Sister Iris guided them with a steady step, her veil brushing lightly against her shoulders as she spoke in a gentle tone.
"The higher ranks have taken the old abbey. Once a house of prayer—now a fortress of your Order."
Étienne de Villeneuve nodded, giving her a small bow.
"Sister Iris, if you would, please show these two boys to their quarters."
"With joy," she answered, her eyes crinkling in a knowing smile.
They passed through a once-holy cloister, where ivy curled around broken arches. Beyond lay a walled garden, fragrant with herbs and faintly lit by lanterns swaying in the night breeze. Iris led them deeper, to a heavy oak door half-sunken into the ground. With a creak, it opened to the abbey's wine cellar.
The air struck them at once—damp, sour, heavy with mold and the faint scurry of mice in the shadows.
Azazel wrinkled his nose.
"This… is our room?"
Juan set his pack down, dust rising from the bare stone floor. "Smells like something died in here."
They unpacked their belongings anyway, laying books, bottles, and tools in careful order. No beds awaited them—only the cold ground.
When they finished looking around Sister Iris was already far from there.
Juan muttered, "We'll have to ask Sister Iris later for… something. A cot, a straw pallet, even a blanket would be better than stone."
Azazel grunted in agreement.
"And a table."
When their things were set, Azazel slipped the Codex from his inner pocket, fingers brushing the cover. He closed his eyes, whispering inward, Grandfather…
Nothing. No ripple. No voice. Only silence pressed back, heavier than the cellar walls.
Frustrated, he tucked the Codex away into the same place where the empty holster rested.
"Let's walk."
Together they stepped back into the garden. Lantern-light swayed over the hedge paths, and voices carried in the night. A group of men and women stood gathered beneath a cypress tree—hunters, dressed in travel-worn coats and robes, speaking low but with the air of comrades.
Two faces turned.
Familiar.
One was Étienne, the Warden of Paris. The other—broad-shouldered, stern-eyed, unmistakable.
Azazel blinked in shock.
"What's he doing here?"
Azazel froze, staring as the realization hit.
"He? Who are you talking about? They are all Wardens of Order branches."
"Wardens?!"
Juan only laughed.
"I'm starting to think that Johann Weyer brought you up in some kind of desert island."
Azazel put two and two together.
It was all clear now.
Basil is the Warden of Constantinople.
"F*ck my life…"
Suddenly, Basil turned his head in the direction of the tree boys were hiding behind.
He disappeared out of their vision.
"Fast, let's get out of here!"