Fantasy RP The Last Hunt - (Chaotic & Froshi)

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 3, 2025

“Don’t come home until after five. I have important matters to attend to and you cannot be here.”

That was the text Arthur sent his granddaughter, Evelyn, minutes before he knelt in the ritual circle he had prepared.

She couldn’t be here for this. He had promised her parents he would protect her. He’d spent the week preparing the ritual, he’d thought he had another month, but the air had been wrong all day. Subtle fluctuations only a witch or warlock could sense were everywhere. Arthur was trained, he knew the dangers of using magic recklessly. Evelyn did not. Her ability had been suppressed when she was seven, the night her parents noticed the changes and performed a binding to hide her power. The ritual had worked and Evelyn’s magic was undetectable. But her parents were found and murdered that same night. They spared Evelyn that night because they detected no magic in her blood. Now, the suppression was wearing off, and Arthur was running out of time.

He had promised to either train her or suppress the power further. He wanted to teach her, but the deadline was too close, and werewolves hunted by scent and could detect any use of magic. There was also the fact that over the years they had been hunting down many other witches in the Winslow family line for years, so they were learning other ways to detect magic easier.

The original binding had required both of her parents’ strength. Arthur had no guarantee he could complete the same work alone, but he had to try.
On his knees in the circle, his body protested. Age had taken its toll, his knees hurt more than they should. He checked the candles, lined and spaced along the circle, and smoothed the small veil before him. He closed his eyes and began the chant, focusing on his intention: to hide Evelyn’s abilities from both herself and the world.

The room answered. A breeze slid through the closed windows, candle flames quivered. Shadows gathered at the edges and inched toward him, some slipping under the veil and vanishing. Doubt crept in. Should he erase her chance to learn? What would she do alone, defenseless against the werewolves? His uncertainty shook his hands and clouded his focus. Pain followed: limbs tightened, breath shortened. The breeze built into a wind that nearly snuffed the candles and sent small objects clattering. He raised his voice, forcing the final verses to shape, but the spell fought him. The resistance seized his body and his mind in equal measure. As he reached the last line, agony ripped through him. He collapsed, face-first to the floor. Red tracks ran from his eyes like bloody tears. The ritual had proven more than his body could bear. He had failed.
He lay there stunned, knowing what that failure meant. They would come for Evelyn now. He could not summon the strength to rise. Minutes later his heart stilled, and the room fell silent.
-----------
Evelyn’s day had gone through like it usually did, breakfast with a cup of tea while she went through the day’s inventories, cataloging archives, and researching her parents’ deaths right before lunch. Although she didn’t actually take her lunch, the text her grandfather sent her caused her to grow worried. There was concern for her grandfather, he never texted her to not come home. It was always the opposite, he constantly wanted her home when she wasn’t out doing anything important. She didn’t know what to do past 3pm, which is when she got off work. She wanted to go home before 5 and find out what was going on. But she didn’t, and instead went to have a late lunch with her best friend, June, who tried her best to reassure her that things were okay.

“I’m sure everything is alright…you have mentioned that he isn’t always as predictable as you think. So maybe this is one of those times!” June rubbed small circles on the back of Evelyn’s hand, the soothing motion was something that often calmed her. But it wasn’t working this time.

“You don’t know him like I do June! He always wants to make sure what I’m doing, where I’m doing it and when. Telling me to not come home until a certain time without questioning what I do in the meantime is so unlike him!” Evelyn whined, pulling her hand back from her friend’s touch and tapping her fingers on the table.

They’d been sitting there for an hour and a half when she got a call from a neighbor. They said they heard some yelling from her house and wanted to know if everything was okay. She stated she wasn’t home but would be heading back.

Though it wasn’t quite 5 and June grabbed her arm as Evelyn stood up, “Don’t! You don’t know what’ll happen if you go before he told you to go.” She tried to be sensible about it, she knew her friend’s grandfather was a bit strict. So going against him would cause not so great consequences. Yes, Evelyn was an adult, but she always obeyed her grandfather and there were always consequences for disobeying.

“I don’t care. Something’s wrong, I feel it. I’ll call you later.” She yanked her arm back and June looked shook at the sudden change in her friend. Evelyn was usually soft and calmer than she was now. Perhaps it was because of the worry that flooded her body at the thought of something happening to her grandfather. He was the one to raise her after all.

She immediately exited the diner they were in and started running towards her house. It was normally a 10 minute walk, but she could shave off a few minutes if she was hurrying. Which now she was.

Once she got there she saw the door was ajar, but her neighbors would never go in without consent. And since they didn’t know where my grandfather was in the house, they would’ve asked her. But no one did. So she pushed the door open, “дедушка (grandfather)?” She called out as she entered the front door. It was a mess, things were knocked over, like a tornado came through the house. But there was no sign of her grandfather. Walking towards his room, that door was also open, she saw him on the ground and a figure looming over him. Instinctively she let out a sharp gasp, but immediately she covered her mouth and hid behind the nearest corner.

What the hell was going on?

Froshimaru · Nov 4, 2025

The human world had been burning through Kieran for three days now. Not the acute agony that came with fresh crossing, but a constant low-grade wrongness that settled into his bones and made everything feel slightly off-kilter. Like existing somewhere his body knew he shouldn't be. The beast had been cooperative enough, focused on the mission, on the target. On ending this.

Arthur Winslow had been dying when Kieran found him.

The old warlock lay collapsed in the center of a ritual circle, blood trailing from his eyes like tears, his breathing shallow and erratic. Candles guttered around him, their flames casting unstable shadows across walls lined with books and artifacts. The air itself felt wrong, thick with magic that had gone catastrophically sideways.

Kieran had stood in the doorway, watching the man's chest rise and fall with increasing difficulty. The beast wanted to finish it, to lunge forward and end what the failed ritual had started. But there was no point. Arthur Winslow was already dead. Just taking his time about it.

He'd crossed the threshold slowly, boots silent on worn floorboards, and knelt just outside the ritual circle. Close enough to see the man's face clearly. Close enough to be heard if Arthur had any awareness left.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," Kieran said quietly. Not because he felt particularly guilty about it. Just acknowledgment of fact. Arthur Winslow hadn't asked to be born into a bloodline that had cursed an entire species. Hadn't chosen to be a target. But choice didn't matter much when seven generations of suffering needed answering for.

The old man's eyes had flickered toward him once, briefly, before glazing over. His heart stuttered. Then stopped.

Kieran stayed crouched there, perfectly still.

Waiting.

This was it. The moment seven generations had been working toward. Arthur Winslow was dead. The last warlock the Council had identified as holding the curse in place. If the theory was correct, if all the suffering and sacrifice and systematic elimination of entire bloodlines had actually meant something, then the curse should break now.

He waited for the burning to stop. For the wrongness to ease. For the human world to stop rejecting his existence like a body fighting off infection.

Five seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.

Nothing changed.

The low-grade agony in his bones remained exactly the same. The beast still whined with discomfort, still wanted to leave, still felt the fundamental wrongness of being here. The air still pressed against him like he was something that shouldn't exist in this space.

Kieran's jaw tightened. He rose slowly to his feet, gaze dropping back to Arthur's body. Then to the ritual circle surrounding it. The candles, still burning. The symbols drawn in what looked like salt and ash. The small veil placed deliberately at the circle's edge.

This hadn't been a curse-maintenance ritual. The setup was all wrong for that. Too personal. Too desperate. The blood from Arthur's eyes suggested the old man had pushed himself beyond his limits trying to accomplish something.

But what?

Kieran's eyes tracked over the ritual components again, cataloging details his training had taught him to notice. The way the candles were spaced. The specific symbols used. The veil, which suggested concealment or binding rather than reinforcement.

Arthur hadn't been maintaining the curse. He'd been trying to hide something.

The realization settled cold in Kieran's gut. Seven generations. Hundreds of deaths. Twelve years of his life spent hunting, killing, crossing into a world that actively rejected him. All based on the theory that eliminating the witch bloodlines would break the curse.

Arthur Winslow was dead, and nothing had changed.

Which meant either the theory was incomplete, or they'd been wrong from the start.

He pulled out the small leather journal from his jacket, flipped to the next blank page, and wrote with mechanical precision: Arthur Winslow. November 4, 2025. Natural death during failed ritual.

Forty-four names now. Forty-four witches and warlocks dead by his hand or because of his presence. And the curse still held.

He was closing the journal when he heard it.

Footsteps. Quick, urgent, moving through the house toward this room. Then the front door, already ajar from Kieran's entry, being pushed wider.

A voice called out something in Russian. Grandfather.

Kieran's head snapped up, every sense suddenly sharp and focused. Someone else was here. Someone who lived here, based on the familiarity in that call. The beast, which had been quietly agitated with the mission's apparent failure, suddenly went alert.

He could smell her now. Female. Young. The scent carried traces of tea and lavender and old paper, underlaid with something else. Something the beast recognized even if Kieran's conscious mind took a second longer to place it.

Witch.

But that was impossible. Arthur Winslow had been alone. The Council's information said he had a granddaughter, but she'd been tested years ago and shown no magical ability. Suppressed so thoroughly she didn't even register as a potential threat. That's why Kieran had never bothered tracking her down. What was the point of killing someone who couldn't use magic, who didn't contribute to maintaining the curse?

Except the air in this room was saturated with failed ritual magic, thick and chaotic and active, and something about it was changing. Kieran could feel it. The way pressure changes before a storm breaks.

Something Arthur had been hiding. Something he'd died trying to keep concealed.

The footsteps stopped. A sharp gasp, quickly muffled.

She'd seen something. Probably Arthur's body. Probably the ritual circle. Probably the aftermath of whatever the old man had been attempting before his body gave out.

Kieran rose slowly to his feet, every movement deliberate and controlled despite the way the beast was suddenly pushing harder against his control. The wrongness of the human world was getting worse. The pain was getting worse. And now there was magic everywhere, pressing against his senses, and the beast was screaming that there was a threat, there was a hunt, finish it finish it finish it.

He turned toward where he'd heard her hide, toward the corner just outside the doorway. She couldn't see him clearly yet. He'd positioned himself in the shadows near Arthur's body, and the guttering candlelight only reached so far. But he could see her.

Young. Mid-twenties maybe. Pale and slight, with ash-blonde hair coming loose from a braid. One hand pressed over her mouth where she'd gasped. The other braced against the wall like she needed the support.

And she was blazing with magic.

Not subtle. Not suppressed. Not hidden. Whatever Arthur had been doing in that ritual circle, whatever had killed him, had broken something. Shattered whatever bindings had kept this girl invisible to Kieran's senses, to the Council's tracking, to seven generations of hunters.

The beast wanted her. Wanted to hunt, wanted to chase, wanted to end the threat. Because that's what she was now. A witch. Active magic. Another piece of the curse that needed eliminating.

His amber eyes flooded with red, that telltale glow reflecting back from the darkness. Like an animal caught in low light. Predator recognizing prey.

His hands flexed once at his sides. The silver knife, Mira's knife, pressed against his ribs where he kept it sheathed. The beast was loud now. Louder than it had been in months. The combination of the human world's rejection, the saturation of magic in the air, and a viable target right there was pushing his control hard.

He should think about this. Should assess whether she actually posed a threat or if this was just residual magic from Arthur's death. Should consider that killing someone who'd just watched their grandfather die might be cruel even by his standards.

But the beast didn't care about assessment or consideration. It cared about the mission. It cared about the hunt. And she had magic, which meant she was part of the problem, which meant she needed to die.

Kieran's breathing slowed. His weight shifted forward slightly, balanced on the balls of his feet. Calculating distance, angle, the fastest route to end this cleanly.

One second. Two.

Then he moved.

Time seemed to slow as he lunged from the shadows, still human-shaped but moving with speed and precision that wasn't entirely human anymore. The beast lending him its instincts, its strength, its single-minded focus on the target.

Red eyes locked on sea-glass blue. Hunter closing on prey.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 4, 2025

Evelyn held her hand over her mouth, as if doing so would make the gasp go away from the figure’s memory. But that wasn’t how things worked, and she knew that whoever killed her grandfather was going to come for her next. She’d seen too much. She knew how this goes.

But who would kill her grandfather? He was beloved by those he interacted with on a daily basis. Sure there were a few who disapproved of his methods and her whole family, but they wouldn’t go so far as to kill him…would they?

This was not how she thought her day was going to go.

With her left hand, her free one, she reached into her pocket to pull out her phone. Dialling 9-1-1 would certainly be a good idea…right? Maybe she could stall time for someone to get here. Removing her right hand from her mouth she started to unlock her phone, but her hands were trembling too much from fear that she couldn’t input anything right.

‘Shit’ She thought. What was she supposed to do now?

Her mind was overflowing with ideas of what she could do.
What if she ran back for the door? Get outside and run for help? No…she didn’t know how fast this person was and as soon as she revealed herself to them there’s no saying how quick she could get out.

Did they know where she was?

Were they already planning how to end her?

So many questions were running rampant in her mind. But there was no time to stand her and spend what could be her last few minutes thinking about what she could do. She had to act.

But before she could, a figure emerged from the shadows. How did she not notice that they…no…he was there for gods know how long?

A small shriek was all she could manage to get out as she took off in the direction away from him, but it was at the end of the hallway. Where she hid and where he came from blocked her exit. Maybe she could hide in her room, bolt it and make a call. Scream for help maybe.

Glancing back to get a sense of just how fast he was, she noticed the red eyes. ‘What the-’ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden loss of balance as she tripped over something that had been knocked onto the floor.

Scrambling back to her feet she rushed to her bedroom door, it was locked. Of course it was. Her grandfather told her to lock it before she left, in case anyone came in while they were gone. But it didn’t matter anymore. He was dead and now she would be too.

Right as she turned to look at the attacker in those…unusually red eyes, a sudden surge flowed through her body. Like…power. Why would she feel power at a time like this? She had no power, none at all. That made no sense. As he would be tailing behind her too close for comfort, she could do the only thing that would be her last chance. Beg for her life.

“Please…leave me alone!” She cried out, though the last word came out louder than she actually said it. Power surged from her and the word, sending a shockwave of…force towards the man. The force sent him flying across the hallway, hitting the wall opposite of where she stood. It was a somewhat small hallway, after all they didn’t have too grand of a cottage. But it was long enough to sort of do some damage when flung across…not that she knew that exactly. It simply looked like it would hurt like hell.

Along with the shockwave, the lights flickered visibly, slight frost built up from the corners of the shadows that seemed to be…moving, and candles that remained upright lit up momentarily. The ground shook as well, like an earthquake but…not as strong. More things clattered to the floor from the shaking, some candles but the flames were still intact. But the flames didn’t light up the rug it fell onto, which confused her further.

It wasn’t until the man made contact with the other wall that everything suddenly died down. The ground stopped shaking, the lights stopped flickering, frost lingered but didn’t grow, shadows were normal, the flames went out. The only thing she could feel was the slight chill that ran through her…or maybe the whole room. She couldn’t tell.

But what she could tell was the way that her whole body tingled from whatever just happened. Looking at her hands, they were shaking less, a slight glow in her palm alongside the normal ink stains. “What…what the hell was that?” She muttered, glancing up at the man.

What she wouldn’t be able to see was the way her eyes glowed, enhancing the blue in her eyes into a somewhat lighter shade, though it was faint compared to how it would’ve looked when she initially activated…whatever she just did.

But she took that as her chance, bolting towards the doorway that led back to the living space and the front door. Whatever just happened, she could figure it out when she was safer from whoever just tried to kill her.

She didn’t even go back to check on her grandfather, she didn’t want to risk that…person, creature, whatever he is, managing to get up while she mourned.

Once she got outside, in a space where she could be seen, she pulled her phone out again. With her steadier hands she was able to dial 9-1-1 but June called her before she could hit the call button.

“Hey, I heard there was an earthquake at your house? Is everything okay? It’s kind of strange that it only happened around your house…” June trailed off as she started to ponder on the other line.

“Yeah…everything is fine…” Evelyn lied, wincing as she did so. She never lied to her best friend. But she had no idea what was going on so what could she even tell her?

Froshimaru · Nov 4, 2025

The shriek registered before the movement did. High-pitched, terrified, cutting through the quiet like a knife. Then she was running, bolting away from him down the hallway with stumbling, panicked steps.

Kieran moved after her without thinking, the beast driving him forward with single-minded intensity. This was what it wanted. The chase. The hunt. Prey that ran triggered every predatory instinct he'd been keeping carefully controlled for three days straight.

She glanced back over her shoulder, and even through the dim lighting he saw the moment her eyes widened at whatever she saw in his face. His eyes. The red that marked him as something other than human.

