The centuries had dulled many things — the taste of blood, the thrill of battle, the fear of loss.
But memory? Memory was cruel.
It refused to fade, carving its mark into his immortal mind until it became part of his bones.
And when the world was quiet, when even the moon held its breath — that was when it returned.
The smell of rain and smoke.
The sound of a heartbeat that wasn't his.
And him.
Niran.
The light Nani had never deserved.
He remembered how Niran's laughter had sounded — like chimes breaking through storm clouds.
How his hands had trembled the first time they touched, warmth against a creature who had only ever known the cold.
How Niran had leaned into him under the crimson moon, whispering, "You were born of darkness, but your heart remembers the light."
He had believed him. Once.
Before the war. Before the betrayal. Before the night when everything he loved was torn from him.
He remembered the battlefield: the silver armor of the wolves, the crimson cloaks of his own bloodline.
Niran, kneeling between them, light pouring from his palms, trying to stop the slaughter.
And him — the Supreme, blinded by grief and rage, unable to tell enemy from ally.
He had killed for love.
He had burned the forests, turned rivers red, all because Niran had fallen, and the sky had gone silent.
When he found him again, it was too late.
Niran's body was still warm, his lips parted as if he were about to speak.
His blood had soaked into the vampire's hands — radiant, glowing, beautiful in a way that broke the world.
Nani had held him there, in the ruins of their love.
He remembered how Niran's lashes fluttered once, weakly, his voice barely a whisper.
"….. please. Stop."
That name. His true name. Spoken only by him.
The sound of it was both salvation and curse.
"I can't lose you again," he'd said, choking on words that were centuries too late.
"Then learn how to love without killing it."
Niran's hand had pressed weakly to his cheek. The same hand that had healed, blessed, created.
He smiled — that same, heartbreaking smile.
"I'll find you again. Even if it takes a thousand years."
And then the light went out.
The world stopped breathing.
Nani had screamed, but the sound had no voice. Only the blood answered — a storm that devoured the night.
---
He never forgot that moment.
Not in the centuries that followed.
Not through the wars he started.
Not through the empires that rose and fell beneath his reign.
Every face he saw blurred into that one — every voice, every fleeting connection — all shadows of a memory he could not bury.
And now, sitting alone before the moonlit glass, Nani could feel the echo again.
The same warmth.
The same pulse.
Sky.
The wolf's heartbeat moved through his veins like a song he'd almost forgotten how to hum.
The mark on his chest burned faintly, golden veins of memory threading beneath his skin.
"You're gone," he whispered to the night. "And yet you find me, again and again."
He closed his eyes. For a moment, his mask slipped — the calm, cold Supreme replaced by something heartbreakingly human.
"Tell me… if I find you again, will you still forgive me for what I've become?"
The city below glittered like stars scattered in blood.
And for the first time in centuries, the immortal felt something warm trail down his cheek — a tear he didn't know he could still shed.
---
The moon was high — round and pale, spilling its light like a quiet confession across the rooftops.
Sky stood at the edge of the building, wind tugging through his hair. The city below moved in silence, but above, the world felt heavier — as if something ancient had stirred awake.
He didn't know what drew him out here.
Only that his chest ached in a way that wasn't his own.
He pressed a hand over his heart — over the mark that glowed faintly beneath his skin, the same one the Supreme had placed on him. The pulse beneath it was uneven, almost pained.
A wave of sorrow crashed through him — sudden, deep, unfamiliar.
And yet, it wasn't foreign. It was his.
He saw flashes — not of his memories, but someone else's:
A battlefield drowned in red.
A voice whispering a name that wasn't his.
A hand, trembling with love and loss.
He gasped, stumbling slightly, gripping the railing.
"What the hell—"
The mark flared brighter, hot against his neck, like it was burning with another's emotion.
For a heartbeat, he swore he could hear it — a voice, low and broken, carried through the bond.
"Forgive me…"
Sky's breath caught. He turned toward the skyline, eyes wide, searching for something that wasn't there.
"Nani?" he whispered.
No answer. Only the whisper of the wind.
But the ache lingered, deep and raw — and it terrified him how much it hurt to feel his pain.
---
Across the city, in the heart of the witches' district, the grand hall of the Coven of Obsidian Veil hummed with restless energy.
Felix sat among the circle of elders, his bright eyes sharp despite the heavy air. Candles floated midair, their flames bending toward the center table, where a single crystal pulsed with faint light — the remnant of a scrying spell gone awry.
