Mikhael stopped before the old mural, hidden beneath a thick layer of black tar. The white fire creature behind him remained silent.
With a simple gesture, the tar peeled away like dust, as if it had never been there.What emerged was not art.It was a warning.
Two figures carved in bleeding stone:—One, a man cloaked in wolves, with eyes like a shattered moon.—The other, wrapped in shadows, a white rose between his teeth, and a scar splitting his chest.
Above them, a forgotten inscription in ancient runes:
"The first guarded the soul. The second broke the reflection.They bled the name that still trembles beneath the earth.When the echo returns, the cycle shall open."
Mikhael traced the stone with his fingertips. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard their names:—Sanathiel… Rasen.
He did not know them.But something ancient stirred within his bones. A vow long buried. A command beneath his skin.
His eyes glinted with dangerous fervor.He sealed the mural again, pressing his hand over the central symbol: a triskel—the mark of the ancient Nevri.
—"The beginning of the end," he whispered.
Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted down the hall, bursting through sealed doors until he reached the main balcony. He leapt, and as he fell, his voice echoed:
—"Release the beasts!"
From the depths below, an elite unit responded. Chained creatures emerged—first-level infrahumans, their eyes empty, their fangs dripping with hunger. They were controlled by electric leashes and arcane seals. But even their handlers did not understand what they were about to face.
Far away, the human who had touched Mikhael just hours before stared in horror at her wrist. A burning mark had formed—A crescent moon split by three bolts of light.
Mikhael felt it from where he stood. He froze.
—"It can't be…" he murmured.—"The mark of the Sleeping Heiress."
The one who, according to prophecy, would break the cycle between vampires and werewolves.
A memory surfaced.
The face of Arisha's mother… or was it her grandmother?
Mikhael had witnessed the Oath of the Nine Clans.He had faked his weakness, let himself be bound to a chair to survive.But he had seen it all.
And now, that oath trembled.
The woman was taken below the city, to an altar buried in roots and bones. Mikhael, his eyes shadowed, forced her to seal a blood bond.It was not protection.It was domination.
She trembled.He did not.
—"With this offering," he said, slicing his palm open,—"I bind you to me. Your body. Your voice. Your will."
His blood fell into the circle.The symbol ignited.
—"Nothing shall escape this bond. Not death, nor name, nor rebellion. You are mine."His voice deepened into something hollow.—"I swear it by the fire of the Nine Clans."
For a moment, the air stood still.The roots whispered in forgotten tongues.The mark on her wrist flared.
The world tilted toward obedience…
But something pushed back.
Mikhael staggered. A sharp pressure struck his chest, as if something—or someone—rejected him.
—"What…?" he gasped, sweat beading on his brow.
The flames turned black.The blood hissed.The mark burned uncontrollably.
—"It can't fail! Not now!" he roared, stepping toward her——"This bond is law!"
Then she raised her face.
Her eyes were blank.An ancient shadow spoke through her lips:
—"I am not your anchor… I am your judgment."
The voice thundered like the echo of a forbidden mountain.
Far away, at the edge of the world, Rasen—the Guardian of the Limit—felt the rupture. His chest constricted.The Broken Moon's boundary held him back…But it no longer mattered.
—"If I cross, there will be war."—"But if I don't… she will die."
He stepped forward.Then again.
The law was broken.
Back in the tower, Mikhael's nose began to bleed.He stared at the woman's wrist—her mark now glowing like a living curse.
—"You weren't the bait…" he whispered.—"You were the storm."
From the ruins of a distant tower, a hooded figure watched the chaos unfold.Ice-blue eyes burned with restrained fury.A triskel tattoo on their shoulder glowed with a bluish light.
—"This is only a minor punishment…" they whispered.
They raised a sacred weapon and fired.
The arrow pierced the defensive barrier of the tower.
And with it, a single word echoed:
—"Mikhael."
—
In another forgotten corner of the world…
Arisha crossed the mirror.
Her body passed through the glass as if reality itself had shattered to make way.
What she found was a world of pure white.It snowed.The cold bit her skin. Her hands turned blue. Her feet sank deeper with every step, each one heavier than the last.
She moved forward—until she collapsed.
—"Arisha…"
A voice called to her.Distant and near at once.
It was not human.It was a dead echo.
Before her, a black-leafed tree stood in the middle of the white desert. Its branches moved without wind, as if whispering forbidden truths.
And then… she saw him.
A figure emerged from the snow.His face hidden by living shadows.A black energy pulsed around him like a second heart.
Crimson eyes pierced her.
Each step was a sentence.
Arisha couldn't move.Not fear. Not cold.Fate.
What came was no enemy.It was truth.
And she… was not ready.
—
Vision
The being stopped before her.The black energy slowly faded, revealing something beyond terror:
A torn cloak.Golden hair, floating like frozen flame.Hazel eyes, heavy with sorrow… and strength.
—"Arisha…"
His voice was stone.Wind.Calling.
He did not come to warn her.He came to claim her.
And she saw him clearly now.
—"Sanathiel…" she whispered.
He smiled.And began to turn to ash.
Not a monster.Not a demon.
A father.A warrior.The White Wolf.
The one who fought until the end for what he loved.
—"Why are you here… if you're dead?" she asked.
The wind stilled.
A single black leaf fell from the tree.Like a tear from time.
—"Because I am not dead within you. Because you are my legacy.The last light of the Nevri.The heir of resistance.My daughter… by right. By blood."
And as he faded into dust beneath the moon,a mark remained, seared into Arisha's chest—
A new heart.A burning legacy.
"The past is not dead… it lives in my blood."