Then she tripped.

Kieran closed the distance as she scrambled back to her feet and threw herself at a bedroom door. Locked. Her hands fumbled with something, maybe keys, maybe just panic. She turned, pressed back against the door with nowhere left to go, and he was right there. Close enough to finish this. Close enough to end the threat and complete what Arthur's death had started.

The beast wanted it. Wanted her gone, wanted the magic extinguished, wanted to eliminate this bright blazing source of power that shouldn't exist.

Her eyes locked on his. Sea-glass blue meeting predator red.

"Don't," he said. Not a plea. A statement. A warning. Because he could see it building in her, that surge of magic responding to terror and desperation.

Too late.

"Please… leave me alone!"

The last word hit like a physical blow. Not sound anymore but force, raw and uncontrolled and absolutely overwhelming. It caught Kieran square in the chest and launched him backward. His back slammed into the opposite wall hard enough that plaster cracked, air punching from his lungs in a harsh exhale.

The world went briefly sideways. Lights flickering. Frost spreading from corners and shadows that moved wrong, that reached. Candles igniting spontaneously. The ground shaking like reality itself was rejecting what had just happened.

Then it stopped. Everything settling back into stillness except for the lingering cold and the way his ribs were screaming.

Kieran stayed pressed against the wall for three seconds, assessing damage. Nothing broken. Bruised definitely. The beast was furious, roaring in his head to get up, to finish this, to eliminate the threat that had just proven exactly how dangerous she was.

He pushed off the wall, slower than he'd moved before. His eyes tracked to where she stood by her locked bedroom door, staring at her hands like she couldn't comprehend what they'd just done. Her palms were glowing faintly. Her whole body trembled, but not from fear anymore. From power.

"What are you?" The question came out rough. Not rhetorical. Genuine confusion cutting through the beast's demand to hunt. Because that level of raw, uncontrolled power didn't come from someone who'd been tested and cleared as non-magical. That came from someone with significant ability who'd never been taught control.

That came from someone who didn't even know they had magic until thirty seconds ago.

She muttered something he couldn't quite catch, then bolted. Past him while he was still processing what had just happened, down the hallway toward the front door.

The beast screamed to follow. To chase. She was getting away and that was unacceptable.

Kieran took one step forward, then stopped.

His ribs hurt. The human world was still burning through him. And Arthur Winslow's body was cooling in the next room while the curse that was supposed to break with his death remained perfectly, frustratingly intact.

Something was wrong. Not just with the mission. With everything. The theory his clan had operated on for seven generations. The ritual Arthur had died performing. This girl who blazed with power she shouldn't have and didn't know how to control.

He heard the front door open. Heard her footsteps retreating into the night.

The beast wanted to follow. Wanted to finish what he'd started.

Kieran turned and walked back into Arthur's room instead.

The old warlock's body lay exactly where it had fallen. The ritual circle still glowed faintly with residual magic. And on a small table near the window sat a phone, its screen lighting up with an incoming call.

Arthur's phone. Still active. Probably full of information about what the old man had actually been trying to accomplish before his body gave out.

Kieran picked it up carefully, tilted the screen to read the caller ID. Just a number. No name. He let it go to voicemail and pocketed the device.

Then he pulled out his own phone and called the only person who might have answers.

"It's done," he said when his mother answered. "Arthur Winslow is dead."

A pause. Then her voice, carefully neutral. "And the curse?"

"Still intact. Nothing changed." The words came out sharper than intended. Frustration bleeding through despite years of practice keeping his tone level.

Longer pause. He could hear her breathing, could imagine the way her expression would shift from anticipation to resignation to something harder to name.

"Are you certain?"

"The human world still feels exactly the same. The beast is still agitated. The rejection hasn't eased at all." He looked down at Arthur's body, jaw tight. "Twelve years. Forty-four names. And nothing's different. So either the theory is wrong or we're missing something critical."

The beast snarled at that. Questioning the Council. Questioning the mission. Questioning seven generations of sacrifice. Weak. Traitor. The Mothers know best.

He ignored it.

"Kieran," his mother's voice carried a warning edge. "This isn't the time for doubt."

"It's not doubt. It's fact." The frustration was building now, three days of pain and a mission that had just proven meaningless sharpening his words. "And there's another complication. The granddaughter. Evelyn Winslow. She was here. She has magic. Significant magic."

"That's impossible. Our information said she was tested and cleared. Non-magical."

"She was bound. Arthur was performing a ritual when I arrived, looked like he was trying to reinforce a suppression spell. It failed. Killed him. And whatever bindings were keeping her hidden broke with it."

His mother was quiet for a long moment. "Did you eliminate her?"

"No."

"Kieran-"

"She didn't know she had magic until it manifested. She was terrified and confused and she still managed to throw me across a hallway with a single word." He could hear the edge in his own voice now, the barely controlled irritation at a situation that made less sense the longer he stood here. "Whatever Arthur was hiding, it's significant. And I need to understand what we're actually dealing with before I eliminate another target that might not even matter."

Traitor, the beast hissed. Questioning orders. Defying the Mothers. Weak.

"Your orders are to come home," his mother said, voice hardening into command. "Immediately. The Council needs to assess this information."

Kieran looked around Arthur's room. Books. Journals. Ritual components. Evidence of something the Council clearly hadn't known about. Evidence that their seven-generation theory might be fundamentally flawed.

"I'm staying," he said.

Silence on the other end. The kind of silence that meant he'd just crossed a line he'd never crossed before.

"What did you say?"

"I'm staying. The girl has answers, whether she knows it or not. Arthur died trying to keep her hidden for a reason. I need to find out why before I complete any more missions that might be based on incomplete information."

"Kieran, you are not authorized to-"

"Forty-four deaths, Mother. Twelve years of my life. Garren and Mira both gone. And the curse is still intact." His voice had gone flat now, stripped of everything except tired frustration. "So either we've been wrong this entire time, or there's something we don't know. Either way, I'm finding out which before I add another name to the list."

Another long silence. Then: "The Council will not approve this."

"The Council can pull me back if they want. But I'm not crossing over until I have answers."

He could hear her breathing. Sharp. Controlled. The kind of control she used when she was furious but couldn't afford to show it.

"You have three days," she finally said. "Find your answers. Then you come home, with or without the girl's body. Understood?"

"Understood."

The call ended.

Kieran stood in Arthur Winslow's ritual room, phone still in hand, while the beast raged about defiance and weakness and betraying the clan's purpose.

Three days. That's all he had to figure out why seven generations of hunting had accomplished nothing. Why Arthur had died trying to hide a girl with more raw power than Kieran had seen in years. Why the curse that should have broken with the last warlock's death still held perfectly intact.

Three days to find a terrified witch who'd just discovered she had magic and convince her to give him information she probably didn't even know she possessed.

The beast called him traitor.

Kieran pocketed his phone and started gathering Arthur's journals.

Maybe he was. But he was done killing blind.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 5, 2025

The question the man had asked her lingered in Evelyn’s mind.

‘What are you?’

She had no idea. She didn’t even know she could do that, the tingling sensation faded, but it wasn’t completely gone. As if that power lingered beneath her skin…her bones even.

Was that even possible? At this point anything could be-

A voice interrupted her thoughts, “Lynn? Are you sure you’re okay?” June asked again through the phone, obviously not believing the shaky words.

Evelyn shook her head, like June could see the action, “I…I don’t know. But my grandfather…he’s dead.” She sobs out, tears finally streaming down her face. “Can…can you pick me up? I’m going to go to the neighbors…clean up. I’m…a mess.” She muttered, getting the okay from June before hanging up the call.

Glancing back at her house…she sniffles before taking off to the neighbors to use their bathroom to clean up. While she didn’t look like a mess other than her typical appearance, she felt like she was covered in something. Even though there wasn’t anything on her other than ink stains and paper dust.

She also asked her neighbor to call for the paramedics while she cleaned up. The elderly woman had asked what happened, and when she told her minus the whole ‘I caused an explosion in my home that sent some man across the hallway’ part, the woman’s face lost all emotion and went pale.

“Get out.” The woman said, forcing Evelyn by her arm.

Evelyn didn’t understand, what was so bad about what she had said? Yes her grandfather was strange and often drew symbols like the one she saw briefly on the floor. Everyone including himself told her it was just a hobby. But now it was a problem?

“What…why?! I didn’t do anything! My grandfather was just MURDERED!” The last word sent a smaller, less powerful shockwave, instead electrocuting the old woman’s hand to force her to let go.

“You need to leave. Now. And don’t do that again. Ever. Find some place safe and stay there. Don’t lose control.” The woman said right before she shut the door in Evelyn’s face.

Fortunately, June pulled up in her car, looking at the damage to the house. Yet there was nothing to see on the outside. All the damage was internal.

Evelyn walked up to the car and got into the passenger seat, sighing as she slumped into the seat. “I don’t want to talk about it…I just need to sleep.” She muttered, getting a nod in response as June took off back towards her home.
–
When they got there, Evelyn took a cooler shower…or at least that was the intention. But as the memories and the question replayed in her head suddenly the water stopped falling onto her. The showerhead was…frozen? Immediately she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out to tell June.

“Junebug, your shower froze.” She called out, but then as soon as she saw her friend…the shower was running again. It was strange, the moment she saw June, she was able to relax more and so did the shower…? “Never mind I guess it has a mind of its own…” She huffed before entering the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and going back to her shower.

After she showered, changed, and laid down on the bed next to where June would lay, she held her hands out in front of her with her palms facing her face.

Where was that glow from earlier? It was gone. But before she could start to question it, June came into the room.

“So I made some calls, first responders are on their way to your house to pick up Mr. Winslow and officers will be here to ask you some questions. For now you need to rest, get your energy for tomorrow. It’s going to be a busy day.” She says, moving to lay down next to Evelyn.

Evelyn nods, turning to her side to turn off the light before flipping onto her back again. She didn’t sleep, at least not right away. She couldn’t, not with the events playing in her head over and over and over again. But June next to her helped keep her relatively calm.

Then there was that question lingering in the back of her head…

“What am I?”
-------------

Catherine could feel fear all throughout her body when she heard what had happened to Arthur. And the fact that Evelyn survived the attacker means that this whole town is in danger.

The woman thought that all the redmarked werewolves died. That the last two members of the Winslow family were safe and able to live a normal life. Or at least as normal as one could have while being a witch/warlock.

She unfortunately knew how the redmarked ones operated, and they were dangerous. They wanted the Winslow family dead because of what they did to the werewolves. But what they did was to protect the humans. There were no regrets and the spell couldn’t be so easily undone.

Catherine was worried for both the girl and the town, knowing that the determination to end the Winslow line was powerful in the werewolves.

So she grabbed her phone, dialling a number and bringing the phone to her ear, “Arthur’s dead. Suppression gone wrong. She’ll inherit everything and will have no idea what to do with it all. She’s in danger, but if she dies we won’t have to worry about the werewolves ever again.” Catherine mutters into the phone, holding it to her ear by her shoulder as she goes to her basement to fish through some old boxes.

“She has to be kept alive. The bloodline must live on, in case the decision to undo the veil is made. They are the only ones who can undo it. Keep her alive.” The voice on the other end was male, stern and unyielding.

Catherine let out a sigh, “Fine. But I’ll need help. She’s never used magic before, I can’t deal with so much power on my own.” She says as she pulls out an old, thick book. It was her old grimoire, something she never used in years ever since she stopped practicing magic. The girl would need this. But how she would get it to her, she had no idea.

“You’ll have help. But for now keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t cause too much destruction. I’ll keep in touch.” The man said before hanging up the phone.

Catherine let out an exhausted sigh. This wasn’t what she signed up for. Why did Arthur have to be so stupid and do that ritual by himself? Or do it altogether? The girl is so screwed and Catherine has so much to do.

Heading back upstairs she set the grimoire on the coffee table in the living room, sitting on the couch and staring at it. This was going to be tough.

Froshimaru · Nov 5, 2025

Kieran moved through Arthur's room with methodical efficiency, gathering what mattered. The journals went into a worn leather satchel he'd found hanging near the door. Arthur's phone, still warm. Loose papers covered in ritual notations. A few artifacts that radiated residual magic strongly enough that even he could feel them.

The beast prowled restlessly beneath his skin, agitated by the lingering magic and the fact that their prey had escaped. Weak. Letting her run. Should be hunting NOW.

"I know," Kieran muttered under his breath, shoving another journal into the bag.

He paused at the ritual circle, crouched down to examine the symbols more closely. Salt and ash, arranged in patterns he'd seen before but never quite like this. The candles had burned down to stubs. The veil lay crumpled where Arthur had placed it, stained with blood from the old man's eyes.

Binding magic. Concealment. Arthur had died trying to hide something.

No. Hide someone.

Kieran's jaw tightened. He straightened, slinging the satchel over his shoulder, and finally let himself look at Arthur's body properly.

The old warlock lay on his side now, the way he'd fallen when his heart gave out. Face still twisted in pain and determination. Blood dried in tracks down his weathered cheeks. Hands curled slightly, like he'd been reaching for something at the end.

Kieran stood over him for a long moment.

"I meant what I said," he said quietly to the corpse. "I am sorry it had to be this way. You didn't choose your bloodline any more than I chose mine."

He crouched down, close enough that if Arthur were still alive, he'd be able to hear clearly.

"But I'm not sorry you're dead. You understand? Whatever you were trying to protect, whatever that ritual was supposed to accomplish, it was always going to end like this. Seven generations of my people have suffered because of what your ancestors did. The hunt isn't something I enjoy. It's just necessary."

The words felt hollow even as he said them. Necessary. The mission. The greater good of his clan.

Forty-four deaths, and the curse still held.

He stood again, turned away from the body. The wrongness of the human world pressed against him, that constant low-grade burn that had been eating at him for three days. The beast wanted to leave, wanted to cross back home where the air didn't actively reject their existence.

But they weren't done here. Not yet.

In the distance, sirens. Faint but getting closer. The neighbor must have called emergency services after Evelyn fled. Kieran had maybe ten minutes before the authorities arrived, less if they were already close.

He moved through the house quickly, checking rooms. Looking for anything else that might matter. A small cottage, neat and carefully maintained. Books everywhere. More ritual components tucked away in cupboards. The scent of old magic and older grief saturating everything.

And underneath it all, Evelyn's scent. Tea and lavender and old paper, now overlaid with fear-sweat and that blazing magical signature that made the beast's hackles rise.

Her trail led from the bedroom hallway back through the house. Out the front door. Then... it split.

One path led away down the street. Fading, like she'd gotten into a vehicle.

The other led next door.

Kieran followed the closer trail first, letting his senses map out what had happened. She'd gone to the neighbor's house. The door had opened. There'd been conversation. Then something had happened, something that left a sharp ozone smell in the air like lightning. Another magical discharge, smaller than the one that had thrown him across the hallway but still significant.

Then the door had closed and Evelyn's trail led away again, joining up with the vehicle scent.

But the neighbor...

Kieran moved closer to the house, staying in the shadows between properties. The sirens were getting louder. Five minutes, maybe.

He focused on the scents coming from the neighboring cottage.

Female. Elderly. But underneath the normal human smells was something else. Something that made his instincts prickle with recognition.

Magic. Old magic, the kind that came from decades of practice. Not as bright or raw as Evelyn's newly unleashed power, but more controlled. More deliberate.

Another witch.

The beast snarled. Another threat. Another target. Finish it.

Kieran ignored it, thinking through what he'd just learned. Evelyn had run here. To someone who knew about magic. Someone who'd been close enough to be a neighbor, who'd presumably watched Arthur raise his granddaughter, who'd known about the Winslows and their craft.

And whoever this was had sent Evelyn away.

Protected her? Or gotten rid of a liability?

The sirens were close now. Maybe three minutes out.

"I know you're in there," Kieran called out, not loud but clear enough to carry through the walls. "And I know what you are."

He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.

Then he added, quieter but still audible: "I'm not here to kill you. I need information. About the girl. About what Arthur was doing."

The beast raged at that. Liar. We kill witches. That's the mission. That's what we DO.

But the mission had just proven itself fundamentally flawed, and Kieran was done killing blind.

He stood in the shadows between houses, the satchel of Arthur's belongings weighing heavy on his shoulder, and waited to see if the neighbor would answer.

Or if he'd have to come back later when there weren't police cars about to flood the street.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 5, 2025

Evelyn laid there on the bed, unable to sleep. Granted it was early to be sleeping, but considering everything that just happened one would think she'd be exhausted enough to sleep. But no. She couldn't even close her eyes without the partial image of her grandfather dead appearing in her mind. It was either that or the events that took place with the attacker. Those red eyes...she couldn't get them out of her head. They were the only thing she noticed about him, the only thing she actually got a good look at.

