"Water," Hazel gasped as her body jerked awake from a nightmare that clung to her skin like cold sweat.
Corrine rushed to her side and brought a cup to her lips. Hazel drank in shaky sips, her hand trembling against the porcelain.
"What happened?" Cassius asked, stepping forward.
"Beat it, Cassius. She just woke up," Corrine snapped, shielding Hazel from the intrusion.
Hazel's voice came out barely above a whisper. "Please… I want to be alone."
They left her in silence.
Hazel slowly turned her gaze toward the mirror across the room, dread filling her chest. What stared back was not the girl she remembered—but a shattered reflection. Her left arm and leg were still marred by the cruel memory of the Nymortix root—its poisonous legacy etched in scars she'd carry forever.
She lifted the veil with slow fingers, revealing her discolored eye and the jagged scar beneath it. Her lips parted in a painful whisper. "Is this what I've become?"
Later that day…
"Please be careful this time," Mrs. Valeria said gently as they climbed into the car.
"I will, Ma'am," Hazel replied, her voice subdued, as if part of her had stayed behind.
Vangelis was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the ride. The silence between them hung like a curse.
"You seem… off today, My Lord. What's troubling you?"
He gave her a faint smile. "Nothing, dear. I'm just thinking of you. You need rest—food, strength. You've lost too much. I heard your powers are dormant now… your body too weak to wield them."
He reached over, gently laying her head on his thigh. His touch was tender, almost sorrowful.
Later, just before dusk.
"Phoenix will be here in an hour," Vangelis said, kissing her forehead. "I need to take care of something across the border. Rest until then."
She nodded and stepped onto the balcony. The air was still, but her mind wasn't.
The memories of Nymortix came rushing back, like blood through reopened wounds. Panic gripped her lungs.
She screamed into the emptiness:"I'm just eighteen!"
Her body convulsed violently, blood spilling from her lips. Phoenix appeared just in time, catching her before she collapsed.
"Sapphire! Talk to me! What's happening?"
But she didn't respond. Her pupils split down the middle—one eye glowing red, the other blue, the colors swirling like war. "My eyes… they're burning. My soul—save me from this pain!"
Far away, atop the highest peak of Bloodmoon, the sky cracked open with blinding light. A young figure descended, shrouded in holy radiance. Her shoulder-length grey hair flowed like mist, and her luminous blue eyes held rotating golden rings.
As her feet touched the mountain, white roses rained upon the Bloodmoon territory.
Gasps and cries erupted from every corner of the pack.
"The Moon Goddess has remembered us!" they wept.
Phoenix barely had time to speak before the being appeared before him—a time traveler cloaked in celestial light.
Her voice echoed with divine authority.
"I am an angel. A vessel sent by the Moon Goddess. I bring a message of judgment. A curse. A reckoning."
Her gaze turned to Vangelis and Hazel.
"You two have sinned. You have crossed lines written in blood and time. You both bear seeds within her—your brother's, and yours. The girl now carries the first ever Quadbrid… a child born of vampire, witch, demon, and wolf."
The hall fell deathly silent.
"Is there a solution?" Phoenix asked urgently.
The time traveler's eyes darkened.
"I do not fix fate. I only speak it. And all I see… is demise."
Vangelis stepped forward, power flaring around him like a storm unleashed.
"Then hang there and rot without purpose." His voice rumbled like an earthquake. "Unless you tell me what to do, I will carve your soul from your bones and return your corpse to your precious Moon Goddess!"
A spear of ice materialized beside the angel's head, inches from her glowing temple.
Terror flickered in her divine eyes.
"There is… one path," she breathed. "One of the seeds must be transferred—to her twin within five days. Only then can the curse be divided. One child, two destinies. Balance… or destruction."
Kieran sat alone on the velvet floor of the west wing, fingers curled around the worn-out toy Eira had given him. He held it like a relic, eyes hollow with grief.
"Eira… when will you return to me?" he whispered. "You promised you'd come back."
Upstairs, Roxanne hadn't left her room in days. The lights stayed off. The food trays went untouched. Grief had devoured her appetite. Regret gnawed at her soul.
A soft knock disturbed the silence.
Hazel entered quietly. Her voice, though weakened, was firm.
"I want to go out. Corrine and Cassius, are not around. Take me somewhere—anywhere. A restaurant maybe."
Roxanne opened her mouth to refuse—but stopped.
Her gaze fell on Hazel: the veil partially pulled aside, exposing the ruin of her once flawless face. The scars. The blinded eye. Yet still, she asked to go outside—to be seen. To live.
