The Institute of Mythical Anthropology and Parahuman Studies sat just outside Vienna, was wrapped in cold stone and quiet privilege. To the world, it was a private think tank for obscure academics. To those who knew better, it was a nexus of forgotten knowledge — where relics, ruins, and riddles from the bleeding edge of the metaphysical world were studied in silence.
Room 6B, sublevel two, smelled like old parchment and new coffee.
"Tell me I'm not crazy," whispered Selene, flipping the page of the scorched manuscript. "Because this symbol—right here—it's not just pre-Sumerian. It's Djinn glyphwork. Pure."
Across the table, Oren, a half-Irish theosophical hacker, raised an eyebrow. "You said Djinn were a closed file, Angels with free will who didn't turn into Valkyries or demons."
"They were. Extinct. Burned out at the end of the 6th Heavenfall War. But this—this manuscript isn't ancient. It's dated two weeks ago. From Turkey."
There was a sharp intake of breath from the third student, Callum Rhys, who specialized in trans-dimensional linguistics and caffeine abuse. "Hold up. Are you saying someone wrote modern Djinn runes? That's impossible. That dialect was erased. Unless...."
"Exactly," Samira replied. "Which means someone who shouldn't exist... does."
The room fell quiet. Oren shut his laptop.
"You think the Djinns are back?"
"I think... one of them might be," Selene said. "But there's more. Look at this part." She rotated the scan. "The glyphs translate as: 'The Equal of Heaven walks once more. The sky will be judged, and the earth will not remain innocent.'"
Callum sat back, visibly disturbed. "That's apocalyptic."
"It's worse than that," Selene murmured. "It's poetic prophecy. And it matches fragments found in Hellgate Codex II — the one we were told to redact."
Oren stood. "If this is real, we need to report it."
"To who?" Selene asked, dark eyes narrowed. "The Council who buried this text the first time? The archivists who denied the Djinns ever existed?"
Callum whispered, "What if he's not the only one? What if others are stirring?"
A silence fell. Cold and heavy. Being mythological students they knew who the Djinns where. Angels after Heaven's war who didn't side any party but inhabited history's forgotten Shrak. Outside, rain tapped against old glass. Somewhere, an emergency siren whined in the distance.
Then the lights flickered.
And for a heartbeat, something passed across the window.
Selene's voice was quiet now.
"We need to find him before someone else does."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The vampire council chamber was buried beneath an abandoned chateau outside Prague, the walls blood-dark and dripping with cold elegance. Candles flickered in iron sconces, throwing long shadows across seven seated figures cloaked in varying degrees of aristocratic detachment.
At the head, Vladmir stood in a fitted black silk suit. His eyes, crimson with the old blood, narrowed at the speaker across the table.
"You fear what you don't understand," he said coldly.
"He is a relic of a forgotten age, Do you forget we are a product of Djinnic blood" hissed Erasmus, a silver-haired vampire with a face like bone. "A Djinn, Vladmir. A being whose very essence draws war and wrath. Hell, Heaven... they will come looking for him. And they'll start with us."
"Let them come," Vladmir said.
"You risk everything."
"No," Vladmir snapped. "I protect a friend."
Murmurs passed like smoke between the elders. Sivara, the only female among them, leaned forward. "We ask you not to fight for him, but to ask him to leave. Quietly. Before this... escalates."
Before Vladmir could answer, the door opened.
Ramiel stepped in — no longer in ash-stained robes, but in a charcoal leather jacket over a dark grey turtleneck, black jeans, and boots still dusty from long roads. His hair was perfectly styled, excluding an air of indifference.
"I will leave," he said simply.
The room fell dead still.
"I won't endanger Vladmir, nor his people."
Vladmir turned, jaw clenched. "You don't have to—"
"I do. If Elyon and Lucifer's wrath finds me, they'll start with you giving an opportunity to species like werewolves and shadow hunters to capitalize"
Ramiel looked across the chamber, gaze cutting into the stone of their silence.
Old Fools
Ramiel turned and began to walk out. Behind him, Alec, now dressed in a hoodie and torn jeans, looked between them all — especially Vladmir — and followed silently.
"Ramiel," Varyselle's voice called, sharp and shaken.
She stepped beside him, her black leather coat flowing, her lips tight with rage and concern.
"You're still recovering. You can't just walk out into the dark with a child and a name that causes demons to piss ash."
Ramiel didn't stop walking. "I remember a woman," he said. "From Paris. She might still be alive. She knew things... about my kind. About the Djinn who vanished before the fall."
"Who is she?"
"I don't know yet. But I remember her eyes. Violet. And the way she said my name like it mattered."
"Ramiel—" Vladmir stepped forward, but the Djinn turned slightly, just enough for the light to catch the faint glowing fissure in his temple — a sign his power was rebuilding faster than expected.
"No more debts, Vladmir. Thank you. I'll return if I live long enough to be hunted again."
And with that, the Equal of Heaven left the chamber of blood and stone — no longer cloaked in relics, but dressed for the new world.
He'll would go to Paris and see the woman who his memory strived to forget.