"The Guardian's aura has been confirmed," one elder rasped, her fingers tightening around her staff. "He walks again. That means the seal has weakened. The balance will crumble."
Another spoke, voice like gravel. "If we can harness his blood before the clans do, the witches can ascend. No more servitude to vampires or wolves."
A murmur of greedy agreement filled the room.
Felix stayed silent, drumming his fingers on the table.
When he finally spoke, his tone was deceptively casual.
"And what happens after you drain the blood of the only thing keeping the world from collapsing? Light and dark aren't playthings, Grandma Maren."
The elder scowled. "Mind your tongue, boy. You forget your place."
"Oh, I never forget," Felix said, a smile curling his lips — one that didn't reach his eyes. "I just choose not to grovel."
The room crackled with tension.
But beneath his sharp tongue, Felix's mind was racing.
The Guardian has awakened. And everyone wants a piece of him.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, trying to hide the unease crawling up his spine.
Sky's face flashed in his mind — tired, stubborn, a little too noble for his own good.
The idea of every supernatural faction sniffing around him made Felix's stomach twist.
If the clans got him, they'd chain him.
If the packs got him, they'd crown him.
If the witches got him… they'd bleed him dry.
And if anyone could stop that—
It was the Supreme.
Felix exhaled softly, his usual mischief dimmed by worry.
"Guess I'm stuck between gods again," he muttered under his breath.
"Sky, you better not do anything stupid while I fix this mess for you."
Outside the coven hall, thunder rolled faintly across the sky — though no storm had been called.
----
Sky unlocked the door to Felix's apartment, already bracing himself.
The scent of burnt herbs, singed cloth, and… possibly roasted socks hit him first.
He sighed. "You're experimenting again, aren't you?"
From inside the kitchen, there was a muffled boom, followed by a cloud of glittery smoke that drifted into the living room like a badly behaved ghost.
Felix stumbled out coughing, goggles askew, holding a smoking vial in one hand and a half-melted spoon in the other. "Experimenting is a strong word," he wheezed. "I call it 'creative problem-solving'."
Sky pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pretty sure the neighbors call it arson."
"Relax," Felix said, fanning the air. "I'm this close to figuring out an antidote for that venom. Just need to stabilize the molecular essence."
Sky frowned, leaning against the counter. "You said that yesterday."
"Yes, and progress has been made!" Felix gestured toward the counter proudly. Several vials were arranged in a messy row, each one labeled with hasty handwriting — Attempt #27: maybe don't explode? — Attempt #28: too green? — Attempt #29: tastes like sadness.
Sky arched a brow. "You actually drank that?"
Felix shrugged. "Scientific integrity." Then he blinked. "Also, it was an accident."
Sky couldn't help it — he laughed. A small, genuine sound that filled the tiny apartment like sunlight.
"Remind me again why I trust you with my life?"
"Because I'm cute and indispensable," Felix shot back, grinning.
Sky shook his head, smile lingering despite himself. "You're insane."
"Thank you. Now hold this."
Felix shoved a flask into his hand before Sky could protest. It immediately started fizzing.
"What is it?"
"Possible antidote. Or hand soap. I lost track after number thirty."
Sky gave him a flat look. "You're going to blow up your kitchen."
Felix sighed dramatically, snatching it back. "You sound like William."
"I'm trying to keep you alive," Sky muttered, watching as Felix carefully poured the liquid into a cauldron.
"Well, you could start by not bleeding mysterious guardian blood all over my apartment next time," Felix replied, tone teasing but soft underneath. "I've already scrubbed the floor three times. My magic circle still hisses at me."
Sky smirked. "Maybe it's judging your life choices."
Felix rolled his eyes. "You wound me."
A moment of quiet settled — comfortable, easy.
Felix glanced at Sky, his voice gentler now. "You look better, though. The mark's stopped flaring?"
Sky nodded slowly, tugging the collar of his shirt a little. "Yeah. Mostly."
He didn't add that he still felt it sometimes — the pulse, the ache, the shadow of someone else's emotion beneath his skin.
Felix watched him for a moment, something knowing in his gaze, but didn't push. Instead, he clapped his hands, grinning.
"Alright, one more attempt! I promise this one won't explode."
"Felix—"
Boom.
The lights flickered. Smoke billowed.
Sky stood very still, covered in faint blue dust.
Felix coughed, blinking through the haze. "…Okay, that might've been a tiny explosion."
Sky sighed, rubbing his temple. "Next time, remind me to bringing a fire extinguisher."
Felix grinned, unbothered. "And that, my dear wolf, is why you're my favorite lab assistant."