Roxanne swallowed the bitter taste of her own self-pity.
"Grab your veil," she said softly. "I'll bring you a cloak. It's cold out there."
They stepped into the night, the wind biting against their skin. The moon hid behind clouds—too ashamed to bear witness.
"Open a portal to the city," Roxanne said, wrapping her cloak tighter. "This place is too far to walk."
Hazel lowered her gaze. "I can't… I've lost my abilities. I'm too weak."
Roxanne muttered under her breath. "I should've rejected your offer."
"Pardon?" Hazel asked.
Roxanne recovered quickly. "I said we should walk to the neighboring pack towns. There are carriages and merchant wagons there."
Hours passed. The cold grew fiercer. Their breath came out in clouds as they trudged along a frostbitten path. They finally stopped under a gnarled tree, roots twisting like veins through the soil.
"What now?" Hazel asked, pulling the veil further over her face.
"This is a trade road," Roxanne replied. "Merchants pass through often. When they come, I can… convince them to give us a ride."
Hazel removed her veil, slowly, and sat across from her.
Roxanne blinked. "Aren't you afraid someone might see your face?" she asked, beginning to unbraid Hazel's tangled hair.
Hazel's eyes were steady. "The only thing I fear… is dying before I avenge myself. If I ever regain my powers, I will rain ruin on both packs. Corrine told me what happened the day I returned. While you hid indoors, I stood alone. So let the world feel the pain you've buried. Let them all choke on it."
Roxanne said nothing. She worked gently through the knots in Hazel's hair with a tiny comb she carried. Her hands were careful, almost reverent.
"I'm trying to save as much of it as I can," she murmured. "After we eat… I'll give it a proper wash."
Rubymoon Pack…
"This is the root of the infestation, my Lord," said Alpha Hanford, pointing at a map riddled with dark marks. "They nest in the thick trees, hiding among the workers who till our fields."
Vangelis stood silent, eyes like obsidian. He traced the map with two fingers, then closed his fist.
"I'll set the forest ablaze. No more hiding. No more shadows. My soldiers will meet the beastmen in open battle. We'll burn the infestation to ash… then revive the land from its charred bones."
Hanford bowed. "Anything, my Lord, to rid us of these monsters."
Roxanne's fingers moved gently through Hazel's thick, tangled hair, the little comb gliding carefully between broken strands.
But Hazel's body tensed.Something was wrong.
A sharp instinct clawed at her—cold, precise, ancient.
Without a word, she lunged forward—just as a blade hissed through the air, narrowly missing her head. Her hair fluttered to the ground, severed cleanly in half.
They both froze.Above them, shadows shifted in the trees.
Eyes gleamed. Snarls echoed in the wind.
"Beastmen!".
Creatures of twisted flesh and corrupted spirit—feral, intelligent, and hungry.
Hazel's voice dropped to a snarl. "Roxanne, are you hurt?"
Roxanne hissed through clenched teeth. "Just my wrist. I'm fine."
She wasn't. Blood dripped steadily down her side where the blade had dug in deep—but she tore the sword out before Hazel could see. It took everything not to collapse then and there.
The two began to run, boots slamming against frozen earth, weaving between skeletal trees. The forest around them came alive with rustling—more of them, leaping, hunting, chasing.
The snarl of the pack grew louder. The stench of blood filled the air.
They were surrounded.
Hazel's breath was sharp in her throat, her fingers tightening around a silver dagger that had been thrown at her—a near-miss.
She caught it mid-air.
"We won't leave here without a fight." Her voice was a whisper of vengeance.
She had no powers now—but her speed remained. Her rage remained.With feral grace, she lunged.One swipe. Two heads rolled. Another turned to ash.
She moved like fire—relentless, precise—driven by fury and memory.
On the other side, Roxanne stood firm, blood trickling down her side, lips moving in a haunting melody.
A banshee's hymn.
The air shimmered with its echo. The sound wrapped around the beastmen Hazel had wounded—intensifying their pain, halting their regeneration.Their screams split the air.
But the cost was great.
Roxanne's knees buckled, her face pale. The sword wound at her side was deeper than she let on. Her blood pooled in the snow, staining it crimson.
The beastmen weren't falling back—they were multiplying. The forest seemed to breathe them into being.
Hazel's breath caught in her throat.
Roxanne's song faltered. Then, silence.
She collapsed
.
"Roxanne!"
Hazel turned, only to be struck by a brute force from behind. She hit the ground hard, rolling beside Roxanne's limp body.
Her vision blurred, but her rage surged hotter than ever.
They were not dying here. Not today.