Cassian and Helen were seated in a trattoria near the Pantheon, the aroma of fresh pasta and red wine filling the air. A few hours had passed since their meeting with Lorenzo Ricci in the Vatican, and Helen had insisted on touring Rome while they waited for news. Now, under the warm lights of the restaurant, they shared a table with plates of carbonara and a half-finished bottle of Chianti. Helen stirred her pasta, speaking animatedly about the Roman Forum they had visited.
"You should have seen the ruins, Cassian," she said, cutting a piece of pancetta. "It's incredible to think how many centuries have passed there. Can you imagine what those stones have witnessed?"
"Much more than we have," Cassian replied, taking a sip of wine. "But my mind is elsewhere right now."
"Enoch, right?" Helen asked, setting her fork down on the plate. "You haven't stopped thinking about it since Tokyo."
"It's hard not to," he admitted, swirling the glass in his hand. "If that shadow spoke the truth, it changes everything I know about myself."
Before Helen could respond, Cassian's phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up, seeing Lorenzo's name on the screen, and answered.
"Cassian, it's Lorenzo," the voice on the other end said, firm but rushed. "His Holiness is waiting for you. Come now."
"Now?" Cassian asked, looking at Helen. "I thought it would be tomorrow."
"No, he insisted on seeing you today," Lorenzo explained. "He's in his private chambers. Don't bring Helen—just you."
"Understood," Cassian replied, hanging up after a brief goodbye. "I need to go to the Vatican. His Holiness wants to see me."
"Already?" Helen said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought we'd have more time to eat."
"Finish your meal," he suggested, standing up and leaving a few euros on the table. "Keep sightseeing. I'll find you afterward."
"Alright," she nodded, picking up her fork again. "Tell the Pope I want a selfie with him."
Cassian gave a faint smile, stepping out of the restaurant into the street. He took a taxi to the Vatican, the ride silent as the lights of Rome passed by the window. Upon arrival, a guard escorted him through marble hallways to a simple door in the private wing. Lorenzo was waiting outside, adjusting his glasses.
"Go in," Lorenzo said, opening the door. "He's ready for you."
Cassian crossed the threshold, finding himself in a small but elegant room, its walls lined with books and a dark wooden desk. His Holiness, the Pope, was seated in a cushioned chair, dressed in a simple white cassock, the Ring of the Fisherman gleaming on his right hand. He was a man with a kind face but piercing eyes, his short white hair visible beneath the zucchetto. Cassian knelt before him, kissing the ring with reverence before rising.
"Sit, Cassian," His Holiness said, gesturing to a chair across from him. "Lorenzo told me what happened in Japan."
"Thank you, Your Holiness," Cassian replied, taking a seat. "I need to speak with you about it. About me."
"Go ahead," the Pope invited, folding his hands in his lap. "Tell me what troubles you."
"In Tokyo, we faced Kuchisake-onna," Cassian began, shifting in his seat. "We destroyed her, but a shadow appeared at the end. It called me 'a living descendant of Enoch.' I know the name from the Book of Enoch—I studied it here. But I don't understand what it means for me. Do you know anything about my past that might explain it?"
The Pope fell silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Cassian before speaking.
"Your past is partly a mystery," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You were left at the San Michele Orphanage, near Florence, as a baby. No one knows who left you. There was no note, no name—just a child wrapped in a white blanket found on the doorstep one night. They named you Cassian after Saint Cassian, a martyr. At five years old, you were brought to the Vatican. The nuns noticed strange things: nightmares that made the windows tremble, a faint light around you when you slept. We knew you were special."
"Special how?" Cassian asked, leaning forward. "They always told me I was an orphan, but never more than that."
"Your blood," His Holiness explained, raising a hand. "When you arrived, we ran tests. It has unique properties. It can protect against the demonic, like a shield, but also harm it, like a weapon. That's why we trained you from such a young age, Cassian. You were a gift, a rarity we couldn't ignore."
"And Enoch?" Cassian pressed, frowning. "What does he have to do with my blood?"
"When that shadow called you a descendant of Enoch, it didn't surprise me," the Pope admitted, adjusting his zucchetto. "Enoch, according to the apocryphal book, was a righteous man who ascended to heaven without dying. But there's more—things we've kept secret. Enoch didn't just witness the Watchers, the fallen angels who mated with human women. He himself was transformed. The texts say that after his ascension, he returned to Earth in a divine form and left a bloodline with a woman chosen by God, not by a fallen angel. That bloodline carries a fragment of his celestial essence."
"A bloodline?" Cassian asked, his voice tense. "Are you saying I'm part of that?"
"Yes," His Holiness confirmed, nodding slowly. "And there's something you didn't know. When we analyzed your blood at five years old, we found a marker that is neither human nor demonic, but something in between. You're not a common Nephilim, a child of a Watcher. You're a direct heir of Enoch, with blood that contains echoes of his divine light. It can summon celestial forces or destroy infernal ones, depending on how it's used."
Cassian fell silent, processing the words, his mind racing.
"Summon or destroy?" he repeated, lifting his gaze. "What does that mean in practice?"
"It means you are a living weapon," the Pope explained, leaning toward him. "Demons fear you because your blood can burn them, as you saw with Kuchisake-onna. But it can also attract them, open doors that should remain closed. Enoch wrote secrets taught to him by angels—secrets that demon princes covet. If they know who you are, they will hunt you."
"They spoke of a demon prince before," Cassian said, recalling Vatican reports. "Daniel warned me months ago that something was trying to cross into our world."
"Yes," His Holiness nodded, his tone growing grave. "We thought it was a typical demon prince, seeking earthly power. But with your lineage, it may be different. If the shadow in Japan knew you were a descendant of Enoch, it's likely other demons will soon find out. They will target you, Cassian, for what you represent."
"A war over my blood?" Cassian asked, clenching his fists. "How do I prepare for that?"
"Carefully," the Pope replied, standing to walk toward a bookshelf. "Your existence confirms the Nephilim, but also the Grigori, fallen angels who still wander, and the Shedim, spirits serving demon princes. If a demon prince seeks you, it's not just for power. It's for what Enoch left in you: a key to divine light that can remake the world—or destroy it."
"I never asked for this," Cassian said, standing up. "I'm an exorcist, not a celestial heir."
"No one asks for their destiny," His Holiness responded, turning with an old book in his hands. "Take this text, a copy of the Book of Enoch. Study it. And be careful, especially in Hawkins."
"Hawkins?" Cassian asked, taking the book, the worn leather cool under his fingers. "Why there?"
"Because there are many realities and dimensions," the Pope explained, sitting again. "But heaven and hell are the same for all. Altering any of those dimensions, like what you suspect in Hawkins, alerts both—the heavenly and the infernal. If a demon prince follows you, that place could be his entry point. Pray, Cassian. Your blood makes you a beacon for both the divine and the damned."
Cassian nodded, placing the book in his backpack.
"Thank you, Your Holiness," he said, bowing his head. "I'll go to Hawkins with Helen. This doesn't end here."
"No, it doesn't," His Holiness confirmed. "Go carefully. Heaven hears you more than you think."
Cassian kissed the ring once more and stepped out, finding Lorenzo in the hallway, though they didn't speak. He walked slowly into the Roman night.