A long time ago, when ioh was nothing but a simple monk, Ioh spent his days in the silence of the monastery in the Stigma Mountains, in the eastern part of Moldova. His life was continuous prayer and service. He lived with his soul wholly devoted to faith and the Catholic Church. Every gesture, every prayer, every step was offered up without question, unaware of the shadows secretly growing.
It was shortly before the outbreak of the First Cursed War… He remembers clearly: just two days after the Church's hidden troop, the Golden Chalice, managed to recover the Church Seal stolen by werewolves, dark rumors began to spread. At the Cathedral of Metropolitan Cassian of the East, innocent children were disappearing, one by one, without a trace.
These disappearances grew more frequent, and the blame was laid on vampire and werewolf spies who prowled the area. During this time, at the monastery in the Stigma Mountains, there began to come to pray a girl with blond hair and blue eyes. This girl had come to bring flowers in memory of her brother, who had joined the church to avenge their mother but had been killed by vampires. Ioh saw the girl, and together they began to pray. The monk felt happiness seeing that there were still people with morality and faith in these troubled times. The girl, her eyes wet with tears, looked at him desperately:
— "Great Monk… tell me, please… where does my brother rest?" Her voice trembled like a thread of wind in the night.
Ioh looked at her with heavy gentleness:
— "The bodies of those killed by vampires are taken to the Cathedral of Metropolitan Cassian, for the great service."
He paused a moment, looking at her face full of pain.
— "There, the priests will pray that their souls be received into the light."
The girl lowered her gaze, and tears began to fall heavily onto the cold stones of the monastery:
— "Please…" Her voice became just a whisper.
— "Can you help me reach him? To see him off, at least for the last time?"
Ioh took a deep breath, gently placed a hand on her shoulder:
— "I have been called to take part in this service as well…
— You will not go alone. I will accompany you, child. You have my word." – he said, his voice warmer than usual.
The girl lifted her tearful eyes, as clear as the winter sky:
— "Thank you, Father…" she whispered through sobs.
— "My brother… he fought for justice. I want him to know he hasn't been forgotten…"
Ioh inclined his head slightly, a sign of respect for her courage:
— "And he will know."
He gathered the things he needed, and once ready to leave:
— "Come. The road is long, and the ceremony is about to begin."
The two hurried through the morning chill, and by evening they finally reached the grand cathedral. At the cathedral gate, their paths were forced to part.
The girl, her eyes filled with tears and voice heavy with emotion, whispered with gratitude:
— "Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Father… for being with me until here."
She paused for a moment, then lifted her hand in a timid gesture, a farewell the heart could not fully speak, as if saying goodbye forever.
Ioh answered with a broad sign of the cross, a blessing and unseen shield to guard her. He too lifted his hand, but his salute remained unfinished, suspended between them — a silent promise that somewhere, someday, their paths would cross again.
The girl stepped away, little by little, while Monk Ioh, in the opposite direction, approached the area where he had to serve.
A day passed, and at Ioh's ears began to gather ever heavier rumors about the children's disappearances. In the monk's heart, a gnawing fear was born, consuming him with every passing hour. Determined, Ioh set out to find whether the girl with the blue eyes had managed to mourn her brother in peace. He searched everywhere: in the cathedral's courtyards, among shadowed columns, in cold crypts and prayer halls, until almost midnight. The only place his steps had not touched was the tall tower that pierced the night sky.
The night was strange, like a heavy omen; the wind stirred uneasily among the windows. With his heart beating like a drum, Ioh began to climb the steps in haste, feeling the air grow heavier with each floor. He had only a few steps left to the top when a piercing scream broke the silence, a cry for help that froze his blood. Without hesitation, Ioh drew a slender knife from the hidden pocket at his belt, then struck the door. The door slammed against the wall, hinges screeching, and what he saw petrified him: in the pale light of candles, the girl lay stretched on a cold slab, and above her, holding a werewolf bone above her chest, stood none other than Metropolitan Cassian.
— "What are you doing here, Brother Ioh?" — he spoke, his voice colder than stone.
Ioh, face pale and breathing ragged, took a step forward:
— "What… what is happening here?" — his voice shook between fury and fear.
— "Great Metropolitan Cassian… what does all this mean?"
