Enid was absolutely ecstatic, bouncing on her heels and letting out high-pitched squeals of pure joy. "Did you see me?! I was huge! And I had sabre-teeth! I literally saved the day!" She was so caught up in the thrill of her first full transformation that it took her a few seconds to realize she was standing in the middle of the courtyard completely naked.
Her ecstatic expression instantly froze, and her face flushed a deep, violent crimson.
Before the awkwardness could settle in, Aleksander stepped forward. With a fluid wave of his hand, a thick plume of standard dark smoke swirled around Enid's frame. When it dissipated, she was fully dressed in a neatly conjured outfit.
Enid let out a massive sigh of relief, clutching the fresh fabric. "Oh, thank god," she muttered, her cheeks still burning as she gave him a sheepish, incredibly thankful nod. "You are an absolute lifesaver."
Wednesday paid the display no mind, her sharp focus still entirely on the perimeter of the courtyard. She walked up to Aleksander, her unblinking gaze drilling into him.
"What was that all about?" Wednesday questioned, her voice dropping to its usual, suspicious monotone. "You don't typically waste your theatrical shadow play on trees."
Aleksander casually shrugged, letting his hands drop into his pockets. "Nothing. Just felt as if someone was watching me from the tree line. But when I checked, there was nothing there."
Wednesday stared at the dark woods for a long moment, processing his words, before giving a single, slow nod of agreement. "A pity. I was hoping we'd have one more monster to dissect before curfew."
Miles away, tucked securely within the ancient, reinforced walls of Morozov Manor, Grigori Morozova sat behind a heavy mahogany desk. The study was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his fountain pen against parchment.
Then, the air in the room shifted. It didn't grow cold, but it suddenly felt incredibly heavy, as if the atmospheric pressure had just doubled.
Grigori stopped writing. He slowly raised his head, looking past the warm glow of his desk lamp toward the tall, arched window. Standing in the shadows, perfectly still and completely unbothered by the sheer drop outside, was Cain.
Grigori immediately stood up, smoothing his suit jacket. "Welcome, Ancestor," he greeted, bowing his head in deep respect.
Cain stepped out of the shadows. He wore a simple, impeccably tailored dark suit, his thick beard and hair perfectly groomed. He moved with a quiet, terrifying grace—the relaxed posture of a man who had not felt fear in several millennia.
"Drop the 'ancestor' title, Grigori," Cain said softly, his voice a smooth, weary baritone. "It's tiresome."
Without waiting for an invitation, Cain walked over to the study's antique liquor cabinet. His dark eyes scanned the top shelf before settling on a bottle of Macallan 1926. He picked it up, grabbing a heavy crystal tumbler from the tray, and poured himself two fingers of the amber liquid.
Grigori watched him closely. "Why the sudden visit?"
Cain took a slow, appreciative sip of the whisky, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing. He didn't look at Grigori right away. "I was keeping an eye on the boy tonight. Aleksander. Azazel paid a visit to Nevermore... and he's taken a distinct interest."
The color drained from Grigori's face. His jaw tightened, and a grim, cold dread settled over his features. The Yellow-Eyed Demon was not a threat to be taken lightly.
Cain set the glass down on the desk, the soft clink echoing loudly in the silent room. "You knew this day was coming," Cain said, his tone carrying a quiet, absolute authority. "The boy's power is a beacon. It's beyond anything we've seen in a very long time. It was only a matter of time before the demons came sniffing around. Now, we have to focus on his protection."
Grigori nodded, his mind already racing through their assets. "I will call Kol and Davina. I can have them in Jericho by tomorrow."
Cain frowned slightly, looking deeply unimpressed. "The Mikaelsons," he murmured, a hint of dry disdain in his voice. "They might be helpful, in a messy, chaotic sort of way. But against Yellow Eyes? We're going to need more."
Grigori paced to the window, staring out into the dark grounds of the manor. "Then I will look out for Rowena and Johanna."
At the mention of the name, the faint ghost of a smile touched Cain's lips. He picked up his glass again, taking another slow sip.
"Rowena," Cain agreed, a subtle nod of approval in his dark eyes. "Yes. Make the call. With that witch around, keeping Aleksander breathing just became a considerably simpler task."
Miles away from the quiet, strategic tension of Morozov Manor, Aleksander stood in the shattered courtyard of Nevermore Academy.
He watched Enid awkwardly adjust the collar of her conjured clothes, while Wednesday meticulously inspected the now-extinguished steel of the Dragon Breath sword, looking mildly disappointed that the supernatural fire had faded.
As far as Aleksander was concerned, the night's chaos had reached its definitive conclusion. The resurrected pilgrim was ash, the rogue Hyde was subdued, the murderous botany teacher was securely chained, and an underworld brute had been smote back to Hell. It was a successful, albeit exhausting, evening.
He was blissfully unaware that he had just been pushed into the dead center of a massive, brewing supernatural storm.
He didn't know that the lingering shadow he had tried to cut down in the woods belonged to Azazel, a Prince of Hell. He didn't know that his family's ancient patriarch had just authorized a mobilization of catastrophic proportions to protect him.
The quiet, gothic halls of Nevermore Academy—already recovering from local murders and resurrected bigots—were about to face a completely different caliber of chaos.
The Original family was coming. The Mikaelsons, with their ancient, bloody baggage, unmatched ferocity, and centuries-old vendettas, were already being called to Jericho.
And joining them was Rowena MacLeod—the undisputed strongest witch on Earth. A woman whose sheer magical mastery and lethal cunning could level cities and humble demons.
The board was set, and the heaviest pieces were moving directly toward Nevermore.
But for now, completely oblivious to the legendary vampires and ancient witches racing to his defense, Aleksander simply exhaled. His breath plumed in the cold night air as he turned his back on the dark forest. The real war hadn't even begun, but tonight, he just wanted to get some sleep.