Chapter 4 : Signal

The air trembled. A vibration—subtle yet distinct—coursed through the void of Sirius Wolverine's thoughts like a thread tugged by invisible fingers. He stopped mid-stride, his boots sinking slightly into the damp moss of the forest floor, and tilted his head upward. The ancient trees of the Northern Forest loomed over him like watchful titans, their gnarled branches interwoven so tightly they nearly choked out the light. The signal was faint, but unmistakable.

Profesor Athena.

He hadn't heard from her in weeks. Not since the mission in Caltheron. Not since the night of fire and shattered mirrors. And yet now, as if pulled from the ether, her presence brushed against his magical awareness—desperate, pulsing, encoded with urgency.

"She's here," Sirius muttered to himself, his voice low and almost reverent.

Beside him, Rurie emerged from the brush, her twin daggers glinting with residual spelllight. Her ears twitched, catching the tail end of Sirius's words.

"You sure?" she asked, scanning the surroundings. "Could be a trap."

Sirius didn't answer. He didn't need to. He simply began moving, weaving through the trees with purpose. His long coat snapped behind him, the edges tinged with faint sparks as he tapped into his inner reservoir of magic. Rurie followed, grim-faced.

It didn't take long before the trees thinned, revealing a hollow—a clearing ringed with stones marked by runes old as the world. This was where they had seen them before: the Jari Malam. The secretive cabal that hunted knowledge like wolves stalk prey. And now, they were back.

Sirius crouched behind a fallen trunk, eyes narrowed as he peered into the clearing.

They were already there.

Dark figures moved in disciplined silence. Hooded and robed, they radiated power and menace. At the center stood a woman in crimson armor, her gauntlets adorned with black gemstones that pulsed with foul energy. She was tall, with short white hair and a face as calm as winter ice. Rurie tensed beside him.

"That's the Fourth Finger," she whispered.

Sirius's jaw tightened. He'd heard stories—everyone had. The Fingers were the executioners of the Jari Malam. The Fourth was said to be a battle mage who mastered the forbidden arts of Echo Magic—spells that replicated other spells like a song stuck in a loop.

There were others too. Sirius recognized them. The man cloaked in ash-colored flame was Reave, the Sixth. The thin, spectral woman who floated inches above the ground—Lira, the Eighth. And lurking just beyond the stone circle was a brute known only as Crow, wrapped in shadows like living armor.

There was no sign of Profesor Athena.

But the signal Sirius felt was stronger now, emanating from beneath the earth. Somewhere below the clearing. A prison? A seal?

"Rurie," he said without turning. "We're going in."

Rurie didn't argue. She trusted him—more than she trusted most of the world. With a nod, she drew her sigil in the air, twin arcs of violet light curving into a blade-like pattern. Sirius summoned his own magic, a storm-blue glyph sparking into being over his palm.

They struck fast.

Rurie flashed forward first, a blur of shadow and steel, striking at Lira with a spinning kick that sent the ghostly woman reeling. At the same moment, Sirius burst from behind the tree with a wave of concussive force, hurling Reave off his feet.

The clearing exploded into chaos.

The Fourth Finger responded with frightening speed. She raised her gauntlets and unleashed a volley of red-echo spells—mirror images of Rurie's own slashes, turned against her like haunted reflections. Rurie twisted in mid-air, avoiding two of them, but the third clipped her shoulder, sending sparks and blood into the air.

Sirius grunted and brought his hands together. A ring of glowing sigils formed above him and fired down bolts of arcing energy, forcing Crow to retreat into the shadows with a snarl.

And still, the signal called to him.

"Keep them busy!" Sirius shouted to Rurie. "I'll find her!"

She didn't reply, only launched herself at Lira again with renewed fury.

Sirius dashed into the center of the stone ring, placing his palm flat against the moss-covered ground. His magic surged, probing beneath the surface. There—a passage sealed by runes, hidden by layers of illusion and centuries-old wards.

He whispered a code—one only he and Athena knew—and the ground groaned open, revealing a spiral stair shrouded in blue mist.

Then he felt it: a spell locking on to him.

He barely rolled aside before the Fourth Finger's attack crashed into where he'd been standing, leaving a smoking crater in its wake.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, her voice calm, yet soaked in threat.

Sirius stood, brushing ash from his coat. "You'll have to do better than that."

She extended her hand. "I intend to."

A chain of red-echo glyphs spiraled around her, each one glowing with unstable power. They fired in rapid succession—energy blades, kinetic pulses, disorientation fields. Sirius moved like lightning, deflecting some, absorbing others with a spell shield, and dodging the rest by hair-widths. His own magic lanced out, a jagged arc of elemental lightning crashing into Reave as he rose from the ground. The Sixth Finger screamed and fell back.

The battle now stretched across the clearing.

Rurie danced between Lira and Crow, her form a flickering mirage of steel and violet fire. She parried with a finesse that bordered on artistry, her daggers clashing with shadow and spirit alike. But even she was beginning to wear thin. The Fingers were coordinated, disciplined. They pressed like a war machine.

Sirius knew they couldn't win—not like this. Not against this many. But winning wasn't the goal.

He needed to get to Athena.

The Fourth Finger stepped between him and the stairway. "You've always been a problem, Wolverine. The prodigal flame. You should've stayed buried."

Sirius lifted his chin. "And you should've stayed in your little crypt of lies."

They collided.

Sirius unleashed a column of flame that surged upward like a volcanic burst. The Fourth Finger met it with a wall of red-echo glass, refracting the fire into deadly spears that rained down around him. He leapt through them, summoning a blade of light to clash against her gauntlets. Each strike sent shockwaves through the clearing, rattling stone and soul alike.

Below them, something stirred. The signal pulsed harder. Time was thinning.

From the side, Crow lunged, claws gleaming. Sirius turned just in time to take the blow with his shield, the force sending him skidding back. Rurie hurled a dagger that found its mark in Crow's side, but the brute barely flinched.

More attacks. More magic. A maelstrom of destruction and strategy.

Yet still, Sirius fought forward.

Each step he took toward the stair was earned in blood and fury. Runes exploded around him, voices chanted in forgotten tongues, and the world cracked under the sheer force of clashing wills. But Sirius would not stop.

Athena was calling.

And nothing—not even the Fingers of the Night—could silence that call.