Sanathiel closed his eyes.
But the darkness didn't bring peace—only echoes. Not his own. Not entirely.
He saw a garden.
A hanging garden bathed in filtered sunlight. Roses bloomed in impossible colors—blue, red, yellow—and between them, a little girl ran, barefoot and laughing. Her basket spilled crimson petals across the stone path.
He saw himself—young, unsure—stepping toward her.
"Are you alright?" he asked, voice cracking with youth.
The girl looked up. Her eyes were green—brilliant, piercing. Something ancient swirled in them.
"Thank you, kind knight," she said, curtsying like a child from a lost fairytale.
"Your name?" he breathed.
"Aisha," she replied, whispering it like a secret she wasn't supposed to know.
And then, the memory snapped like a thread stretched too tight.
Sanathiel gasped, eyes flying open. The vision was gone—but the ache it left behind was real.
How could he miss someone he didn't remember?
How could he remember someone he was never meant to meet?
The voice came again. Whispered. Familiar.
"Sanathiel…"
He froze. That name wasn't just sound—it was vibration, calling to something buried deep beneath his skin.
Sariel.
The name ignited like a match in his mind. His brother. His twin in fate. Once ally. Now stranger.
"Don't play games," he growled into the dark. "I'm not your pawn anymore."
He opened the drawer, hand trembling, and pulled out the paper.
A rough sketch stared back at him—Aisha's face, drawn from memory. From visions. From dreams. Her features were soft, but her eyes…
Her eyes knew too much.
"Why does she remember me?""Why does she have the medallion?"
He crushed the drawing in his fist.
"Maybe she's the key…"
"Or maybe she's another trap."
He stood and strode to the window. Neon lights painted the skyline in false moonlight. Below, the world pulsed with life—cars, crowds, human noise. All of it distant. None of it mattered.
Tonight, he would find her.
Tonight, the hunt began.
Elsewhere… Colegio Mayor Unidad:
Aisha tried to focus. The heat in the classroom clung to her skin, but a chill ran down her spine.
Something's watching me.
The thought came unbidden. She brushed it off—but when she walked past the shattered stained-glass window in the hall, her breath caught.
The red moon, painted in jagged glass, stared down at her.
It was the same moon from her dreams.
From her nightmares.
"Just dreams," she muttered.
"Nothing more."
She turned the corner—and collided with someone.
Books flew. Her balance faltered. Before she could fall, strong hands caught her.
"Sorry," a low voice murmured.
She looked up.
And everything stopped.
His eyes were deep, dark—too deep. Too knowing. His face was unfamiliar… yet not.
Heat rushed to her face. Then, cold.
A name tickled her thoughts—but died before reaching her lips.
"You…?" she whispered.
He bent down, gathering her notebook. A single page fluttered to the floor, half-covered in repeated words:
Sanathiel.
He smiled—just a twitch of his lips. Not warmth. Not friendliness. Something else.
"Do you like fairytales, Aisha?" he asked.
"W-What…?"
"The wolves always bite at the end."
And then he was gone, walking down the corridor like a shadow with no source.
Aisha's legs moved before her mind caught up. She didn't understand—but part of her needed to follow.
That Night...
Sanathiel stepped out of the limousine. The hotel lights reflected off his black coat, but he was thinking only of one thing: the girl.
Inside, a woman at the front desk greeted him.
"Welcome, Mr. Ruanda. Anything special you require?"
"No."
He entered the elevator. As the doors closed, he saw his reflection.
Golden eyes. Sharp jaw. Elegance hiding a beast.
"You remember me, Aisha. But I don't remember you."
"Why?"
Meanwhile, in her dorm...
Aisha flipped through a dusty book she didn't remember checking out.
The title stopped her cold:
"The Nevri Lineage."
Her pulse quickened. She ran her fingers over the ancient pages.
Wolves. Symbols. Curses.
Somewhere far from her, Sanathiel's breath caught.
Their minds brushed—like fingers reaching across time.
"Soon, Aisha…"
"Soon."
At midnight, both lay awake.
Aisha sat beneath her window, staring at the moon.
Sanathiel stood on a rooftop, wind cutting through his coat.
In her hand, a page torn from the book: a silver wolf etched beneath a crimson moon.
In his hand, a shard of his broken medallion.
They looked up—at the same sky.
And whispered, in perfect unison:
"Why do I remember you?"
"who are you for me?
Then a wolfish grin crossed his face as the car sped down the road. And she remained silent wachet of the moon.