From the moment Belemir had placed them under his protection Jacob lost all sense of the outside world; he could neither see the battle nor reach anyone beyond, confined instead within a room of shadows.

Yet despite the fear and isolation that pressed down on him, he could not help but notice the care Belemir had taken with the place. It was not an empty void, not a prison of featureless dark, but rather a carefully shaped space that mirrored his own room with remarkable precision, even down to the familiar arrangement of books along the shelves.

It was a small comfort, a silent gesture of reassurance, though Jacob found no peace in it, for though the books stood before him, exact in their appearance, they were unreadable copies, nothing more than shadows, and his mind could not settle to study them.

Worry consumed him instead, heavy and unrelenting, for he had seen what had happened to Mary and the thought that Belemir might share her fate was something he did not want to picture, yet could not drive away.

It was not long before the protection ended. Barely ten minutes, perhaps even less, had passed before the walls of darkness broke apart and the shadow-room released him. For an instant hope flared in him, that Belemir had prevailed, that his attendant had emerged victorious.

But when the world returned and his eyes adjusted, the sight before him struck that hope down at once. Belemir was there, kneeling on the ground, his figure burned and torn, his body scarcely recognizable beneath the wounds and ruin.

His chest was pierced clean through by a blade, and he looked closer to a corpse clinging to its last moments than to the unyielding protector Jacob had always known. The sight made Jacob's vision blur, the edges of the world swimming in his panic.

"Belemir!" he cried, the name torn from him with all the force of his fear, and he tried to throw himself forward, to reach him, to do anything, but something unseen gripped him, a restraint, refusing to let him move. He saw Belemir's expression then, twisted with pain, and before Jacob could even understand what was happening the attendant's form began to unravel, melting slowly into the shadows.

What struck Jacob hardest, however, was not the sight of his body dissolving, but the look of raw dread on his face in the final moment, the fear that bloomed there when the cloaked woman reached down and with a casual motion severed Jacob's shadow.

At once, something Jacob had never consciously thought about was torn from him, the quiet connection that had always existed between himself and Belemir vanished, its absence leaving a hollow, aching emptiness in his chest, as though a part of his being had been cut away.

His eyes lifted in shock, and for the first time he truly saw the woman standing over him. The hood had slipped back, revealing her face in the dim light: pale skin, so white it looked untouched by sun, eyes the deep, unsettling red of fresh blood, teeth sharp and pearly with two long fangs pressing past her lips, and a beauty so precise and flawless it seemed almost unreal.

For a heartbeat Jacob froze, his breath caught, his mind unwilling to process what stood before him. Then recognition followed. He was staring at a race that no human could mistake for anything else.

A vampire.

Among humans, the division between races was simple and absolute, those who could coexist with mankind, and those who could not. Vampires had long been known to belong to the latter, their very existence inimical to human survival.

Though they were capable of feeding from any race, it was humanity they preferred above all, human blood they craved with a hunger that ensured the relationship could only ever be one of predator and prey. And now, standing helpless before this figure, Jacob felt the truth of that divide more keenly than ever.

"Jacob Skydrid," the woman said, "it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, but let us postpone our conversations until we are in a place more fitting for them."

She raised her hand as she spoke, and at once a radiance of deep crimson unfurled from her palm, not the structured weave of mana nor the instinctive aura of a seasoned fighter, but something altogether different, older and heavier, faith, raw and absolute, its texture unlike anything Jacob had ever sensed before.

That force enveloped her, her companions, and Jacob along with Arthur and Jessica, binding them together for the briefest of moments, and then with no warning, no rush of wind or crack of sound, they simply vanished.

The timing could not have been more exact, for scarcely a handful of breaths later two figures descended upon the spot they had abandoned, landing with such force and malice that the stone beneath their feet split and groaned.

