They had barely managed it—slipping away from Basil's sharp eyes, darting through the bushes and trees like ghosts. The boys stumbled up a narrow stairwell, breath held, and only when the second floor swallowed them in shadows did they dare to pause.
Azazel leaned against the wall, chest heaving.
"That was too close."
"Why did we ran away like some kind of criminals?!"
"I'll tell you later…"
He stopped midsentence. Shivers ran down Azazel's back.
From the corner of the corridor, a shape moved. A figure clothed in the dark robes of a nun slid out from the shadows. Her wrinkled face looked terrifying.
Sister Iris.
Her sudden appearance made both of them jolt. For a moment, Azazel thought she was some phantom born from the abbey's stones.
"You boys startle easily," she whispered, her voice soft but chilling.
Azazel swallowed, then straightened.
"Can you bring us something? Straw mats, maybe a table. Anything… We can't sleep on stone."
Iris tilted her head, eyes glinting in the dim torchlight.
"This abbey has its stories," she said instead. "Once, long ago, monks here dabbled in what was forbidden. Their screams were said to echo even after their bones turned to dust. They say if you listen at night, the stones still remember…"
Juan muttered, "Comforting."
They continued their slow walk through the corridor. Other nuns and servants crossed their path, their pale faces emerging from the dark like apparitions. The air felt heavy, the silence too sharp.
And then—another figure.
This one in a black hunter's coat, simple yet commanding. The Grandmaster.
Azazel froze as the older man's steps echoed toward them. At once, he reached into his mind, trying again to call Johann through the Codex.
"Grandfather, say something …Anything."
Silence.
Only his own curses echoed inside his head.
The Grandmaster inclined his head politely toward Sister Iris, then shifted his gaze to Azazel.
"Help him," he said to her calmly. "Make sure he has what he needs."
Azazel bristled.
"I don't need your help."
A faint smile tugged at the Grandmaster's lips.
"From today, you are my apprentice. Tonight, at supper, I will introduce you as such. That is not a choice—it is a promise I have already given."
Azazel's fists clenched, but before he could speak, the Grandmaster leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Keep your identity secret. There are many—hunters, even priests—who could not best Johann in life. Now, they may think to strike at his blood. Do not give them the chance."
With that, the Grandmaster turned. His black coat brushed the stones as he disappeared around the corner.
"Wait—!" Azazel called, rushing a step forward.
But the hall was empty. The corner revealed nothing. Only shadows.