Chapter 8:
Sanathiel's mansion breathed with the rhythm of the night. The shadows of the red moon bled through the stained glass, tracing crimson lines across the white wolf's face. In his hands, the lunar medallion throbbed, synced with a heartbeat that wasn't his. Hers.
Noah entered without ceremony, his scent of ash and sulfur corrupting the air."Another round of visions, Sanathiel?" His feline eyes glowed beneath the hood. "Answers cut deeper than blades."
Sanathiel didn't turn. In the attic mirror, surrounded by black candles flickering like dying stars, there was no reflection. Only emptiness."I want her past. Not mine."
Noah laughed, a rasp like nails scraping marble."Love is a broken mirror. Every shard cuts differently."
The medallion burned in Sanathiel's hand as he stepped through the mirror's threshold.On the other side, the air smelled of lavender and fear.Her room. Her bed. She lay asleep, her brow furrowed as if fighting ghosts.
"Don't touch her," Noah warned from the portal, his voice distorted. "Wake her, and you'll awaken more than a human."
The crack of splintering wood cut him short.The door exploded into shards.A hunter stormed in with his sword raised, the scar across his face pulled tight with rage. Behind him, Rasen struggled against Noah's claws gripping his throat, blood dripping in thin threads.
"Itzel!" the hunter roared (Steven, his scent was gunpowder and hatred). "Where is she?"
Sanathiel bared his fangs in a glacial smile."Your obsession reeks of desperation, human."
Noah tilted his head, predator amusement twisting his lips."This pup… he's different," he whispered, tasting Rasen's blood. A crimson spark lit his gaze as his tongue traced his lips. "It doesn't sing like human blood. It tastes like something not yet born."Rasen spat at his feet."Let me go, parasite."
Steven lunged. The blade hissed past Sanathiel's face and sank into the wall. The white wolf slid through the shadows with deadly grace, his claws raking the air near the hunter's throat—silent warning.
"Enough!" Noah raised his hand.Invisible strings yanked tight, freezing them all like puppets. The mirror pulsed behind them, shards of the attic flashing through its surface.
"Let's play another game, Sanathiel."He hurled Rasen to the ground. The medallion pulsed as the human hit the wood, a discordant note against Sanathiel's bond with Aisha.
"Let's go," Noah growled, dragging him toward the threshold. "Your human isn't worth a war… not yet."
At the mirror's edge, Sanathiel looked back. Aisha twisted in her sleep, trapped in a nightmare. He was the beast in her shadow."I will return," he whispered, biting his own lip until the taste of blood seared his chest. "And when I do, I'll be more than an echo."
Noah smiled among the fallen fragments."Humans always choose their own ruin," he whispered, as the shadows devoured him. "And you… you will choose hers."
Part II – Dark Inheritances
The sandstorm cut like a thousand shards of glass. The whirlwind devoured the sky, turning the night into a blood-red abyss. With every flash of lightning, the shadows of Sanathiel and Noah warped and stretched—two beasts locked in the tempest. The air reeked of sulfur and dried blood.
"Do you think your defiance will go unpunished?" Sanathiel roared, the lunar medallion blazing on his chest like a heart of molten stone. "Every eye you saw today will become a dagger in your back."
Noah spat grit and blood, his laughter a broken rattle lost in the storm."Don't talk to me like your dog, Sanathiel of Ruanda!" he spat, the taste of iron heavy on his tongue. "If you want to play master, remember this: even the strongest collar rusts… and rabid dogs bite their owners."
A lightning strike revealed the trident-shaped scar carved across Sanathiel's sternum, pulsing with his fury."You are a messenger, not a rival," he hissed, closing the distance until Noah's sweat evaporated against his searing skin. "And messages…" His grip closed on Noah's throat, veins glowing beneath the skin. "…are meant to be burned after reading."
The sand rose in a frenzied spiral, sculpting wolves and serpents devouring each other. Noah coughed, bloodshot eyes reflecting the S.S.V. sigil dancing across the medallion."The Community will use you, fool!" he spat. "Arceo will rise in your flesh, and that woman you chase will be the first sacrifice on his altar!"
Sanathiel hurled him into the ruins of a wall. The stones bled black where his body struck."You speak too much for someone who reeks of fear," Sanathiel said coldly, brushing his hands. "But lucky for you—I need a coward today, to carry lies back to his masters."
In the Arceo crypt, Noah pressed his bleeding palm against Enrique's tomb. The marble drank the blood, spilling visions in negative:—A shattered mirror showed Enrique on his knees, clawing his own face until the flesh split like parchment, the same marks blazing across Sanathiel's chest. His reflection smiled back with twisted delight.—Itzel in a bridal gown woven from cobwebs, her hollow eyes following Sanathiel through the dark.—Falco Valuare driving a syringe into Sanathiel's neck, his white fur soaking scarlet.
The vision ended on Itzel's hands scrawling Aisha in blood across the gown, just before Arceo strangled her with her own veil.
Sanathiel's pupils glowed like molten mercury. The medallion in his grip weighed like a gravestone."Do you think a blurred memory will make me falter?" His voice cracked like bones under snow. "Itzel chose her cage. I choose to break mine."
Noah rose, tracing a sigil in the air with his own blood."Arceo already smells the girl. Every beat of that medallion—" he pointed to Sanathiel's chest "—is a war drum calling him forth."
A thunderclap split the heavens. For a heartbeat, lightning revealed Aisha's silhouette, asleep, an identical medallion glowing beneath her pillow.
"Sharpen your lies," Sanathiel growled, turning into the eye of the storm. "I will bury Arceo, the Community, and anyone foolish enough to speak his name."
Noah watched in silence as the White Wolf vanished into the dust. The seal of the Thirteen gleamed on his ringed finger."I'm sorry, old friend," he whispered to the wind. "But in this game… even the dead cheat."
Beyond the storm, a figure in a black turban stood motionless. The gale tore at his robes, but he did not move. In his hands, a pocket watch glowed faintly, its hands spinning backward with the muffled tick of a sentence not yet passed.