The motel lights flickered once, twice—then died.
Darkness fell thick and absolute. The air grew colder, heavy with the copper taste of coming violence.
Aira's breath hitched. The stranger—still nameless—stepped forward, his blade humming faintly as if alive.
"Stay behind me," he said. His voice carried no fear, only memory.
Outside, gravel crunched. Footsteps—measured, slow, deliberate.
Through the window's broken glass, five figures emerged from the fog. Their eyes glowed silver under the crimson moon. The leader, the white-haired woman, raised her hand, and the others spread out, forming a semicircle around the motel.
Her voice cut through the night. "Step aside, Remnant. The girl carries the mark."
The stranger didn't move. "You still call me that?"
"You forfeited your name when you betrayed the Covenant."
Aira whispered, "Who are they?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he whispered a single word—"Run."
But she didn't. Something inside her refused to move. The mark on her wrist burned like fire, pulsing faster than her heart.
The first hunter charged. Inhumanly fast.
The stranger raised his hand. The air cracked like lightning. The hunter slammed backward into an invisible wall, bones snapping. He fell, motionless.
Another two leapt through the broken doorway, blades flashing. The stranger met them mid-air—his own weapon singing through the dark. Sparks erupted as metal met something older than metal.
Aira watched in shock. He moved like water, each motion precise, effortless. But for every blow he struck, the hunters answered with wards that glowed blue-white, symbols spinning through the air.
"Binding circle!" one shouted.
Blue chains whipped from their hands, wrapping around the stranger's limbs. He dropped to one knee, teeth bared. His eyes flared gold, then crimson. The ground cracked beneath him.
The hunters strained, sweat shining on their foreheads. "Hold him!"
Aira's instincts screamed to flee, yet something inside her—something ancient—rose instead.
She reached for the stranger without thinking. The mark on her wrist exploded in light.
The chains shattered like glass.
Every hunter was thrown backward by the shockwave. The motel walls trembled. Windows burst outward in a rain of shards.
When the dust cleared, Aira stood glowing faintly silver, the same aura that had surrounded the coffin. Her eyes shimmered with reflected moonlight.
The white-haired woman slowly got up, blood running from a cut on her cheek. "Impossible," she whispered. "She's only human."
The stranger rose behind Aira, free again, his expression unreadable. "Not anymore."
---
The fight resumed in chaos.
One hunter drew a pistol engraved with runes and fired. The bullets hissed like burning salt, dissolving the floor where they landed. The stranger blurred, dodging every shot. When he reappeared, he was behind the shooter.
A whisper, a motion—then silence.
The man fell before he even realized he was dead.
Another hunter lunged at Aira, but she raised her arm instinctively. A ring of silver light burst from the mark, catching the attacker mid-step. The air thickened; the hunter froze in place as though time itself hesitated.
Aira gasped, stumbling back. The light dimmed. The hunter collapsed, unconscious.
She looked at her hands, shaking. "What did I just do?"
The stranger turned toward her. "You woke your blood."
"That doesn't explain anything!"
"It will," he said. "But only if you live long enough to hear it."
---
The last hunter, the woman with white hair, advanced alone now. Her weapon—a blade of silver etched with a symbol that pulsed with its own heartbeat.
"You can't protect her, Remnant," she said. "You were made to guard the coffin, not its heir."
He lifted his sword, black steel gleaming in the dim light. "I was made to choose."
They clashed.
The sound rang through the empty parking lot like thunder. Sparks showered the ground, burning through puddles. Each strike rippled through the air, bending it. She moved with inhuman precision; he countered with fury that came from centuries of silence.
Aira couldn't tell who was winning. All she knew was that both were fighting for her—and against something much larger.
Finally, the woman feinted, spun, and slashed upward. Her blade carved a shallow line across the stranger's chest. Smoke rose from the wound—not blood, but shadow.
He grimaced. "Still blessed by the Seraphs, I see."
She smiled grimly. "Still cursed by them, I see."
They locked blades again.
"Why protect her?" the hunter demanded. "You know what she'll become."
His voice was low, raw. "Because what she becomes is the only thing that can save what's left of this world."
Her expression flickered—hesitation, doubt—but she didn't lower her sword. "Then you've already doomed us all."
The moment's pause was all he needed. He stepped forward, pressed his palm against her chest, and whispered something Aira couldn't hear.
Light exploded.
When it faded, the woman lay unconscious on the ground, her weapon shattered beside her.
The stranger stood breathing hard, one knee on the cracked pavement. The shadow leaking from his wound swirled before fading.
He looked at Aira. "We need to move."
She stared at the fallen hunters. "Are they… dead?"
"No," he said. "That's why we must leave before they wake."
---
They drove through the night.
The road wound through mist-covered pines, moonlight slicing between branches. Neither spoke for a long time. Aira kept replaying the battle in her head—the light, the power, the way the world itself seemed to bend around them.
Finally she asked, "What are you?"
He hesitated. "I was once called a Keeper. One of seven created to guard the boundaries between life and what waits beyond."
"And now?"
"Now, I'm what remains of that purpose."
She frowned. "That's not an answer."
He smiled faintly. "You're starting to sound like someone who's seen too much to believe simple answers."
"Maybe I have."
He nodded toward her wrist. "That mark—the seal of lineage—it means you carry the essence of the First Blood. The one entombed beneath Saint Corvin's. When your blood touched his coffin, it reawakened the bond between you."
"So he's… related to me?"
"Not by birth," he said softly. "By origin. Your family descends from those who first bound him. But power, once bound, never forgets its own."
Aira looked out the window at the endless forest. "If they bound him, does that mean he was evil?"
The stranger's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Evil is a word the weak invented to describe what they can't control."
"Then what was he?"
He glanced at her. "He was eternal. And eternity breaks everything it touches."
---
Hours later, they stopped at a bridge overlooking the lake. The water glowed faintly red beneath the moon, swirling as if alive.
Aira stepped out, wrapping her jacket tighter. The air hummed with energy. Somewhere deep below the surface, something stirred—she could feel it, the same pulse as before, slower but stronger.
"He's down there, isn't he?" she whispered.
The stranger joined her. "Not yet. But soon."
"And when he wakes?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then: "When he wakes, everything that crawled out of myth will remember who they served."
She turned to him. "And me?"
He looked at her, eyes glowing faintly again. "You'll have to decide whether to become what you were meant to stop."
Aira shivered. "What if I don't want any of this?"
He smiled sadly. "Neither did I."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The wind carried the distant sound of church bells—three slow chimes echoing across the valley.
The stranger's expression darkened. "They've found us again."
From the forest beyond the bridge, shadows moved—figures with burning eyes, low growls rumbling through the mist. The wolves were coming.
He stepped forward, blade ready. "Stay behind me."
Aira lifted her glowing wrist. "No. This time, I help."
The first shape lunged from the trees, teeth bared, claws flashing.
The night erupted into chaos again—silver light and blood, shadow and fire, the old world clawing its way back into the new.
And above them, the blood-red moon smiled.