Isaiah remained in his place. The violent energy that had distorted the air slowly withdrew, returning to the usual statics of the room. The hostile atmosphere he had unleashed dissipated little by little as he closed his eyes, seeking to steady himself. His hands relaxed upon the arms of the chair, his knuckles losing the whiteness of tension. For centuries, he had dreamed of freeing himself from this land that enchained him, but that longing was a sin: a betrayal against the being who had granted him eternity. Any vampire who dared to defy his master was condemned to persecution and annihilation. The weight of that unwritten law gravitated upon his shoulders.
—Once outside Caprissia, I will have no control over her. Escaping would be easy at that point, and if her thoughts are read...
Isaiah's voice sounded steady, but concern lay beneath the pause between his words. He did not look at Astilbe, but rather at the darkness before him, calculating invisible variables.
—I will protect her mind wherever she goes.
Astilbe interrupted him with a reckless firmness. There was no doubt in his tone, only an absolute resolution that filled the space between them. He took from his coat pocket a small golden metal box, burnished like a treasure, which enchained around itself the meager light of the room. The object glowed with a luminosity of its own, foreign to the gloom of the chamber.
—Imdugud.
The name resonated with a dangerous antiquity. Both looked at each other, motionless, while the supernatural tension shook the air. Within the box, the ancient lion-headed bird, carved in lapis lazuli and bound with sacred metal, radiated a blue glow that hypnotized even Isaiah's dead eyes. The blue light projected divine shadows upon the upholstered walls, moving as if they possessed life.
—To seal her mind... we cannot afford such a thing. You are not thinking of the consequences, Astilbe.
Isaiah leaned forward, the light of the amulet reflecting in his dark irises. The possibility of blocking mental access was an enormous tactical risk.
—If I merely desired to free her, I would ask it of you. But this is not for her —he responded with sincerity—. The one I most desire to help is you.
Astilbe held his gaze for an instant longer, ensuring the message was received. He left the box upon the table and made his way toward the exit. The golden metal tinkled softly as it contacted the wood. There were no more words, only the rasping rustle of his coat billowing behind him until he disappeared into the hallway. The sound of his footsteps faded on the stairs, leaving an audible void.
Isaiah remained alone, surrounded by doubts. Silence returned, but now it was clouded by the presence of the object on the table. His eyes flashed with denial, though he knew Astilbe was right about one thing: he had forgotten how much mortals could achieve with their faith. Amulets like that one were capable of thwarting even demons. Fragile objects, yet endowed with a power that not even the children of the night could take lightly. The blue light continued pulsing like a heart trapped in metal.
The rain began to beat against the windows with a constant murmur. The drops traced irregular paths upon the glass, distorting the view of the outside. Isaiah stood up, his footsteps echoing.
The world outside reclaimed him. The gloom embraced him as he left the house: the clouds hid the moon and devoured all light, letting his tall and elegant figure blend into the shadow.
The door closed behind him without a sound. He advanced through the alleys of Caprissia without being seen or heard. His movement did not disturb the air; it was a fluid gliding between the drops of water. That water ran over the stones, and in every reflection of the rain, his silhouette was hinted at; the city recognized him. For a vampire like him, doors were mere ornaments: he needed no invitation to pass through walls, for he was the darkness, vast and absolute, that reigns when the sun is hidden. Solid walls became permeable to his will, allowing him to cross matter as if it were smoke.
Thus he arrived at that place. The building where Janab slept. The doors gave way to his presence, and the woman's room was plunged into a silence more harrowing than the storm. The noise of the rain was muffled as he closed the window mentally, isolating the space.
She, oblivious to everything, lay in her bed, lulled by the music of the rain. Her closed eyelids did not perceive the shadow that now filled the space. Janab's breathing was rhythmic, vulnerable before the entity that loomed over her. Isaiah remained at the foot of the bed, letting his presence settle like atmospheric pressure.
—To make use of this woman for a second time... —he murmured, his voice low, bitter, almost poetic—. Astilbe, though you deny it, you strive too hard to rid her of me.
The words floated in the air, a sinister chant of the darkness. There was no response, only the sound of sleeping breath. In deciding to read Janab's mind no longer, Isaiah accepted a veiled condemnation: that no other vampire could do so either. A simple choice, and at the same time... an unbreakable shield. He turned toward the window, observing the drenched city, knowing that the pact was sealed without blood, but with eternal consequences.
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