The morning light bled through the glass walls of Nani's office, painting the marble floor in gold and shadow. The air inside was still — too still — except for the soft rustle of paper as William laid the latest reports on the desk.
"Another attack," he said quietly. "This time in the northern packs. The same pattern — bodies drained, scent erased. The council's in uproar."
Nani didn't look up right away. He stood before the wide window, watching the city breathe below — humanity moving, ignorant of what crept just beneath their world.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost detached.
"The Elders will use this. They always do."
"They already are." William adjusted his gloves, eyes narrowing. "They're calling for a full council assembly next week. All clans. Every continent."
Nani's gaze sharpened. "So soon?"
"They claim it's necessity. In truth, it's fear."
William's lips curved faintly. "The Guardian's return has shaken them. Half the council wants to capture him. The other half wants to worship him. And all of them want you to control him."
Nani turned then, the light catching in his eyes — not red, but molten gold, the color of command.
"The council forgets their place," he said softly. "Control is not given. It's taken."
William's expression didn't waver. He'd heard that tone before — centuries ago, before cities had names. "Still," he said, "we must attend. Tradition demands the heads greet the Supreme. They'll want reassurance that the bloodline still rules."
Nani exhaled, fingers tapping lightly against the desk — a slow rhythm, like the echo of an old heartbeat.
"Arrange it," he said. "Seven nights from now. I'll receive them here. Privately."
William inclined his head. "And the Guardian?"
The pause that followed was subtle — barely a breath, but heavy with everything unspoken.
Nani's gaze drifted again toward the skyline. "He stays close."
"You're certain that's wise?" William asked carefully. "The moment he sets foot near the gathering, every elder will sense it. His power hums like wildfire. The sigil won't hide it forever."
"I'll contain it," Nani said simply. "He's not ready to face what's coming — and I won't have them touching him."
William's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Protectiveness doesn't suit you, my lord."
Nani gave a faint smile — but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Perhaps not. But instinct has a way of ignoring reason."
William hesitated, then asked quietly, "Do you think the curse is truly awakening?"
For a long moment, Nani didn't answer. His gaze unfocused slightly — as though seeing through centuries of blood and memory.
"The threads are moving," he said at last. "The Guardian's power burns again. The creatures grow restless. And the moon is nearing its full cycle."
He turned away from the window, voice lowering to something almost human.
"Every war begins with a heartbeat, William. This one just remembered its rhythm."
William bowed his head. "Then we prepare."
As he left the office, Nani remained by the glass, the reflection of his own eyes gleaming faintly back at him — a mix of gold and shadow, of curse and command.
And beneath that stillness, faint but undeniable, he felt it again — a pulse through the mark he'd placed on Sky.
Alive. Defiant. Burning.
He whispered, barely audible, "Don't make me chain you, little wolf."
---
The elevator chimed softly as it descended through Hirunkit Holdings — its mirrored walls catching Sky's reflection, pale light glinting off the faint sigil at his nape.
Felix leaned against the wall, fiddling with his satchel. "So," he said casually, "today I'm tagging along."
Sky gave him a look. "You're what?"
Felix grinned. "Field trip. I've got to talk to your vampire babysitters about that venom sample. And maybe see Est— purely for academic reasons."
Sky arched a brow. "You don't even pretend to lie well."
"Please, I'm a witch, not a lawyer." Felix straightened his collar. "Also, your boss has a killer penthouse. I might move in."
"Over my dead body."
"Considering who you work for, that's entirely possible."
Sky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."
Felix winked. "And yet, you'd miss me if I died in a vampire's hallway."
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss. Sky stepped out first — his posture perfect, professional — while Felix bounded after him, all charm and chaos rolled into one.
---
When they reached the executive floor, Est was already there — draped dramatically across William's desk like he owned it.
"Morning, sunshine!" he called, waving at Sky before his eyes landed on Felix. "Well, well, if it isn't our resident witchling. What wind of chaos brings you here?"
Felix's grin was instant. "Your irresistible charm, obviously."
Est smirked. "Flattery? At this hour? You must want something."
"Information," Felix said, twirling his pen. "And maybe your phone number."
William, standing beside the desk with his ever-present calm, sighed quietly. "Est, stop encouraging him."
Est ignored him completely, leaning forward. "You look like trouble."
Felix gestured between them. "You are trouble. I'm just the sequel."
Sky groaned softly from the doorway. "Can you two not flirt while the world's ending?"
Est grinned. "That's exactly why we flirt, soldier boy. Keeps morale up."
William cleared his throat, cutting through the banter. "You mentioned the venom?"
The humor drained a little from Felix's face as he nodded and pulled out a vial from his bag — the dark liquid inside swirling like shadowed mercury.
"I ran tests with my coven," Felix said. "The venom's alchemical signature is wrong. It's not purely vampire or wolf origin. There's… something else mixed in."
William took the vial carefully. "You think it's artificial?"
Felix's tone dropped. "Worse. It's summoned."
Sky frowned. "Summoned?"
"Bound to something older than either blood or moon," Felix said, eyes glinting. "And whoever's making these things… they know how to twist curses into weapons."
Est's smile faded a little, his voice quieter. "Witchcraft?"
Felix shook his head. "No coven would dare meddle with this. But I think someone's guiding it. Feeding the chaos. The creatures, the attacks — they're not random."
William's gaze darkened. "You suspect who?"
Felix hesitated, lowering his voice. "The sigil patterns in the venom residue… they trace back to something from the old records. Demonic binding runes."