It sounded ridiculous. A man with red eyes. That couldn't have been real...right? It wasn't natural for a person to have red eyes like that. But then again, neither was the way she flung him against the wall or how she shocked her neighbor when she tried to get help.

Instead of continuing to try to sleep, she slips out of the bed. June turns her head to look at Evelyn, clearly not asleep, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" She could tell something was clearly wrong. For someone who went through so much should be exhausted and wanting to sleep.

Evelyn was the opposite almost. Yes, she was exhausted but at the same time restless. She had to find out who that man was. Nodding her head she gives June a soft smile, "Yes, I'm okay. I just need to do some research to calm my nerves." Then she walked out the room and to the little office space June had. They both liked to do research and so June told Evelyn that she could use the computer whenever she needed. Since she didn't want to leave the house, scared that the man was out there...waiting for her...she had to go digital. Which wasn't all bad, but she liked her paper research. Though you could really find just about anything online, which would help ease her stress and worries...or so she hoped.

June on the other hand, didn't believe Evelyn and followed behind her into the office, leaning against the door frame as she watched her friend. "You know you can talk to me about anything right? Something is wrong or at least bothering you. I just want to help you and stop you from going down whatever rabbit hole you're about to go down." She sounded worried, which only made Evelyn hesitate further.

What could she say to ease her friend? To ease herself? There was nothing she could say that would make sense. June would certainly think she's crazy. Hells, that's how she felt already. She didn't need someone to add to that. Though the thoughts were truly irrational, she couldn't help but shake her head. "I won't go too far. I just need answers. I know I can't erase what happened, but I need time before I can face it..." Those words seemed to put June somewhat at ease, the girl turned around to go back to lay down.

Evelyn let out a quiet sigh as June left, now turning her attention to the computer. Typing in the password and opening the site for the town archives she began her research.

'Red eyes' - No results

She tried typing the same thing in the site for the library archives.

Nothing other than folklore.

At first that seemed ridiculous, the man couldn't be something out of a story...right? Despite all rational thoughts telling her that wasn't possible, she clicked on the top result. It was something about werewolves...ones who were known most for their red eyes. She couldn't help but scoff. That man could not be a werewolf. The way they were described in appearance was nothing like how the man had looked. They were said to have rather distinct appearances, easily detectable. But the man she encountered looked like any other person she had encountered aside from the eye color.

"This is ridiculous" She grumbled, shutting off the computer and standing up to go back to lay down but she hit her knee on the desk, "ow!" She cried out softly, not wanting to alert June in the other room. But her tone had that same power as it did before, and the wooden desk lit on fire in the corner she hit. "Shit! No, no, no. Where did you come from?! Go away!" She tried to shoo the fire away, but it just lingered. It didn't spread but it wasn't supposed to be there. There was nothing that could've caused it. "Stop!" She said, holding her hands out at the fire. It disappeared.

Frowning she looked at her hands, there was a slight glow again. So, she learned that every time something like that happened her hands glowed for some reason. There was also the fact that she had no idea how she even stopped it. Sure, she told it to stop and held her hands out, but what exactly caused it to stop in the first place? The motion itself seemed really ridiculous, but it worked. Somehow.

Shaking her head, figuring her mind was playing tricks on her for some reason, she went over to the kitchen to grab some water. But she noticed two glowing dots in the window, walking closer she saw that those dots were...her eyes. They were glowing too. But once she blinked it was gone, so was the glowing on her hands.

This was...weird. Grabbing a glass and filling it with water she immediately went to go into the living room and grab a book to read. That would certainly take her mind off of everything...right?
-----------

Catherine was startled by the voice she heard through the walls. Was that the werewolf? She didn't answer, maybe he would leave.

"And I know what you are."

Well shit. That was great. Well now she had no choice, let him in or he lets himself in. She had protective wards set in place so he wouldn't be able to get far without more pain than he was probably already in, but that wouldn't stop him. Standing from the couch she sat on she walked to the door, grabbing the sigil that marked where the barrier began and moving it further back so she couldn't fully enter her house. But it would be back enough for him to enter and ask whatever questions he wanted.

Then she unlocked the door before stepping behind the sigil. "Come in" She instructed, standing with her arms crossed.

"Keep her alive."

The instructions rang through her mind like a bell marking the twelfth hour. Keeping her alive would keep these problematic werewolves capable of killing off witches. Especially if redmarked ones still lived. This would never end. But he was the one who knew best. So, she had to listen, or she would be shunned and stripped of her magic touch altogether. She didn't want that. "I thought your kind wanted that family dead. Why are you wasting time looking for answers your people already came up with?" She raised a brow, curios as to why this particular werewolf wasn't as murder driven as the others she knew hunted the bloodlines. But she wouldn't answer his questions until she got a better understanding if he was truly a threat or not.

"Let me add that if you do try to kill me, you won't get far in this house without feeling worse pain than you are feeling right now. I also have contacts who are aware of your presence. They will make sure you go back to where you came from." She warned. Though the wards were really the only thing that she had to stop him. Her magic was untouched for years. So she was rusty and any usage wouldn't be as powerful as she'd like it to be.

Froshimaru · Nov 6, 2025

Kieran heard the movement inside. Footsteps approaching the door. Then a pause, like whoever was inside was preparing something.

The door unlocked. Opened.

"Come in," a woman's voice said.

He stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the cottage. Immediately the air changed. Thicker. Pressing against him in a way that had nothing to do with the human world's natural rejection. Wards. Active magical barriers designed to cause pain to anyone the caster deemed a threat.

The burn in his bones intensified, sharpening from background ache to something more immediate. Not unbearable yet, but present. A warning.

The beast snarled. Trap. She's trapped us. Kill her and break free.

Kieran ignored it, focusing instead on the woman who'd let him in.

An Elder. Hair pulled back, posture straight despite her age. Arms crossed, standing behind what looked like a painted sigil on the floor. A barrier within a barrier. Smart.

Her eyes were sharp, assessing him the same way he was assessing her.

"I thought your kind wanted that family dead. Why are you wasting time looking for answers your people already came up with?"

Straight to the point then. No pretense.

"Let me add that if you do try to kill me, you won't get far in this house without feeling worse pain than you are feeling right now. I also have contacts who are aware of your presence. They will make sure you go back to where you came from."

Kieran stayed where he was, just inside the door. Close enough to talk, far enough that he wasn't crowding her space. The wards pressed against him like a hand on his chest, promising exactly what she'd threatened.

"The answers my people came up with are wrong," he said flatly. "Arthur Winslow is dead. The curse is still intact. Seven generations of hunting, forty-four deaths, and nothing's changed."

He shifted the satchel on his shoulder slightly, feeling the weight of Arthur's journals inside.

"So either the theory was flawed from the start, or we've been missing something critical. Either way, I'm not interested in adding more names to my list until I know what I'm actually accomplishing."

The beast raged at that admission. Traitor. Weak. The Mothers gave us purpose and we're questioning it.

The woman studied him for a long moment. Kieran could smell her wariness, her calculation. She was afraid, he could tell that much, but she was controlling it well. Decades of practice, probably.

"The girl," he continued. "Evelyn. She was here. Her scent leads right to your door. Then there was another magical discharge and she left." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You sent her away. Protected her, or got rid of a witness. I need to know which."

He paused, then added with deliberate honesty: "And I need to know why Arthur died trying to keep her magic suppressed. What was he hiding? What makes her important enough that an old warlock would kill himself rather than let her power show?"

The sirens were very close now. Maybe a minute out.

"Your contacts can try sending me home if they want," Kieran said, acknowledging her threat without fear. "But I have three days before my clan pulls me back anyway. Three days to figure out if the last twelve years of my life have been wasted on a fundamentally broken mission. So you can answer my questions, or I can spend those three days tearing apart every piece of information Arthur left behind until I find the answers myself."

He met her eyes directly. His were still faintly red, the beast too close to the surface for them to fade back to amber.

"I'm not here to kill you. I'm not here to kill Evelyn. Not yet, anyway. I'm here because something about this entire situation is wrong and I need to understand what."

The pain from the wards was getting worse. Steady, insistent pressure building in his chest and head. He could probably last another few minutes before it became genuinely debilitating, but not much longer than that.

"So I'll ask again: Why was Evelyn here? What did you tell her? And what do you know about what Arthur was trying to accomplish?"

Outside, red and blue lights began flashing through the windows. The authorities had arrived at Arthur's house next door. Voices calling out, car doors slamming. The investigation beginning.

Kieran didn't move. Didn't look away from the elderly witch standing behind her protective sigil.

He'd come for answers. He wasn't leaving without at least some of them.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 6, 2025

Evelyn couldn't concentrate on the book, her glance shifting to the front door every other minute. She was afraid the man would find her here. How he would be able to, she didn't know. But what she did know is that anything was possible at this point. Like how she sent him flying, how she shocked Catherine, and lit the desk on fire before somehow putting it out.

As her thoughts started getting overwhelming, she closed the book and set it aside, afraid of setting it on fire or explode it. There always seemed to be some sort of event to occur when she was overwhelmed.

A knock on the front door startled her, looking at the time it could've been anyone. Panic started to settle in her chest. Was this him? No. It couldn't be. He wouldn't knock to be let in if he wanted to kill her.

Another set of knocks sounded through the door. Evelyn just stared at the door, hoping whoever it was would just go away. Maybe they'd think no one was home...right? But instead June came out from her room, "Who is that...? Why aren't you getting the door Lynn?" She frowned once she saw Evelyn staring the door down. Evelyn didn't respond, simply keeping her focus on the door. June let out a sigh, continuing towards the door, opening it when she got there. "Oh...hello officer."

It was an officer...but June said they wouldn't be coming until tomorrow. Why were they here all of a sudden?

The officer cleared his throat, nodding towards June before turning his attention to Evelyn. "I need a word with Miss Winslow...if you have a moment." He spoke with control, as if it was truly important. Maybe they found out how her grandfather died. As if sensing her worry he quickly added, "It can wait. I'm just here to check on you."

Evelyn hesitated before nodding, standing up and walking to go step outside with the officer. June offered her friend a smile before shutting the door and most likely going to sit and wait or go lie back down. "Did you guys find out what happened to my grandfather?" She asked, wrapping her arms around her as she studied the officer. Something seemed...off about him.

And sure enough his demeanor changed from one of professional concern to one of demand, "Where are the journals?" He asked. "You have the journals, don't you?"

Evelyn shook her head, "I-I'm sorry I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't even know my grandfather kept journals. Wait what does this have to do with anything? My grandfather is dead! His belongings are the least of my worries. The killer is still out there!" This man was not an officer, he couldn't be. Was this the killer? No. This man's eyes were brown. Not red.

The man grumbled something under his breath, a curse it sounded like. He pulled out his phone, sending a text to someone before looking back at Evelyn, then back at his phone. What was going on? Who was this man? Putting his phone away he shook his head, "You need to find those journals. The wolf cannot get his hands on them. They cannot learn how to break the veil. Find them." Then he turned to leave.

Evelyn tried to stop him and get more answers, "Wait! What are you talking about? What journals? What do you mean by wolf? What's the veil? Hey! Answer me! You can't just spew nonsense then leave. I don't understand!" He ignored her, walking towards his car and taking off. She stood in the driveway, confused more than ever. What was so important about some journals? She let out a loud groan in frustration, and the ground beneath her shook slightly, thunder sounding off in the distance. Not again. Taking a few deep breaths, she calmed herself down before walking back inside.

Now she had more questions than she did minutes before that guy showed up. June looked at her confused, "Is everything okay? I heard you shout something." Evelyn shook her head, stating that they hadn't found the killer yet and she was merely upset with that. Which wasn't a total lie, she was upset about that. But she wasn't going to tell June everything, the girl didn't even seem to have noticed what happened afterwards. Or if she did, she didn't acknowledge it.

So she just went to go lie back down. Eventually she would fall asleep.
-----------------

Catherine couldn't help but scoff at his first words

"The answers my people came up with are wrong,"
"No shit they're wrong. If the veil was held by the fact that the bloodline was still standing, each time you killed one of them off it would weaken. The strain wouldn't be so powerful as it had been when it was initially put into place." She was almost amused that the wolves hadn't figured that out by now. But then again, they weren't as well-versed in the knowledge of magic compared to witches. It was still amusing nonetheless.

It was also surprising that now the wolves decided to stop killing and instead start asking. They never exactly asked before they started killing off witches. So now it's a concern all of a sudden. "If your kind's theories were correct, you'd not only feel the pressure slowly lift, but you'd also need to kill the girl since she's a part of the bloodline. But unfortunately for you and your people, if you kill her, that spell will never be undone." It was clear that Catherine couldn't care if Evelyn died for it would mean that the werewolves would never be able to come near the humans without suffering. But she had to care for the damn child, so of course to keep her alive she had to tell him the truth. So he wouldn't kill the girl.

"You sent her away. Protected her, or got rid of a witness. I need to know which."
This wolf sure had a lot of confidence showing up like this at the house of an elder witch and acting like he had power. While she was rusty in her magic, that doesn't mean she can't fuck him up. It wouldn't end well for either of them. She waited until he finished with his whole 'I need answers shtick' She wouldn't tell him everything as he would learn more than she could tell him in those journals that he nabbed from Arthur's belongings anyways.
"So I'll ask again: Why was Evelyn here? What did you tell her? And what do you know about what Arthur was trying to accomplish?"

Catherine shook her head, "I sent the girl away because I knew you wouldn't stop until you got to her. I guess I was wrong on that." She started out, trying to be a little careful on how to spoke to the murderous creature before her "I don't know what that family tried to accomplish by suppressing her magic. They were all foolish and I thought Arthur would be the one to actually teach her. Apparently, I was wrong about that as well." She shrugged.

She really wasn't sure why they suppressed the girl's magic. They could have protected her and taught her to control herself. Instead, they condemned her to a life where she had little to no chance of surviving in. "She doesn't know anything about what she is as I'm sure you're already aware. But she can't learn anything until the Council sees that she has those." Catherine gestures to the satchel on his shoulder, acknowledging that she knew what was inside. "Until then, you won't get what you want. She's your last hope of your people being allowed back into human society. Many other witches will stop at nothing to kill her now that they know she's the last one of the Winslow bloodline. They would love nothing more than to see your kind never return. So, I suggest you keep her alive rather than dead. And give those journals back. It's rude to steal from the dead."

She waves dismissively, making the sigil on the floor disappear. But it didn't get rid of the protective barrier, it pushed back to where it was. Meaning that it was stronger now, even where the wolf stood. That was her way of telling him to 'get out'.

Froshimaru · Nov 6, 2025

The ward pressure intensified immediately, pushing against Kieran like a physical force trying to shove him back toward the door. Catherine's dismissal was clear. But her words had given him more than she probably intended.

"Many other witches will stop at nothing to kill her now," Kieran repeated, his voice flat. "So it's not just my clan hunting her. There's a faction that wants the curse permanent."

The pieces were starting to fit together in a way that made his jaw tight with frustration. Political maneuvering. Competing interests. And Evelyn caught in the middle, powerful but completely ignorant of what she represented.

"The Council," he said, testing the word. "You mentioned a Council. Witch authority, I'm assuming. They need to see the journals before Evelyn can learn anything."

Catherine's expression didn't change, but her silence was confirmation enough.

The ward pressure was becoming genuinely painful now. Breathing took effort. The beast was screaming to leave, to get out before the magic did real damage. His eyes were burning red, unable to fade back to amber under this much stress.

"I'm not giving the journals back," Kieran said bluntly. "Not until I know what's in them. Whether your Council sees them first or I do, that's still being decided."

He took a step backward, toward the door. The pressure eased fractionally. Another step.

"But you're right about one thing. If she's the last Winslow, and other witches want her dead to keep the curse intact, then she needs protection." His voice carried an edge of bitter irony. "Strange position to be in. Spending twelve years hunting a bloodline, only to find out the last member is the only thing standing between my people and permanent exile."

He paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. Outside, the authorities were swarming Arthur's house. Flashlights. Radio chatter. Crime scene tape going up.

"One more question," Kieran said, looking back at Catherine. "The fake officer who just left here. The one who told Evelyn to find the journals and keep them from 'the wolf.' Friend of yours?"

He'd heard the conversation from outside. Enhanced hearing picking up every word through the walls while he'd been dealing with Catherine. A man posing as police, demanding information about the journals, warning Evelyn about wolves getting their hands on them.

The same journals currently in Kieran's possession.

