The library had grown colder, though neither of them noticed. The silence stretched, only interrupted by the soft rustling of old parchment and the distant creak of branches brushing against the windowpanes. Belbub stared into the flickering candle, the flame reflected in his glassy eyes.
Then, he broke the silence.
"How do you know about this?"
Vera, still standing beside the table, placed a hand gently over her chest. Her expression softened, but the shadows in her eyes deepened. "My grandmother once told me… back when I was a teenager. Just a story, or maybe something more."
"A prophecy?" Belbub asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Some said it was. Some said it was myth, folklore, or an old tale meant to scare children. I never understood which."
"And what did your grandmother tell you?" Belbub's voice was low, steady.
Vera looked down, gathering her thoughts. "It was a story… but not one easily spoken aloud. A tale filled with things too heavy for children, and too dangerous for adults."
She took a deep breath and began.
"A story of friendship…
A story of sorrow…
A story of fragile hope…
A story of betrayal…
A story of hatred…
A story of broken love…"
Her voice trembled slightly at the last words.
"It was never written," she continued, "just passed down in whispers. My grandmother… she lived through things we don't speak of anymore. She believed the story was more than just a memory. She said: 'This story can't be understood by the mind—only felt by the heart.'"
Belbub's eyes darkened. "What about the line… 'A faceless monster with no identity—hidden deep within the source of all life. A being that tried to become a god, but failed…'?"
Vera blinked in surprise and slowly shook her head. "No… I've never heard those words before."
Silence settled once again, deeper now, heavier.
"There were two stories," Vera whispered after a pause. "But my grandmother only told me one. The other… she never spoke of. Only said, 'The second story is sealed. It waits for the wrong moment to awaken."
Belbub leaned back slowly in his chair, absorbing the words like poison and nectar alike. "Then it was never part of the story your grandmother shared," he murmured. "And the story she told you—was it just riddles?"
Vera's expression tightened. "Hazy memories. Scattered words. But there was one part I remember clearly. A boy. A boy with immense charisma. The kind of light people can't help but follow…"
She paused, lowering her eyes. "…but no one could tell that he would become the devil. That one day, he would do something—something so unspeakable—that the world itself would question if it ever truly knew him."
Belbub's brows furrowed, his voice slow. "The fall of a star…"
"I don't know if it was true," Vera admitted. "But the pain in my grandmother's eyes when she spoke those words… That wasn't fiction."
Belbub rubbed his hands together, deep in thought. "We call it a story. But even stories leave behind questions that haunt generations."
A thick silence blanketed the room. Neither dared to speak for several moments.
Then Vera spoke softly, "Do you believe Clark's words now?"
Belbub remained still for a long while. Finally, he said, "I don't know what to believe anymore, Vera. The lines between fairy tale and prophecy blur more every day. But there's one truth I can't deny—Elijah is connected to all of this."
He looked at Sasha's photo once more, and his voice grew firm.
"And until I have a single drop of blood left in this old body… I will protect him."
Vera placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The room felt colder now, the wind pressing harder against the glass.
The candle flickered.
Outside, the wind whispered through the ancient towers of the academy like a voice forgotten by time.
The shadows deepened.
The story was not over.