Chapter 33: My Sister Might Still Be Alive

Adrián didn’t sleep that night.

He sat on the bed in his new room with his phone in his hand, staring at his conversation with Yuki.

The last message was from him, sent at three-thirty in the morning.

It simply said:

«Yuki. What you saw wasn’t what it looked like. When you’re ready to talk, let me know. I’m here.»

No reply.

The app showed Seen at seven-fifteen that morning.

Yuki had read it.

She hadn’t answered.

Adrián placed the phone facedown on the nightstand.

Got up.

Washed his face with cold water.

Put on comfortable clothes.

Then went downstairs to the dining room, where Ishtar was already eating breakfast, her red pigtails still messy from sleep and a bowl of cereal in front of her.

"Morning, brother-in-law."

"Ishtar."

"You have the face of someone who didn’t sleep."

"I didn’t sleep."

"Yuki?"

"Yuki."

"Boring."

"Ishtar—"

"It’s an observation. Romantic drama is boring when I’m not involved. Sit down. You’re going to need to eat a lot today. Silvano’s already waiting for you in the library."

Adrián sat.

A lesser familiar served him coffee and placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him without asking.

Adrián thanked them on reflex.

Ishtar looked at him and sighed with the exhausted patience of an older sister.

"Brother-in-law, how many times do we have to tell you not to thank the lesser familiars?"

"It’s a reflex."

"It’s a human reflex. You’re not human anymore. Update your operating system."

"I’m working on it."

"You’re slow."

Adrián ate.

Drank the coffee.

Ishtar talked about whatever came to mind, completely unfiltered, changing subjects every thirty seconds—the color of the dining room curtains, gossip about one of the lesser familiars, the new collection of lollipops she had ordered through the mail, the fact that Kael had left before dawn on a three-day mission to the coast and wouldn’t be back until Thursday.

Adrián barely registered any of it.

His mind was still stuck on the image of Yuki standing in the pool hall doorway with the food container in her hands.

"Brother-in-law."

"Yeah?"

"Brother-in-law."

"Yeah, Ishtar?"

"Pay attention."

"I am paying attention."

"No, you’re not. You’re staring at the rim of your coffee cup like it’s going to give you answers."

She pointed her spoon at him.

"Listen. Today and tomorrow are intensive training days. Silvano in the library this morning. Lira in the training room this afternoon. You’re going to be exhausted. You’re going to get frustrated. You’re going to want to quit three times a day."

She took another bite of cereal.

"That’s normal. We all went through it. Tomorrow night, after training, we prepare for the mission."

"Okay."

"And today, you are not going to think about Yuki."

"Ishtar—"

"You are not going to think about Yuki."

She stared at him.

"You’re going to think about training. Yuki will still be mad tomorrow. And the day after that. Probably next week too. You’re not going to fix anything today by thinking about her while Silvano tries to cram two hundred years of demonic history into your head."

A pause.

"Understood?"

Adrián breathed out.

"Understood."

"Good. Finish your coffee. Let’s go."

---

Silvano’s private library occupied an entire room in the west wing of the twenty-ninth floor.

High ceiling.

Two levels of bookshelves.

A spiral staircase made of dark wood.

Deep green leather armchairs surrounding an enormous worktable.

In one corner, an antique tarot deck had been spread across a piece of black velvet.

In another stood a large whiteboard covered in notes Adrián couldn’t read from the doorway.

Silvano stood in front of the board wearing his round glasses, marker in hand, an open book tucked under one arm.

He looked up when Adrián and Ishtar entered.

"Boy. Punctual. I like that."

"Good morning, Silvano."

"Ishtar, are you staying?"

"For a while. Then I have to go downstairs and supervise lunch. Rhea asked me to stay for the beginning so Adrián doesn’t run away when he sees the material."

Adrián looked at her.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Silvano is about to explain two centuries of demonic history to a nineteen-year-old in four hours. You’re going to run."

"I’m not going to run."

"You’ll want to."

"I won’t want to."

"You will, brother-in-law."

She pointed toward the chair.

"Sit. Silvano, he’s all yours."