Bloodlust radiated from them in waves, thick enough to choke the air, and though the ground was already fractured it seemed ready to break further under the sheer weight of their intent. Isaac and Isa stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the empty space, their fury made only sharper by absence, and their killing intent deepened still, a promise that no corner of the earth would be left unsearched. When the trail was uncovered, there would be no hesitation, no mercy; what followed would not be a skirmish but a slaughter.

Meanwhile Jacob and the others reappeared elsewhere, their arrival as sudden and disorienting as their departure had been.

Jacob wanted instinctively to open his eyes, to take in the new surroundings, but he found he could not; his eyelids refused to part, as though glued together by some unseen force, and when he tried to part his lips the result was the same, sealed, immovable, as if he had been bound without ropes or chains.

His body did not respond to him; thrashing, struggling, even the smallest twitch proved impossible, and the only act left to him was the drawing of breath. Yet even that simple act betrayed him, for each inhalation felt wrong, as though the air itself was not air, but something else entirely, thin and alien, breathable enough to sustain life but hostile to it all the same, a medium that the body could take in yet never adapt to.

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"Watch over them while I contact the cardinal," came a voice, unhurried but edged with command, and Jacob listened helplessly as the sound of retreating footsteps followed. Silence settled soon after, broken only by the faint rasp of breathing, his own, and perhaps that of others but beyond that, nothing, only emptiness that seemed to stretch on without measure.

Time slipped into a formless blur. Jacob could not count it, could not weigh its passing against any familiar rhythm, and his mind, clouded by the strange air pressing on his lungs, faltered further.

The sense of death crept into him slowly but without pause, every breath carrying with it the heavy impression that it might be his last, every moment deepening the panic until his thoughts dissolved into frantic screams that could find no outlet.

He tried everything his fear suggested, straining against invisible bonds, demanding movement from limbs that would not obey, and when desperation reached its peak he even turned inward, calling out to Yggdrasil in the hope that the ancient presence might answer, might intervene, might do anything to sever him from this place.

But no answer came. No voice, no stirring, no sign of aid. There was only silence, only breath that burned rather than sustained, and only the realization that there was no escape.

Then came the sound again, measured footsteps that drew closer across the stone floor, followed by the harsh scrape of a chair being dragged into place. Jacob held his breath as the vampire's voice filled the silence once more, calm yet edged with impatience, "Yes, the child is in front of me."

For a moment nothing followed, a stillness broken only by a faint hiss of static, until she spoke again, her tone sharpening with annoyance. "Injured? He isn't injured, you needn't concern yourself."

Jacob strained his ears, trying to follow the faint rhythm behind her words, and at last he realized what it was, the muffled cadence of another voice carried through some kind of magical transmission.

"Cardinal, I have acquired the boy. What exactly do you need from him?" Her words were clipped, betraying a hint of irritation, and Jacob felt his pulse quicken as the implications settled over him, the growing certainty that they had not come for him by chance.

'Did they discover the truth of the true runes?' he wondered in desperation, his thoughts scattering in every direction as possibilities rose unbidden. 'Do they seek to uncover the power hidden in them, or is it Yggdrasil's seed they want, or perhaps my bloodline itself?' He realized, with a hollow sort of clarity, that there were too many reasons for others to covet him, too many burdens tied to his existence.

"Memories?" the vampire repeated, her voice carrying a note of skepticism. "And how exactly am I meant to do that?" Again the silence stretched, as if she were listening to instructions given from afar, before she sighed and answered in resignation, "Very well. I'll begin."

Jacob flinched as something cold brushed against his forehead, a touch so alien that his whole being recoiled in revulsion. He tried to move, to pull away, but his body betrayed him, still bound and unresponsive, and then the true assault began.

It was subtle at first, like the faintest itch deep within his skull, but quickly it grew, twisting into pain that burrowed deeper and deeper, until it was no longer tolerable. He felt his mind splintering under the pressure, his thoughts scattered and broken by the intrusion, and though he longed to cry out he found no voice to match the suffering.

