Everything had become clear now, like a truth rising from the mist: for Ioh and Nira, there was no turning back. In the room with damp walls, lit only by the flicker of a single lamp, Ioh pulled on the red thread, sealed with wax bearing the crest of the Brotherhood of the Falcons, which Nira recognized.
As it fell, the paper rustled like a stopped breath when it touched the floor – exactly as he had suspected: a torn page from the old book and, in his right hand, the parchment sealed with a pentagram, a ritual sigil.
Ioh's gaze lit up for a moment, and his lips parted in a short but harsh smile:
— "This message… it's for Dacus." — he said, and handed the note to Nira.
Nira took it with trembling fingers, and in her eyes flickered a sadness that even time could not erase. Tears gathered at the corner of her lashes, and painful memories wrapped around her like an unseen veil.
But Ioh lingered no longer. He carefully unfolded the crumpled page, and the words written there seemed to be penned in ancient blood:
"On the night of fallen blood, under the sign of the Dead Moon, is sealed the sleep of the one meant to be sacrificed…"
Ioh's voice grew lower, almost a whisper, as he read:
"Three marks will be written with the father's blood:
on the forehead, that his dreams be sealed;
on the chest, that his heart may sleep;
under the soles, that his body may no longer walk.
In the heart of the ritual, the ancient formula is spoken:
Veycthar lunem dormio, vinculis animae, somnus aeternum.
And the father's last breath seals the power of the globe:
'Eternal sleep until the breaking of the three chains.'"
When he reached the last lines, his hand trembled and his eyes furrowed. The letters quivered on the page, like a dead man's prayer:
"And let him who dares to break the chain know:
The incantation will only be undone when the riddle written by the Father's hand on the sanctified marble is spoken and solved before the Shadows."
Ioh raised his gaze to Nira, and in his voice there was both gravity and a thread of hope:
— "Do you realize? It's not just a simple spell… it's a trial. Someone didn't want Dacus to be freed by just anyone."
The woman nodded, her eyes red, still clutching the note to her chest.
•
In the heavy silence, Ioh drew with his dagger a line on the floor, from the violet globe to the torn page. Then, another line to the engraved marble, and yet another to close the circle.
— "The ritual is circular…" — he murmured. — "If it's circular, it can also be undone…"
Then, from the end of the room, the twins' babbles pierced the silence. Ioh startled and with hurried steps brought Luc and Nicolai closer to the globe. He bent toward them, and his voice grew warm, almost tender:
— "This is Dacus. You are the key… only you can wake him from this cursed sleep."
Nira's gaze shone again, like a candle relit.
The two children, with tiny steps, approached the globe. Their small fingers touched its cold surface, and the mist inside fluttered, like an invisible wing caught between worlds… But only for a moment.
Then, the globe remained inert, silent, as cruel as before.
Ioh clenched his jaw, his eyes turning to steel:
— "There must be more… A gesture… a key we haven't seen…" — he whispered, as if arguing with himself.
He bent down, touching with his fingertips the symbols on the floor. His gaze slid again to the twins:
— "Whoever put this child here… didn't want just anyone to wake him, at the first attempt…"
A heavy sigh escaped his chest. The silence seemed to press on the walls, and the candle's flame flickered, as if afraid of its own light. And so, while hope thinned like a wisp of smoke, the days began to pass…
Days went by, one after another, like leaves falling from an old tree. Every morning, Luc and Nicolai, pale, with eyes shadowed by fatigue, came again before the globe and pressed their tiny hands against it. But the magic remained silent.
Nira leaned her forehead into her palms, and in her eyes was the fear of a mother, of a woman who knows that time shows no mercy.
Ioh watched over them, like a shadow, and in his gaze there was more struggle than resignation.
Almost a month passed. One night, with the flame of a single candle trembling before him, Ioh sat alone, turning between his fingers the paper with the riddle. The ink was almost faded, but the words were burned into his mind.
He whispered them softly, with a grave voice, like a prayer:
"Three gates you will pass to break the chain,
Ancient shadows will test your soul…"
His fingers drummed on the wooden table, like a summons.
"First, find the book born from the ashes of the old sorcerers –
only it holds the words that wove the stone sleep…"
Ioh remembered Get's book, the symbols, the smell of torn pages.
"Then, awaken the seal that sleeps deep –
for only with its power can you loosen the chains…"
His thoughts fled to Luc and Nicolai, to their strange marks.
And then, the verse that haunted him:
"But hasten, for when the shadow of years counts the sixteenth hour,
only then will sleep not be the tomb."
Ioh's heart beat faster. His eyes darkened with a new, terrifying understanding.
— "The shadow of years… the sixteenth hour… only then…" — he whispered, his voice like a muted thunder.
He understood: it wasn't just a curse to be broken by force. It was tied to time, to the years of Dacus's captivity. Only then would the chains weaken.
Ioh closed his eyes, and the candlelight trembled over his face, furrowed by weariness. "Just a little longer… and the truth will come to light. But will it be enough?"