"Because if your people are this desperate to control what information gets out, I'm even more interested in what Arthur wrote."

The ward pressure spiked again, a clear warning. Catherine was done talking.

Kieran stepped fully outside, and the magical pressure released all at once. The relief was immediate, the burn in his bones dropping back down to just the constant ache of the human world's rejection.

He took a breath, steadying himself. The beast was furious, humiliated by the retreat, demanding they go back and finish what they'd started.

But they had what they needed. Information. Confirmation that the situation was more complex than the Council had known. And most importantly, confirmation that Evelyn Winslow was now the most valuable and most vulnerable person in a conflict that went far beyond clan vengeance.

Kieran melted back into the shadows between houses, avoiding the authorities still processing Arthur's scene. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen.

A text from his mother: Status report. Now.

He typed back with his free hand while walking: Situation more complex than briefed. Multiple factions involved. Target is key to breaking curse, not maintaining it. Will report fully once I have complete information.

Her response came seconds later: You have 72 hours. Use them wisely.

Kieran pocketed the phone and found a quiet spot several blocks away, an abandoned building where he could sit undisturbed. He pulled Arthur's journals from the satchel, stacked them in chronological order based on the dates visible on the covers, and opened the oldest one.

Time to find out what seven generations of hunting had been missing.

The beast settled into watchful alertness, still angry but understanding that gathering information was its own kind of hunt.

Outside, night had fully fallen. The human world burned against his skin. And somewhere in this town, Evelyn Winslow was trying to make sense of powers she'd never known she had, while multiple factions positioned themselves around her like pieces on a board.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 7, 2025

Evelyn did fall asleep, eventually. But not without a dream. It was the one that she usually got on particularly stressful nights.

It was always a lunar eclipse, or blood moon, in this particular dream. Evelyn stood along a beach, the normally clear water was tinted with red from the light the moon and sun provided.

Though something was different. There wasn't just frost forming at the shoreline like it usually was. The water was freezing up, a thunderstorm could be heard and seen in the distance. What was going on?

There were shadowed figures walking along the frozen water. Towards...her? Normally figures wade into the water and never come back.

"Hello?" She called out, taking a few steps closer towards the approaching figures. They all had a faint glow to them. Different colors, like ones you would expect to be a part of a rainbow. Only there was one color missing...blue. Like the glow she saw in her eyes and hands.

Looking down at herself, she was sure enough glowing faintly like the others. Glowing Blue. Why was she glowing like that? Was she supposed to join them? She didn't want to. And the figures never answered her, instead they continued to approach her. As they got closer Evelyn could hear them muttering something, a chant perhaps. But she couldn't understand the words...like they were in another language.

She slowly started to back away, turning to run from the figures but as she did so there was suddenly a wall behind her. Turning back to face them, she was no longer at the beach. They were in her home, the figures lined up behind the one that glowed red as they came down the hallway.

As they finally reached her, they stopped the chanting. She couldn't see their faces, a dark shadow cloaking them from her vision. "Where are the journals?" The man in red asked, his tone demanding an answer.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" She told him, shaking her head.

That didn't satisfy the man. But before she would learn anymore, she was pulled from the dream and back into consciousness. There was a frost covering her blanket...how strange. Right as she went to touch it, June walked it and it disappeared. Catherine told her to stop with whatever it was she was doing. But she couldn't help it. Maybe she could stay near June for a while...that seemed to help a lot. Deciding that's what she would do, she felt comfortable enough to sleep with her best friend in the room. And what a dreamless night it was, not that she was complaining.

+ The Council (I don't know what to put for a photo for them)

Catherine didn't give the wolf any more details than she could. Whether it was enough to convince him to keep Evelyn alive or not, she did all she could do. So even when he continued to ask more questions she wouldn't answer. Until he mentioned a police impersonator. That caused her to huff out in amusement. "The Council has enforcers everywhere. In every occupation. That was no impersonator. He is an officer. But he must've been put in charge of making sure she got those journals. Keep them if you wish. But your people don't stand a chance towards what you've been trying to accomplish if she doesn't get those as soon as possible." She pauses, glancing at the way he keeps backing towards the door but not quite leaving yet.

But she wouldn't give him anything more. "Now I'm sure you feel the pressure is much greater now, so I suggest you leave before your stay is cut short." She warned him, watching as he eventually did leave.

A minute after he left, Catherine was summoned from her home and into a room. Though the room was so dark it looked more like a void. Suddenly, lights came from nowhere and shined on 5 figures sitting at a high table shaped like a 'U'. Two empty seats remained on each side of them and one higher throne-like seat hovered behind them. Their faces were covered but the glow that surrounded them told Catherine who they were. "Council" She curtsied before the Council, rising to stand straight as the middle one cleared his throat.

"So, we found that she doesn't have the journals Arthur kept on him. Who has them then and why did you let them take them?" The voice was similar to the one she'd spoken to on the phone earlier. But it was older, wiser, than the one she spoke to. A son perhaps. After all this was the Council's preferred way of communicating. They wouldn't use modern technology. They refused.

"The wolf does. He took them from Arthur's room shortly after Evelyn ran off. I haven't practiced the craft in years. I wouldn't have been able to stop him. I was lucky enough that he didn't kill me the moment he entered my house. But he knows the truth now. He won't kill her. At least I hope so." She explained, earning a few scoffs from the other Council members.

"Why must the girl live? The werewolves would no longer be an issue if she simply died." The one in purple said, glancing at the one in red.

The one in orange nodded in agreement, "Exactly. We wouldn't have to worry about them anymore."

"Isn't killing the girl a little extreme? Why don't we harness the power and transfer it into someone who-"

The red one slammed his hands on the table, demanding silence from the rest who started to pitch in their opinions. "Silence! It is not her fault she had the upbringing that she did. She needs time to learn. To grow. We agreed years ago. The girl is to stay alive and keep her power. She was given to it by the gods above for a reason. We must trust their judgement." His head turns to face Catherine, though whether or not he was actually looking at her was a different story. "Arthur had ideas in those journals. Ideas to rid the human world of every supernatural creature's existence. If the wolves find those ideas, they can share them with others and there will be a war. There's also the way to break the veil. It's a trusted secret to that family and that family only. Do NOT let that wolf find those entries. Arthur had to have some sense in him to keep those safely stored. Find out what you can." He instructed, dismissing Catherine with a wave and she disappeared.

"Should we trust her? She is one of the few who want her dead so that the wolves cannot ever return. And where are the others? That son of yours has been going ordering people around like he has authority. He needs reminding that-"

"My son will get reminding of where he stands. I told him to instruct Catherine while we prepared the spell to enter Evelyn's mind. Anything else I will take care of. As for the others...they're handling things. We have to keep the impression that we're human after all. They're helping to maintain that image and keep others in line. You know this." He glances to the green witch who simply huffs, frustrated with his answer. The others hated this, that they all followed this one around. But they had to, it was the only form of a leader they had. Hopefully that would change soon.

(Here's a rough sketch of what the room looks like that I just did on the computer right now)

Froshimaru · Nov 10, 2025

The abandoned building Kieran had chosen was a gutted warehouse on the edge of town. Empty, quiet, and far enough from populated areas that he could work undisturbed. He'd found a corner where part of the roof still held, keeping the space dry, and settled in with Arthur's journals spread before him.

The human world burned against his skin. Three days in now, and the constant wrongness was wearing at his control. The beast paced restlessly, agitated by the pain, by the failed mission, by everything that had gone sideways since Arthur Winslow's heart had stopped.

Kieran opened the first journal.

Arthur's handwriting was precise, methodical. The entries started years ago, detailing magical theory, ritual preparations, observations about the Winslow bloodline. Nothing immediately useful in the early pages. Just the careful documentation of a man who took his craft seriously.

Then he found the entry dated October 22nd, 2008.

My daughter died yesterday. So did my son-in-law.

Kieran read slowly, absorbing every word. The suppression ritual. Evelyn at seven years old, already showing signs of power that shouldn't exist in someone so young. Her parents dying to hide her abilities. Arthur taking her in, conflicted between wanting to train her and wanting to keep her safe.

She could be the key to removing every dangerous creature from human existence.

The words sat heavy in Kieran's mind. Not maintaining the curse. Not preserving the banishment. Removing dangerous creatures. Permanently.

He flipped forward, scanning entries. Arthur's conflict bleeding through every page. The power Evelyn possessed was unprecedented. Dangerous. And Arthur had spent seventeen years trying to keep it contained while simultaneously documenting what it could potentially accomplish.

Then he found it. Buried in an entry from 2016, written in script so small Arthur had clearly been trying to keep it private even within his own journal:

The veil can be broken. Only by Winslow blood. But breaking it means choice, not freedom. The Winslows created the banishment to protect humans. If Evelyn learns the truth, if she gains full control of her abilities, she won't just be able to undo the veil. She'll be able to remake it. Strengthen it. Or eliminate every supernatural threat permanently.

Kieran stopped reading.

Sat back against the cold wall.

Processed what he'd just learned.

The Council had been right about one thing: killing the Winslows would break the curse. But not because they were maintaining it. Because they were the only ones who could manipulate it. The curse wasn't sustained by their existence. It was controlled by their bloodline.

Which meant every Winslow he'd killed, every name in his journal, had been another person who could have potentially freed his people. Or condemned them permanently.

And Evelyn was the last one left.

The beast was quiet for once, processing the same information. Not angry anymore. Just... calculating.

"We've been hunting the only people who could help us," Kieran said aloud to the empty warehouse. His voice sounded flat. Emotionless. Because feeling anything right now would compromise the control he was barely maintaining.

Seven generations. Hundreds of deaths. Garren. Mira. Forty-four names in his personal journal. All of it based on a fundamental misunderstanding of how the curse actually worked.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it. Kept reading.

Arthur's later entries detailed the degradation of the suppression spell. The panic as he realized it was failing. His desperate preparation for the ritual that would kill him. And buried in the margins, small notes about "the Council" and their interest in Evelyn.

Apparently the witches had their own political structure. And they were divided on what to do about the last Winslow. Some wanted her dead to keep the veil permanent. Others wanted her alive and trained to maintain control over it.

And at least one faction, if Arthur's paranoid scribblings were accurate, wanted to harness her power for something else entirely.

Kieran closed the journal and pulled out his phone. Three missed calls from his mother. Two texts demanding status updates.

He typed: The Winslows don't maintain the curse. They control it. Only they can break it or strengthen it. Evelyn is the last one with that ability. Killing her makes freedom impossible.

The response came within seconds: Bring the journals home. The Council needs to see this.

No. The witch Council is also hunting her. Multiple factions want her dead or controlled. If I bring these home, your Council will have the same information without the girl who can actually use it.

A longer pause this time. Then: What are you suggesting?

Kieran looked at the journals spread before him. At Arthur's desperate handwriting. At seventeen years of a man trying to protect his granddaughter from forces that wanted to use her, kill her, or turn her into a weapon.

I'm suggesting we've been approaching this wrong. We don't need to eliminate the Winslows. We need to convince the last one to break the curse voluntarily.

She just watched you try to kill her. Why would she help us?

She wouldn't. Not me. But she'll want answers about her parents. About Arthur. About what she is. And I have those answers now. Information for cooperation. It's better than what we've been doing.[/i]

The phone didn't buzz again for a full five minutes. Kieran waited, reading more of Arthur's entries. Learning about the girl who'd spent seventeen years completely unaware she was one of the momobilest dangerous people alive.

Finally: You have 48 hours. If you can secure her cooperation, do it. If not, eliminate her before she falls into witch Council hands. We will not be their hostages.

Kieran pocketed the phone and gathered the journals back into the satchel. The beast stirred, finally understanding what they were about to do.

Not hunting anymore. Recruiting.

It was a strange feeling. Twelve years of killing, and now he needed to convince someone to help him. Someone who had every reason to want him dead.

"This is going to go badly," he muttered to himself.

The beast made a sound that might have been agreement.

Kieran stood, slinging the satchel over his shoulder, and headed back out into the night. He needed to find Evelyn Winslow. And somehow convince her that the monster who'd tried to kill her was now the closest thing she had to an ally.

Forty-eight hours.

It wasn't much time to undo seven generations of hatred.

But it would have to be enough.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 10, 2025

The rest of the night went smoothly, no more nightmares and no more strange incidents. June was the key to keeping those incidents from happening, but she couldn’t rely on her so much. She had to learn to manage this on her own. Once she learned what ‘this’ is.

Evelyn woke up to the sound of an alarm going off, June’s alarm. Yawning, she sat up and saw June getting up to get ready.

“Good morning! Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you, but I still have work. The officers will be stopping by as I told you last night, so I’d stay here. But I’m sure they’ll come back another time...I’m going to get dressed then leave. Help yourself to anything for breakfast.” June explained as she grabbed her clothes for the day and headed to the bathroom.

Evelyn nodded, getting out of bed and grabbing an outfit she had stored here for when she would occasionally sleep over. While June changed in the bathroom, Evelyn changed in the bedroom before going to the kitchen and preparing herself a small breakfast.

June was gone by now, and once the food was ready, she sat at the dinner table, eating when there was a knock at the door.

Swallowing the bite she had just taken, she stands up and walks to the door. This time she was able to look through the peep hole and see two officers standing a few paces away from the door. There was also a man in a suit with a briefcase and a...chest inside a wagon he was pulling.

Opening the door Evelyn greeted them with a smile, “Hello, how can I help you?” She asked before adding, “Come in, I don’t have anything but water to offer. Though I think June has some juice or lemonade in her fridge if you would like some of that.” She points for them to go sit in the living room, but stops the man with the wagon, “Sorry, June wouldn’t like that being dragged around the house. She just cleaned up recently.” While she wasn’t sure how recently June cleaned, it was true that she wouldn’t like the wagon being dragged in the house. Especially because she wouldn’t be able to confirm how clean the tires were. While she wasn’t particularly strict about it, she would just like to avoid a mess when she can.

The man just grumbled, looking at the officers who eventually went to grab the chest from the wagon and brought it inside. They placed it beside the couch before sitting down.

The officer on the right spoke first, “Good morning, Evelyn. We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding your grandfather Arthur and his death. This other man here is your grandfather’s lawyer, he has some things for you.” He explains, pulling out a small notepad and nodding at the second officer.

“So, when we investigated his death, he was found in a ritual circle and..." The officer was cut off by the lawyer clearing his throat. “Sorry. What can you tell us about last night? Was it only you who was home besides your grandfather?”

Evelyn frowned at the mention of a circle. A ritual circle? Why did the lawyer interrupt him? She clearly wasn’t supposed to know about it, but why? When she spoke, there was hesitance and she messed up a few words. “I...was the only - no. Sorry. I wasn’t home at the time. My grandfather texted me not to come home until after 5. But I got a call from my neighbor that she heard some screaming, so I went early. When I got there...”

Flashbacks of last night flooded her mind again, and her hands were gripping onto the end of her shirt. She tried to compose herself, but tears started to pool in her eyes. Her grandfather was dead. “When I got there...the house was destroyed. Not like it had been ransacked but...as if a great wind tore through it. I called out for him..." Her voice cracked as she held back the tears.

"There...was no response. So I went to his room, but I saw him on the floor. There was also someone there. A man. He was looking at my grandfather's body. He knew I was there, he tried to kill me..." She hesitated, debating on whether or not she should tell them about how she was able to get away. She didn't trust anyone anymore. Not after Catherine forced her away and the officer came demanding journals without any context at all. Who knew what their actual intentions were. "I managed to get away before he could get a chance to hurt me." That was true, it just wasn't the full truth.

"I couldn't get a good look at the man. Other than these red eyes. But that's all I can tell you." If she told them how he looked then maybe they could find him before he found her. At least it would give her a piece of mind knowing someone was looking for him.

The officer with the notepad was writing down what she was saying, nodding along. But when she mentioned the red eyes, both the officers looked at each other, then the lawyer. They knew something she most definitely didn't. But it was already clear they weren't here to give answers.

"Well...thank you for your time. Now the lawyer will go over a few things with you then we'll be out of your hair." The one with the notepad told her, standing up with the other officer to let the lawyer sit closer.

He placed his briefcase into his lap and opened it, pulling out a closed letter and a key. The key she assumed was for the chest. "These are from your grandfather. He never had an official will, but he hired me to take care of his belongings. More particularly to make sure you got these when he passed. We were...close friends. I'm sorry for your loss." He explained, handing Evelyn the items.

Evelyn gave him a small smile, he was the first person to actually say that to her. "Thank you..." She muttered, and the officers were looking at her like they expected something from her. "I will take a look at everything later. I have a few...things to take care of. Will it be okay if I go into my home and get more clothes? I'm going to be staying here for a while..."