Est straightened. "Demons are extinct."
Felix gave a humorless laugh. "So are Guardians, remember?"
Silence settled over the office — heavy, sharp.
Finally, William spoke. "We haven't found a full cure yet. But our lab's identified fragments of the venom structure. If you can decode the binding core—"
"I can," Felix said, confidence returning with a crooked smile. "Just need access to your lab and, you know, no vampires biting me while I work."
Est grinned. "No promises."
Sky folded his arms, muttering, "I knew bringing you here was a mistake."
Felix patted his shoulder. "Relax, pup. I thrive under pressure."
Est leaned closer to William, whispering, "Or he's just flirting with death."
William's lips twitched — a near smile. "Either way, keep him supervised. If he's right about demons, we'll need every witch alive."
Felix raised his brows. "Aww, you do care."
William ignored him completely. "I'll inform the Supreme."
The witch shivered at the word, mock clutching his chest. "Please don't. He already looked at me once — I swear my soul left my body and took the scenic route."
Est burst out laughing, nearly choking. Sky just shook his head, though a hint of a smirk tugged his mouth.
Felix's grin dimmed a fraction as he glanced at the vial in William's hand.
"I'm serious, though. Whoever's behind this — they're not just trying to start a war. They're trying to wake something we buried centuries ago."
The room went quiet again, the hum of city life far below their only witness.
---
The city had long fallen into its midnight hush, the towers below gleaming like cold constellations.
High above them, on the rooftop of Hirunkit Holdings, the wind carried no warmth — only the taste of rain and steel.
Nani stood at the edge, the skyline reflected in his eyes like fractured glass.
His aura — usually sharp, controlled — now wavered, heavy with something darker.
Not rage. Not yet.
But the kind of stillness that came before a storm.
Far below, in the residential wing, Sky sat on the couch — restless. He could feel it. The same chill that once made wolves bow and stars dim. The bond between their marks burned, a silent pulse threading through his chest.
His breath came shorter, his skin prickling. The mark at his neck — Nani's sigil — shimmered faintly under the skin.
He couldn't stay still.
Within minutes, he was climbing the last flight of stairs to the rooftop. The heavy door creaked open, spilling moonlight across concrete.
Nani didn't turn. He didn't have to.
"I told William no one was to disturb me," he said, voice soft, detached.
Sky hesitated, then stepped closer — his boots echoing against the roof. "I'm not William."
The Supreme was still — only the faint breeze tugging at the hem of his coat. "And yet you came."
"I felt…" Sky stopped, exhaling. "Your aura. It's too dark. Too heavy. It's choking half the building."
A quiet laugh — more exhale than sound — left Nani. "Even now, you feel me through the wards. How inconvenient."
Sky frowned. "You call this normal? You're bleeding your energy into the air. The whole city could feel it if they knew how to listen."
For a moment, neither moved. The wind whipped between them, carrying the scent of rain and something older — copper and ash.
Then, without thinking, Sky reached out — his fingers brushing Nani's hand.
The contact was electric — not gentle, but grounding.
Light flared between their joined skin — gold and crimson veins twisting, the marks beneath their clothes answering each other like a call through centuries.
Nani finally turned. The air shifted. His eyes weren't just gold now — they burned with something older, something half-remembered.
"You shouldn't touch me," he said softly, voice like a blade dulled by sorrow. "You don't know what that does to me."
Sky's gaze didn't waver. "Then stop looking like you're waiting for the end."
Something broke — or maybe mended — in that silence.
Nani's hand came up, hesitant, then firm, sliding to the back of Sky's neck where his sigil glowed faintly under the moonlight. The mark pulsed once, answering Nani's touch, as if recognizing the blood it came from.
Sky inhaled sharply, the air leaving his lungs in a shiver. His pulse raced — not fear, not entirely.
"Your blood burns," Nani whispered. "It always has."
"Then burn," Sky breathed.
The space between them vanished.
It wasn't gentle — it was centuries colliding, curse and memory, hunger and mercy all at once.
Nani's lips found his — cool at first, then searing. The mark on Sky's neck flared gold; the one on Nani's chest answered in blood-red.
For a heartbeat, they weren't the Supreme and the Guardian.
They were simply two halves of a story too long denied its ending.
The wind howled. The city lights blurred.
And when they finally broke apart, breathless, still close enough for their words to ghost against each other's skin, Sky murmured —
"What are we doing?"
Nani's eyes softened, the faintest, saddest smile touching his lips.
"Remembering."
Then he pressed his forehead against Sky's, the world shrinking to moonlight, breath, and the faint hum of fate reawakening.
Beneath the full moon, their marks pulsed in rhythm — gold and crimson intertwining, as if the blood and the moon had never truly been enemies, only lovers caught on opposite sides of time.
----
"They're coming," he murmured. "The clans. The elders. They'll all want to see the Supreme's control — and the Guardian's blood."
Sky's grip tightened. "Then they'll have to go through me first."
Nani's gaze lifted to his, and something unreadable flickered there — not command, not dominance, but a fragile thing he hadn't allowed himself to feel in lifetimes.
"Don't make promises like that," he said quietly. "The last one who did… never came back."
Sky didn't look away. "Maybe this time will be different."
The silence that followed was heavy — full of things neither dared to name.
But for that moment, under the pale wash of moonlight, the world seemed to breathe again.
And the Supreme Vampire — the ancient ruler who feared nothing — let himself be still.