The northern border of the Landon Estate shimmered under the late afternoon sun, quiet except for the laughter of a child echoing through the trees. Elara, wrapped in a soft blue cloak, ran along the wildflower path chasing a fluttering crimson moth—innocent, free, unaware.
But she was not alone.
In the shadows of the forest, a figure cloaked in obsidian robes, marked by the sigils of the Council's Watch, stood unmoving. No heartbeat, no breath. A construct of shadow and ancient magic, designed to seek and report, not act. It tilted its head as it observed the girl—her aura faint but peculiar.
It scanned her bloodline signature, and then, a flare—a pulse of energy both Moonwell and something older, buried beneath layers of concealment.
A flicker of black magic.
A whisper of divinity.
The shadow construct faded into the mist, carrying with it a name: Elara.
---
Council Chamber – High Sanctum
The grand hall of the Elite Council was carved into a mountain peak above the clouds, a cathedral of light and law. Today, however, the air was still and heavy.
Councilor Valdrin, Keeper of Bloodlines, dropped the parchment onto the central table. "This is not just any child."
Councilor Maelis, a high witch of the Oracles, narrowed her eyes. "You're certain?"
Valdrin nodded. "Confirmed. The child has traces of Lysandra Moonwell's essence. And something far darker entwined with it. When we cross-referenced her aura with our bloodline archives, the match was undeniable."
He turned toward the Elders seated in the high seats.
> "She's Lysandra's daughter."
Murmurs erupted through the room.
"Then why is she hidden in Landon Manor?" asked Councilor Rhogar, an old lycan with fur-gray eyes. "That house has long been neutral."
Maelis's gaze turned cold. "The Landons are no fools. They would never risk Council wrath—unless it was worth the danger."
Valdrin's voice lowered, grim. "We must consider the obvious."
> "Why would the Landons protect Lysandra's child... unless they had something to hide?"
A moment of silence fell.
Then, Elder Caldris spoke, his voice deep and thunderous.
> "Find out who the father is."
>"Kylan Daikun," Councilor Rhogar spat, disgusted. "They say he's the father. That Lysandra sought refuge in the Daikun Territory while pregnant, in the house of Nyra Moirel. We tried to abduct the child months ago to assess her magical power but Kylan interfered, the cause of his fall. "
Valdrin's lips curled. "Convenient. But foolish."
Councilor Maelis narrowed her eyes. "You doubt it?"
Valdrin rose, lifting a parchment sealed with Landon sigils. "Kylan may have housed Lysandra once, but he's a high-born mage. If he fathered a child, the aura would show clear magical alignment. Mana-signature. Control. Precision."
He stepped closer to the central orb and tapped it with a blood-bound ring. A glowing holographic projection of Elara's aura shimmered into view. Ethereal. Complex.
> "This child… does not radiate pure mana. She radiates something else."
A soft hum stirred the air—deep, primal, almost alive.
> "Hybrid."
Gasps followed.
Councilor Tethryn, a vampire elder, leaned forward, fangs visible. "That's not Daikun blood. That's something ancient."
Maelis said coldly, "Who?"
Valdrin exhaled, then slowly looked toward the west—toward the forgotten borders of fallen kingdoms.
> "Caveen Landon."
The name was a thunderclap in the chamber.
Councilor Rhogar growled, "The vampire hybrid?
Maelis's fingers tightened around her staff. "If that child is his—" she looked to Caldris— "then she is a convergence."
"Moonwell and Landon blood," Valdrin said gravely. "Not just any hybrid—a legacy heir."
Councilor Tethryn's eyes glowed crimson. "And now we understand why the Landons defied us. They weren't shielding Lysandra. They were protecting the child of the hybrid prince Caveen."
---
Landon Estate – West Wing Courtyard
The silence of the estate shattered as three cloaked figures cloaked in Council-black shimmered into existence by the garden gate. Their boots stepped lightly, deliberately—no alarms sounded, no servants stirred. They moved like shadows, invisible to all but the most ancient wards.
> "Scan the area. Find the child," one hissed.
> "We don't have long. Maika and the Lycan are gone."
Their blood sigils pulsed in their palms, reacting to Elara's hidden aura, leading them through winding halls and into the garden near the orchard—where the child often played.
In the middle of the clearing, Elara stood.
Alone.
Wearing a soft blue cloak, hair tousled by the breeze, she spun around slowly. A red apple dropped from her hand as the agents approached.
> "Don't be afraid," one cooed as if talking to a deer. "Come with us, little one. We just want to ask a few things."
> "It won't hurt," another added. "You'll be back before anyone notices."
But before they could take a step further—
> The wind shifted.
A sudden surge of energy exploded through the field, enough to knock the birds from the trees. The agents froze as a pulse of radiant light flashed before them.
And from that light—
> A child appeared.
He stood barefoot, no older than ten, clad in a simple white tunic. Golden hair shimmered like sunlight, his skin pale and unblemished, his eyes—neither gold nor silver—glowed like starlight itself.
> But what shook the agents was not his appearance. It was his aura.
Unreadable. Indescribable. Not vampire. Not lycan. Not witch. Not human. Not even demonic.
> It was everything—and none.
A force the world had not seen in years.
He stood between Elara and the Council agents. Elara instinctively rushed behind him and clung to the back of his tunic, her tiny hands grabbing the fabric like it was the safest place in the world.
The lead agent raised a warding crystal. "Identify yourself!"
But the boy said nothing. Instead, he took a single step forward—the grass blooming beneath his bare feet.
> "She will not go with you," he said softly, yet the words echoed like thunder.
The crystal shattered in the agent's hand.
Another tried to cast a binding circle, but the runes crumbled mid-air before they could form. Their magic was denied.
> "You… what are you?" one whispered, sweat on his brow.
The child turned his head, tilting slightly, eyes gleaming with unreadable wisdom.
> "I am the one who watches over her."
Before another spell could be cast, a bolt of moonlight struck the ground near them—and Maika appeared, materializing in a flash of blood and mist, Carl just behind her.
Her eyes widened at the standoff—but even more so at the boy standing protectively in front of Elara.
> "Elara!" she called out, rushing forward.
But Elara didn't move.
She simply tightened her hold on the boy's tunic. "Don't let them take me."
Carl growled, his eyes blazing at the Council agents. "You dare step foot here?"
But Maika couldn't take her eyes off the child.
> "Who are you?" she asked, softly, nearly breathless.
The golden-haired boy turned, meeting her gaze.
And for a moment, Maika—a powerful vampire, a woman of centuries—felt small in his presence.
> "Maika, one of the curse twin and a Carello mage" he said,
Then, as if nothing happened, he looked down at Elara, patted her head gently, and smiled.
> "You are not alone anymore.. My Corrine"
Then—he vanished.
Not disappeared, not teleported.
Vanished, like sunlight fading at dusk.
Elara turned to Maika, her lips trembling. "He said he will always protects me."
Maika stood frozen, heart pounding. She had seen many bloodlines, many magic wielders—but nothing like this.
> Who was that boy?
And why did he say "My Corrine"…? to Elara
Far above them, unseen by all, the sky rippled for just a moment—as if something beyond the veil of existence stirred again.