The officers were disappointed but nodded, "You can go. Your grandfather's...body has been taken to the morgue while we investigate further. Thank you again. We'll be in touch." Then they left with the lawyer following behind.

Setting the key and letter down, she sighed and stood up. Grabbing her keys to the house she started her walk to her house.

She wasn't sure how much they had cleaned up the house, but she knew that no matter what the home was still tainted with her grandfather's death...with everything that had happened.

Froshimaru · Nov 11, 2025

The house was quieter than it should be.

Kieran had slipped in through a back window while the authorities were loading their vehicles, moving with the kind of silence that came from years of hunting. The officers had done their job, documented the scene, removed Arthur's body. But they'd left the ritual circle mostly intact, probably not understanding what they were looking at.

Most humans didn't.

He stood in Arthur's room now, the door closed behind him, studying the symbols drawn in salt and ash. The candles had been photographed and bagged as evidence, but the arrangement was still clear from the wax residue and scorch marks on the floor. The veil lay crumpled where Arthur had placed it, still stained with blood.

Kieran crouched down, pulling one of Arthur's journals from the satchel. Cross-referencing the ritual circle against the old warlock's notes. Trying to understand what Arthur had been attempting in those final moments.

The suppression spell. Arthur had written about it extensively. How it required both parents' power to establish. How it was degrading after seventeen years. How he'd tried to reinforce it alone and failed.

But the mechanics of it, the actual magical theory, kept slipping through Kieran's comprehension like water through cupped hands.

He'd had tutors growing up. Fae instructors who understood magic academically, who could explain the principles to redmarked Blackmanes so they'd recognize what they were dealing with in the field. He knew enough to identify magical signatures, to recognize different types of spells, to understand roughly what a witch was capable of based on their power level.

But this. This level of complex ritual work, binding magic that could suppress abilities for nearly two decades. This was beyond his training.

Kieran traced one of the symbols with his finger, careful not to disturb the salt. Arthur's notes said this configuration was for concealment. And this one for binding. The veil suggested layered protection, something meant to hide rather than destroy.

"Why did you do it this way?" he muttered to the empty room. "You knew it wouldn't hold forever. You wrote about how it was failing. So why try to reinforce it instead of just training her?"

The journal entry from the night of Evelyn's parents' deaths gave part of the answer. The ritual caught the attention of the wolves. Using magic, especially powerful magic, acted like a beacon. Any active spell work drew attention from those who could sense it.

Which meant every time Arthur had considered training Evelyn, he'd been weighing her survival against the risk of attracting hunters.

Hunters like Kieran.

The beast stirred restlessly. Being in this room, saturated with residual magic and the scent of Arthur's death, was making it agitated. The human world was still burning against Kieran's skin, that constant wrongness amplified by the confined space and magical residue.

He stood, moved to Arthur's desk. More papers scattered across the surface. Ritual preparations. Notes about the degradation timeline. A hastily scrawled calculation that looked like Arthur trying to determine exactly how much time he had left before the suppression failed completely.

He'd been off by about a month, based on the dates.

Kieran picked up another journal, this one more recent. Arthur's handwriting was shakier here, hurried. Entries about "the Council's interest" and "keeping her hidden from all sides." References to factions within the witch political structure who wanted different things from the last Winslow.

If they find out how powerful she truly is, they'll never let her choose for herself. She'll be a weapon or a martyr, but never just Evelyn.

The entry was dated three days before Arthur died.

Kieran set the journal down, jaw tight with frustration. The pieces were there, scattered across Arthur's documentation. But understanding exactly what the old warlock had been trying to accomplish, understanding the full scope of what Evelyn could do with proper training—

That required magical knowledge Kieran didn't have.

He pulled out his phone, took photos of the ritual circle from multiple angles. Documented the symbol arrangements. If he couldn't interpret this himself, maybe someone back home could. The Blackmane clan had fae advisors, magical consultants who'd helped them understand witch capabilities for generations.

Though explaining to them why he needed this information without revealing he was going directly against Council orders would be... complicated.

The beast made a low sound in his mind. Not quite a growl. More like unease.

Kieran went still, senses sharpening. Footsteps outside. Light, hesitant. Someone approaching the house.

He moved to the window, staying in shadow, and looked out.

Evelyn.

Walking up the path alone, keys in hand. Her posture was tense, grief and fear written in every line of her body. She paused at the door, seeming to gather courage before unlocking it.

Kieran backed away from the window. He had maybe thirty seconds before she came inside. Maybe a minute before she made it to this room.

Decision time.

He could leave. Slip back out the way he'd come before she knew he was here. Avoid the confrontation, keep gathering information, approach her later when he had a better plan.

Or he could stay. Force the conversation now, while she was already off-balance, while he had the physical evidence of Arthur's work spread around him. Use the setting to his advantage.

The beast wanted to stay. Wanted to finish what they'd started, one way or another. Hunt or recruit, it didn't care which, but it was tired of waiting.

Kieran looked at the ritual circle. At Arthur's journals scattered across the desk. At the room where an old warlock had died trying to protect his granddaughter from forces that included Kieran himself.

He heard the front door open. Heard Evelyn step inside. Heard her pause in what was probably the entryway, taking in the aftermath of the authorities' investigation.

Soft footsteps. Hesitant. Moving through the house.

Kieran stayed where he was, standing in Arthur's room, surrounded by evidence of seventeen years of desperate protection. The journals in his hands. The ritual circle at his feet.

Waiting.

The footsteps grew closer. Stopped outside the door.

He could hear her breathing. Quick, shallow. She knew someone was in here. Could probably sense the disturbance, or maybe just had that instinct that comes from walking into a space that should be empty and isn't.

A floorboard creaked under his weight as he shifted position slightly.

The breathing outside the door caught. Held.

Kieran waited to see what she'd do. Run, like last time. Call for help. Or open the door and face whatever was waiting inside.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 11, 2025

Evelyn wasn't exactly thrilled to be back so soon, but she had to. She needed clothes. She needed answers. What was the ritual circle the officer mentioned? What did that have to do with her grandfather's death? Maybe they left it there and she could see what it was. Maybe she could get answers.

Finally stepping up to the door she brought the house key to the lock, her hands shaking as she hesitated. Should she just get her clothes and go? Or should she leave and come back with June?

Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, she decided to go in. Opening her eyes as she unlocked the front door, she pushed the door open enough for her to enter.

She could see the mess. That hadn't changed. Why was she expecting it to? Perhaps she was still hoping this was all just some freakishly long nightmare. But no. This was reality and she couldn't erase what had happened.

'You can't erase what you cannot face, Evelyn.' That was something her grandfather told her every time she tried to ignore a problem.

Walking through the house she looked at how everything seemed rather...still. Nothing was moved nor was there that breeze she felt last night. It was as if everything was...dead. Not everything was. Just her grandfather.

Instead of going for what she said she was coming for, she made her way to her grandfather's room. She wanted answers. And since she couldn't exactly ask him anymore, his room was the next best thing. But something felt...off the closer she got to his room. Maybe it was the memories reminding her of what happened, that someone was there that night. And now he was behind that door, waiting to finish the job he started. This wasn't a good idea. She should turn back.

Yet she kept walking forward. Never looking back and never stopping. At least until she got to the door. That feeling was stronger now, like something was telling her to run. To turn around and never look back. Something - no - someone was behind that door.

Panic started to settle in her chest, her breathing becoming shorter with each breath she took. She could feel numbness spread throughout her body, that tingle she felt last night. It was him. She knew it. Why hadn't he come out already? Why was he just standing in there, waiting for her to come in? Did he want the easy prey? No. That didn't make sense. He would want to get the jump on her. Like any hunter would.

Wait...how does she know he's a hunter? There wasn't anything that should signify that. But something told her that's what he was. That he was a hunter. Here for her grandfather and now her. But she didn't understand why she knew that. Or why he was hunting her family. They kept to themselves, never left town, never made enemies intentionally. Why would someone hunt them down?

Then she heard a noise as she reached for the doorknob. Instinctively she pulled back, hesitating further. When she pulled back the doorknob frosted where her hand had hovered. And unknowingly to her, it would do the same on the other side.

She shouldn't be doing this. She turned away, to leave perhaps? No. She grabbed the nearest object she could, a broken glass vase. It used to hold flowers that she would change out every time they started wilting. But it had broken when she sent the man across the hallway and the flowers were completely dead. Taking out the flowers and dumping whatever water remained, she walked back to the door.

It was something. Something to defend herself in a way she somewhat knew how.

Then, with another deep breath she grabbed onto the cool door handle and turned it, pushing the door open but not stepping in.

There he was. The man from last night. She recognized those red eyes. The way they had been the first thing she saw emerge from the shadows.

Fear settled in, the lights surrounding them began to flicker slightly as her hand with the vase trembled.

Breaking her eyes from him for a moment, she saw the circle, the candles, the veil in the center. It had something on it, but she couldn't see what from this distance.

Then, lifting the now frosted vase, she managed to speak as she brought her eyes to meet his. "Who-What are you and why are you here? Why did you kill my grandfather? Why did you try to kill me? What do you want from us?" She threw a flurry of questions at him, wanting answers. She didn't notice the flickering lights or the way the vase continued to freeze over the more she held onto it. Her gaze was solely focused on him.

Froshimaru · Nov 11, 2025

The door opened.

Kieran didn't move. Stayed exactly where he was, standing near Arthur's desk with journals spread around him. Non-threatening posture, hands visible, no weapons drawn. Everything calculated to appear as non-aggressive as possible while still being unmistakably present.

Evelyn stood in the doorway, pale and shaking, holding a broken vase like a weapon. Her sea-glass eyes were wide with fear, but she hadn't run. Hadn't screamed. That was something.

The lights flickered. Frost crept across the vase in her hand, spreading outward from where her fingers gripped the glass. The air temperature in the room dropped noticeably.

Kieran's eyes tracked the magical manifestations automatically. Uncontrolled. Responding to her fear. The same way it had responded last night when she'd thrown him across the hallway.

"Who-What are you and why are you here? Why did you kill my grandfather? Why did you try to kill me? What do you want from us?"

The questions came rapid-fire, desperate. Her voice shook but held steady enough.

Kieran met her eyes. Let her see the red clearly. No point hiding what he was now.

"I didn't kill your grandfather," he said, voice level and controlled. "Arthur was already dying when I arrived. The ritual he was performing killed him. I watched it happen."

He gestured slightly to the ritual circle between them, the movement slow and deliberate.

"He was trying to reinforce the suppression spell on your magic. It failed. His body couldn't handle the strain."

The lights flickered harder. The frost on the vase spread visibly, crystals forming over the glass surface.

"As for what I am—" Kieran's jaw tightened slightly. "I'm a werewolf. Blackmane clan. Redmarked, which means I can cross into the human world despite the banishment curse. And I'm a hunter. I've spent twelve years tracking and killing witches and warlocks from the bloodlines responsible for that curse."

He paused, letting that information land.

"Your family's bloodline is one of them. The Winslows created the banishment that keeps werewolves out of the human world. Seven generations of my clan have been hunting you down, operating on the theory that eliminating the witch bloodlines would break the curse and free my people."

The beast stirred, wanting him to move, to finish this. But Kieran kept his position. Kept his tone factual rather than threatening.

"I tried to kill you last night because that's what I was trained to do. What I've been doing for twelve years. Forty-four witches and warlocks dead, all to break a curse that my clan believed your ancestors maintained through their existence."

He reached into his jacket slowly, telegraphing the movement. Pulled out his own small leather journal. The one he'd been keeping since his first solo hunt at sixteen. Twelve years of names, dates, locations.

"You want proof? Here."

He tossed it across the distance between them. Not hard, just enough to land near her feet. Worn leather cover facing up.

"Every person I've killed in pursuit of breaking the curse. Forty-four names. Dates. Methods. Everything documented." His voice carried a bitter edge now. "Including members of your family. Cousins, distant relatives, anyone with Winslow blood who showed magical ability."

The temperature kept dropping. His breath was starting to mist in the air.

"Except we were wrong. Arthur's journals—" he gestured to the ones spread on the desk behind him, "—explain what your family actually does. You don't maintain the curse through existing. You control it through your bloodline magic. Only a Winslow can break the banishment, or strengthen it, or manipulate it at all. Which means everyone I killed was someone who could have potentially helped my people. And you're the last one left with that ability."

He shifted his weight slightly, still keeping his hands visible and non-threatening.

"So to answer your question about what I want—" Kieran's voice took on an edge of frustrated honesty. "I want to know if the last twelve years of my life have been completely wasted. I want to understand what Arthur died trying to protect. And I need to figure out if there's any way to convince the last Winslow witch to help break a curse that seven generations of my people have suffered under."

The lights continued flickering. Frost spread further across the vase, creeping up toward where her fingers gripped it.

"But right now, what I mostly want is for you to put that vase down before your magic freezes it solid and it shatters in your hand. You're not controlling it. It's responding to your emotions. And if you keep escalating, you're going to hurt yourself or bring this room down around both of us."

His eyes, still glowing red from the stress of the human world and the proximity to active magic, held steady on hers.

"I'm not here to kill you, Evelyn. Not anymore. I'm here because I need answers, and you're the only person who can provide them. Even if you don't know it yet."

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 12, 2025

Evelyn shook her head when he said he didn't kill her grandfather. She didn't believe him. He had to have killed him. He was there last night, standing over her grandfather's dead body. It was the only thing that made sense.

None of this was making sense. But it was the only thing she had. The only thing close to answers.

"He was trying to reinforce the suppression spell on your magic. It failed. His body couldn't handle the strain."

"My...magic?"

While it would certainly explain everything...it just didn't make sense! That couldn't be real...right? Magic surely didn't exist. It couldn't. That wasn't possible. But the circle, the candles, and the veil said otherwise. Her grandfather never wasted his time. He wouldn't have done this if it wasn't true.

But why would he hide this from her? Was this how her parents died?

Now she noticed the flickering lights and the way the room seemed cooler now. Though it took her a bit longer to notice the temperature drop because she's always had an affinity for the cold. It never bothered her. But she didn't let the realization falter her stance. She was pretty sure that she seemed shaky enough.

But when he continued on about what he was...she grew more confused. But what she read - no. She couldn't believe that anymore. Clearly it was wrong, she was wrong. All of this had to exist, magic, werewolves and gods know what else.

She was a target because of her family. Her ancestors created this...curse to banish werewolves from human existence. Why?

Now the fake officer was starting to make sense. The wolf he mentioned was this guy. Clearly, he had gotten ahold of the journals, but why were those so important now?

The more he talked the faster the vase frosted, the faster the temperature dropped. She was growing more panicked. He was just telling her all this...why?

And if he was supposed to kill her, why hasn't he?

When he threw the notebook at her feet, she shifted her gaze to stare at it for perhaps a minute too long before looking back at him.

"anyone with Winslow blood who showed magical ability."
Pieces started to fit together. Slowly but surely. If her parents died when she was young...and her grandfather was always refusing to answer her questions...did they do what he was trying to reinforce? Did they suppress this 'magic' she had? But how would that get them killed? How did the werewolves know about it if they were the ones responsible for their deaths?

That could be why she survived for so long. Why her grandfather never let her leave the town. Because she had a target on her back without even knowing it.

No. That couldn't be...he couldn't have been the one to kill her parents. It had to be someone else. They died 17 years ago. If he was telling the truth, he'd been doing this since after they were already dead.

Gods her mind was scattered. She couldn't think properly, questions kept popping in her mind, small memories flashing through.

The temperature hit a point to where she could see his breath now, the lights flickering faster as her breathing quickened again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Now he needs her help. That's why he wasn't killing her. He needs her to break that curse. Why should she help him and his species? They're literally responsible for her life turning upside-down.

"But right now, what I mostly want is for you to put that vase down before your magic freezes it solid and it shatters in your hand."

She finally realized that it was freezing and dropped it in a panic. It shattered as it made impact with the floor, but luckily none of the shards found their way into her skin. "Holy fuck...I did that?" She looked at him with wide eyes, she didn't know what to do about that. How could she freeze an entire vase and not realize it?

The room started to warm slightly, the lights flickering was lessening as she was trying to calm down.

But as he continued about needing answers, she couldn't help but laugh. Even though there wasn't anything remotely funny about the situation, she laughed. "You...you want MY help? After you're responsible for so many deaths in my family. Your kind is responsible for the death of my parents! And you think I'm just going to help you? You must be real fucking delusional!"

