Axis of Arisha — "Some awakenings are not remembered… only felt."
Arisha did not run. She moved like someone still caught between timelines, between truths. The mark on her chest burned hotter now—not just Nevri blood, but something more primal. Something older.
A howl echoed in the distance.
It wasn't just memory calling. It was instinct.
And with it came a name she hadn't spoken aloud… but still carried inside her like a ghost: Baco.
She didn't remember his face. But her heart recoiled at every turn, searching for something that was missing.
As she crossed the shattered window ledge, guided by the silent steps of the blue-eyed Nevri hunter beside her, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
An arrow. Ancient. Fletched in silver ash.
It hit the stone frame just above their heads and exploded in a burst of ethereal light.
They turned.
Mikhael stood behind them.
Fangs out. Eyes glowing. Voice cold.
—"You're not going anywhere."
Before Arisha could react, Mikhael flashed forward with vampiric speed and grabbed her by the wrist, tearing at the long train of her ceremonial dress.
The hunter stepped between them.
His voice was low, sharp: —"I'm not here for games."
Mikhael lunged, striking with a clenched fist. But the Nevri caught it. Mid-air. Effortlessly.
The vampire froze.
The hunter's grip tightened—until bone cracked.
—"You forget, vampire," he growled, —"who hunted your kind first."
He smiled. Not with warmth. With purpose.
Mikhael tried to slip back, reaching for his cloak—but the hunter yanked it down.
Revealing a young face. Tousled chestnut-brown hair. A short beard outlining sharp features. Piercing blue eyes—like frost laced with ancient fire.
Arisha blinked.
He wasn't old. He was barely older than her. But his gaze felt ancient.
With one fluid motion, the hunter punched Mikhael so hard he crashed through the stone frame of the tower—
Twelve stories down.
The wind swallowed his scream.
The hunter turned to Arisha, extended his hand:
—"Now. Or stay. Choose."
She hesitated. Heart thundering. But her legs moved.
Together, they ran—through halls no longer theirs, toward a city no longer home.
The stone corridor trembled around them, lit only by the flicker of distant alarms. Dust fell like snowfall.
Arisha paused, her chest heaving.
She turned to him—this stranger who had saved her, fought for her, known her blood.
But still, said so little.
"You knew I'd run," she whispered.
The Nevri didn't answer at first. His eyes—those impossible blue eyes—remained fixed ahead.
Then, with a voice like rusted wind:
"No. I knew you'd choose."
She blinked.
Their gazes locked.
No promise.
No plea.
Just recognition—of pain, of silence, of something ancient neither could name.
Then he turned.
And she followed.
Axis of the Fall — "Even monsters stumble."
Far below, Mikhael groaned.
His limbs cracked back into place with slow fury.
But as he staggered up, something glittered on the stone ledge.
A thread from Arisha's dress.
His hand reached for it.
And for a moment… just a flicker… Arisha's hand had reached back.
But she had slipped.
Or maybe she had let go.
Mikhael clenched the torn fabric.
—"If you won't return to me," he muttered, bleeding, —"then I'll make the world too dangerous for you to go anywhere else."
And above, the city howled with sirens.
The hunt had truly begun.
To be continued...