The storm rolled in at midnight.
It wasn't made of rain or wind, but silence—thick, suffocating, and full of ancient magic. The skies above Midnight Hollow crackled with crimson lightning, though no thunder followed. Just the sound of three sets of footsteps on wet stone.
The Triad had arrived.
They wore no names. Only numbers. Only silence.
One bore a whip forged from vampire veins, known to flay even the strongest hybrids.
Another wielded twin daggers that drank blood with each kill and never dulled.
The third wore no weapon. They didn't need one.
Death followed them like shadow.
---
Virella jolted awake, gasping, her heart pounding like a war drum.
She had dreamed of fire and falling stars—but also of eyes. Crimson. Empty.
She stumbled to her window. Across the courtyard, three figures stood at the edge of the estate's old cemetery. Unmoving. Staring directly at her.
"They've come," she whispered.
---
Alaric stormed into the main hall moments later, sword strapped to his back, coat trailing like a shadow.
"They've broken the threshold," he growled.
Rian nodded, arms crossed. "I smelled them. No heartbeats. No fear."
"They won't talk," Alaric said. "They kill. That's all."
"What do they want?" Varen asked, appearing from the shadows, clearly having overheard.
"They want her," Alaric answered, nodding toward Virella as she entered the room. "She carries the last blood of Selene. And the sword that should've stayed buried."
"I didn't ask for any of this," she snapped.
"No," Alaric said quietly, "but that doesn't matter anymore."
---
Virella stood on the front steps of the estate, staring down the Triad as they approached across the misty field. The wind pulled at her coat and hair. She wore the ancestral blade at her hip.
"You sure about this?" Callum asked, stepping beside her.
"No," she admitted. "But I'm done letting everyone else fight for me."
The Triad stopped just yards away. The one in the center stepped forward. They spoke for the first time, their voice impossibly layered with both male and female tones.
"Virella Selene Nyx. You carry forbidden blood. You wield a cursed blade. And you stand in defiance of the Eternal Council. You are marked for death."
"I figured," Virella replied.
She drew the sword.
It sang.
---
The battle exploded like lightning.
The whip lashed out, nearly severing Callum's arm. He dodged, teeth bared, shifting partially into wolf. The twin-dagger assassin launched at Rian, the two of them clashing like shadows. The third—silent and terrifying—vanished, reappearing behind Virella mid-swing.
She barely ducked.
Alaric roared and joined the fight, fangs bared, claws extended.
Steel clanged. Blood splashed. Magic cracked the air.
The estate grounds became a war zone.
---
Virella's blade connected with the third assassin's chest—but it passed through them like mist. They reformed behind her again, whispering directly in her ear.
"You are not strong enough."
"I don't need to be," she hissed, spinning and slashing upward.
The blade shimmered red and silver—and cut through the assassin's chest.
They stumbled back, stunned.
"You are your grandmother's blood."
Virella's eyes glowed. "No. I'm more."
---
Inside the mansion, Varen ran.
Not toward the battle—but away.
He tore through the old passageways, deeper into the basement. Toward something hidden. Something he had sworn never to face again.
In the deepest vault, he pulled aside a rusted shelf and unlocked a sealed trunk with shaking hands.
Inside was his old weapon.
Not a blade. Not magic.
A vial.
Still glowing faintly violet after all these years.
A vampire venom compound—illegal, unstable, and once meant to control hybrids.
He had created it.
For Alaric.
Before the betrayal.
Before everything shattered.
And now…
Maybe it was time to finish what he started.
---
Outside, Alaric was bleeding.
He fought like a demon, but the Triad was merciless. Rian had fallen back with a shattered ribcage. Callum was barely standing.
Virella stood between them and the last assassin—eyes blazing, sword trembling in her hands.
"You won't take me," she said. "Not alive."
"We don't need you alive," the assassin whispered.
Then a sharp sound cracked the air—like glass shattering.
The assassin stumbled back, a syringe stuck in their neck.
Varen stood behind them, arm raised, another vial in hand.
"Pick on someone your own size," he growled.
The Triad turned in confusion—long enough for Alaric to rip into them with claws and fangs.
---
Minutes later, the field was a wasteland.
Two of the Triad assassins lay broken and disintegrating.
The third—the mist-like one—retreated, vanishing into smoke with a final whisper:
"The Council will come for you next."
Virella dropped to her knees.
The sword lay at her side, smoking faintly.
She felt everything—pain, grief, rage… and something deeper.
A pulse in her blood.
Like something ancient had awakened inside her.
---
In the quiet aftermath, as the others treated wounds and buried the fallen Triad, Alaric approached her.
"You fought like a queen," he said softly.
"I'm not a queen," she whispered. "I'm a warning."
He reached for her hand. "And what are you warning the world of?"
She looked up at him, eyes glowing faintly gold and red. "That the old rules are broken."
---
From far away—beyond the sea and snow—inside a throne room of bone, the Eternal Council received the news.
Two of their Triad had fallen.
A bloodline had reawakened.
And somewhere in the dark, the Firstborn stirred.
-----