Ishtar dropped into one of the leather armchairs with the practiced elegance of someone who had fallen into many similar armchairs throughout her life.

She pulled a lollipop from her bag.

Put it in her mouth.

Crossed her legs.

Silvano looked at Adrián and gestured toward a chair across from the worktable.

Adrián sat.

"All right, boy. Three rules before we begin."

Silvano raised one finger.

"First: if you don’t understand something, ask. There are no stupid questions. Only expensive silences."

A second finger.

"Second: if something contradicts what you thought was true, let the new information in. Don’t fight it just because it makes you uncomfortable."

A third.

"Third: I’m not in a hurry. Neither should you be. We’ll cover what we can today, what we can tomorrow, and everything else will come later."

"Okay."

"Any questions before we start?"

"One."

"Go ahead."

"Why are you teaching me instead of Rhea?"

Silvano smiled.

A very small, very calm smile.

"Good question. Rhea is an excellent mistress and a terrible teacher."

Adrián blinked.

"She gets impatient. She yells. She throws things. She has accidentally injured several new reincarnates during basic lessons."

"...Okay."

"I, on the other hand, have a great deal of patience because I’ve lived for a very long time and no longer have many things left to be anxious about."

"Right."

"Also, I was her teacher when she was your demonic age. And she trusts my judgment when it comes to basic education."

Silvano adjusted the book under his arm.

"When we reach advanced combat, she’ll participate personally. But first you need foundations."

He tapped the board with the marker.

"And foundations are my job."

"Understood."

"Good."

Silvano turned toward the whiteboard.

In neat, old-fashioned cursive, he wrote three words:

FACTIONS. CARDS. RELICS.

Then he turned back around.

"These are the three pillars you need to understand before the mission the day after tomorrow."

He tapped the first word.

"We’ll go in order. Factions first. What do you know so far?"

"That there are three. Demons, angels, Fallen Angels."

"Correct. What else?"

"That they’re in some kind of cold war."

"Correct. What else?"

"...That’s pretty much everything I know."

Silvano nodded.

"Good. Then let’s simplify and expand."

He turned partially toward the board.

"The three factions have existed since before recorded human history. Nobody knows exactly where they came from. There are theories. None proven."

He looked back at Adrián.

"What we do know is that each faction operates under a different power system, a different philosophy, and a different relationship with humanity. Any questions so far?"

"No."

"I’ll continue."

Silvano tapped the word FACTIONS.

"Demons—us—interact with humans through contracts. We feed on the energy generated when a human voluntarily offers us something in exchange for a service."

"Soul, time, favors, promises. Anything."

Silvano raised one finger.

"The key word is voluntarily. A demon who forces a contract loses the power that contract would have generated. That isn’t a moral rule. It’s a rule built into the system itself."

"The system doesn’t respond to coercion."

"Okay."

"Angels operate in the opposite way. They don’t negotiate with humans. They protect humans according to parameters only they seem to fully understand."

Silvano began pacing slowly in front of the board.

"Each angel is assigned to a specific Psalm from an ancient text, and their abilities derive from the theme of that Psalm."

"Some protect cities. Others protect individuals. Others protect abstract concepts like innocence or justice."

He adjusted his glasses.

"They are extremely hierarchical."

A pause.

"And extremely boring, in my personal opinion."

From the armchair, Ishtar snorted.

"Silvano."

"Yes?"

"Angels aren’t boring. They’re insufferable. There’s a difference."

"Ishtar, it’s the same thing."

"It isn’t."

"Very well."

Silvano nodded solemnly.

"Correction. Angels are insufferable."

Adrián smiled.

"I’ll continue."

Silvano turned back toward the board.

"The Fallen. Fallen Angels are angels who, at some point in their history, fell."

"The reason for a Fall is not always the same. Some fell because of rebellion. Others because of love. Some because they doubted. Others for reasons nobody remembers anymore."

He drew a simple wing on the board.

"When they fell, they lost most of their feathers of grace."

He drew several lines falling from it.

"Every lost feather manifested somewhere in the world as a weapon or an object of power."

Silvano turned back toward Adrián.

"A Fallen Angel spends eternity trying to recover those feathers."

Adrián straightened in his chair.

