The biting wind whipped his cheeks, but Ioh rode on without hesitation, his cloak flying behind him like a living trail. The horse, chest wet with sweat, galloped as if devouring the earth itself, tireless, driven only by the will of its master. Three days and three nights passed like this, without rest, his heart beating in the same rhythm as the pounding hooves.
The forests of Wallachia stretched before him like an ancient, wild, and silent labyrinth. But for Ioh, these places were not unknown; they were full of echoes from a life long past. Among the tall trees and ancient roots, he knew a hidden path — a trail forgotten by the world, that slipped beyond the guarded borders of Moldova.
It took only a moment for nostalgia to seize him: like a bear recognizing its den, he felt the thrill of memory, stepping once more on lands he had once called "home." An old scent of resin and wet leaves greeted him, and for a few moments, the shadows of the past seemed to walk alongside him.
But the road was not just a road: it was a promise… and a burden. Ioh knew well: at its end awaited more than just a simple book — there awaited the answer to an ancient riddle, one that could break the chains of an enchanted sleep… or cast him into even deeper darkness.
Ioh had stopped for a day at Samu Hermitage, a place hidden among rocks and tall firs, where the monk Tihon still served. During the First Cursed War, Tihon had been a name spoken with fear and respect: he had fought in the Assault Troop of the Silent Seraphim, the feared unseen hand of the Catholic Church. For Ioh, Tihon was not just a legend – he was an old acquaintance, a man who had remained close to him since the days when he too had served the faith.
The hunter dismounted, tied the horse to a tree, and hid it carefully in a thick bush, away from prying eyes. He adjusted his great sword, its heavy scabbard adorned with gothic symbols, and set out for the hermitage. But not on the beaten path where the faithful climbed; instead, on a hidden, ancient trail that only he and Tihon knew.
The stones were worn, a sign that heavy steps had trodden here on other nights. Step by measured step, Ioh climbed, alert to every leaf stirred by the wind, to every shadow passing before him.
When he neared the stone walls, an echo disturbed the silence. He stopped, gripping the sword's hilt, and approached without a sound until the words became clear:
— "Monk Tihon, as a former member of the Silent Seraphim, we summon you to join the Order of the Blood Moon. To support our cause: to root out the evil that tramples the Great Pact. Refusal is not an option."
The voice was heavy, commanding, carrying a cold venom behind its words. Ioh listened silently, but with a foreboding sense of danger.
Beyond the wall, two strangers left the hermitage in haste, their steps quick, hidden by cloaks. Their cloaks, red as dried blood, fluttered in the wind, and on their sleeves was a symbol Ioh had never seen before.
The hunter remained hidden, feeling a knot of unease grow in his chest: Tihon was in danger — and with him, the path to the truth.
Ioh waited in the shadows until the two strangers disappeared among the trees. Slowly, almost unseen, he stepped into the hermitage. Inside, Tihon sat bent, his head full of heavy thoughts.
When he saw him, the monk startled and almost jumped toward him, gripping his arm tightly:
— "What are you doing here, Ioh?" — he whispered through clenched teeth, with an anxiety hard to hide. Then he pulled him deeper inside, out of sight.
— "They mustn't find you… if they see you, they'll put you in danger too!"
Ioh stood firm, his gaze steady, but his voice low and determined:
— "Tihon, what's happening here? I heard everything. Who were those two?"
Tihon ran his hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away his fear:
— "A mistake… too great a mistake to have once been under the Pope's wing. Now they want to force me into the Order of the Blood Moon…"
— "The Order of the Blood Moon?" — asked Ioh, a cold shadow in his voice. — "Who are they?"
— "A handful of executioners who move in darkness. Their men know no mercy, only purpose. There are rumors that some of them were slaughtered recently, so now they seek new members. Those who have survived the fires of war, like me…" — Tihon's voice trembled for a moment, then steadied. — "But I… I no longer wish to carry the sword."
Ioh looked him straight in the eye, and his words came like a hidden blade beneath his cloak:
— "Don't join them, Tihon. Their shadow brings only death…"
— "Nor will I, Ioh. I swear on what remains pure in my soul…" — Tihon said, his eyes glinting briefly in the faint candlelight.
Tihon then straightened his back, looking out the window, his voice calm again:
— "But you? What brings you all this way?"
Ioh slowly removed his hat, tied his hair back, and spoke with a cold steadiness:
— "I seek an old book, Tihon. One that holds the words that can break a curse… that can save an innocent child."
Tihon looked at him for a moment, long, as if searching for truth behind Ioh's gaze.
— "Brother Ioh, the oldest books are kept in the Church of Saint Corvin, a day's journey from here. But you know who stands guard there, don't you?"
