Raphael, the immortal, whose words seemed to speak from heaven itself, told you about a dream that was more like a prophecy. Two predictions woven into one disturbing thread. The first is about the book of the apocalypse, the purpose of which you must fulfill by handing it over to a certain person. The second... the second prediction stuck in his throat like a thorny splinter. It spoke of death, that you would destroy everyone. The horror, cold and sticky, still shackles you at the very thought of it.

You were walking along a long, endless corridor, the walls of which seemed like marble blocks pressing on your shoulders. The air was stale, heavy, and filled with the smell of old paper and something else... something subtly unpleasant, reminiscent of an impending storm. Suddenly, you were stopped by Somnus, your boss, an immortal whose appearance looked more like a statue carved from dark marble than a living being. His voice, usually smooth and calm, was as tense as a taut bowstring. He demanded explanations, asked about the vision.

You couldn't talk about the death, about your potential role in it. Fear paralyzed his tongue, paralyzed his voice. That's when he grabbed your hand. He didn't just take it, but grabbed it – with the iron grip of a predator who feels the proximity of prey.

The world spun around him, swam like oily water. My body felt wobbly, heavy, and unruly. Your consciousness has become clouded, and an enveloping feeling of drowsiness, reminiscent of opium fog, has filled you completely. His gaze… You remember his look. Deep, piercing, as if he looked not just into your eyes, but directly into your very soul, into its darkest and most secret corners. You felt drowsiness pulling you into the abyss of oblivion, like sand being sucked into a swamp.

And then, at the very last moment, before you completely sink into unconsciousness, you were torn from his tenacious embrace. David, his hand was iron but warm, pressed you to him, becoming an impenetrable shield against the threat. His cry–harsh, full of rage and unconditional protection–pierced the fog of drowsiness.:

— «Are you tired of living?! You're not going to hurt her!»