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Morning sunlight stretched lazily across the campus of Beacon Hills High School, casting long golden lines over concrete paths and rows of parked cars. Students poured in through the gates in clusters—laughing, complaining, dragging their feet like the world had personally offended them by starting another school week.
It looked normal.
It sounded normal.
But beneath that surface, something had already begun to shift.
Among the crowd walked a boy who didn't belong to that illusion.
Arthur Corvinus moved at an unhurried pace, his posture relaxed, his presence quiet yet impossible to ignore. His snow-white hair caught the sunlight with every step, drawing glances from passing students who couldn't quite figure out why he stood out so much.
His crimson eyes moved calmly, observing everything without appearing to look at anything in particular.
Three years ago, Beacon Hills had become wolf territory.
Now—
The world had started creeping back in.
And today…
Everything was about to collide.
Homeroom
The classroom buzzed with low conversation as students filtered into their seats. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped lightly against the floor, and the teacher stood at the front, writing the date on the board with slow, deliberate strokes.
In the back row, Stiles Stilinski slouched comfortably in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers like it was the most important task of his life.
Beside him, Scott McCall rested his head on his hand, barely conscious.
"First day of the week," Stiles whispered dramatically.
Scott groaned.
"I hate Mondays."
Stiles nodded seriously. "Mondays are a conspiracy. I'm convinced they were invented by people who hate happiness."
Scott didn't respond.
Because Scott was no longer listening.
Stiles froze mid-spin.
"Oh."
Scott blinked.
"What?"
Stiles slowly pointed toward the door like he had just spotted something supernatural.
Arthur had entered the room.
Scott glanced over, unimpressed.
"Transfer student."
Stiles squinted.
"No one naturally has hair that white. That's either genetics… or trauma."
Arthur walked calmly toward an empty seat in the middle row, placing his bag down without a word. 'classic stiles, he can gossip anytime and anywhere.'
Directly across from him sat Jackson Whittemore, leaning back in his chair like he owned the room. His eyes narrowed slightly, irritation flickering across his face as he noticed the attention Arthur was drawing without even trying.
Beside Jackson, Lydia Martin flipped through her notebook, barely acknowledging the shift in the room—at least on the surface.
Arthur opened his textbook, already ignoring everything around him.
From the back row—
Stiles leaned forward like a detective who had just found his first clue.
"Hey, new guy."
Arthur turned his head slightly.
"Yes?"
"I'm Stiles," he said proudly, then pointed at Scott. "That's Scott. He's half asleep but still emotionally available."
Scott raised a hand weakly. "Hey."
Arthur nodded politely.
"Arthur."
Stiles blinked.
"That's it? Just Arthur?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Last names are overrated."
Scott chuckled.
"Where'd you transfer from?"
Arthur paused briefly.
"…Europe."
(AN: not a lie tho—Corvinus originates from Hungary)
Stiles blinked again.
"Europe is not a city."
Arthur calmly flipped a page in his book.
"I move around."
Stiles leaned closer to Scott and whispered loudly enough for half the room to hear.
"Spy."
Scott rolled his eyes.
"He's not a spy."
Arthur let out a quiet chuckle, barely audible.
Stiles never fails to impress me, he thought. This detective wannabe is dangerously close to being right.
Around the room, several students pretended not to listen.
But they were.
Near the window sat three pale figures.
Still.
Too still.
Their eyes occasionally flicked toward Arthur, studying him with quiet intensity.
"That's him," one whispered.
Another nodded faintly.
Their leader spoke without looking up from his book.
"Do nothing."
"Observe."
Their gazes returned to Arthur.
Unblinking.
Calculating.
Arthur didn't react outwardly.
But he heard every word.
The Quiet Observer
At the front of the classroom sat a substitute teacher no one questioned.
He blended in perfectly.
Too perfectly.
His eyes moved across the room, taking everything in—not as a teacher, but as something far more dangerous.
Arthur.
Three vampires.
Multiple members of the Hale pack.
And four completely unaware teenagers in the back.
His thoughts were precise.
Cold.
The Last Blood is surrounded.
When Arthur stood to hand in an assignment, his movements were smooth and controlled. He walked past rows of desks without drawing attention—
Until he passed Lydia.
For a brief moment—
A faint ringing echoed in her ears.
Not loud.
But sharp.
Like something ancient brushing against her mind.
Whispers followed.
Old.
Distant.
