The moon hung heavy over the ruins, casting a cold glow. Giovanni stood, hands trembling around the ritual dagger, the blade gleaming like liquid fire. Before him, a man kneeled—his eyes wide with terror. Giovanni felt nothing. Remorse was long gone.

With a swift motion, Giovanni drove the blade into the man’s neck. The scream was drowned by the rush of blood, crimson arcs painting the ground. Giovanni watched, transfixed by the beauty of it—the blood gleaming like rubies in the moonlight. It was art, it was transcendence.

The scent of iron mingled with incense. The man’s body twitched as life drained away. Giovanni's pulse quickened, the stars whispering their secrets to him. He had forsaken the world of the living, consumed by the knowledge the stars offered. Each death brought him closer to a hidden truth—one unlocked by blood. Giovanni was no longer a man. He was a vessel for the stars' will.

The body slumped, the blood pooling on the stone. Giovanni wiped the blade clean, slipping it into his cloak. Silence enveloped him as the whispers returned. The truth was near, but still out of reach.

★

Giovanni sat at the bar, the warmth of the room pulling him from his dark thoughts. The usual noise was distant. His eyes locked on the woman on stage, her voice weaving through the air like a melody. Giovanni’s breath caught, the stars whispering clearer than ever. A truth. A revelation. It was her. Without thinking, Giovanni rose, his gaze intense. As her performance ended, he approached her.

“Haven’t seen you around,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with whiskey. “Name’s Giovanni,” he said, smirking. “But you can call me Gio.” Their glasses clinked softly. He leaned in, eyes never leaving hers. “And your name, Золотце?”