In the world of the Elites, rumors were more than whispers—they were tremors that shook the very roots of kingdoms.
And now, those tremors turned into a storm.
---
It began in the shadowy corners of vampire courts. Then slithered through the high towers of witches coven. Then screamed from the mountaintops of Lycan tribes.
A single name.
A single story.
"The Council is gone."
"They were slaughtered."
"Their allies stripped of power… reduced to mere humans."
And the most shocking truth of all—
"It was her."
> "The child born of the forbidden union…"
"The Nexus bloodline."
"The daughter of Maika and Carl."
"Seraphine Elira Vellaria Landon."
---
In taverns, halls, temples, and war rooms—everyone spoke of the massacre.
How the guards outside the Bride Assembly were found turned to ash.
How the sacred hall, once protected by elite magic, lay in ruins—blood painted on walls, bodies burned beyond recognition.
How not a single council member survived.
How one woman, barefoot, bloodstained, and raging like the wrath of gods, walked out of the wreckage—carrying the unconscious body of the fallen Vampire Prince.
And how every clan, house, and noble that supported the Council… found their powers stripped overnight.
Healers could no longer summon light.
Shapeshifters were trapped in their human forms.
Spell-casters found their chants mute.
The punishment was absolute.
No one understood how it happened—but the truth was undeniable.
The Elite World was no longer ruled by the Council.
And the symbol of fear was no longer the sigil of the Elder Circle.
It was a girl with tears in her eyes and vengeance in her blood.
---
In the far-off kingdom of the Moonwell witches, High Priestess Virell stood silently, gazing into her scrying pool.
She saw the image of Seraphine, kneeling by the coffin.
> "The Carello power has awakened," she murmured.
"But that… that fury… that curse…" She touched her lips. "She's no longer just a child of prophecy. She is a weapon."
---
In the Northern Peaks, the Lycan Elders gathered under the blood moon.
Some trembled. Others argued.
> "She carries Carl's fire," one growled.
"And Maika's hunger," said another.
> "She is the Nexus."
"She will bring the next era."
"Or the end of all clans."
---
In the vampire courts, nobles argued behind locked doors.
> "She annihilated the Council in minutes!"
"She stripped powers with a curse. A curse! No vampire, witch, or lycan has done that before."
"She must be taken seriously. Or we'll be next."
A shadowy voice spoke from the corner, lips red from fresh feeding:
> "We don't stop the storm. We bow to it."
---
Meanwhile, in Ravenshade, Seraphine heard none of these rumors.
Or maybe she did, but she no longer cared.
Carlos sat in the sanctuary hall, reading the latest sealed report from Santossa.
> "They're all terrified of you," he said gently. "They're calling you the Nexus Witch. The Lycan Vampire Queen. The Uncrowned Wrath."
Seraphine didn't lift her eyes from the coffin.
> "Let them fear me," she whispered.
"I have no more need for approval. Only one purpose now."
Carlos exhaled.
> "And when he wakes?"
Seraphine placed her palm gently against the glass, eyes softer now, voice almost a whisper.
> "Then… he will rule by my side."
> "Not as their puppet. Not as a council's soldier."
> "But as my king."
Two months had passed.
The world outside moved on, shaken but restless. Clans rebuilt, alliances reshaped. Some mourned the fallen Council, others celebrated its downfall.
But in Ravenshade Sanctuary, time stood still.
There—beneath the sacred arches and ancient moonlight stained glass—Seraphine remained unmoving.
She never once left the glass coffin.
---
Alaric lay still, entombed in crystal purity. His beauty untouched by death, as if he merely slumbered in a dream too far for her to reach.
She sat beside him, her hands always gently pressed to the cold glass, her lips silently moving in prayers only he could hear.
She didn't eat.
She didn't sleep.
She didn't speak.
Only tears. Endless, quiet, aching.
---
Carlos stayed outside the sanctuary, sleeping at its doorstep, guarding her day and night like a hound loyal to two masters.
He knew.
This was what Alaric would have wanted.
> "Protect her," he had once said.
"Even if it's from herself."
---
On the dawn of the 60th day, Carlos rose from his post with a deep frown. Something was… off.
The wind shifted strangely.
The sky felt heavier.
The sanctuary's air was tinged with a sickening sweetness… bloodlust.
He stepped inside, carefully.
Seraphine was still by the coffin—her head bowed, her fingers trembling.
> "Seraphine," he whispered, reaching out.
His hand touched her shoulder—
And her head slowly turned.
Blood moon eyes.
Fangs. Elongated. Glimmering.
Carlos froze. "No…"
In a blink, she lunged at him with the speed of a starved predator.
> "SERAPHINE—!" He barely had time to shout.
Her claws slammed into his chest, and she threw him across the sanctuary wall. The stone cracked behind his body as he slumped, gasping.
From her place near the coffin, she rose like a vengeful spirit.
Her breath came in wild pants. Her pupils were slit like a beast. Blood dripped from her lips—though she hadn't yet fed.
She was starving.
---
The crash echoed through the sanctuary gates.
Caveen, Maika, and Carl—who had just arrived—burst through the entrance, eyes widening at the sight.
Seraphine—feral, glowing with a deadly red aura—stood over Carlos.
Carlos, bloodied but calm, looked up and raised a hand toward Caveen.
> "Don't," he coughed.
"Let her… feed."
Maika's hands flew to her mouth in horror.
> "She's lost herself…" she whispered.
But Caveen held his father back, watching silently as Seraphine dropped to her knees and sank her fangs into Carlos's neck.
He didn't move.
He let her.
---
And when the taste reached her—
It wasn't Carlos she sensed.
It was… Alaric.
His scent.
His magic.
His bloodline.
Alaric's blood still clung to Carlos.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as the feeding slowed… then stopped.
Her eyes widened as clarity returned. Horror followed.
She backed away, lips trembling.
> "Carlos…" her voice cracked. "I'm… I'm so sorry…"
Blood trickled from her mouth as her hands shook uncontrollably.
> "I didn't mean to—I wasn't—"
Carlos, now pale, stood and limped toward her.
Without a word, he pulled her into a tight embrace.
> "It's alright," he whispered into her hair.
"You were starving. And I… I carry Alaric's blood. I think that's why you couldn't resist."
Her hands clenched on his tunic, her sobs returning.
But this time, there was something more.
Something… different.
Carlos gently touched her stomach.
His eyes widened.
> "There's… a heartbeat."
The room went still.
Everyone froze.
Seraphine blinked up at him.
> "A… heartbeat?"
Carlos nodded slowly.
> "It's small. But it's there. And it's not mine."
"Seraphine… you're pregnant."
---
Silence.
Then—
Maika gasped, eyes instantly tearing up.
Carl's jaw dropped as he gripped his son's shoulder for balance.
Caveen stepped forward, stunned.
> "Alaric's…" he whispered. "You carry his child."
Seraphine looked down at her trembling hands, then to the coffin.
The realization hit her like a rising tide of light breaking through the grief.
A piece of him…
Was still alive.
Inside her.
She sank to her knees and placed her hand on her belly.
A new sob escaped her lips—but this time, it wasn't just grief.
It was hope.