The inquisitor didn't repeat the question.
Ilian was still on the ground when the first chains of light descended.
Runes burned in the air, and sacred pressure crushed the mud beneath his back. The wound in his side throbbed open, blood spreading slowly, thick and dark.
The world spun with strange clarity.
Everything was too sharp.
Too focused.
He could have fled.
He could have let the darkness claim him.
Pain was excuse enough.
Exhaustion too.
He didn't.
Ilian forced himself up, one knee pressing into the mud.
Blood ran across his stomach, down his arm, along his neck.
The heartbeat beneath his chest pounded wildly.
Alive.
Excited.
Not from fear.
Not from pain.
From something darker.
The inquisitors formed a circle, black cloaks shifting with military precision. Seals floated above their hands.
The pressure increased.
The air grew heavy.
"Kneel," the masked one ordered.
Ilian looked up.
"No."
The first spear of light fell like lightning.
Ilian twisted slightly.
The white blade pierced his shoulder and pinned him to the shattered tree.
The smell of burned flesh filled the air.
His breathing grew uneven.
Blood flowed hotter now.
For a moment, the world paused.
Then he smiled.
Just a faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
The second spear—
he caught with his bare hand.
Light crackled between his fingers.
His skin burned down to the bone.
He didn't let go.
The heartbeat struck.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The world sharpened.
Sounds grew clear.
Hearts.
Too many.
Ilian closed his eyes for a moment and listened.
One.
Another.
Another.
He chose.
He moved.
Not with her clean speed.
With raw brutality.
The spear he held drove through the throat of the nearest inquisitor. Blood burst hot and red.
The second tried to summon a seal.
Ilian tore off his wrist before the gesture finished.
The third fell with his throat opened.
The fourth didn't even understand what had happened.
The circle shattered in seconds.
The lead inquisitor didn't step back.
Runes expanded beneath his feet.
Sacred pressure descended like a cathedral falling from the sky.
Ilian dropped to his knees.
Mud collapsed beneath his weight.
His wounds burned.
The heartbeat accelerated.
Pain.
A lot of it.
Ilian lifted his face—
and laughed.
Not joy.
Vertigo.
He stood right on the edge.
That razor place where everything becomes clear.
"You are an aberration."
Ilian spat blood.
"I know."
He rose against the pressure, step by step, as if every muscle tore from the inside.
Runes cracked beneath his boots.
The heartbeat slammed violently.
For a moment he couldn't tell his blood from anyone else's.
He heard hearts ringing like bells.
And he liked it.
He knew it.
That was what wasn't right.
Ilian lunged.
The inquisitor drew a consecrated blade.
White met black.
The sword carved deep across Ilian's chest.
He didn't retreat.
He smiled again.
Wider now.
More dangerous.
Ilian grabbed the inquisitor's wrist and squeezed until he felt bone give way.
"Did you pray today?" Ilian asked, almost politely.
The inquisitor triggered a seal directly in his face.
The explosion threw them apart.
Ilian rolled through the mud, vision blurred.
He rose unsteadily, blood covering half his torso.
He was alive.
And he wanted more.
He advanced again.
This time he didn't need to listen.
The blade slid beneath sacred armor and out through the man's back.
"You are not human," the inquisitor whispered.
Ilian tilted his head.
"Neither are you."
He pulled the sword free.
The inquisitor collapsed to his knees.
But he didn't die.
The wound wasn't fatal.
Ilian knew it.
He left him like that.
Around them, bodies lay open.
The forest smelled of blood and hot metal.
Silence returned.
Heavy.
The smile was still there.
Too long.
The heartbeat struck again.
Slower now.
Clarity began to fade.
Vertigo withdrew like a tide.
Ilian looked at his hands.
They were shaking.
The pleasure evaporated.
Leaving only weight.
"The Church will not forget this," the inquisitor said with a broken voice.
Ilian watched him for a long moment.
There was no pride in his eyes.
No hatred.
Only something heavier.
"Neither will I."
He turned away.
The heartbeat beneath his chest began to stabilize, but the edge was still there.
That razor state.
That point where everything becomes simple.
Ilian closed his eyes for a moment.
And admitted it.
He didn't need judgment from anyone else.
He knew what he was.
For four years now.
Since the first time he heard a heart stop—
because he chose it.
"I'm not an aberration," he murmured.
