Lost in thought, he whispered to himself:—"What's done is done."
Risas, sensing the heavy burden his brother carried, remained silent. He knew that some wounds could not be healed — only accompanied.
The memory of that dark day at the "Shelter of the Blessed" still haunted Sanathiel. The fire consuming that place, which had hidden atrocious secrets beneath a façade of charity, had carved an unerasable scar in his mind.
Sanathiel vividly remembered the chill that seized his body as he held a child in his arms, fighting desperately to shield him from a cruel fate.
The illusion of kindness crumbled before his eyes, revealing an unimaginable horror: a system of exploitation, abuse, and perversion that preyed upon innocent children.
The "Shelter of the Blessed" was no refuge
— it was a prison. The donations and false smiles concealed dark deals with powerful figures who sought to satisfy their most depraved desires.
The "chosen" children were sold like objects, while the others were relegated to servitude, waiting for the day when their beauty or youth would condemn them to the same fate.
Sanathiel recalled how everything changed that night. The images of horror blurred with the uncontrollable rage that had consumed him. The cries of the child he tried to save, the struggle to stop the abusers, and the moment when the darkness within him was unleashed.
The memory of Manuel, a child with physical deformities, echoed endlessly in Sanathiel's mind. His voice, mixed with sobs and despair, wrapped around him:
—"Just keep your mouth shut, and you won't be next."
Manuel spoke while staring at the flames devouring the black bags. Inside them, the secrets of the "Shelter of the Blessed" were being burned. Watching the shoes of the missing children vanish into the fire along with the hidden sins of the place, Sanathiel felt something inside him shatter.
—"Cover your ears! Do it like me!" —Manuel shouted frantically.—"You're crazy! Come back here!"
But Sanathiel could not ignore the noise coming from behind a closed door. Driven by an impulse he could not resist, he shoved the door open. What he found on the other side would mark him forever.
A robust man, stripped of any humanity, was whipping a child who could barely speak:—"Help… me…"
Sanathiel, heart sinking, whispered in disbelief:—"What... what is this?"
The man turned, flashing a depraved grin:—"Two boys for one. It's my best offer today."
Blinding fury and helplessness overwhelmed Sanathiel's senses. A guttural roar burst from him, silencing everything around.When he came back to himself, the man lay dismembered, bathed in blood. The metallic taste flooded his mouth, and his trembling hands, stained deep red, bore witness to the slaughter.
From the doorway, Manuel watched. In a sudden burst of rage, he kicked the fallen man's head:—"You broke my hand! This is what you deserve!"
Sobbing and screaming, the child continued striking the black bags that hid parts of the man's body:—"You always said you liked getting hit! This is what you like, you bastard!"
Unable to process the horror, Sanathiel wandered out of the room.At the front desk, he overheard other youths speaking coldly:—"If we take his heart now, we can proceed with the transplant. Find a box with ice. I'll make the incision."
Those words were the final blow.The repressed fury within Sanathiel exploded.His unleashed power swept through everything — and everyone responsible.The destruction of the shelter became his only answer to the nightmare he had witnessed.
When the flames died down, a deeper unease grew inside him. It was necessary to erase the memory of that innocent child — the one trapped in chaos, unaware of the dark power that would soon awaken within him.
In the present, Arcángel and Risas remained silent, each weighed down by the return of those memories. The tension between them was thick, like a rope tightening around their throats.
—"Do you really think you can bury that past so easily, brother?" —Risas asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery.
Arcángel clenched his fists, his voice shaking but firm:—"I'm not trying to bury it. I live with it. Every single day."
Risas let out a bitter laugh.—"Live with it? That darkness isn't something you live with, Arcángel. That darkness is you."
—"I know. But that doesn't mean I can't try to redeem myself."
Risas looked at his brother, this time with compassion softening his voice:—"We all have demons to face. But you can't face them alone. Promise me — no matter what happens — you won't carry this alone."
Arcángel nodded, his eyes filled with unshakable resolve.—"We'll face it together. Always."
Risas nodded solemnly.—"No matter what."
They shared a moment of true connection, while the echoes of the forest — the ghosts of their past — continued to hum in their souls. But reality was inescapable: the fate of the children, the lost souls, and the darkness that gnawed at them could not be forgotten.
—"Sanathiel will remember everything... when I die," —Arcángel murmured to himself, his gaze lost in the horizon.
Risas, unable to hold back his anger, slammed his fist on the table:—"You can't give up, Arcángel! If you fall, everything falls apart!"
Arcángel met his eyes, his voice calm and clear:—"In the end, everything will unfold as it must. Until a winner emerges, and the loser... drops the curtain."
His words echoed in the room, heavy with both resignation and strength. It was clear that the memories and experiences they shared had left a permanent scar, shaping their existence in ways neither could escape.
Silence wrapped around them once again, leaving only the whispers of the past and the unspoken promise to face whatever lay ahead — together.
For even if their paths were shrouded in darkness, there was still a spark of hope left.
A spark strong enough to light even the blackest night.