Rain fell like a whip striking stone. Cassian Holt pulled his hood tighter and walked along the cobbled path leading to the Merrin family home on the edge of the village. In his right hand, he held a rusted iron rosary; in his left, a damp prayer book heavy as sin.The voice had called to him ever since the church bell had tolled three times for no reason — a sign that, in this village, could mean only one thing: someone was possessed.The Merrin house was dark, lit only by a torch dripping oil by the door. From inside came the sound of a woman’s scream, then the crash of something breaking. An old man, his face panicked and his eyes vacant, greeted Cassian the moment he arrived.“Father… she—she bit her own tongue!”Cassian didn’t answer. He pushed the door open, the scent of blood and burning wax filling his lungs. In the center of the room, a young girl named Alene lay on the floor, her body rigid, her eyes wide and glassy. Each breath she took shuddered strangely, as though holdin

Steam curled lazily from the teacup in Cassian’s hands, dancing in the cold morning air.Sunlight pierced through the windowpane, glinting off the faint bruises around his wrist—bluish-purple, like a ghost’s reluctant signature. He brushed them gently, as though the pain were still fresh.Last night, in the middle of Mass, Mara had screamed until every candle went out at once. The congregation shrieked; some ran out of the church. Cassian remembered how the girl writhed on the floor, her eyes rolling back, blood dripping from her nose.But that wasn’t what kept him awake.In his memory, amid the flickering candlelight, he saw a figure holding Mara from behind—a figure cloaked in black, with a cross on its chest.The figure stared at Cassian… with his own face.The cup trembled in his hand. Hot tea spilled over his knuckles, stinging the half-healed skin.“You look paler than usual, Cassian.”Cassian startled. Father Bren stood at the doorway, carrying two slices of bread and that same

The sun pierced through the last veil of mist above the gates of Valenfort, glinting off moss-covered stone rooftops and the slow-fluttering church banners.The carriage halted on the main street leading to the market, and the driver bowed slightly.“We’ve arrived, Father. The basilica is on the northern side of the city, but the road there is quite crowded today.”Cassian nodded, stepping down from the wooden stairs and taking in his surroundings.The city was alive—noisy, colorful, foreign. Children ran by carrying warm loaves of bread, fruit sellers called to customers, and the clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer split the air.After days of hearing nothing but rain and prayer, this bustle felt like another world to Cassian.His stomach twisted with hunger; he realized he hadn’t eaten since the morning before.The aroma of toasted bread and meat stew rising from the stalls made him swallow hard. He stepped toward a small shop with a wooden sign reading El Pan del Sol.The shopkeeper,

Cassian lost his balance.His voice cracked as he demanded an explanation.“I’m sorry, but I truly don’t understand what you’re saying! I’ve never even met you before, let alone done anything that could’ve gotten my brother killed! Explain this to me, Monsignor Ardent!”But Ardent replied coolly, “It’s not time yet, Cassian. Some things must be remembered the right way.”Cassian was still trying to grasp what that meant when two monks came in and, at Ardent’s command, locked him temporarily in the basilica’s sitting room “to calm himself down.”“Monsignor Ardent, why am I being detained?!”“All things that you chase too hard turn into a boomerang. It’s better you compose yourself first.”The two monks quickly pulled Cassian away, not allowing him to speak further. The room was small, with one high window and thick stone walls that trapped the cold air. Cassian sat quietly on the wooden bench, but his mind was in chaos—caught between anger, fear, and a guilt he couldn’t understand.“Oh

Seven years ago.The night outside the window glowed with a cold silver light. The wind shook the old trees in the yard of their grandmother’s long-abandoned house. The air was thick with dust and damp earth, yet that night, two brothers stood in the middle of the living room, watching a shadow on the wall that moved without light.Cassian held a small lantern, while Elias gripped a short sword etched with the sign of the cross.“He’s here,” Elias whispered. “I heard him when we opened the back door.”Cassian took a deep breath. “Don’t act rashly.”“Too late for that, brother.” Elias’s gaze lifted toward the ceiling. “Look.”The ceiling trembled softly. From between the rotten boards, black liquid began to drip—falling to the floor like blood flowing backward.Cassian pulled a small book from his coat pocket—Manual Obscura, a copy of an old scripture known only to the Church’s highest-ranking demon hunters.He read quickly in Latin:“Fiat lux in tenebris, et umbra cadat in nomen Domin