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"Sariel had four black wings. And a spear made of black light."

"Correct."

"The spear is a recovered feather."

"Correct."

"And she has a feather engraved on her ring."

"Correct again. That is the seal of her Fallen House."

Silvano set the book down on the table.

"The Fallen organize themselves into Orders, similar to our noble Houses. Sariel Corvax belongs to the Corvax Order, one of the seven major Orders."

"Her sister, Uriel, is the current matriarch."

Adrián stared at him.

"...So Rhea knows all of this."

"Rhea knows. I know. Everyone in House Alastor knows."

Silvano folded his arms.

"Information about the Fallen Orders is common knowledge among high-ranking demons. Humans never learn about it, obviously. But for us, this is basic political education."

Adrián stared at the whiteboard for several seconds.

"Why do the Fallen kidnap young women?"

Silvano lowered the marker.

Placed it in the tray beneath the board.

Then crossed his arms.

"That, boy, is a question I still can’t answer with certainty."

Adrián watched him.

"Rhea asked me to investigate the matter this week. I’m still gathering information."

He paused.

"What I can tell you is that there are three major theories about why the Fallen specialize in harvesting humans with dormant Relics."

"Okay."

"First theory: they use the Relics as weapons."

Silvano raised one finger.

"They extract the human’s soul manifestation and incorporate it into their own arsenal, almost like adding another feather."

"It’s an old theory. But it has problems."

"Why?"

"Because there’s no clear evidence of Fallen Angels using Relic weapons."

"Second."

Silvano raised another finger.

"Second theory: they sacrifice the carriers to prevent awakening."

Adrián’s expression tightened.

"If a carrier dies before their Relic awakens, that Relic disappears from the world."

Silvano’s voice became more serious.

"The Fallen fear Relics because they are among the few things capable of killing them permanently."

Adrián didn’t move.

"So they could be performing population control."

"..."

"And the third?"

Silvano raised a third finger.

"The third theory is the newest."

A pause.

"And the one Rhea and I currently consider the most likely."

Adrián leaned forward.

"The Fallen are experimenting."

Silence.

"They keep the carriers alive."

Adrián’s eyes sharpened.

"Somewhere."

Silvano continued.

"And they study the dormant Relics. How they manifest. How frequently they appear in the human population."

He paused.

"And whether it’s possible to artificially replicate or transfer them."

Silence filled the library.

Adrián rubbed the back of his neck.

"If the third theory is right..."

Silvano waited.

"...my sister could still be alive."

"She could."

Adrián looked down.

"...Okay."

A breath.

"Okay. Let’s keep going."

Silvano watched him for several seconds.

His attention changed.

Softer.

But direct.

"Boy."

"Yeah?"

"I know what you’re thinking."

Adrián looked at him.

"And I want to tell you something before we continue."

Silvano leaned lightly against the edge of the table.

"Searching for a missing family member is a burden that can’t truly be shared with anyone who hasn’t carried it themselves."

"I carried it."

Adrián went still.

"Rhea carried it."

Another pause.

"Many reincarnated demons have carried it."

Silvano’s voice remained calm.

"And over time, we learned that the only way to survive it is to divide it into small pieces."

"One piece a day."

"One piece a week."

He pointed toward the board.

"Today, your piece is learning basic demonic history."

"Tomorrow, it’s learning to control the Mask."

"The day after that, it’s the mission."

"And after that, there will be another piece."

"Then another."

"Then another."

Silvano looked directly at him.

"And eventually, you’ll reach the answer."

A small pause.

"Or you won’t."

Adrián’s jaw tightened.

"But until then..."

Silvano tapped the table once.

"One piece at a time."

Adrián breathed out.

"...Thanks, Silvano."

"You’re welcome."

Silvano straightened.

"Now let’s continue, because we just lost five minutes and we still have three pillars to cover."

From the armchair, Ishtar slowly clapped three times.

"Silvano, every time you give one of those speeches, I remember why my sister is so fond of you."

"Ishtar."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

Silvano turned back toward the board.

He crossed out FACTIONS.

Then circled CARDS.

"Tarot Cards."

He looked back at Adrián.

"Let’s go."