally complete."
She reached under her habit and drew a silver dagger.
The edge caught the morning light.
"And what should we do with him now?" she asked quietly.
Her gaze lingered on Azazel.
"Invite him to join us?"
Who is she talking to?
Baba Yaha looked at him through the slant of sunlight, her expression unreadable.
The morning breeze carried the faint scent of salt and grass.
She smiled.