The stone beneath Azazel's feet was cracked and blood-streaked from hours of relentless training. Ino lay nearby, wiping sweat from his brow, his chest rising and falling in slow exhaustion.
"Good form today," Ino muttered. "You're starting to look less like a merchant's heir and more like a hunter."
Azazel smirked faintly. "You mean I've finally earned the right to stand in your shadow? I've already received the education in various areas you would only dream of."
Ino chuckled. "Tch. Not bad."
Then he stood, stretching his arms and shoulders. "Anyway, enjoy the sparring while you can. We'll be gone for a while."
Azazel's eyes narrowed slightly. "Gone?"
Azazel raised a brow. "We?"
Ino nodded. "Yeah. Me and Hypathia leave in three days. Three or four months abroad."
"Where to?"
Ino paused. "Just... out west. Some training abroad."
Ino glanced sideways. "Don't worry about it."
Before Azazel could press him, Hypathia walked by, slinging a bag over her shoulder. "You'll manage on your own, pretty boy," she said with a smirk.
Azazel didn't reply. His thoughts were already spinning.
His mind, however, was racing. He knew. He already knew all of this. Giovanni and Melissa told him everything in secret—about the ashes of a former hunter being required for the ritual, about the limited places for initiation granted by the Vatican this year. And most importantly… about his grandfather's ashes being the only choice for Azazel.
So why… why hadn't Basil said anything?
The thought festered.
Hand placed on his shoulder returned him to reality.
"I hope that after we're back you're gonna be able to beat us," he looked at Hypathia, smiling.
After Melissa and Giovanni asked if Azazel was going to participate with words like 'it's a great chance for you' and 'haven't Basil tell you yet?', they even questioned the professionalism of their old friend – Basil.
They wanted to go to him and argue with him, but Azazel begged them to just keep everything a secret and leave the rest to him.
Azazel doesn't need confirmation now. Basil doesn't want him to go to Paris.
The thought festered.
That night, back in the underground chamber, Azazel sat cross-legged in front of the Codex. Books lay around him — theological, historical, ritualistic — but his mind couldn't focus. His eyes flicked back to Johann Weyer's journal.
He turned pages he had read a dozen times, hoping to find something new.
But again — just cryptic phrases.
Azazel clenched his fists.
He was running out of time.
He had focused everything on training his body, sparring day and night, mastering short bursts of the Codex's borrowed power — 43 seconds at 30% was now his record.
But he had neglected his mind, he's even forgotten some of the knowledge he'd learnt.
And there were only four weeks left.
Two weeks are needed to get to Paris.
So he's left with only two weeks.
No, less than three days.
Because now it was obvious: Basil wasn't going to let Azazel go to Paris.
Whether to protect him or to give Ino a better chance, Azazel couldn't tell. But his trust in Basil was no longer whole.
"Why didn't he tell me? Why not ask me?"
Azazel started to think about how to steal the urn with ashes he saw Basil show him before.
First, he decided to focus on divining its location.