Unfamiliar.
Her breath caught slightly.
Arthur continued walking, unaware—or at least pretending to be.
The sound vanished as quickly as it came.
Jackson leaned closer.
"You okay?"
Lydia blinked, shaking it off.
"…Yeah."
But her eyes drifted back to Arthur.
Something about him—
Didn't feel right.
Gym Class
By late morning, the students gathered on the field, the sun now higher in the sky.
The energy shifted.
Competition.
Ego.
Pride.
Jackson approached Arthur almost immediately during warm-ups, his confidence as obvious as ever.
"So… Europe," Jackson began, crossing his arms.
Arthur nodded.
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
Jackson smirked.
"You play lacrosse?"
Arthur glanced briefly at the field.
"I have."
Jackson's smirk widened.
"Let's see if you're actually good."
Arthur looked at him for a moment.
Then sighed softly.
"…Why?"
Jackson blinked.
"What?"
"Why are you challenging me?" Arthur asked calmly.
Jackson frowned.
"Because I want to see if you're good."
Arthur stared at him for a second longer.
Then—
Turned.
And walked away.
Jackson stood there, stunned.
"…Did you just ignore me?"
From the sidelines, Stiles leaned toward Scott.
"I like this guy," he whispered. "He has the emotional energy of someone who's already done with high school and life."
Scott chuckled.
Later That Night
Police lights flashed against the trees near the forest preserve, cutting through the darkness in harsh bursts of red and blue.
Inside the station, Sheriff Noah Stilinski studied a report laid out before him.
His expression darkened.
"A mutilated body…" he muttered.
Hunter equipment had been found nearby.
He exhaled slowly.
"Animal attack…"
Behind him, unnoticed—
Stiles listened.
Carefully.
Too carefully.
The Investigation
Night had fully settled when Scott met Stiles near the edge of the preserve.
The forest loomed behind them.
Dark.
Waiting.
"You're sure about this?" Scott asked, clearly regretting his life choices.
Stiles held up a flashlight like it was a weapon.
"My dad said they found half a body."
Scott stared at him.
"And that makes you want to go into the woods?"
Stiles grinned.
"Exactly. Curiosity builds character."
Scott sighed.
"You're going to get us killed."
"Probably," Stiles agreed. "But at least we'll die knowing stuff."
They stepped into the forest.
Branches cracked underfoot as they moved deeper, the scent of blood growing stronger with every step.
Then—
They found it.
The body.
Or what remained of it.
Scott recoiled immediately.
"That's a person."
Stiles swallowed hard.
"…Yeah."
For once—
No jokes.
Then—
A branch snapped.
Behind them.
Both turned slowly.
From the darkness emerged a creature.
Large.
Wolf-like.
But wrong.
Its eyes glowed.
Its presence felt… unnatural.
Scott's voice dropped to a whisper.
"…What is that?"
The creature lunged.
Scott shoved Stiles aside.
"RUN!"
The impact sent Scott crashing to the ground.
Claws tore across his side.
Pain exploded through him.
He screamed.
Then—
The bite.
Sharp.
Deep.
Final.
Scott kicked, struggling, managing to push the creature away just enough.
"STILES RUN!"
Stiles grabbed him, adrenaline overriding fear, dragging him downhill through the trees.
They burst out of the forest—
Straight onto the road.
Headlights blinded them.
A jeep screeched to a halt inches away.
Scott collapsed onto the pavement.
The driver jumped out.
Sheriff Stilinski.
"STILES?!"
Stiles, still half-panicking, half-relieved, waved awkwardly.
"…Hi, Dad."
Scott groaned, clutching his shoulder.
The sheriff looked between them.
"What the hell happened?!"
Scott barely managed to speak.
"…There's something in the woods."
The Silent Witness
Deep within the forest—
Arthur Corvinus stood among the trees.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
His crimson eyes glowed faintly as he looked toward the road in the distance, where everything had just unfolded.
He exhaled slowly.
"…So it begins."
His gaze shifted slightly, thoughtful.
In the end… the universe still moves on its own path.
A fixed point in timeline...
He frowned faintly.
What an absurd concept.
Far behind him—
Three pale figures watched from the shadows.
Above the treeline—
Unseen—
The Covenant observer recorded everything.
Beacon Hills had awakened.
And the hunt…
Had only just begun.
(AN: there will be a lot of observation scene in the future chapters, so don't be mad)