93. "The Pact of the Ebony Wolf"
The tunnel was endless. Its damp walls whispered ancient secrets, and the echo of her footsteps sounded like a drum marking the time of her captivity. Aisha couldn't see anything; the blindfold over her eyes was both physical and metaphorical, and every step she took was guided by the firm hand of Salomon.
She didn't know how long it had been since they dragged her out of Cristal's mansion. Her body still ached from the blows and cuts she had suffered, but what weighed on her most was the uncertainty. Finally, they stopped.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked, her voice more defiant than fearful.
"Because you no longer need the blindfold," Salomon replied calmly.
With slow, almost ceremonial movements, he slid the fabric from her eyes. Aisha blinked, adjusting to the dim torchlight. The first thing she saw was Salomon's face, lit by dancing shadows. His pale blue eyes looked at her with an intensity that made her shiver, but what unsettled her most was the restrained emotion in his gaze—as if he were seeing a ghost.
For a moment, he said nothing. His chest rose and fell, and the silence grew thick, heavy.
"What's wrong?" Aisha frowned, sensing something in the air had shifted.
"Zaira…" he whispered, barely audible.
A sharp discomfort twisted in Aisha's chest at the mention of the name. "Who was she?" she wondered, as an eerie déjà vu crept over her. She didn't want to be someone's reflection—but something in Salomon's words struck a deep chord inside her.
Salomon looked away, as if the mere mention of that name caused him pain. His voice was low and heavy when he replied:
"You're just like her. Your gaze, your resolve… even the way you hold your rage like a weapon."
Aisha narrowed her eyes. The comparison made her uneasy.
"I'm not her," she said firmly.
"I know," Salomon answered with a bitter smile. "But that doesn't change what I see."
A sudden chill crawled down Aisha's spine as he continued:
Salomon closed his eyes, as if the memory of Zaira was too painful to bear. "She was everything to me," he murmured, his voice cracked by emotion. "And Sanathiel… he took her from me. I couldn't save her."
The name Sanathiel made Aisha's heart pound. There was something strange in the way Salomon spoke of him—not pure hatred, but something more complex. Something deeper.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"Because a witch warned me, years ago, that I would meet her again. Not as she was, but as a reflection… a spark that would reignite something I thought I'd lost."
The air seemed to thicken around her. Salomon's words felt too heavy, too full of meaning.
"Are you saying that I…?" she asked, stepping back.
Salomon looked at her intently, his burning gaze piercing into her.
"Yes. I knew it the moment I saw you in that battle… and I confirmed it at the mansion."
His words fell over Aisha like a storm. What did it mean to be a reflection? Was it a chance to change fate—or just another form of condemnation?
"What do you want from me, Salomon?" she asked, her voice now steady.
"I want to give you something Sanathiel never did: freedom. You can break the chains he placed on you—chains they call destiny. Train with me. Learn what you need to end the prophecy. I'm not here to control you, Aisha. I want you to find your own power."
The words echoed in her mind. She watched him with distrust, but deep inside her, a flicker of curiosity was born.
"And what do you gain from this?" she asked.
Salomon took a step closer, his face inches from hers. "You, as an ally. As an equal. Or maybe… as something more." His fingers brushed softly against her lips.
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
In the days that followed, Aisha immersed herself in the training. Every blow, every fall, every scar was proof of her transformation. Salomon watched her with a mix of pride—and something else he didn't dare name.
One night, as the fire crackled in the hearth, Salomon approached her.
"Do you know what you are, Aisha?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"What am I?"
"You are more than just a human woman. You are Nevri. One of us. It was your presence that awakened Sanathiel's true power. And it is through you that this cycle can end… or begin again."
A chill ran down Aisha's spine. She wasn't sure what was more terrifying: the truth in his words or the power that, deep down, she had always known was there.
She no longer needed proof. She had always felt it—on her skin, in her dreams.
"If that's true," she whispered, "then I have even more reason to fight it. But I don't trust you, Salomon."
He smiled—not with mockery, but with something closer to satisfaction.
"I'm not asking you to trust me. Only to let me stand by your side."
Aisha looked down at her hands, marked by bruises and small cuts. The echo of his words lingered: "I want to give you freedom." Was it possible? Her body was exhausted, but her mind had never been clearer.
For the first time, she felt she could take back control of her destiny—though she still wasn't sure who deserved her trust.
As Aisha grew stronger and adapted to her new reality, Salomon couldn't help but feel he had found more than an ally in her. He had found hope—a connection he thought he'd lost forever.
But they both knew the path ahead was treacherous.
"The prophecy still loomed over them like a shadow—and the destiny that bound them… could also be the one that tore them apart."