CHAPTER 4:
Dreams bled into dawn, and upon waking, only one name remained—a name Aisha had never spoken: Zaira.
She didn't know if it was an echo in her mind, a stolen memory, or a shard of a dream. But every time she opened her eyes, the word clung to her skin like an invisible scar.
The night air at Unidad Boarding School had turned icy. Too icy.
Aisha stood by the window, watching the moon. This time... the moon watched back.
—You're not alone anymore, whispered the voice inside her. It wasn't hers. It wasn't human.
The book on her lap trembled. Its leather cover pulsed like a living heart. She hadn't opened it... yet it breathed beneath her fingers.
She dared to glance at the last page.
And saw her.
Zaira.
Her face. Her body. Her wounds.
Burning.
—No...— Aisha gasped.
But this was no drawing. The page moved.
Zaira staggered across the parchment, leaving bloody footprints in her wake. Wolves stalked her. And one of them...
Had golden eyes.
Suddenly, Aisha wasn't in her room.
She stood in a forest choked by mist and flames.
Zaira knelt before her.
—I never wanted this for you, she said, voice shattered. —I only wanted you to remember me... not to become me.
Aisha stepped back, trembling.
—Who are you?
—The reason he can't love you without guilt.
—Who?
The wind howled. A silver locket split in two thudded at her feet.
—Sanathiel, Zaira whispered. —He watched me burn. Now he watches you live.
A scream tore through the trees—her own scream, yet not hers.
She woke with the taste of ashes in her mouth.
—Just dreams... Nothing but dreams.
She shook her head and hurried down the hall.
As she turned the corner, she collided with someone.
The impact sent her stumbling, but before she could fall, firm hands gripped her.
—Sorry, murmured a deep voice.
Aisha looked up. The air thickened—dense, electric.
The stranger's eyes were dark, bottomless. Yet something in them felt unnervingly familiar.
Her heart lurched. For a split second, unexpected heat seared her chest—like a spark igniting her from within.
Yet simultaneously, an icy void spread through her stomach—a cold shadow whispering caution.
—You...— she breathed, voice shaking.
On her left wrist, a three-circle scar glowed faintly beneath her slipped sleeve.
The young man frowned. A gold flicker crossed his dark pupils before he bent down, moving with a predator's fluid grace.
—You alright? he asked, handing her a notebook.
Aisha took it. As she did, a loose page fluttered to the floor—open to a sketch of a wolf. Not a normal drawing, but a silhouette built from one word repeated:
SANATHIEL.
The stranger's gaze locked onto the page. His lips curled into an icy smile.
—Wolves always bite in the end, Aisha.
A chill crawled up her spine.
—What...?
He leaned closer, his breath grazing her skin like an invisible threat.
—Red moon dreams are poisonous debts, little thief. And the wolf... smells the blood of those who steal memories.
The air turned suffocating. Aisha froze, blood roaring in her ears.
She blinked.
He was already walking away—a shadow melting into the hall.
Who the hell is he?
Hours later, in class, Aisha tried to focus. But her mind kept replaying the collision.
The lesson droned like distant static until the teacher's voice cut through:
—The newcomer, Rasen, will partner with Miss Aisha.
The entire class held its breath.
Aisha looked up. He was already watching her.
There was something in his stare—in how he slid into the seat beside her—that screamed danger.
His presence was suffocating. His posture, relaxed. Yet every move held the precision of a hunter sizing up prey.
Aisha clenched her pen and began writing.
SANATHIEL.
Unconsciously, she'd scrawled the name again and again.
Rasen tilted his head, expression unreadable.
—Your hand's shaking. Casual tone, but his eyes gleamed with something darker.
Aisha dropped the pen.
—It's not.
Rasen smiled. Not a normal smile. A test. A silent game where she didn't know the rules—or her role.
Later, the empty halls echoed as Aisha entered the bathroom.
Lights flickered. Water dripped from faucets—an irregular countdown.
She stared into the mirror. Dilated pupils. Ragged breath.
—Not real...
But a figure darkened the doorway.
Aisha whirled around.
Rasen stood there. Utterly still.
Rainwater slithered from his black hair and dark jacket. His wide, unblinking eyes were liquid gold—burning with the same promise from her dreams:
The promise of the wolf.
—What are you? Aisha demanded, clutching the notebook like a useless shield.
Rasen pointed at the wolf sketch.
—The same as you. A mistake someone wants to rectify.
Thunder boomed outside.
In the mirror, his reflection shattered into a thousand shards.
Among the fragments, fire-eyed shadows writhed—clawing at the glass from a place not of this world. Twisting with razor-sharp talons.
Aisha stumbled back. Her heart hammered violently.
The dripping changed.
Thicker.
Denser.
Black.
She swallowed hard.
Rasen stepped closer.
—We'll meet soon, Aisha.
Then—as if reality itself had flinched—he vanished.
Rain swallowed his words, but not the symbol hanging in the air, drawn in violet smoke:
S.S.V.
Before fading, Rasen raised his left hand in a near-ritual gesture.
Beneath his soaked sleeve, his three-circle scar pulsed with violet light—like cursed gears syncing with the floating letters.
Aisha stood alone, the notebook trembling in her hands.
The paper weighed like a tombstone. Every heartbeat sent warning echoes through her veins. Yet her fingers clung to it—a poisoned lifeline.
The worst part?
Despite everything... part of her wanted to know more.