Bettina: Day One in the Citadel
Bettina woke to the sharp chill of stone against her cheek and the profound, heavy silence of a place built to contain more than just sound. She was in a small, square room made entirely of damp gray stone. The air was frigid, tasting of deep earth. There were no windows, only a single, heavy iron door sealed with massive bolts. The only light was a faint, unsettling greenish glow coming from a crack high near the ceiling.
She forced herself to sit up, her head throbbing. She was still wearing the clothes from her final exam—a light blouse and jeans—which were no match for the cold.
She tested the door; it was unyielding. She called out: "Hello? Is anyone there?" Only a flat, dead echo answered her.
Hours passed slowly. She walked the perimeter of her cell and rehearsed arguments in her mind. She would not cry. She would demand answers. She noticed strange, faintly glowing celestial symbols etched into the stone where the walls met the ceiling, pulsing with the green light. They felt like silent, magical warnings.
Finally, the iron bolts scraped back with a terrible, dragging sound. The door swung open, revealing a masked figure in black robes that covered their entire body. They were tall, perfectly straight, and completely silent.
The figure stepped inside, carrying a small metal tray with a plain roll and a canteen of water. Their eyes were barely visible behind the hood slit, but Bettina felt a piercing, indifferent gaze—as if she were a specimen to be studied.
"What do you want?" Bettina asked, her voice shaking. "Why am I here?"
The figure did not respond, setting the tray on the floor.
"I am an English major," Bettina pressed, finding strength in her anger. "I am not a pawn in some corporate game. Tell me what this is about!"
The robed figure paused by the door, and for the first time, spoke. Their voice was low, deep, and unnaturally echoing.
"Your existence is the question, human. Your removal is the answer."
The door slammed shut, the heavy bolts crashing into place. Bettina was left alone again. Your existence is the question. The words confirmed her biggest fear: her simple, human life was the cause of this entire, frightening conflict.
Erich was miles north of the city, where the armored transport had used a powerful cloaking spell at the edge of the protected forest line. He had been there for hours, not as a CEO, but as the raw, desperate Triple Hybrid.
He moved with the supernatural speed of his Vampire blood, blurring between the ancient trees. He used the keen senses of his Werewolf heritage, tracking faint traces of magic in the earth. But every time he got close, his Witch blood warned him of a powerful counter-spell.
Arnold arrived, looking stressed and pale. "The human trail is gone, Erich," Arnold said. "They used a high-level blood-shield over the transport and went straight to the Citadel of Lineage—the old mountain stronghold. It's sealed by the Queen herself."
Erich was on his knees, his hands pressed into the dirt. "It's Mother's work," he spat. "She's forcing me into this idiotic Trial."
Arnold knelt beside him. "You have to stop, brother. You are wasting your energy. No single being can break the perimeter of the Citadel's main wards."
Erich looked up, and his eyes, usually cold gray, flashed with the brilliant, inhuman silver of his fully activated hybrid state. "They took what is mine, Arnold," he growled. "They took the most important thing that has happened in centuries. They have no idea what they have released."
He punched a nearby boulder, and the ancient granite cracked and fractured under the sheer force of his rage.
"Find me the way in, Arnold," Erich commanded, standing up, his large body radiating raw power. "Contact whatever rogue Witch, whatever criminal Vampire you
need. We will go around them, or we will go through the wall itself. But I am coming for her.
Back in the cell, Bettina was shivering. She heard a subtle hiss from the light crack above. She looked up and saw, not the green light, but a shadow—a face. It was a woman with sharp, beautiful, predatory features, her eyes focused on Bettina with a terrifying, calculating intensity.
The woman was gone in an instant, but her gaze was a chilling promise: Bettina was being watched, studied, and judged by the very people who had ordered her capture.