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Night had settled once more over Beacon Hills.
The forest, once torn apart by the chaos of battle weeks ago, now stood eerily still—as if the land itself was holding its breath. Nothing stirred on the surface, yet beneath that silence, something had changed. Something had awakened.
And the world had noticed.
At the edge of a high ridge overlooking the town, Arthur Corvinus stood unmoving, his figure framed by the pale glow of the moon. The wind brushed through his snow-white hair, but he paid it no mind. His focus lay far beyond the quiet town below.
Ever since that night—since his bloodline awakened—his body had become something… else.
Sharper. Faster. More aware.
The world no longer felt distant to him. It pressed against his senses constantly. He could hear the restless stirrings of animals miles away, feel the faint tremors beneath the earth, even control the rhythm of his own heartbeat with quiet precision.
But tonight, something unfamiliar crept into that awareness.
Arthur stilled.
Then his head turned slowly toward the distant mountains.
There.
A cluster of heartbeats.
Faint.
Slow.
Cold.
Wrong.
A low sound rumbled in his chest as his crimson eyes narrowed.
"…those popsicles," he muttered under his breath, lips curling with faint irritation.
Vampires.
So, the whispers had spread faster than he expected.
Arthur exhaled, almost amused, though there was no warmth in it.
"Great. Now everyone wants a piece."
Far from Beacon Hills, buried deep beneath layers of reinforced steel and concrete, a different kind of silence filled a war room lit only by the glow of digital screens.
One by one, faces appeared—hunters from across the world. Europe. Asia. The Americas. Old families. Veteran killers. People who had dedicated their lives to hunting the supernatural.
At the center sat Gerard Argent.
Broken, but far from defeated.
His body bore the cost of his last encounter—his leg replaced with a mechanical brace, one arm bound in a sling—but his eyes remained as sharp and calculating as ever.
When he spoke, the room listened.
"I trust you've all heard what happened."
They had.
And yet, hearing it confirmed changed things.
"The legends about the Last Blood…" Gerard continued, his voice steady but heavy, "…they're real."
A pause.
Then, colder:
"And they don't even begin to describe what it truly is."
The room erupted almost immediately.
"Then we eliminate him," one hunter said without hesitation. "Before he grows stronger."
"No," another voice cut in sharply.
That single word shifted the tone.
"If the stories are true…" the man continued, calm and deliberate, "…then his blood is not just dangerous. It's valuable."
A dangerous kind of silence followed.
"We could use it," he added. "Enhance ourselves. Create something stronger."
A scoff broke through the tension.
An older hunter leaned back, unimpressed.
"This mess is yours, Gerard."
Several heads nodded.
"You broke the Code."
The accusation hung heavily in the air.
"You targeted a pack that wasn't hunting indiscriminately. They were protecting Beacon Hills."
His gaze sharpened.
"And you sent your own daughter to slaughter them."
Gerard's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"You failed once," another hunter added. "So you escalated."
"And failed again."
The words hit harder this time.
"Your elite forces were wiped out… by a single boy."
That was when Gerard snapped.
"THAT BOY IS A THREAT!"
"He became dangerous because of what you did, Gerard."
Silence followed.
Then the man added:
"I will not participate in this insanity."
"If you still respect the Code…"
His tone turned colder.
"Stop immediately."
The room erupted once more—but now the division was clear.
Some wanted Arthur dead.
Others wanted him captured.
And some… wanted nothing to do with it at all.
For the first time in decades, the hunters were no longer united.
Back in Beacon Hills, Arthur didn't need to turn to know he wasn't alone.
He had sensed the presence long before it revealed itself.
The Guardian stepped from the shadows, silent as ever, the faint glow of the sigil on his hand barely visible beneath the moonlight.
"You've been busy," the Guardian said.
Arthur let out a quiet chuckle, still facing the forest.
"Not really. The world's just catching up."
He finally glanced over.
"Hunters arguing. Vampires creeping in."
A pause.
"What else is coming?"
The Guardian's expression darkened.
"The awakening of your bloodline was never going to go unnoticed."
Arthur folded his arms, unimpressed.
"Yeah, I'm getting that."
"There was a time," the Guardian continued, "when your kind was feared above all others."
Arthur smirked faintly.
"Let me guess—they tried to wipe us out."
"Some tried," the Guardian admitted. "Others… dedicated themselves entirely to ensuring your bloodline would never rise again."
That caught Arthur's attention.
"…and they failed," he said bluntly.
"If they hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here."
The Guardian didn't argue.
Instead, he spoke a name.
"The Covenant of Ash."
Arthur frowned slightly.
"Never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have," the Guardian replied. "They remove themselves from history… along with anything they deem a threat."
Arthur scoffed.
"Then they're not as good as they think."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"If they did their job properly, I wouldn't still be on everyone's radar."
Far from Beacon Hills, beneath ancient stone and buried secrets, a different conversation unfolded.
The walls of the chamber were carved with symbols older than most civilizations—markings tied to a lineage long thought extinct.
At the center, a holographic projection displayed a single image.
Arthur Corvinus.
The last of a forgotten bloodline.
A man stood before it, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.
"So… it survived."
An agent beside him nodded.
"The reports are confirmed. The Corvinus bloodline has awakened."
The leader studied the image in silence.
"For centuries, we believed it gone."
His voice was calm—but beneath it lay something colder.
"And now… it returns."
The agent hesitated before asking,
"What are your orders?"
The answer came without hesitation.
"Watch him."
A pause.
Then—
"And if he continues to evolve…"
The man's gaze hardened.
"…we end him."
Three years passed.
And the world did not forget.
Arthur Corvinus became more than a name.
He became a warning.
Hunters spoke of him with bitterness and fear.
Vampires avoided his territory, watching from the shadows instead of daring to cross into it.
Ancient packs whispered of him like a myth reborn—
The White Lunar Wolf of Beacon Hills.
And no matter how far the stories spread…
Everyone remembered the same thing.
The night he awakened.
And how everything changed.