The Council chamber was never meant for peace.
It was carved from black marble and bone, every wall etched with the sigils of those long dead - the founders of order, and those who broke it. The air always smelled faintly of old iron and polished secrets.
Tonight, that scent was stronger than ever.
Dew stood near the center of the chamber, the folds of his dark coat whispering with every measured step. He didn't rush. He didn't need to. The Elders had already gathered - thirteen of them, each radiating their own ancient aura - waiting, whispering.
He let them murmur for a while. Let their uncertainty thicken the air. Then, with the softest of smiles, he began.
"You've all felt it, haven't you?" Dew's voice was velvet wrapped around steel. "The surge three nights past - the light that tore through the wards like dawn breaking through rot."
A ripple of murmurs spread across the room.
Some of the Elders nodded; others frowned. The more cautious among them merely listened.
"I've traveled far enough to know what that light was," Dew continued. "Our Supreme hides it, but the truth has teeth. The Guardian walks this continent again."
That word - Guardian - dropped like a stone into still water.
Even the oldest among them stirred.
"Impossible," hissed one of the Elders from the North Seat. "The Guardian bloodline perished with the moonfire!"
Dew tilted his head, expression artfully solemn. "And yet, here we are. You felt the light. You saw the signs. Or do you think the creatures returned by coincidence?"
A hush.
"He's protecting it," Dew said quietly. "Our Supreme. Hiding it in plain sight. Why else would he shield his territory with layers of wards thicker than the royal crypts?"
The accusation hung, soft but lethal.
One of the Elders from the West - a hawk-eyed woman named Seraphine - leaned forward.
"You're implying the Supreme deceived the Council?"
Dew didn't answer directly. Instead, he gave a gentle smile, stepping closer until the candlelight painted gold across his cheekbones.
"I'm implying," he said, "that the Guardian's presence will draw every power - light, shadow, and the void in between. And if the Supreme intends to keep that power for himself... perhaps it is no longer loyalty that binds him to this Council."
Gasps.
A few turned, others whispered behind clasped hands. The tension was a living thing now, coiling and feeding on itself.
Dew clasped his hands behind his back - the picture of calm - and let them think. Let suspicion bloom like rot in spring.
"We all remember what happened the last time a Guardian stood beside a Hirunkit prince," he murmured, soft as a prayer. "The moon burned. The bloodlands drowned. Do you truly believe fate won't repeat itself?"
That line - poetic, heavy with history - landed exactly where he wanted it to.
Fear. Doubt. Control.
An Elder struck the table with his ring.
"What do you suggest, Lord Dew?"
Dew lowered his gaze, just slightly - the gesture of a loyal servant, not a schemer.
"I suggest caution. Surveillance. Perhaps... intervention. The Supreme has always been unpredictable. We must ensure the Guardian remains a weapon of balance, not of desire."
The word desire curved like smoke - a deliberate poison.
More murmurs. The Elders' uncertainty hardened into resolve.
They would "protect" the realm, they said. "Safeguard" the balance.
But what they meant - what Dew had made them believe - was that they needed to control the Guardian.
And to do that, they had to corner the Supreme.
When the chamber began to stir with plans, Dew finally stepped back, retreating toward the shadows. The faintest smile curved his lips - private, cold.
"For centuries," he whispered to himself, "you always chose them over me, Kieran. Let's see if you still can when the world turns against you."
The candles flickered, a breath of unnatural wind curling through the chamber.
Above, the sigils on the walls glowed faintly red - as if the old blood had begun to stir once more.
----
The night pressed heavy over PP's lair - the air thick with smoke, blood, and tension. Outside, the wolves prowled in tight circles, their eyes burning gold under the torchlight. The scent of iron clung to the wind, sharp and uneasy.
Inside, William stood near the doorway, his posture rigid. His presence alone was enough to keep most of the wolves from breaching the threshold. But even he could feel it - the uneasy thrum between the two races, like the silence before a storm.
"They won't stand down," he murmured, gaze sweeping across the clearing. "Not while the Guardian's inside."
Felix glanced up from a cluttered table where half-burnt scrolls and glowing vials were spread out like the aftermath of an explosion. His lab coat was streaked with dirt and blood, one sleeve singed.
"Well, can you blame them? They just saw their holy relic come back to life, and the Supreme nearly barbecued himself in the process."
PP snorted from across the room, flipping a brittle parchment open with gloved hands.
"You mean again, dear boy. He nearly barbecued himself again."
"Helpful as always," Felix shot back. "Maybe next time you can bring marshmallows."
William didn't respond; his eyes were still fixed on the wolves.
"If they think we're taking the Guardian away, they'll tear this place apart."
The air shifted. Alpha Kazen's low growl rumbled outside, answered by the hushed murmurs of his pack. Nearby, Alpha Juno - still weak but standing - pressed a hand against a wound at his side, his gaze cold and unwavering toward the vampires.
"They'll protect him until their last breath," PP said quietly. "It's instinct. You'd do the same."
William turned to face him.
"And yet, if the Council learns of this-"
"-they'll come for him too," Felix finished grimly. "Yeah, I figured."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them - heavy, taut, alive. The only sound was the scratching of PP's pen as he made a mark across the parchment.
"I found something," PP said suddenly, his tone shifting. "About the Mara."
Everyone looked up.
"To fully awaken, Mara needs a blood catalyst - pure essence of moonlight. The Guardian's blood is that key. It's the only thing potent enough to pierce the veil between realms."
Felix paled.
"So all this time, those things weren't just trying to kill Sky - they were trying to harvest him."
PP nodded. "Yes. His blood isn't poison to them. It's their doorway."
William's jaw tightened. The revelation hit him like a blade. "That means the attacks... every ambush..."
"Every move," PP said softly, "was a step closer to getting to him."
The room went quiet again, darker this time. Even Est - who had been sitting near the far wall, half asleep - looked up, face pale.
"Then we can't stay here," Est said quietly. "They'll come again."
William drew a slow breath, then exhaled through his nose.
"Moving the Guardian is just as dangerous. The wolves won't allow it. The Supreme is still weak. If we move now, we'll start a war."
"And if we don't?" Felix asked.
"Then the war will come to us," William said simply.
Outside, a wolf howled - long and mournful, echoing through the broken forest.
PP shut the parchment, sealing it with a faint hiss of magic.
"Then we buy time," he said. "You play your diplomacy, vampire. I'll find the spell that can break this curse - or at least keep it from killing them both."
William gave him a small nod. "Do what you must."
As he stepped outside, the tension broke like static. Wolves turned toward him, shoulders low, eyes flashing. Alpha Kazen's voice carried through the dark:
"You'll not take him from us."
William met his gaze, calm but unyielding.
"Nor would I. The Guardian stands under the Supreme's protection. But if you want to keep him alive-" he paused, eyes narrowing just slightly- "you'll follow my lead."
The wolves bristled but did not attack. For now, the uneasy alliance held - forged not in trust, but in necessity.
Inside, Felix sighed, rubbing his face.
"Between the blood-hungry demons, stubborn wolves, and political vampires, I'm beginning to miss my lab rats."
PP hummed. "At least the rats don't talk back."
"They also don't drink all my coffee," Felix grumbled, eyeing Est.
"You didn't label it!" Est shot back defensively.
Despite everything - the death, the curse, the storm brewing outside - the small flicker of laughter that followed felt almost human. Almost enough to make the world seem less doomed.
Almost.