Meanwhile, in the heart of the Community of the Thirteen, the atmosphere was oppressive. The secret chamber, dimly lit by the flickering flames of iron candelabras, seemed to harbor more shadows than light. There, seated on a black marble throne carved with intricate designs, sat Varek—his imposing figure dominating the room.
His deep violet eyes bore into Darian with a mix of disdain and calculation. Standing before him, the former leader held a defiant posture, though in his gaze simmered restrained fury laced with caution.
"Bring me Aisha," Varek finally said, his voice low but brimming with authority. "She belongs to me, and always will."
Darian clenched his fists, feeling anger bubbling just beneath the surface. His voice trembled for a fraction of a second before hardening again.
"What do you plan to do with her, Varek?" he asked, stepping forward. "Aisha isn't a possession or a tool in your power games. If I've learned anything, it's that her humanity is something you'll never understand."
Varek let out a dry, short laugh, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne.
"Humanity?" he repeated with disdain. "Humanity is weakness. And Aisha, Darian, is far more than that. She carries something that belongs to me—something that runs in her blood. And I won't let anyone else claim what is mine. Not even you."
The tension in the room was palpable. Darian, fully aware of the risk in confronting Varek, stood his ground.
"If you harm her, Varek, there won't be a corner of this world where you can hide from me. I swear it."
For a moment, Varek's eyes gleamed with a flicker of rage, but he refused to let Darian's challenge rattle him. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice cold and calculated.
"This isn't a negotiation, Darian. If Aisha isn't under my control, there will be no peace in the Community of the Thirteen—not for her, and certainly not for you. You think you can protect her? Tell me... what will you do when every path leads her back to me?"
The echo of footsteps interrupted them. Varek turned slightly, recognizing the scent before the guard, visibly nervous, knelt before him.
"M-My Lord... your assistant, Mister Ibrahim, has arrived."
The name alone hardened Varek's expression. He had heard enough about Ibrahim's visits to Aisha—and his patience was wearing thin.
Ibrahim entered the chamber with near-insulting confidence. His silver hair and impeccable suit sharply contrasted the severe decor. With a mocking smile, he approached Varek directly.
"Ibrahim himself, at your service," he said, bowing slightly before sitting down across from Varek without waiting for permission. "An honor to be here, Lord Varek. Though I must say, you've changed quite a bit. Dyed your hair? Trying to erase something from the past?"
Varek's icy glare met his sarcasm.
"You're a bold man, Ibrahim, but you forget your place," Varek said, voice low and threatening. "I don't usually tolerate informants who question my decisions."
Ibrahim showed no fear, though his smile lost some of its insolence. "My apologies, my Lord. I only came to deliver my report… and perhaps a warning."
With a gesture, Varek ordered the guards to surround Ibrahim, but before they could drag him out, Ibrahim spilled the contents of the box he carried onto the table. Blue roses tumbled out—symbols of his visits to Aisha.
"The roses, Ibrahim." Varek picked one up, turning it between his fingers. "They're lovely, but I suggest you save them for another occasion. Aisha is beyond your reach."
That night, Varek retreated to his chambers, but rest eluded him. As he sank into a hot bath, the dye in his hair began to fade, revealing his natural color—a silvery gray that contrasted with his violet eyes. His reflection in the mirror forced him to confront an uncomfortable truth.
"Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't know if I'm Luciano's son... or just the echo of what Aisha left behind."
He ran his fingers through the strands of his short, straight hair.
"What am I becoming?" he murmured, touching the fading scar on his chest—the scar from which he felt something essential within him was unraveling.
What was he without his wounds? What remained beyond the power... and the obsession?
Still, his mind returned again and again to Aisha. The girl who defied him, confused him, and drew him in with a force he couldn't fully comprehend.
He remembered her laughing barefoot on the academy grass. He had truly loved her. But now he didn't know if it was her—or merely the idea of her—that he refused to let go.
He rose from the water, letting the chill of the night wrap around him. He walked to the large window of his room, gazing at the flickering lights of the Community in the distance.
"Aisha... I won't lose you." His voice was a whisper steeped in resolve. "Not to Sanathiel. Not to Sariel. Not even to Darian."
Varek knew his obsession with Aisha was both his strength and his downfall. But he also knew that to keep her under his control, his next move had to be flawless.
And as the first ray of sun touched the forgotten family ring lying on his desk, he understood—there would be no turning back.
"If the sun rose to blind the world, Varek had already made his choice. It didn't matter what he had to do—or who had to fall. Aisha would be his. And the world would understand that very soon."