She didn't even care that he was a dangerous person, clearly he needed her alive otherwise he wouldn't have been so honest with her. Kicking the notebook back towards him she shook her head, calming down before speaking, "I will NEVER help you. Even if what you're saying is remotely true, you have some nerve asking me for help. After you just tried to kill me last night too! There's nothing you can offer me that will change my mind. NOTHING. You can take your little journal and get out. Leave my grandfather's journals. Those aren't yours and you have no right to them."

She wasn't sure if he'd listen, but clearly, she had some sort of power. And as unpredictable as it was, it was strong. If he wasn't afraid, he wouldn't have told her about what she was doing to the vase. At least that's what she was telling herself.

Froshimaru · Nov 13, 2025

The vase shattered on the floor, ice crystals scattering across the hardwood. The temperature in the room stabilized slightly as her panic redirected into anger.

Kieran watched her process everything, watched the emotions play across her face. Disbelief. Fear. Confusion. Then rage.

Her laugh was bitter, edged with hysteria.

"You...you want MY help? After you're responsible for so many deaths in my family. Your kind is responsible for the death of my parents! And you think I'm just going to help you? You must be real fucking delusional!"

She kicked his journal back toward him. The worn leather slid across the floor, stopping near his boots.

"I will NEVER help you. Even if what you're saying is remotely true, you have some nerve asking me for help. After you just tried to kill me last night too! There's nothing you can offer me that will change my mind. NOTHING. You can take your little journal and get out. Leave my grandfather's journals. Those aren't yours and you have no right to them."

Kieran bent down slowly, picked up his journal, and slipped it back into his jacket. When he straightened, his expression hadn't changed. Still controlled. Still calculating.

"I wasn't responsible for your parents' deaths," he said flatly. "I was thirteen when they died. Still figuring out how to control my first transformation. But you're right that my kind killed them. Different hunter, same mission. Same flawed understanding of how the curse actually works."

He gestured to Arthur's journals on the desk.

"And these journals? They're not yours either. Not yet. Arthur documented things in here that multiple factions want. Information about how to break the veil. Information about how to strengthen it. Information about how to potentially eliminate every supernatural creature from human existence permanently."

The beast stirred at that last part, a low growl of warning that Kieran felt rather than heard.

"There's a Witch Council that wants these. They've already sent enforcers after you, in case you didn't notice. If I had to guess.. a police officer who showed up at unexpectedly? Maybe somewhere they normally wouldn't?" He paused, tilting his head slightly. "Whoever it was I can smell his magic on you. Faint, but there. Like an imprint. My kind use traces like that to track targets."

His eyes narrowed slightly. Knowing his deduction had to be correct.

"He asked about the journals, didn't he? Probably told you to find them. Keep them away from 'the wolf'? That would be me." A humorless edge crept into his voice. "The Council is divided on what to do with you. Some want you dead so the curse stays permanent. Some want you alive and controlled so they can use your power for their own purposes. That officer? He's one of theirs. And now they know you don't have the journals."

He picked up one of Arthur's journals, held it up.

"My clan wants you dead because they think it'll free them. The Witch Council wants you dead or controlled because you're a political liability. And you're standing here with power you can't control, no training, no allies, and no idea what you're actually capable of."

Kieran set the journal back down, met her eyes directly.

"So no, I don't expect you to help me. I expect you to survive the next forty-eight hours. Because right now, you're the most valuable and most vulnerable person in a conflict you didn't even know existed until last night."

He moved toward the door, gathering Arthur's journals as he went. Stacking them carefully back into the satchel. His movements were deliberate, unhurried.

"You want answers about your parents? About why Arthur spent seventeen years hiding your abilities? About what you're actually capable of? It's all in here." He patted the satchel. "But you're not getting them by standing in this house alone while multiple groups position themselves to either kill you or use you."

The beast wanted him to push harder. To force the issue. But Kieran had learned something in twelve years of hunting: you can't make someone cooperate through threats when they've already decided they're willing to die.

"I have forty-eight hours before my clan pulls me back home. Forty-eight hours to figure out if there's any way to break a curse that's kept my people in exile for generations. And you have about the same amount of time before someone less interested in conversation shows up to handle the 'Winslow problem.'"

He paused at the doorway, looked back at her.

"Your neighbor Catherine knows more than she told you. The Witch Council has enforcers embedded everywhere in this town. And your friend June is going to ask questions you won't be able to answer when your magic keeps manifesting every time you get emotional."

His eyes, still faintly red, held hers.

"So here's what I'm offering: Information for cooperation. I tell you everything Arthur wrote about your family, about your parents, about what you're capable of. In exchange, you consider helping me figure out if there's a way to break this curse that doesn't end with you dead or enslaved by people who'll use your power as a weapon."

The temperature in the room had stabilized, but frost still clung to the corners where her panic had manifested.

"You don't have to trust me. You don't have to like me. But right now, I'm the only person who's been honest with you about what you are and what's coming for you. Everyone else in your life has either lied or kept you in the dark to 'protect' you."

He shifted the satchel on his shoulder, then moved to Arthur's desk. Found a scrap of paper and a pen. Wrote down a series of numbers in efficient, precise handwriting. Set it on the desk where she could see it.

"My number. When you're ready to hear what Arthur wrote, or when the Witch Council makes their move and you realize you need someone who knows how to fight them, use it." He paused. "I can track you by scent if I need to. You don't have that advantage. So take the number."

"And that magical imprint on you? It's nothing to worry about yet. Just means they've marked you so their people can find you if needed. Standard Council practice for tracking assets." His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was explaining a basic tactical maneuver. "Wears off in a few days unless they reinforce it."

Kieran moved down the hallway, then paused.

"One more thing. That chest the lawyer brought you? Whatever's inside is probably important. Arthur was careful about what he left behind. Don't open it alone, and don't let anyone from the Council see it before you know what it contains."

He continued toward the front door. It opened. Closed.

And then he was gone, taking Arthur's journals with him, leaving only a slip of paper with ten digits written on Arthur's desk.

The house fell silent except for the sound of Evelyn's breathing and the faint creak of settling wood.

Outside, Kieran melted into the shadows between houses, the beast finally satisfied that they'd made their position clear. He pulled out his phone, sent a quick text to his mother: Contact made. Target is aware of situation. Will report when I have her cooperation or confirmation that elimination is necessary.

Forty-eight hours.

The clock was running.

Chaotic_Emerald · Nov 13, 2025

"And these journals? They're not yours either. Not yet. Arthur documented things in here that multiple factions want. Information about how to break the veil. Information about how to strengthen it. Information about how to potentially eliminate every supernatural creature from human existence permanently."

Evelyn grew more frustrated that he wouldn't give her the journals. Those were hers. Her grandfather was dead and now those belonged to her. She wouldn't let him take them. She couldn't. If those contained information she needed, she would get them from him. No matter what it took.

He also wasn't helping his case by not letting her take the journals. "Maybe you deserve to rot behind this veil you keep mentioning..." She muttered, glaring at him as he continued on.

"There's a Witch Council that wants these. They've already sent enforcers after you, in case you didn't notice. If I had to guess.. a police officer who showed up at unexpectedly? Maybe somewhere they normally wouldn't?"

How did he-? How the hell did he know that? To be fair the officer was expected but not that late into the night. He shouldn't have known that...unless he followed her...right? Then he goes on about some magical imprint. So, she was just one big target. Great.

Her options were literally death, being controlled, or going with this...wolf and get information while maintaining some sort of freedom. But if dying would keep these werewolves from coming back...no. She couldn't make that kind of decision. Not without information on what actually happened.

And he was using her lack of knowledge against her. That lack of knowledge was the only thing that kept her from trying to stop him from taking the journals. He was right. She had no idea was she was capable of, how to control herself, or to even protect herself if she was really being hunted by other witches.

But at the mention of June, her eyes glowed faintly, "Don't bring her into this. She doesn't know anything and she won't. Not until I can answer things myself. She hasn't noticed anything about the magic. I plan to keep it that way. I swear to the gods if you hurt her, whether or not I have control of these abilities I will find a way to kill you." June was the only normal thing she had now. She was not going to let him ruin that. Just because Evelyn was being dragged into this shit doesn't mean everyone else around her had to come with her.

As he offered her information about what her grandfather wrote in exchange for cooperation, she took a half step towards him, her voice had a slight echo to it when she spoke again, "You have no right to take his journals. No right to bargain what he wrote for me. Whether or not you and your kind is at stake, those are mine." The echo wasn't intentional, but the anger inside her grew and manifested in the way she spoke. "I don't need you or anyone else. I needed my grandfather and since you and your kind decided to pose a threat to my family, I lost him. I lost the only role model I had. Fuck you for thinking you can just bargain his work away like that!"

She fought back the tears from talking about her grandfather in the past tense. She never would've thought that he'd be gone so sudden. Nor that someone would take his belongings like they were up for grabs.

This Council wouldn't get their hands on those. Not without ripping them from her hands. But he got to them first. That fact made her not believe that his death was merely because of some failed ritual. But everything else was overwhelming. It had to be true. It made too much sense. But she couldn't just outright believe him. She just couldn't. No matter how much sense it was making.

Before she could think of what to say about the chest, he was gone.

As soon as she heard the door close, she dropped to her knees and let out a cry as she broke down. As soon as she made impact with the floor, a shockwave rippled outwards from her. The room shook, things clattering to the floor as she started to cry.

Why? Why was this happening to her?

So much was going on, and she couldn't think clearly. First her grandfather died, then she started having these outbursts of what was apparently magic, and now she finds out she's a target. She's in the center of shit she doesn't want to be in. To even be a part of.

Staring at the circle in front of her, tears fell down her face. "Why...why me?" She whispered to herself before wiping her eyes, standing to her feet and walking to the desk.

There was the note with a phone number on it. "Stupid wolf." She was not going to call him. If he needed her help that badly, he should've given her the journals. She wouldn't help him. If the more important things were in the chest, she didn't need the rest...right?

That's what she told herself as she reached out and crumpled the note, tossing it in the bin.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped away and out of the room. She needed to get her clothes. That's what she came here for.

Going into her room, she packed a suitcase with about a week's worth of clothes. Then she heard a soft meow from behind her, turning around she saw Thistle, her grandfather's cat.

He had something in his mouth. Reaching down she opened her hand out and he dropped it in her palm. It was the note with the man's number. Frowning she looked at Thistle who just jumped onto her bed and stared at her. Groaning she pocketed the note. The cat always seemed to know things, and she'd at least hold onto the number. She told herself she wouldn't call it.

Ever.

Once Evelyn finished packing, she grabbed her suitcase with one hand and picked up Thistle with the other, scooping him in her arm. Despite the fact that Thistle and her grandfather were very close, he seemed...unfazed with the fact that his human companion was gone. It seemed like the cat knew more than she did.

Eventually she left the house and went back to June's place. She needed to think.

And apparently, she had 48 hours to do so. If the man was actually telling the truth.

Froshimaru · Nov 17, 2025

Kieran didn't go far.

He'd told Evelyn he could track her by scent, and that was true. But right now, keeping distance while maintaining awareness seemed like the smarter play. She needed time to process. Pushing harder would just make her dig in deeper, and he'd learned enough about desperation over twelve years to recognize it when he saw it.

She'd call. Eventually. When the reality of her situation fully sank in, when the next magical outburst scared her enough, or when the Council made their next move.

Forty-eight hours. That's all he had.

He found another abandoned building three blocks from June's house, this one an old mechanic's shop with enough structural integrity to provide shelter and enough elevation to give him a vantage point. The human world still burned against his skin, that constant wrongness amplified by three days of exposure, but the beast had settled into watchful patience.

Kieran settled into a corner where he could see the street, pulled Arthur's journals from the satchel, and started reading properly this time.

The oldest entries were academic. Arthur documenting magical theory, studying the Winslow family history, tracing bloodlines back through generations. The banishment curse had been created during a period of massive supernatural violence. Werewolves, vampires, fae, and other creatures had been waging territorial wars that spilled into human populations. Thousands of human casualties. Cities burned. The Winslows and six other witch families had performed a massive collaborative ritual to banish the most dangerous species from the human world entirely.

Seven bloodlines. Seven families working together to create something that would hold for generations.

Kieran's jaw tightened. His clan had been hunting all seven bloodlines, operating on the theory that eliminating them would break the curse. But if it took seven families working together to create the banishment, what were the odds that killing them all would simply undo it?

He kept reading.

Arthur's later entries got more personal. His daughter Eleanor showing unprecedented magical ability. Her marriage to Thomas, also from a witch bloodline. Then Evelyn's birth and the immediate realization that she'd inherited something far beyond normal magical aptitude.

She shouldn't be this powerful this young. Seven years old and already manifesting abilities that most witches don't develop until their twenties. Eleanor is terrified. Thomas wants to train her, but Eleanor insists they need to hide it. If the werewolves find out, if anyone finds out, they'll either kill her or use her.

The suppression ritual had been Eleanor and Thomas's decision. Desperate parents trying to protect their daughter from a world that would see her as either a threat or a weapon.

And it had gotten them killed.

Kieran pulled out his phone, took photos of specific pages. Documentation he'd need if he was going to convince his mother that the clan's entire approach had been fundamentally flawed.

Movement caught his attention. He looked up from the journal, senses sharpening.

Evelyn, walking down the street toward June's house. She had a suitcase in one hand and was carrying something in her other arm. A cat, from the looks of it. Black, old, watching everything with unusual awareness.

Kieran watched her disappear into June's house. Watched the lights come on inside. Watched shadows move past windows as she settled in.

The beast wanted to move closer. To maintain visual contact with the target.

"She's not going anywhere tonight," Kieran muttered. "Let her process. We have time."

He went back to the journals.

Found an entry from two years ago that made him stop cold.

The Council contacted me today. They know about Evelyn. They know the suppression is failing. They want me to bring her in for "evaluation and training." I told them no. Catherine warned me they won't accept that answer indefinitely. They see her as the solution to every problem they can't solve themselves. A weapon powerful enough to remake the veil, to eliminate threats permanently, to reshape the supernatural world according to their vision.

They don't see her as a person. Just a tool.

The werewolves would kill her to break the curse. The Council would use her to maintain control. And I'm running out of time to give her a third option.

Kieran set the journal down, thinking.

Arthur had been trying to buy time. Keep Evelyn hidden, keep her suppressed, keep her alive until... what? Until he could figure out how to train her without drawing attention? Until he could find allies who'd help protect her?

The old warlock had died still trying to answer that question.

Kieran's phone buzzed. Text from his mother: Status?

He typed back: Target is secure. Gathering information from recovered materials. Will have full report by morning.

The Council is asking questions. They want results.

They'll have them. Forty-eight hours like you said.

The conversation ended there. His mother knew better than to push when he was working a mission. She'd give him the time she'd promised.

Kieran returned to reading, methodically working through Arthur's documentation. Learning about the Winslow family's role in creating the veil. Learning about Evelyn's unprecedented power level. Learning about the political maneuvering between different witch factions, all of them seeing the last Winslow as a piece to be captured rather than a person to be protected.

Hours passed. The night deepened. Lights in June's house eventually went dark.

Kieran kept reading, taking notes, photographing pages. Building a complete picture of exactly what Evelyn represented and why so many different groups wanted control of her.

The beast stirred occasionally, restless with inactivity. But Kieran had learned patience through years of hunting. Sometimes the best action was preparation. Gathering information. Understanding the battlefield before engaging.

Dawn was still hours away when he found the entry he'd been half-expecting to find.

Arthur's last entry. Written the morning of the day he died.

The suppression is failing faster than I calculated. Days, maybe a week at most. I tried calling the contacts who said they could help, but no one is answering. Catherine says the Council has agents watching the house. The werewolves have been quiet, but that probably means they've sent someone competent.

I'm out of time. Out of options. I can try reinforcing the suppression one more time, alone, and hope my body can handle what took both Eleanor and Thomas to accomplish. Or I can let it fail naturally and hope Evelyn survives what comes next.

If I fail, if this kills me, at least the journals will give her answers I never could while alive. Everything she needs to know about what she is, what she can do, what's coming for her. Hidden in plain sight among my other research. She's smart. She'll figure it out.

And maybe, if I'm very lucky, someone will come along who sees her as more than a weapon or a threat. Someone who'll help her find that third option I could never give her.

I've failed her in so many ways. Protected her so thoroughly she has no idea how to protect herself. Let me not fail her in this final way. Let someone find these journals who'll actually help her instead of using her.

Kieran read the entry three times.

Arthur had known he was going to die. Had chosen to try the ritual anyway, gambling that his death might buy Evelyn a chance at survival. And he'd left the journals as a roadmap, hoping someone would find them and help rather than exploit.