"Memories," the vampire murmured, her tone almost amused. "Yes, I see some… up until he was eight. Remarkable. The fool actually sought immortality, he tried to step into the realm of the gods, and his brother perished for it." Jacob's chest tightened as the pain sharpened, a spike that made the edges of his vision tremble, and then she spoke again, heedless of his torment. "Deeper? You want me to go deeper? Very well."

The sensation shifted, no longer pressing but scraping, as though some clawed instrument were dragging itself through the folds of his mind, prying loose memories he had thought his alone. The pain became unbearable, layered with the indignity of being opened and read like a book, of having his very self invaded and laid bare.

"I've reached when he was four," she continued, her voice calm as though commenting on nothing more than a ledger. "He was gifted then, yet what a waste, raised in heresy… What? Still deeper?"

The word struck Jacob like a blow. Deeper. He shuddered in his prison, his mind screaming in protest as he resisted with every ounce of will, struggling against the invisible weight that pressed him down. He begged in silence, he fought in silence, but nothing answered, nothing yielded, and he remained helpless, his consciousness torn apart and sifted through like so much sand.

"To the moment of his birth," the vampire said at last, her voice distant, distracted. "Are you satisfied now… What do you mean, deeper?"

In his half-maddened haze Jacob finally managed to grasp the faint edges of the second voice, no longer muffled but distinct enough to carry its authority, harsh and commanding as it cut through the vampire's silence: "Do you think the memories of a child are of any consequence to me? I told you there is something more, something hidden, something that matters, so dig deeper, deeper still, even if it scars his mind, even if you have to tear him apart, find it."

The words lingered in the air like a curse, and as if in obedience the presence inside Jacob's head shifted, no longer methodical or searching but violent, reckless, a force without restraint.

It twisted and turned, thrashing about with a frenzy that shredded his composure, disrupting every fragile thread of thought until his mind was little more than broken fragments spinning in confusion. He felt it claw at him, gnawing at his sense of self, stripping him bare in ways that made every other pain he had endured seem almost merciful by comparison, and for the first time Jacob understood what it meant to stand on the brink of true madness.

And then, through the torment, something changed. He felt the invasion slip past the surface of memory, reaching into a place that was not quite mind yet not quite body, a depth he had never touched, and there he became aware of something else, something that was not his tormentor, nor himself, but an unfamiliar presence lodged in the deepest recess of his being, a faint light that should not have been there.

The moment it was touched the intruding force recoiled, and Jacob heard a scream that did not come from his own throat but from the vampire's, a cry so sharp and visceral that it reverberated in his bones.

Her hand tore itself from his forehead and a heavy thud followed, the sound of her body striking the ground. In the wake of her collapse the violent storm within his head stilled, the clawing presence fading like smoke scattered by the wind, leaving only the echo of its damage and a hollow ache that throbbed with every thought. Slowly, painfully, Jacob managed to steady himself, clinging to the small relief that the pain had lessened, that he was no longer being ripped apart from the inside.

The other voice returned, colder now, stripped of any pretense of patience: "This was expected. Rest for a time and resume afterwards. Continue until you succeed, no matter how long it takes. Even if it lasts only a second, you must glimpse a fragment of what lies within."

The command settled heavily, and the vampire answered with a low grunt of acknowledgment, the sound of frustration and obedience mingled into one.

Jacob felt her lift him then, his body treated with the same carelessness one might give an object rather than a person. He was carried, shifted from place to place, the disorienting sensation of movement pressing upon him. upwards, downwards, through corridors whose details he could not hold onto until finally he was dropped unceremoniously onto cold stone.

His eyes opened with difficulty, the world blotted in crimson at first, his vision clouded by the thin film of blood that had seeped across them. With a trembling hand he rubbed at his face until the haze cleared, and as the red faded to grey he saw his surroundings with tired resignation. Bars, rough stone walls, the stale air of confinement, nothing surprising at all.

He was in a cell.

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