On the way back to the safe house, dawn was quietly breaking.
The city was about to awaken after experiencing its deepest darkness. But for Elian and Rafe, they had just struggled out of an even deeper, colder artificial night that had lasted centuries.
They returned to that luxurious "cage," but this time it no longer felt oppressive and cold. When the heavy alloy door closed behind them, it shut out not freedom, but the malice and lies of the entire world. This place became their only shelter in the storm, a lone island where they could temporarily dock.
No one spoke.
Rafe silently found disinfectant and fresh bandages from the medical kit, then walked to Elian. Without asking, he carefully—even clumsily—unwrapped the crude bandaging on Elian's wrist that had torn open again during battle.
Elian didn't refuse. He stood there quietly, letting those hands—always full of strength but now unusually gentle—tend his wounds.
During their earlier fight, to protect Rafe, Elian's left arm had been slashed deeply by a knight's silver blade. Silver was corrosive to vampires as well. The skin around the wound showed an ominous gray pallor.
Rafe used cotton balls to carefully clean away the contaminated blood and silver residue from the wound. His movements were focused, focused to the point of reverence. As if he were cleaning not a wound, but a defiled masterpiece.
"Your blood seems... not as cold as before," Rafe said quietly, as if talking to himself.
Elian looked down at the hands bandaging him. He could feel that familiar furnace-like warmth from the other's palms. But this time, that warmth no longer made him feel repulsed—instead, it was like a warm current driving away the chill that had accumulated in his soul's depths for centuries.
"Perhaps," he responded softly.
After bandaging, they entered the vast library that had witnessed the revelation of truth.
Elian poured himself a cup of cellared blood and also poured Rafe a glass of the strongest whiskey.
They sat before the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the distant sky gradually change from deep ink blue to fish-belly white.
"I once thought," Rafe broke the silence first, draining the harsh liquor in one gulp—the burning liquid seemingly unable to scorch away the regret and pain in his heart, "that my entire life's meaning was to avenge my father. I hated your name, hated your bloodline, hated everything about you. I used that hatred as my only fuel."
He turned his head, those amber eyes that always burned with flame now like wet rocks washed by receding tides.
"I... lived like a fool for ten years, chasing a lie." He looked at Elian, saying word by word, "I... am sorry."
Elian swirled the crimson liquid in his glass, not looking at him.
"You don't need to apologize, Rafe," he said softly. "Because I was living in a lie too. A more exquisite lie that lasted over three hundred years."
He raised his head, gazing into the void as if seeing through time and space to the man who had pushed him into hell with his own hands.
"He taught me that emotion is weakness, trust is poison, and love... is the root of all destruction. He used his own 'death' to give me the most profound lesson, turning me into a monster like him—cold, selfish, trusting no one but myself."
"I mocked your 'honor,' despised your 'bonds.' Because in my view, they were all fragile, foolish self-deception. But in the end... I was the most foolish one."
"I used everything he taught me to hate him. Not knowing that hatred itself might just be another part of his plan."
The two of them, at the city's highest point, in dawn's radiance, laid bare their deepest, most shameful wounds to each other.
All hatred had evaporated.
What remained were two souls equally wounded by lies, equally struggling in darkness for too long—tired souls.
They were each other's mirror image.
"That kiss..." Rafe's voice suddenly became dry. He ultimately couldn't avoid that kiss that had shattered all barriers between them like thunder.
Elian's body stiffened slightly.
"I don't know what that was," Rafe said, looking at his hands as if to see through them. "I was... very angry, very confused. I just... needed to confirm something."
"Confirm what?" Elian's voice was barely audible.
"Confirm if you were like me," Rafe raised his head, looking at him with burning eyes. "Confirm if beneath your cold shell, there was also a beast about to drive itself mad. Confirm if I... was alone."
Elian fell silent.
After a long time, he slowly, self-mockingly smiled.
"You confirmed it."
This answer was like an ancient incantation, instantly unlocking the last shackle between them.
All awkwardness, all confusion found their answer in this moment.