"You picked the wrong person, old man," Kieran said quietly to the journal. "I'm a weapon too. Same as her. Just pointed in a different direction."

But Arthur hadn't had many options. And neither did Evelyn.

Neither did Kieran, for that matter.

He set the journal aside and pulled Arthur's phone from his pocket. He'd been putting this off, focusing on the written documentation first. But the phone might have information the journals didn't.

He unlocked it - no password, which made sense for someone Arthur's age who lived alone. The home screen showed a simple background, a photo of Evelyn at maybe sixteen or seventeen, smiling while holding up some kind of restored document. Proud of her work. Arthur had kept that photo where he'd see it every time he checked his phone.

Kieran opened the messages first.

Most were mundane. Reminders about library events, messages from Evelyn about when she'd be home, grocery lists. But scrolling back further, he found threads that mattered.

A conversation with Catherine from three weeks ago:

Catherine: They're asking questions again. How much longer can you hold them off?Arthur: As long as I need to. She's not ready.Catherine: She'll never be ready if you don't start preparing her. The suppression won't hold much longer.Arthur: I know. I'm working on it.Catherine: Work faster. I can't keep lying to them about what I sense from your house.

Another thread, different number, no contact name:

Unknown: We need to discuss your granddaughter's situation.Arthur: There's nothing to discuss. She's under my protection.Unknown: Your protection won't matter when the suppression fails. Bring her in. We can help.Arthur: Your kind of help gets people killed or controlled. Neither is acceptable.Unknown: Then you leave us no choice but to act independently.Arthur: Try it and see what happens.

That conversation was dated four days before Arthur died. A threat, thinly veiled. The Council making their position clear.

Kieran moved to the voicemails. Seven unheard messages, all from the past week.

He played the first one. Male voice, older, measured and authoritative:

"Arthur, this is Councilman Thorne. We need to talk about Evelyn's situation. The suppression is failing. You know this. Bring her in for evaluation and training before something tragic happens. We can protect her. Call me back."

Second message, same voice, less patient:

"Arthur, you're making this harder than it needs to be. We're offering help. Don't let pride or fear prevent you from doing what's best for the girl."

Third message, different voice. Younger, sharper:

"Mr. Winslow, this is Agent Reeves. I've been assigned to your case. The Council has authorized me to visit your residence for a wellness check on your granddaughter. Cooperation would be appreciated."

That would be the fake officer who'd shown up at June's house. Council enforcer posing as police. Standard intimidation tactic.

The remaining messages followed the same pattern. Escalating pressure, veiled threats, demands for compliance. Arthur had ignored all of them.

Kieran deleted the voicemails. No point leaving evidence that could be traced back to Council pressure if anyone investigated Arthur's death too closely.

He opened the photo gallery next.

Hundreds of photos. Most were of Evelyn at various ages. Childhood pictures of her helping Arthur in what looked like a workshop, carefully holding old documents. Teenage photos of her at the library, lost in research. Recent ones of her restoring damaged books, pressing flowers, sitting with that black cat in her lap.

Arthur had documented her entire life. Kept visual record of the granddaughter he'd raised and protected and ultimately died trying to save.

But scrolling further back, Kieran found older photos. A woman who looked like an older version of Evelyn - Eleanor, probably. Pictures of Eleanor and a man who must have been Thomas, Evelyn's father. Family photos from before everything went wrong.

And then he found the one that made him pause.

A photo dated seventeen years ago. Evelyn as a small child, maybe six years old, sitting at a table with her parents on either side. They were doing something with candles and symbols drawn on paper. Teaching her. The photo was slightly blurred, like something had disrupted it while it was being taken. Magical interference, probably.

The last photo before the suppression ritual. The last time Evelyn's parents had tried to teach her magic before deciding it was too dangerous.

Kieran stared at the image for a long moment. That little girl had no idea what was coming. No idea that within a year, her parents would be dead and her entire identity would be locked away for her own protection.

He closed the photo gallery and opened Arthur's contacts.

Catherine was there, as expected. Several other names he didn't recognize - probably local contacts, library colleagues, historical society members. But one name stood out: "Council - Emergency Only."

Kieran opened the contact. Single phone number. He memorized it, then took a photo of the screen with his own phone. If he needed to contact the Council directly, or trace their communications, having that number would be useful.

He checked Arthur's recent calls. Multiple incoming calls from the Council number over the past month, all short or unanswered. One outgoing call to Catherine three days before Arthur died, lasted eleven minutes. One outgoing call to another number the same day, lasted less than a minute before being disconnected. Someone Arthur had tried to reach for help who hadn't answered.

Kieran copied that number too. Might be worth investigating.

Finally, he checked Arthur's calendar. Mostly mundane entries - library events, medical appointments, reminders to change out Evelyn's flowers. But one entry from the day Arthur died, time-stamped for 4:47 PM:

"Last attempt. E cannot know. If this fails, journals will explain everything. Catherine has backup grimoire. Tell E I'm sorry."

Arthur had known. Had documented his final attempt in his calendar like he was leaving a note for whoever found his phone. Probably hoping Evelyn would find it and understand he'd tried everything he could.

Kieran pocketed the phone again and looked back out the window toward June's house.

Arthur had spent seventeen years protecting Evelyn. Building walls around her, keeping her ignorant, trying to buy her time to have a normal life before the supernatural world came calling.

And it had gotten him killed.

Now Evelyn was alone with power she couldn't control, enemies she didn't know she had, and a phone number she'd thrown in the trash because she was too angry and scared to see she needed help.

The beast was quiet for once, processing the same information. Not angry anymore. Just... calculating.

"We've been hunting the only people who could help us," Kieran said aloud to the empty warehouse. His voice sounded flat. Emotionless. Because feeling anything right now would compromise the control he was barely maintaining.

Seven generations. Hundreds of deaths. Garren. Mira. Forty-four names in his personal journal. All of it based on a fundamental misunderstanding of how the curse actually worked.

He pulled out another journal and kept reading as night deepened around him, documenting everything, preparing for the conversation that would come when Evelyn finally accepted she needed help.

Or when the Council forced his hand by making their move first.

Whichever came sooner.

Forty-eight hours.

The clock was running.

Chaotic_Emerald · Thursday at 11:05 PM

Evelyn made her way back to June’s house, unlocking the door with the spare June gave her and going inside. Turning on the light to the living room, she set the suitcase next to the chest, let Thistle jump out of her arms, and sat down on the couch.

Letting out a soft sigh, she tossed her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Why me…? Why did you all have to leave me like this?” She spoke as if she was actually talking to someone, tears beginning to well up in her eyes and slowly fall down the side of her face.

Thistle let out a quiet mewl as he jumped onto her lap and curled up on her legs.

With a soft sniffle she brought her head upright to look at the cat with a soft smile. “Not all of you left…I know.” She muttered to him, bringing her hand to gently scratch behind his ears.

“But I’ve got to unpack…come on, up.” She said, gently ushering him off of her with the same hand as she stood up. He reluctantly jumped off and followed her when she grabbed the suitcase and went into the room.

The house June had was only 1 bedroom, and the two grew up together so they never minded sharing a bed. Eventually Evelyn helped her get a bigger bed for the two of them since neither of them had a great experience sleeping on the floor or the couch.

Eventually Evelyn had gotten two drawers that she had a day’s worth of clothes in, but now she was filling them up with what she had packed in the suitcase and hanging up her shirts in the closet.

She decided to watch a movie to take her mind off of everything. But the moment she got into the living room her eyes settled on the chest. “Shit…” Part of her wanted to open it, to see what was left for her. But if that man was being honest…she shouldn’t do that.

Evelyn decided she’d at least read the letter he left her. So opening it, she started with the part that had her name:
–
Dear Evelyn,
I have this letter addressed to you and I hope you will be the first and only person to read this. If you are reading this I am more than likely dead or on my deathbed, whichever decides to happen first.

There are a lot of things your parents and I have kept from you your whole life. A whole part of you that you have no idea existed. I most likely died for doing the same thing your parents did, by trying to hide that part from you longer.

But if I’m dead, I can no longer protect you. Which means you’re on your own. Either the ritual worked or it didn’t, but either way you have to know the truth. You come from a long line of witches and you are one yourself. But your parents died to shield your magic because you developed it way too early and you could get killed if that magic was detected.

Why would you be killed? Let’s just say there is a particular species who is very unhappy with a decision the witch Council made several generations ago.

We had to protect the humans. We had to seal off the human world from the supernatural. Particularly werewolves. They were killing too many humans. It broke a deal they made, to never harm humans in exchange for living among them. But they were causing too much harm and we had to force them away. It was a tough decision. It pulled apart so many families, but it was necessary. And our bloodline, the Winslow bloodline, is the only bloodline who can maintain or control it. The spell has been in our family for generations and generations. No other bloodline has the power we do. Well…the power you do.

But the werewolves weren’t happy. They saw it as pure betrayal. That we did it just to harm them. But that wasn’t the case at all. The Council had talked about lifting the veil but then werewolves started killing off every witch and their bloodline that was apart of the ritual. I’m sure they are under the impression that killing us off will make the veil go away. But on the contrary, it makes it permanent. The only way for that veil to come down is for someone from our bloodline to take it down. Only WE have that ability.

So, it now rests on you. And you will be hunted. By the werewolves once your magic is no longer hidden, and by the Council who want to use you as a weapon against every supernatural creature in existence. Don’t let them.

I know this is a lot. But there are some good friends who are willing to help you. Their contacts are in that chest I left you. Inside that chest will contain numerous things you will need to adjust to this new lifestyle.

I’m sorry you had to find out like this and I wish there was more I could’ve done. But whatever has happened, and you can’t erase it. Even if you can’t face it just yet. Trust your gut.

As for Thistle, he will be around for a bit longer. He was tethered to my life as my familiar which was why he lived as long as he has. But that won’t be for long. You must find your own animal to bond with and claim as your familiar. Thistle will stand by your side until his last breath. Take advantage of him, he knows a lot more than you think.

- Your grandfather, Arthur
—
Evelyn sniffled softly as she finished reading the letter. She didn’t think he’d be gone, nor so…open. He was always a private man. Now she knows why. So the man was right. And now it made sense why Thistle gave her the note she crumpled. So he was someone who could help now. Despite her grandfather saying the wolves wanted her dead, Thistle was now saying otherwise.

It certainly was quite a bit to process, and she wasn’t sure what to think of it all. This had been a lot. And it didn’t seem like it was going to end.

A Council wanted to use her for a power grab, werewolves wanted to kill her but also…not kill her…? It was confusing.

Why would her own people want to use her? Wouldn’t they want her to learn what she can so she can help them instead of them simply using her? They also can’t do that either if she didn’t know what she was doing…right?

But she was snapped from her thoughts when she heard a soft scratching at the front door. Thistle was gently scratching at it, “Hey…don’t do that!” She scolded him before remembering what her grandfather had said.

‘He knows a lot more than you think’

So he knew something. And whatever it was, he wanted to go outside. That was strange…he never wanted to go outside before. “You want to go out?” Evelyn questioned, reaching for the door and opening it. Thistle bottled out the door as soon as he was able to. She didn’t think he’d ever run so fast in the times she’s seen him run.

“Wait!” She called out, not sure if it was safe for the older animal. Granted Thistle was more capable than any other cat she’s known, but she still couldn’t help but worry.

Running to grab her phone for light and her keys to get back inside, she turned to go after him when she felt a force grab her back. She could see the door shut in front of her right before she made impact with the wall.

Letting out a loud cry she stumbled to her feet, pain radiating through her body. Her vision blurred for a moment but then she saw two figures approaching her.

Wait.

There were three. One in the middle and two standing off to the side and behind the center one.

“Who…who are you?” She muttered out, trying to keep herself steady against the wall.

The one in the center had some sort of shadow covering his face, but there was a faint brown glow where his eyes would be. The mask faded and she could see a smirk on his face, “We’re here to collect what belongs to the Council.”

Evelyn was confused. Nothing belongs to them. Not her. Not her grandfather’s belongings he left to her. NOTHING.

“You…you aren’t going to find that here…” She said, her eyes beginning to glow softly as the pain in her back started to ease. “So I suggest you leave. Before I hurt you.” Her voice had a slight echo. It was the fear that radiated through her causing her magic to flare up like it had a few times before. Even if she had no control over her abilities, that doesn’t mean she can’t do any damage…right?

Of course she knew she had no way of intending to hurt them. But that seemed to be a somewhat common theme when her emotions went off the rails.

The man in the center chuckled, “Come on princess…you know you can’t do anything to us. You have no idea what you are or the power you have. That power belongs to the Council. You aren’t worthy of it. They simply want it back. Make this easy and you won’t get hurt. Simple.” He explains, giving a slight nod and the other two stick their hands out and start muttering some sort of incantation.

Suddenly Evelyn feels a sudden weakness throughout her body, grey spots in her vision. “No…” She muttered, fighting against it as best she could but it was clear these guys had more practice and control than she did. ‘Shit!’ she thought.

Meanwhile, as soon as Thistle bolted out the door, he followed the scent of that werewolf that left the note for Evelyn. He didn’t trust werewolves, but he trusted this one. There was just something that told the old cat that he was okay.

Following the scent he reached the werewolf and let out a loud mewl to get his attention. Flicking his tail, he continued to meow, knowing that the werewolf would eventually get the hint. And if her didn’t…well then Thistle went up to the journal he was reading from, tore off a piece of a page and took off back in the direction of the house.

Causing trouble seemed to get most people’s attention so it was what he did. And Evelyn needed help. He knew that. He sensed those witches moments before he went up to the door.

Froshimaru · Friday at 1:31 PM

Kieran was deep in one of Arthur's journals, documenting a particularly detailed entry about the original banishment ritual, when the sound registered.

A meow. Sharp, insistent. Close.

He looked up from the journal to find a black cat sitting in the broken window frame, staring at him with unsettling intelligence. The same cat Evelyn had been carrying earlier. Arthur's familiar, if the journals were accurate.

"How did you—" Kieran started, but the cat meowed again. Louder this time. More urgent.

The beast stirred, instantly alert. Something was wrong.

The cat jumped down from the window, walked directly up to the journal Kieran had open, and before he could stop it, tore a piece off the page with its teeth.

"What the hell—"

The cat bolted toward the door, then stopped. Looked back at Kieran. Meowed again with that same urgent tone.

Then it took off running in the direction of June's house.

Kieran was on his feet immediately, the beast screaming alarm. Arthur's familiar wouldn't have left Evelyn unless something was seriously wrong. And deliberately getting his attention, destroying part of the journal to make sure he followed—

"Shit."

He shoved the journals back into the satchel, slung it over his shoulder, and moved. Fast.

The cat was already out of sight, but Kieran didn't need to see it. He could track by scent, and right now his senses were sharpening with the same focus that came before a hunt. The beast was pushing forward, lending speed and strength, making his movements faster than purely human.

Three blocks. He covered them in under two minutes, boots barely making sound on pavement.

He rounded the corner onto June's street and immediately smelled it.

Magic. Active magic. Multiple signatures. Not Evelyn's wild, uncontrolled power. This was focused. Practiced. Aggressive.

The Council had made their move.

The beast surged with anticipation. HUNT. PREY. TEAR. RIP.

"Soon," Kieran murmured.

NOW.

"Control."

THEY TOUCH WHAT IS OURS.

That made Kieran pause mid-step. "Ours?"

OURS TO HUNT. OURS TO DECIDE. NOT THEIRS.

Strange reasoning, but it worked. The beast wanted Evelyn alive for its own purposes, which meant they were aligned for now.

He approached June's house low and fast, assessing through the windows. Three figures. Two with hands raised, chanting—binding spell, probably draining. The third standing over Evelyn, who was slumped against the wall, clearly being suppressed.

Three trained Council enforcers versus one redmarked Blackmane.

The beast was practically singing now. THREE. GOOD HUNT. FINALLY.

"Let's see what they're made of," Kieran said quietly.

He hit the front door at controlled speed. Not a wild charge—calculated force. The lock shattered, wood splintering, and he was inside before the sound fully registered with the witches.

The three spun toward him. The one in the center—older, controlled, leader—assessed him with cold calculation. The one on the left went pale. Recognition. Fear.

The one on the right went rigid with anger.

That was the one to watch.

"Evening," Kieran said, voice calm despite the beast screaming in his head. His eyes were fully red now, glowing in the dim light. "Council sent three? I'm flattered."

The leader's expression didn't change. "Stand down, wolf. This doesn't concern your kind."

"Funny. Pretty sure it does."

