Centuries passed.
Stones crumbled, prayers fell silent, and only the wind remembered the ancient songs.
In the midst of a ruined monastery, lost in the mists of a forgotten valley, Noctéa walked among the debris as if guided by an invisible hand.
Beneath her steps, the earth seemed to breathe.
And around a broken arch, she saw her.
And in the heart of the ruins of a forgotten monastery, Noctéa discovered a tomb.
On the gray stone, a name engraved: Victoria.
The dust of time seemed to watch over her eternal sleep…
Victoria.
Noctéa felt her breath catch.
All around her, the silence weighed heavy, dense as a promise.
She placed her hands on the cold stone, and the grimoire she had been carrying since dawn opened by itself, its pages glowing with a pale light.
The forgotten words of a song appeared upon them, traced in silver ink.
Then, with a trembling but steady voice, Noctéa began the melody.
The wind rose.
The flames died.
And from the tomb, an ancient breath answered.
Victoria awoke.
Her eyes, with the brilliance of a veiled dawn, sought the moon through the collapsed stones.
Dust rose in halos, and the seal of the tomb shattered with a dull rumble.
A presence, gentle and terrible, spread through the hall.
They did not know each other.
Neither sisters, nor lovers, nor enemies.
But a bond united them – woven before time, sealed by the stars themselves.
Two mirror souls, two shards of the same broken moon.
Noctéa, shadow and memory.
Victoria, light and oblivion.
One awakened the other, and together they crossed the night.
Where the world had stopped dreaming, their story began again.
And in the reflections of the dark sky, two moons finally rose.
In the galleries of silence, the stone breathed.
And from slumber, a shadow rose.
Legends will call her Victoria de Sangremare —
but in the tongue of the ancients,
they simply whispered:
The Red Sleeper.