— "I know. Your former comrades… the Silent Seraphim," — answered Ioh, and a shadow of a smile crossed his lips.
Tihon lowered his gaze, sighing heavily:
— "And you know you won't be able to enter the church without confronting them…"
Silence hung between them for a few moments, then Ioh broke it with a grave voice:
— "Tihon, I need your help. Could you distract them while I look for the book… let me slip through unseen?"
— "Your heart is heavy, my friend…" — Tihon murmured, staring into the distance. — "But I will help you. If that's what it takes to repay my debt to you… then so be it."
They looked at each other briefly, and between them, a silent understanding was born.
The next day, before sunrise, they set out together on horseback. The black horse, proud and strong, carried them over untrodden paths, and the wind whipped their faces.
At the foot of gray rocks, Tihon pulled the reins:
— "We've arrived… but the church is hidden among the cliffs. It's not a place you'd find by chance."
Ioh ran his hand over the sword belt, looking toward the stone walls visible through the mist:
— "Then let's begin. I didn't come this far to stop."
The plan was already set. Ioh adjusted his hat on his head and raised his hand toward the sky, speaking in a low, almost whispered voice:
— "Umbrae vetustae, hear my voice… Per sanguinem, per noctem, per pactum… Sigillum meum te leagă, Tihor… Et in umbra ta dispar!"
On the back of Tihor's monk robe, a sign of the cross lit up, like a flame extinguished in wax. Ioh vanished the next instant, leaving behind only a cold shiver that passed through the walls.
Tihor, calm as if he had come only for prayer, stepped toward the heavy wooden gate. An old priest, his face furrowed with years, recognized him at once:
— "Welcome, brother Tihor…" — he whispered, making the sign of the cross and pushing the heavy door, which creaked loudly.
In the dark corridor, Tihor murmured, in a low but firm voice:
— "I'll take you to the first floor. From here… you'll be on your own. The library is upstairs, on the third floor."
Hidden behind the cloak, Ioh, wrapped in the shadow of the cross, whispered in his mind:
— "I owe you, brother Tihor…"
Then Ioh spoke an incantation:
— "Umbrae vetustae, hear my voice… Per sanguinem, per noctem, per pactum… Sigillum meum te leagă, Tihor… Et in umbra ta apar!" and stepped out from behind the monk's robe.
He slipped among the stone arches and cold stairs, climbing quickly. Tihor followed him to the stair's corner, then, with firm steps, walked toward the chapel, pretending nothing had happened.
In the halls, here and there, a hurried priest, but no sign of the Seraphim. Ioh felt how silence grew heavier, and for a moment, the church seemed deserted.
Reaching the massive library doors, he pushed them gently. A faint creak tore through the silence. Inside, only shadows danced among endless shelves of books.
Ioh drew a deep breath:
— "The east wing…" — he remembered, in a barely whispered voice.
He slipped among dusty shelves, but the east wing was empty. Only bare walls and mute shadows. He sighed heavily, his brow furrowed:
— "Where could it be hidden?"
Without hesitation, he pulled out a small bottle with a kind of oil. With it, he quickly traced a faint pentagram on the floor, its tip pointing upward. He lifted the cross from his neck and pressed it gently into the center of the sign.
A serpentine flame sprang forth, crawling along the floor, lighting the way to the end of the shelves. There, under dust and spiders, he saw a small stone niche.
With a trembling hand, he reached in, felt the rough skin of the cover, and pulled out a small, blue book, almost faded by time, but heavy as stone. Gravity seemed to pull it back, like a relic that did not want to be taken.
Ioh flipped quickly through the pages: incantations, seals, lost rituals. One spell circled with ink fresher than the rest caught his eye — but the letters were archaic, unreadable.
At that moment, the library door slammed against the wall, and a priest's voice thundered:
— "I know someone's here! Show yourself, or I'll call the Seraphim!"
Startled, Ioh clutched the book to his chest. Stepping out from among the shelves, his feet barely touched the stone floor.
The priest saw him, and his face darkened:
— "A book has been stolen! Guards! Call the Seraphim!"
Without hesitation, Ioh advanced with lightning speed and struck the priest at the nape with the heel of his palm. The priest fell to the floor, and the echo of Ioh's footsteps resounded among the arches:
— "I must get out before the others come…"
The halls now seemed like a living labyrinth. The candle flames grew denser, and in that silence, only Ioh's breath could be heard. With the book clutched under his arm, he ran among stone columns, searching for the exit — knowing that outside, somewhere, destiny awaited him… along with the answers he sought, and an evil that wanted to stop him.