Chapter 2: The Blood Pact

The old town of Naples remained noisy at midnight, with the intermittent clamor of street vendors and distant car horns echoing through the air, like an endless cacophony that refused to fade. In Giovanni's room, moonlight streamed through the weathered window, casting a faint glow on the desk where the bronze ring glimmered with a subtle blue light, pulsing like a restless heart. Two hours had passed since the shocking encounter in the bathroom, and Arethia had returned to the ring, leaving Giovanni alone to grapple with it all. His heartbeat still hadn't settled, his mind relentlessly replaying the charred letter from his father and the figure who had emerged from the mirror—her ghostly presence lingered like a haunting specter.

He sat in his chair, hands cradling his head, trying to untangle the chaos within. His father's letter loomed over him like a thick fog—"betrayed," "the Vatican's 'shadows,'" "the fate of the world"—these words stabbed into his consciousness like blades, denying him peace. He took a deep breath, finally mustering the courage to whisper, "So… what should I do?" His voice trembled slightly, fragile as a candle flickering in the wind.

The ring remained silent for a moment before Arethia's melodious yet faintly weary voice emerged: "If you wish to become my master, you must use your blood to complete the pact."

The words made Giovanni's body stiffen slightly. A ritual with blood? It sounded like some forbidden magic, stirring memories of his father's letter and that phrase, "betrayed." He instinctively touched his fingers, the image of his father's smile from their last video call flashing through his mind—his only anchor, now an unreachable phantom. "The things Dad left behind… should I really accept them?" he murmured under his breath, his heart wrestling between fear and duty. His hands clenched into fists unconsciously, nails digging into his palms, leaving faint red marks.

"Why would you trust me?" Giovanni lifted his head, his voice tinged with urgency. "We've never met. How do you know I'm not a bad person? And…" He paused, his gaze settling on the ring. "What are the 'shadows' mentioned in the letter? Do you know?"

Arethia let out a soft chuckle, her tone laced with a hint of helplessness. "Master, I can sense the essence of your soul. It's pure and steadfast, much like my mentor's. For three thousand years, I've waited for someone worthy of trust, and now, I believe that someone is you." She paused briefly, her voice growing somber. "As for the 'shadows,' I can only say they might be traitors from Troy, those who abandoned the mission of our temple. Their power lurks in the darkness, and even I don't know the full truth."

Giovanni looked out at the moonlight, his father's letter and Arethia's words intertwining in his mind, pressing down on him with a heavy weight. He stood and paced the room, his footsteps creaking on the old wooden floor, trying to shake off the growing dread. The ring lay quietly on the desk, as if awaiting his decision. He stopped, whispering, "If I become your master, what does that mean?"

"It means I will fully submit to you, becoming your most loyal servant," Arethia replied, her voice calm and resolute. "Whether it's combat, protection, or…" Her tone shifted, taking on a teasing edge, "fulfilling any need of my master, it's my duty. Summon me, and I can take physical form to serve you. But remember, once the pact is sealed, this bond will last until the end of your life."

Giovanni's face flushed slightly, and he cleared his throat to mask his embarrassment. Yet his mind flickered to the charred edges of his father's letter, the unfinished warning lodging in his heart like a thorn. He scratched his head, asking tentatively, "So… why are the Vatican's 'shadows' after this ring?"

"Because they've uncovered certain ancient prophecies," Arethia explained, her voice tinged with gravity. "These prophecies are tied to the secrets of Troy, and the ring is their key. But as long as you complete the pact, even if the ring falls into their hands, my soul will answer only to you."

Her words had barely finished when an unusual sound erupted from downstairs. Footsteps approached, heavy and urgent, like a pack of stealthy beasts closing in, shattering the brief calm of the room. Giovanni's heart jolted, his hand instinctively pressing against the ring, its warmth offering a sliver of reassurance.

"Someone's coming!" Arethia's voice rang out sharply, laced with alarm. "Decide quickly. Will you become my master?"

Giovanni's breathing quickened, his father's smile and the letter's warnings flashing through his mind like lightning tearing through the dark. He knew this choice would change everything. He clenched his jaw, Arethia's earlier words echoing in his head: "No matter who they are, I'll protect you." That promise became his lifeline, steeling his resolve. He looked up, whispering, "I will."

"Good," Arethia said, a trace of relief in her voice. "Draw a circle on the ring with your blood, then say: 'I, Giovanni Russo, with my blood as proof, accept you as my eternal servant.'"

Giovanni picked up a small knife from the desk, its blade glinting coldly in the moonlight. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the ring, then whispered, "Could the 'shadows' be the ones downstairs?" Arethia fell silent for a beat before replying softly, "It's possible. But whoever they are, I'll protect you."

Her words solidified his determination. He took a deep breath, the knife's tip slicing his finger, blood seeping out slowly and dripping onto the ring, staining it a vivid red. He gritted his teeth, tracing a circle on the ring with his blood, his hand trembling from the pain. When he spoke the oath—"I, Giovanni Russo, with my blood as proof, accept you as my eternal servant"—a blinding golden light erupted from the ring, forcing his eyes shut.

Arethia's form materialized in the glow, no longer a fleeting vision but a being of flesh and blood. She knelt on one knee before Giovanni, taking his still-bleeding hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the wound, the warmth of her touch sending a jolt through him. "From this moment on, my life exists solely for you, my master," she said, raising her head, her emerald eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. "Summon me with your will—whether for battle, protection, or… any other service, I'll offer everything for you."

At that moment, the sound of footsteps grew clear from the stairwell, heavy and rapid, like the tread of death drawing near. The air in the room tightened, a chill creeping up Giovanni's spine.

Arethia rose swiftly, a golden short sword materializing in her hand, her silver hair swaying without a breeze, radiating a faint blue glow. She turned toward the door, her stance graceful yet lethal, like a statue poised for battle.

"Looks like our honeymoon will have to wait," she said with a playful wink, though her tone carried a sharp edge. "Don't worry, Master. Let me protect you."

Outside, the footsteps grew closer, accompanied by low murmurs, like a storm about to break. Giovanni took a deep breath, clenching his fists, whispering to himself, "Dad, I won't let your sacrifice be in vain." He knew his ordinary life had reached its end, but for reasons he couldn't grasp, a flicker of anticipation stirred within him.