The unreachable white castle, perched high upon the mountains, drew every gaze from any point in Caprissia. At this time of year, when the sun's rays rarely touched the city's ground, no one ventured into the forest—even though it was the only path leading to the great structure.
The government had never guaranteed safety in those lands, and among the people ran the belief that the missing had crossed the forbidden boundary. The few who had approached only spoke of the excessive vigilance at its borders. It was said that a noble lived there with his large family—someone wealthy enough to afford life within such ancient walls.
...
The mist began to rise again from the depths of the forest, slowly descending toward the city to devour the night. At that moment, Janab stood still in front of a convenience store, not far from the building where she was staying.
A fine rain was falling, like a delicate breeze, yet the puddles had grown vast, for the water had been pouring since morning.
In the last few hours, the girl's emotions had disconnected from her physical body as she tried to recall the previous night. Like a dream that fades with dawn, she couldn't hold onto it in her thoughts—and she was certain it had nothing to do with the cold air. It wasn't moisture.It was something else.
Her journey was nearly over—only a couple of days remained, and she spent them wandering alone. She lowered her gaze to her feet. It was easy now to get lost in trivialities, as if the insignificant could offer shelter.
In Caprissia, modernity and antiquity coexisted in the same landscape. But that cloudy day, the desolate scenery turned into a stage for the sinister.
—I am not able to read her thoughts completely.
The voice, silky and masculine in tone, sounded like both a warning and a sentence. Living, contradictory, it embodied the macabre and the beautiful in a single note.
A broad back leaned against the nearby wall. His posture alone exuded a charm beyond human measure. Green eyes—bright and piercing—narrowed as pale fingers tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind his ear.
—Isaiah, you were right about this purification, —his voice was deep, measured— It couldn't be achieved merely by stepping into a temple.
The figure listening to him remained silent. Elegant, shadowed, almost intangible, hidden behind curtains of black hair.
—A human who steps into a sacred place is naturally purified. But if they touch a being of light... —he paused, his expression twisting in disgust— the situation becomes unbearable. The church has refined its methods.
The words struck Isaiah's chest like a reminder of his own defeat.
—The mark of the "angel" is imprinted upon the soul to hunt us down.
Every word from his lips was as cold as the rain that refused to stop striking the earth.
—For now, we can do nothing. We must wait until the purification fades. —The emerald eyes glimmered fiercely, fixing upon Isaiah's brown ones, barely visible through the shadows— She will leave the city in four days. With so many temples scattered around, every move is a trap. But observe her closely: that foreign girl carries a desire for ruin that burns too intensely. Did you notice?
Isaiah had noticed. But he deemed it irrelevant. Darkness was natural to mortals; even under the brightest light, humans always found a way to embrace their own downfall.
—Corrupt her until the purification dissolves.
Isaiah despised every syllable of that proposition. He listened without any intention of taking those dry words seriously. He only felt an instant urge to leave.
—I cannot corrupt someone so shameless, with blood so venomous. Besides... she's confused. She may not even pose a threat. Astilbe, let's go.
The other laughed softly. His smile—beautiful and strange, like an aurora in the middle of the night—contrasted sharply with the cruelty of his warning:
—Things aren't that simple. Belzblehem will cut off your hands and feet and deliver your head to Samael if that mortal crosses paths with another reborn.
—That woman can't even tell reality from a nightmare.
Isaiah knew well the consequences awaiting vampires who failed. He felt the burning rage of having fallen into such a trap, but in this world—where blood spirits were mere stones along the vast path of beings of light and high-ranking demons—he thought he could postpone his concern.
A purified human could not be slain by a night predator as weak as he was. Even the first-rank angels could easily track down whoever dared to spill innocent blood.
He sighed.
...
The mist kept descending from the forest toward the city. Janab, unaware of the conspiracies moving within the shadows, remained before the store. The fine drizzle soaked her, but what she couldn't shake was the chill that persisted in her chest.
A dream that refuses to be forgotten.A threat that still breathes.