Pause.
"I'm something worse."
Far away between the trees, the woman in black watched in silence.
She didn't intervene.
She didn't speak.
She only tilted her head slightly.
As if confirming something she already knew.
Ilian woke with the sensation that something was missing.
Not the heartbeat.
That was still there.
It was the noise.
The forest was too quiet.
The ceiling above him was low, made of old wood.
Dust.
Abandonment.
He tried to sit up.
Pain slid through his chest like a slow blade.
The bandages were clean.
Someone had closed his wounds.
He turned his head.
She sat beside the only window.
In profile.
The gray light of dawn outlined her figure.
No blood.
No dust.
The black dress fell perfectly to the floor.
As if she hadn't crossed a forest full of corpses.
She didn't look surprised that he had awakened.
"You could have let me die," Ilian said.
"I could have."
The silence weighed more than accusation.
Ilian leaned back against the wall.
"Why didn't you?"
Carmilla slowly turned her face toward him.
Her eyes looked human.
Too human.
She stood and walked to the bed.
No hurry.
No aggression.
Only decision.
She knelt and placed her hand on his chest.
The heartbeat responded.
Once.
Twice.
Three.
Deeper now.
More stable.
Ilian closed his eyes.
It didn't hurt.
That was the worst part.
She closed her eyes as well.
The memory did not arrive as a story.
It came as a fracture.
Stone hall.
A throne.
An immense figure.
A heart removed with precision.
A lifeless infant.
A seal that was not human.
Carmilla pulled her hand away abruptly.
Now she understood.
It wasn't theft.
It was transfer.
Design.
"What did you see?" Ilian asked.
"That you didn't take it."
"Take what?"
"My heart."
The heartbeat struck harder.
Ilian swallowed.
He had always known something inside him didn't fit.
Nights when the pulse didn't match his breathing.
Moments when the world became too clear.
That edge pushing him toward the brink.
But it had never had a name.
"So… what am I?"
Carmilla studied him for a long time.
"I don't know yet."
Ilian's gaze hardened.
"If you came to kill me… do it."
"I don't forgive you."
Silence.
"But you're not guilty either."
Her fingers brushed his sternum without pressing.
"That doesn't mean it belongs to you."
"Will you try again?"
"Yes."
"I will recover what is mine."
"And if I die?"
"Then I lose it again."
The air thickened.
"I am not your enemy, Ilian."
Pause.
"But I am not your salvation either."
"Will you come back?"
"As long as it beats."
The cabin fell silent.
Ilian placed his hand over the spot she had touched.
He had always known something was wrong.
Now he knew he wasn't broken.
He was divided.
And that was far more dangerous.
The light descended from above, filtered through unseen stained glass, bathing the white marble in soft clarity.
The inquisitor walked through the cathedral nave.
His cloak torn.
Dry blood still on his armor.
No one stopped him.
He had survived.
At the end, before a simple altar, the bishop waited.
When he saw his brother's state, he descended the steps calmly.
"You're wounded."
It wasn't reproach.
It was concern.
"Not here. Not with me."
He helped him stand.
"Speak."
"He's not a demon."
"I imagined as much."
"But he isn't human either."
The bishop guided him to a bench.
"Tell me what you saw, not what you believe."
"He withstands consecrated pressure. Detects heartbeats without error. Decides before acting."
Pause.
"And when I crushed him… he smiled."
"For pride?"
"No."
"For vertigo."
"And there is something else."
"He has a mark in his right pupil."
"Were you afraid?"
"Yes."
"Good. Fear keeps us human."
"His heartbeat didn't match his breathing."
Pause.
"It was… different."
"Ancient."
"Your Excellency… are we facing Death?"
The bishop rose and walked toward the altar.
"Death does not bleed."
"Death does not hesitate."
"Death does not leave witnesses."
"He let me live."
The bishop closed his eyes.
"Then he is not Death."
Silence.
"But he may become something worse."
"Orders?"
"Do not capture him yet."
"Observe him."
"And if he leans toward the darkness…"
His eyes hardened slightly.
"Then may God have mercy on him."
"Yes, brother."
"Rest today."
When the chamber emptied, the bishop remained alone before the altar.
"If you are Death…"
"…give us a sign."
The nearest candle flickered.
And went out.
The bishop didn't move.
But for the first time—
he doubted.