The angry one on the right stepped forward, hands already gathering magic. Brown light crackling between his fingers. "This is the Last Hound? Doesn't look like much."

ARROGANT. WEAK. KILL HIM FIRST.

"Patience," Kieran murmured.

The leader put a hand out, stopping his companion. "Reeves. Focus."

Reeves. The one who'd left voicemails on Arthur's phone. The enforcer who'd gone to June's house posing as police. Young, aggressive, trying to prove something.

Reeves shook off the leader's hand. "We've been hunting these bloodlines for months. Council wants results. I'm ending this tonight."

He fired without warning. Concentrated bolt of kinetic magic, aimed center mass.

Kieran was already moving. Twelve years of fighting witches meant reading their casting tells. The slight shift in shoulder position, the way magic gathered a half-second before release. He twisted left, felt the bolt scorch past his ribs, and closed distance.

The beast lent him speed. His fist drove into Reeves' solar plexus with enough force to double him over. Follow-up strike to the jaw. Clean, efficient.

Reeves stumbled back, blood on his lip, fury replacing the pain in his eyes.

GOOD. HE'S ANGRY. MAKES MISTAKES.

The other two broke their spell on Evelyn, redirecting toward Kieran. The leader stayed back, assessing. The third witch—the nervous one—threw a binding spell with shaking hands.

Kieran felt it try to latch on—magical threads wrapping around his limbs like invisible rope. The human world was already rejecting him, already burning. The spell added pressure, weight, trying to lock him in place.

BREAK IT.

"Working on it."

He pushed against the binding. Being redmarked meant existing where he shouldn't, meant his body already fought against magical pressure constantly. The spell frayed, didn't break completely but weakened enough for movement. He forced his arm up, grabbed a chair from the nearby table, and threw it at the caster.

The nervous witch ducked. The binding loosened further.

Reeves was back up, magic gathering in both hands now. Angry. Reckless. "Hold still, dog!"

He fired compressed air magic. Kieran saw it coming—saw the hand gesture, the concentration of power—but there was nowhere to dodge in the enclosed space.

It hit him square in the chest.

The impact lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the wall. Hard. Plaster cracked. Air punched from his lungs. Pain flared across his ribs and back.

HURT US. KILL HIM. NOW.

"Earned that," Kieran muttered, rolling as he hit the ground. Training overriding pain. A bolt of fire magic from the nervous witch scorched the floor where he'd been a second before.

"Good hit," he called out, voice still controlled despite the beast clawing at his restraint. His ribs were screaming—bruised, maybe cracked. Nothing broken. He'd fought through worse. "You practice that, Reeves, or just lucky?"

Reeves' face twisted. "I'm going to enjoy this."

HE'S LOST CONTROL. LEADER KNOWS IT. SEES WEAKNESS.

The leader spoke sharply. "Reeves, fall back. Let me—"

"No!" Reeves snapped. "I've got this!"

He started gathering another spell. Bigger this time. Dangerous.

Kieran moved before the casting finished. Closed the distance using the furniture as cover. Low, fast, using angles these witches weren't used to defending against. Most threats they faced fought with magic. Kieran fought like what he was—a predator that killed up close.

He came up inside Reeves' guard. The witch tried to discharge the spell point-blank. Kieran twisted, caught the man's wrist, redirected the blast into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rained down.

Then Kieran drove his elbow into Reeves' temple. Hard.

The witch stumbled. Kieran followed with a knee to the ribs, then grabbed the back of Reeves' head and slammed it into the wall.

Once. Twice.

Reeves went down, dazed but conscious. Trying to gather magic with shaking hands.

FINISH IT.

"Not yet."

HE WILL KILL US IF WE DON'T.

"I know."

The nervous witch fired another spell. Kieran barely dodged, felt it singe his jacket. The leader was moving now, hands raised, chanting something complex. Layered magic. Dangerous.

Reeves was getting back up. Blood running from his nose. Magic gathering again. But this time it looked wrong. Unstable. Fueled by rage more than control.

BLOOD MAGIC COMING.

"Saw it."

"Reeves, stand down!" the leader barked. "That's an order!"

Reeves ignored him. Drew a blade. Cut deep across his palm.

Started chanting. Fast, guttural. Emergency magic. The kind that burned life force for raw power.

STOP HIM. NOW.

"Don't," Kieran warned, voice dropping into something rougher. The beast bleeding through into his tone. "Whatever you're about to do, it won't end well."

Reeves kept chanting. Blood dripped from his palm, pooling on the floor. The magic building around him was massive. Uncontrolled. Fueled by desperation and fury.

The leader backed away. Pulled the nervous witch with him. "Reeves, you idiot—"

Kieran lunged. The witch finished the incantation.

Magic exploded outward. Raw, uncontrolled, a shockwave of pure force fueled by life energy. It caught Kieran mid-stride and threw him backward into the wall. Hard. Something in his shoulder gave with a sharp crack of displaced joint. Not broken. Dislocated.

Pain white-hot and immediate.

ENOUGH. LET ME OUT. END THIS.

"Not. Yet."

HE HURT US. KILL HIM.

"Soon."

Kieran pushed himself up with his good arm. His shoulder screamed. His ribs felt like fire. The beast was so close to the surface now that his canines had extended slightly, claws trying to push through at his fingertips. His control was fraying with every hit, every spike of pain.

Reeves was swaying, pale from the blood magic cost. But he was smiling. "Not so tough now, are you?"

The leader grabbed Reeves' arm. "We're leaving. Now. Before you kill us all with your stupidity."

"No!" Reeves yanked free. "I finish this!"

He started gathering magic again. Hands shaking. Drawing on reserves he didn't have.

HE'S KILLING HIMSELF. TOO MUCH. TOO FAST.

"I know."

WE SHOULD HELP.

That surprised Kieran. "Help kill him?"

MERCY. HE'S ALREADY DEAD. JUST DOESN'T KNOW YET.

The magic building around Reeves was flickering. Unstable. His nose was bleeding now. Eyes bloodshot. But he kept pulling, kept gathering, kept trying to prove himself.

Kieran forced his breathing to steady. Forced the beast back down another inch. His shoulder was useless. His ribs felt like fire. But he could still move.

"Evelyn!" he called out, voice carrying despite the pain. Calm. Controlled. Like he wasn't hurt at all. "Whatever you're feeling—let it out. Don't control it. Just release it."

The leader's eyes widened. He turned toward Evelyn, realizing they'd made a tactical error.

They'd stopped suppressing her to focus on him.

Reeves fired his unstable magic. Not at Kieran. At Evelyn.

NO.

Kieran moved. Pain didn't matter. The dislocated shoulder didn't matter. He intercepted the blast, took it across his already-injured ribs, felt something crack properly this time.

He hit the ground hard, vision graying at the edges. The beast was screaming. His control was a thread.

But Evelyn was safe.

Kieran smiled through the pain. Through the beast screaming for blood. Through everything.

Then he waited to see what the last Winslow would do.

Chaotic_Emerald · Friday at 3:41 PM

Thistle wouldn’t stop running until he knew that the wolf knew where to go. Then he lingered by the house, it was too dangerous for him to go in. He knew that. So he had to hope the wolf would be able to help Evelyn in the way he knew he could.

Evelyn was scared, she could feel that power building up but at the same time fading from her. They were trying to suppress the magic so they could take her…take her to this Council that wanted her.

Why would her own kind do this?

She fought against whatever magic was forcing her down, but exhaustion and pain began to override the power that surged through her.

Her vision grew blurry, bigger spots of grey appearing as she tried to fight it. She tried to keep her breathing steady but she was panicking. This can’t be how this goes.

She finally starts getting answers and then she’s captured?

The one in the middle crouched in front of her, forcing her to look up at him, “The more you fight it the more it hurts princess. Stop fighting it and you’ll be in less pain.” He tried to get her to stop struggling, though he didn’t seem angry that she was fighting them…more impressed than anything.

After all, how could such an untrained witch be able to fight practiced witches like this?

“No…stop!” She cried out, a small surge of magic pushing outwards from her, weakening whatever bind was on her.

The man stumbled backwards for a moment, seemingly off guard from the surge even if it was a small one. “You got some fire in you don’t you-”

The door was forced open and the man was interrupted by the sound.

He turned to face the sound and the man Evelyn met earlier was there.

The other two stopped the incantation and turned at the same time, Evelyn slumped to the floor as the pressure of whatever they were doing lifted off of her.

She worked on steadying her mind and body as she also tried to keep track of what was going on.

The man from earlier was here…why?

Was that the reason Thistle left?

To get him?

Did he know that these people were going to be here?

The leader spoke, trying to get the werewolf to stay away.

Then one of the others spoke and she recognized the voice. That was the officer that spoke to her yesterday. He was the one demanding her grandfather’s journals. And now he was here after telling her to find them.

Anger surged through her. ‘This bastard…’ she thought, trying to comprehend what was going on.

Reeves wanted the werewolf dead, the leader wanted him to stand back. That arrogance was going to get Reeves killed. She saw that much.

As soon as they all began to fight, she tried to get back to her feet, making as little noise as possible. They seemed to completely ignore her and were focused on the werewolf.

The leader was very focused on the fight, more so trying to control Reeves but that man was not listening at all. He was blinded by whatever drove him to kill the wolf.

A wave of emotions rushed through her as she watched the battle, managing to get on her feet.

Looking at her hands, they had a faint glow again, and when she turned to look out a window, so were her eyes.

That power was building up inside of her again, but she refused to release it. She was afraid of hurting everyone. Even if the other witches didn’t care about hurting her.

Then the werewolf was flung at the wall by a force of power sent from Reeves.

“Stop it!” Evelyn shouted, another small surge radiating through her as she tried to hold it back. Taking a step forward she was immediately held back against the wall by a force again.

“Pipe down princess.” The leader had his hand out towards her, his eyes still glowing when he turned to face her.

But his head snapped back at Reeves, telling him to stand down once more. But Reeves wasn’t listening and he began to gather another spell, something way stronger. Evelyn could feel it.

She took that moment to look around, the house was not looking great. How would she explain this to June?

It didn’t help when she heard a blast of magic, her head snapping to the ceiling and seeing a hole created and dust flying everywhere.

The werewolf managed to daze Reeves after the blast, but it was clear it wasn’t ready to give up. As the other witch shot another fire spell, Reeves was gathering more magic, and she felt that force release from her as the leader began his own incantation.

Watching Reeves start another spell, she could feel that power surging. She could see it, a red aura growing around him. It flickered. It was unstable.

She could feel how dangerous it was, and the leader could too. He backed away and pulled the other witch with him. Evelyn took the opportunity to hide behind the kitchen counter, feeling that the power would ripple through the whole house.

Even though she didn’t see what happened, with the loud thud she could tell the werewolf tried to stop the incantation but failed. And the consequence was him being slammed into the wall again but with a greater force.

She stayed behind the counter, panting as fear took over her. She could stop this…right? She could hand herself over? No. The werewolf would come back. She could release what she felt growing, but that would risk hurting him and the others. She didn’t want to hurt anyone but it seemed like her only choice.

Before she could make a decision, she bolted out from behind the counter at the feeling of that raw power returning.

This was something worse, she could feel it. The aura she was unsteady, constantly flickering.

Then the werewolf spoke, and the leader turned to her. The look on his face made him realize he shouldn’t have taken his focus off of her.

Then the magic Reeves was channeling was released, but not at the original target. At her.

Instinctively she held up her hands and a shield appeared in front of her, her magic working to defend her. But the same couldn’t be said about the werewolf who took the blast instead of her.

When she didn’t feel any sort of impact she moved her arms and opened her eyes. But the shield had disappeared the moment she did so. And she saw the werewolf on the floor.

“NO!” She shouted. This was the only person who could give her answers. She crouched near him and reached out but hesitated. She had no idea what to do.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The leader shouted at Reeves, who seemed almost apologetic. But he seemed happy that his original target was down. “You could have killed her! If you would’ve killed her with that!” He reprimanded the witch.

“But I didn’t. She has enough power to protect herself. You saw that! Even if she doesn’t try, it still protects her!” Reeves rebutted, pointing at Evelyn, who was on the floor trying to figure out what to do with the werewolf.

“The Council will be disappointed in you Reeves. Let’s get the girl and go.” He demanded, turning and beginning to walk towards Evelyn. “Don’t bother princess. The magic Reeves used was too strong. You have to actually know how to heal him to actually help. There’s nothing you can do, no one to protect you, now let’s go.”

Evelyn frowned, looking up at him as he approached her. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She said as she stood up, slowly feeling the power release from her.

Frost began to creep in the corners, the lights flickering and the temperature dropping like when she first encountered the werewolf. But somehow he wasn’t affected. Like if there was something surrounding him as the temperatures dropped significantly.

The others weren’t used to the cold, definitely not the nervous witch on the left. She looked pale, maybe a bit blue. Fire users weren’t meant to face the cold. This was draining her and the leader noticed.

Reeves rolled his eyes, “Please I’m not scared of some amateur wi-”

“SHUT UP. You’ve done enough” Evelyn shouted at him, frost covering his mouth.
Turning her head to the leader she could see a hint of fear in his eyes. She had control now. Maybe not completely over her powers but she was learning how to direct it better. By using words and intention she could do certain things. “You,” Her voice was echoing and her breath could be see with each word she spoke, “tell the Council that when I’m ready to speak with them, I will. Until then I belong to NO ONE. Not to the wolf, and certainly not to you guys. Neither does my grandfather’s belongings.”

“And call me princess again and I'll freeze over your mouth like I did with Reeves but it'll be permanent." The threat was mostly empty as she didn't even know if that was possible, but it struck enough fear into him that he held his tongue.

"Now…” Her voice stopped echoing for a brief moment before the rest of her power surge out, “GET OUT!” She shouted, a shockwave bursting from her, sending the three out of the house. Though two of them went through a window and one through the door. Frost covered the open spaces as they were forced out.

It was more powerful than she expected, but at least whatever she felt inside was gone.

Then she turned to the werewolf. “Shit…shit…shit!” She ran to him and crouched beside him. The temperature in the room went back to normal and the frost and flickering lights stopped.

“Are...are you okay? How can I help?” She asked, not sure what to do.

When the three were forced out of the house, the leader of the group, Husk, groaned as he made impact with the asphalt. Looking over at Reeves, he wasn't moving. He was dead. His body couldn't handle anymore after that final push. "Shit...stupid boy got himself killed over something we could've avoided."

Meanwhile the girl, Rosie, couldn't breathe, so Husk muttered a calming spell and Rosie stopped hyperventilating. Stumbling to his feet he looked at the house, "She's more powerful than we thought..." he muttered to himself before pulling out a phone and dialing a number.

"What is it? Did you get her?" The voice on the other line asked, though it was more a demand.

"No. The wolf came to help her. I think they know she's the key to undoing the veil. He seemed very determined to keep her alive. Even took a hit for her."

"Took a hit? What do you mean?"

"Yeah. Reeves got bloodthirsty and distracted me from the girl. He was focused on the wolf. Even started using blood magic to try and kill the damn thing. But when we realized the girl's power was growing in her, he blasted the damn spell at her. But the wolf took the blast."

"Gods my son is so stupid. He knows that he doesn't have that affinity. He didn't inherit that from me, so it takes more energy to use. Dumb boy."

"Yeah...about that. He was already weak before he used the spell. And after. But...she forced us out of the house, and he didn't survive the impact. It was a harsh blow and hurt like hell. Rosie got the wind knocked out of her." Husk could hear the breathing on the other end. It was angry. He was angry.

"Collect his body. Bring him to me. I'll deal with it. Find someone else to help you. Replace Rosie too. She's not ready for that kind of work. Get another crew and go back. It'll take them some time to recover from something like that."

"About another crew. I'll need more than just two people. She's really strong. She's got frost covering the house and somehow managed to prevent the wolf from freezing over while she was focused on us. She's learning quickly and it'll take more than 3 people to contain her and the wolf."

"Fine. Just get it done. The wolves know too much now. Kill him if you have to. I don't care. I just want the girl. ALIVE." And with that, the call disconnected.

Husk grumbled as he looked to Rosie, who's face finally had color again. "Get the car and bring it here. We're taking Reeves with us. Boss wants the body. You're also being reassigned. You're not ready for this kind of work and the girl literally almost killed you by dropping the temperature. You're sitting this out."

Rosie nodded and took off in the direction of the car.

Eventually she pulled up and they loaded the body into the car before heading to their assigned quarters.

This was going to be harder than they thought.

Fantasy RP The Last Hunt - (Chaotic & Froshi)

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

What even am I?

57 Frogs in a Trench Coat

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