Rafe stood up, walked to Elian, and extended his wounded but still powerful hand.
"I don't know what the future holds," he said seriously. "I don't even know if after we defeat that old monster, we'll become friends, or... something else. I only know one thing."
"From now on, I'm no longer fighting alone."
Elian looked at his extended hand, then up at those utterly sincere amber eyes.
He hesitated briefly, then finally extended his pale, cold hand to clasp the other's.
Two hands—one burning like fire, one cold as frost.
One full of wild strength, one containing ancient wisdom.
When they clasped together, the entire world seemed complete.
"Me too," Elian said softly. He paused, then added in an unprecedentedly solemn tone:
"Rafe... I trust you."
"I trust you too," Rafe responded with equal solemnity.
This wasn't a love confession.
This was heavier and more moving than any love confession.
This was a vow. A vow built on the ruins of lies by two broken souls—an unbreakable, new covenant.
Over the next three days, the safe house library became the "war room" deciding the fate of Crescent City's entire supernatural world.
They projected the "Final Gospel" plan downloaded from the data pad onto a massive holographic operation table.
The former arguments and disagreements vanished completely. They were replaced by seamless, astonishing coordination.
Elian displayed his most terrifying abilities as a "chess master."
"The cathedral's security system is connected to the entire city's power grid. At the moment when the blood moon's energy peaks—three minutes before the ritual begins—I'll use my access privileges to create a city-wide 'pseudo-overload' lasting seven seconds. Those seven seconds are our golden infiltration window."
"According to the energy line patterns, the ritual's core includes not only the sacrifice on the altar, but also these four energy pedestals at the cathedral's corners. Destroying them will interrupt the ritual. Points C and D are near the sewers, structurally weakest—our preferred breakthrough points."
"Caspian... my father, he's extremely arrogant. He'll deploy the strongest guards at the cathedral's main entrance to display his majesty. But the real killing blow will be hidden in the most inconspicuous place he believes absolutely cannot be breached. Like... here." His finger pointed to an unremarkable ventilation shaft in the choir loft.
Meanwhile, Rafe applied werewolf beast-like instinct and combat intuition to their fullest.
"After infiltrating through Point C, we'll immediately encounter their 'Temple Guards.' Their formation typically uses heavy shields in front, spears behind. I'll force open a gap—you need to eliminate their rear crossbow archers at that instant."
"The choir loft has limited space, disadvantageous for your speed advantage. But it has the best acoustics in the entire cathedral. If they've deployed 'sonic weapons,' you'll be at a severe disadvantage there. We must find and destroy their power core before entering."
"If my father is still alive, he'll definitely be imprisoned on the altar. Saving him is my top priority. But if... if he's beyond saving, you must promise me, Elian—don't hesitate. Destroying the ritual is the highest objective." His voice trembled almost imperceptibly as he said this.
Elian looked at him silently, then nodded firmly.
One crafted macro strategy, the other conceived detailed combat.
One like the most precise scalpel, the other like the most violent armor-piercing hammer.
Their thoughts, their tactics wove together, clashed, and merged with unprecedented harmony, finally forming a perfect plan filled with violent aesthetics.
The night of the blood moon finally arrived.
A massive, ominous crimson moon hung on the horizon like a bleeding wound, shrouding the entire city in an eerie, sinister red glow.
Elian and Rafe stood side by side before the safe house's huge floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking this city that would either become hell or find new life in a few hours.
They had changed into black combat gear. Elian wore the black obsidian blade at his waist; Rafe carried a massive battle axe covered in runes, forged by his tribesmen, on his back.
Their faces showed no fear, no confusion. Only a resolve solid as stone, settled after seeing all truth and crossing all obstacles.
"Ready?" Rafe asked quietly.
"I've waited three hundred years," Elian answered.
He slowly, deliberately reached out and grasped Rafe's hand.
This time, not for confirmation, not seeking support.
This was simply the most basic, wordless promise between comrades and... lovers.
Behind them, the blood moon radiated increasingly ominous light.
The final battle was about to begin.