The howl shattered the stillness of the night. It was no ordinary sound: it vibrated in the air as if it came from another age, from a buried memory. Aisha sat up abruptly, her heart racing, and ran to the window.
The darkness seemed denser, as if the entire world were holding its breath. Among the shadows, two eyes gleamed with a golden light.
"Sanathiel…" she whispered, barely aware that she had spoken his name aloud.
A shiver ran down her skin. She couldn't see him, not physically, but she felt him there, in the air, in the way the moonlight trembled against the glass. With trembling hands she shut the window, but the cold did not leave. On the contrary: something invisible seeped into the room.
A handful of luminous sand appeared, floating before her. She recognized it instantly, as though she had been waiting for this sign her whole life. She hid it beneath the bed just as a heavy knock thundered at the front door.
Downstairs, Steven burst in with Adrian, his body covered in dried blood and fresh wounds. Aisha ran down the stairs, expecting to see Rasen.
"Where is he?" she demanded, blocking the way.
Steven shot her a sharp glare."Your human chose his own path."
"You're lying!" Aisha clenched her fists. "If anything happens to him, it'll be your fault!"
The hunter threw his coat onto the table, weary, yet his violet eyes never lost their edge."Girl, you forget where you are. You're a guest in my house. Nothing more."
Aisha snatched a glass of water and hurled it into his face."You won't drag me into this game, Steven. Not after what happened to Falco!"
The name fell like a stone into a still lake. Steven froze, water dripping down his scars. For an instant, his gaze held no fury, only a deep, barely contained pain.
Adrian stepped in, pulling Aisha aside."Enough. Go upstairs."
Steven, still dripping, tossed an old diary onto the table."You want answers? Look in your brother's pages. But remember—truth doesn't always save. Sometimes, it destroys."
Alone in her room, Aisha opened the diary. The smell of old paper enveloped her. She recognized Falco's handwriting, his words smeared with urgency. Tales of hunts, names erased by blood, and one warning written in blurred ink:
"The White Wolf does not die. He changes his skin, but not his fate."
Her pulse raced as she closed the book. Outside, the moon seemed to watch her, and a distant howl rattled the glass.
At dawn, Adrian appeared in the doorway."Rasen will survive. I promise you."
She eyed him with suspicion."Where is he?"
"He's in his initiation. And you must trust that he'll return."
Steven approached behind him, colder than ever."Trust isn't given. It's earned. And this world doesn't forgive the weak."
Aisha clutched the diary against her chest."Then I'll learn not to be weak. And I will find Rasen."
Steven held her gaze. And for a second, behind that coldness, she thought she saw something else: the reflection of a starving child, the echo of someone once saved.
The portal opened, carrying them to a bridge spanning a roaring river. Steven stopped at the edge, staring into the waters as if searching for a lost face."This is where it all began for Falco Valuare… and for me," he murmured.
Flashback: Master FalcoSteven recalled a childhood scarred by loss and despair. Falco had found him in a village ravaged by the Black Plague: a starving boy filled with resentment.
"Quiet, boy. You haven't eaten. Share my food, and guide me out of this place."
At first, Steven resisted, hostile and distrustful. But Falco showed unwavering patience. In time, the boy began to trust him, recognizing the strength and genuine care in his master.
"If you want anything in this life, you must fight for it," Falco told him as they shared a loaf of bread by the fire.
That memory still burned in Steven's mind, guiding him even in his harshest decisions.End of Flashback.
Steven fell silent, and for an instant, his eyes reflected the same fire from that old campfire where Falco had offered him bread.
But Aisha heard another echo, deeper, one that did not come from Steven.
"Aisha…"
Her name resounded in her mind like a distant howl. The air grew heavy, charged with static, as if dawn itself were holding its breath. Mist coiled around her ankles, and a cold shiver climbed her spine, locking her chest.
She turned instinctively, searching. But no one was there. Only the morning fog.
And yet, she knew.
She knew whose voice it was.
And in the deepest part of her soul, Aisha understood: Sanathiel was still fighting to return.