Cassian tilted his head slightly, and a crooked, cruel smile bloomed on his lips:
— "Truths that you, monk, were never meant to know…"
— "And the girl? What guilt has she?" — burst out Ioh, gripping the knife tighter.
— "More than you can understand now, Ioh…" — Cassian answered, as he slowly lowered the bone, preparing to strike.
— "Not yet!" — shouted Ioh, stepping resolutely forward, ready to fight to stop what he didn't fully understand.
For a moment, silence settled between them, heavy and terrifying, like death's own breath.
Ioh gathered his courage, clenched the knife with all his strength, and with a cry from the depths of his being, lunged forward. The blade cut through the air, driven by hate and desperation, aiming at the back of the evil in the church's darkness. With a burst of strength, Ioh pushed the knife, feeling it strike something… as if even the night itself opposed him. But as he looked more closely, to see if he had struck a fatal blow, he saw the knife's blade would not pierce the evil's back.
He stood frozen for a moment, arm tensed, gaze fixed on his hand. The blade hadn't sunk even a palm's breadth into the flesh before him.
— "Is that all?" — Cassian spoke, his smile splitting the darkness in two.
Ioh stepped back, breath catching in whispers, and words came out almost suffocated:
— "What… what are you…?"
His eyes widened with terror and revolt:
— "What kind of monster are you, Metropolitan?"
Cassian lifted his head slightly, and his voice turned into a hoarse echo, ancient as the cathedral stones:
— "A truth your heart cannot grasp… 'Thirst for power'."
Without wasting time, Cassian shed all masks. From him spilled a black vortex, an Ancient Aura — winds that howled, full of moans and screams, as if thousands of lost souls floated around him.
Ioh's will wavered, his knees trembled, and his sight blurred with horror.
Cassian slowly extended his hand, almost gently, and closed his fingers over Ioh's hand that still clutched the knife.
— "Look closely, Ioh… and tell me: did you ever believe that light is the only power dwelling in the church?"
Each word was heavier than stone, and in the shadow of that night, Ioh's soul felt for the first time the chill of an unfathomable abyss and the fear of death.
Cassian squeezed his hand with a cold, inhuman strength. Ioh's bones cracked, and the pain made him unclench his fingers. The knife fell, sliding across the stone floor to rest by the door.
In a low voice, Cassian spoke:
— "Stay… Watch… You must be a witness… only then will you understand how power is born."
Ioh, exhausted, soul crushed by fear, looked at him with pleading eyes, hoping for a miracle. His gaze then stopped on the girl who looked back at him — her eyes, full of fear, clung to him as to a last ray of hope.
Cassian raised the werewolf bone in his right hand.
— "It is time, child…" — he whispered, and his voice sounded almost tender, like a poisonous embrace.
Then, with a sure movement, Cassian plunged the bone deep into her chest.
A dull crack, like dry wood splitting.
The girl's eyes filled with tears, turned once more to Ioh. One last farewell, one last gaze torn from life.
Then, silence.
Cassian turned his head to one of his servants, giving a brief nod.
The servant rushed forward, grabbing Ioh by the shoulders.
Before being dragged away, Cassian threw words at him like a sentence:
— "You have seen too much tonight… But let this remain: only hate will make you stronger."
His voice darkened, almost spitting each word:
— "You are exiled from the church's fold. You defiled a metropolitan! Wander in exile and find your death, you mad monk!"
A cold smile settled on the metropolitan's face:
— "I will make it seem it was all your will. Be ready for what will come…"
Thrown to the border, where all the exiled go, in an abandoned cemetery where werewolves roamed among broken crosses, Ioh remained alone.
The wind whistled through his robes. His gaze lost in emptiness, and his thoughts burned him more than the cold: and the memory of the girl's eyes pricked him worse than any wound:
— "I have lived a lie… I served an evil I could not see…" — the thought echoed in his chest, heavy as a bell.
For the first time, his prayers struck the mute sky and fell back, shattered. In place of faith, in his chest grew a sharp pain — guilt, biting his soul more fiercely than death itself could.
And so, with his mind torn by the past, sleep finally overcame him. But it was not just a simple memory, but an open gate to dreams haunted by screams he could not stop…