The corridors of the Guild felt longer this time.
The hum of the machinery above had softened, replaced by the distant moan of wind threading through the stone.
Azrael moved fast, his boots echoing like thunder swallowed by prayer.
He wasn't running for glory.
He was running because the silence in his chest was too loud , like the silence of people dying while he waited.
He couldn't wait anymore.
He had to save those people right in that moment.
When he reached the iron door of the lower sanctum, it opened before he touched it.
The Master was already there, seated as before, within the circle of pale moonlight reflected through the lattice of enchanted mirrors.
He did not look surprised.
He only said, quietly,
"I was expecting you. You're so predictable, My Child."
Azrael stopped halfway across the room and bowed — deep, precise, his hand resting over his heart.
"Father," he said, his voice steady despite the storm beneath it. "Grant me permission to leave now. I can't stand idly while innocents are slaughtered."
The old man's eyes were calm, their light flickering like a candle too proud to die.
The purple core in the middle of his chest kept shining.
"And that," he said slowly, "is your only and biggest weakness."
Azrael lifted his gaze, just slightly.
"Your compassion. Your love for humanity. It clouds your judgment, my son. I almost envy your purity. Even if they had neglected you more than one time, you still want to save everyone."
The words struck deeper than any blade because they were true.
Azrael had always known that his mercy , the one thing that made him human , was also the crack in his armor.
He clenched his fist, but said nothing, feeling the weight of his master's words.
The Master rose, each movement deliberate, ancient.
"Listen carefully. The White Wolf and his hunters are already investigating this case. They suspect our Guild of… sympathy toward the vampires."
The words hung in the cold air like ghosts.
"If you go there now," the Master continued, "they'll see you standing among the ruins, and they'll brand you a traitor. They'll claim you colluded with Maria's spawn and will finally have the permission to investigate on us. And you know that we're the only ones who can stop the immortal Queen."
Azrael lowered himself to one knee, his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the ground. He said nothing because the truth hurt more when spoken aloud.
The Master's tone softened.
"I know what you feel, Azrael. But you must learn patience .You must learn to bear the weight of mercy without letting it crush you. You're not different from a child who wants to desperately do what adults do."
He turned his gaze toward the relics on the altar. The moonlight trembled across them like a heartbeat.
"You still have to grow, my son. Life has always been carried forward by the blood of those who came before us. You cannot save everyone — or life itself would lose its meaning."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Azrael felt it like chains tightening around his chest considering that his suggestion was "declined".
He had faced monsters that tore through walls of steel, but this… this truth was harder to endure.
Finally, the Master spoke again.
"You will obey the order and wait until Saturday. Until then, train. Watch over the children — Valtherion and Elarwen. Their lives are now your responsibility, and they are our hopes for the future of this Guild."
Azrael lifted his head, meeting the Master's gaze.
For a moment, something unspoken passed between them.
Grief, faith, and the shadow of inevitable loss.
Then, silently, Azrael stood. He bowed once more.
"Understood, Master," he said quietly, and left.
The master didn't even talk.
His eyes literally said "Don't you dare disobey my orders."
But Azrael knew that he didn't mean it in a dangerous way.
His master's implicit message was like "If you disobey, you'll put yourself and everyone in danger."
Azrael also perfectly knew how many times the master was right.
While he walked towards the hall, bitterness enveloped his soul.
The thought of knowing that he couldn't do anything while people were dying was so painful.
He kept walking until he came back where he was before with the other hunters.
The upper hall was almost empty when he emerged.
The great gears above turned slowly, whispering like a distant storm.
Lu Mo was leaning against a pillar, his staff balanced on his shoulder.
Kymrith stood beside him, half-hidden by shadow, her hood down now, a smirk curling her lips.
She saw him first."Well?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "Did the old man finally bless your impatience?"
Azrael didn't answer immediately. He walked past her, the echo of his boots slicing through the quiet.
"Shutup."
The words came out low, steady.
A command, not an insult.
Cold enough to freeze, sharp enough to cut.
Kymrith blinked, then smiled with that dangerous, mischievous smile that always played at the border between mockery and desire.
"Heh… I missed that tone."
Lu Mo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He's always the same," he muttered. "He always pushes himself over the limits."
Kymrith turned slightly, watching Azrael's back as he disappeared down the corridor.
Her voice dropped, almost a whisper.
"Maybe that's why he's so damn hot more than everyone on this planet." She said, while licking her lower lip.
Lu Mo chuckled, the sound dry and knowing. "Careful. You might find yourself in danger-"
Kymrith crossed her arms, still staring down the hall. "Maybe. But I'm totally fine with it."
Azrael reached his quarters and closed the door behind him.
The world went silent again.
He leaned his sword against the wall and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
The Master's words kept repeating in his mind.
"You cannot save everyone."
He looked at his hands, the same hands that had ended vampires, lifted children, held dying comrades.
They trembled now, not from fear, but from restraint.
Outside, the gears turned, steady as time.
And somewhere deep below, in the moonlit chapel, the Master whispered a prayer no god would ever hear.