The meeting hall was neutral territory—a massive stone structure built specifically for inter-species negotiations. Ancient wards prevented violence, ensured truth-telling within designated zones, and made it impossible for either side to gain advantage through supernatural means.
Here, power meant nothing. Only words and agreements mattered.
Lord Draven sat on one side of the massive obsidian table, flanked by his four most powerful lieutenants. All ancient vampires, all radiating controlled menace.
Rhydian sat opposite, with Kieran at his right hand, Lyria at his left. Nikolai and Dante stood behind them, hands near weapons that wouldn't work here but served as psychological deterrents anyway.
"Beast King. Moon fae child." Draven's greeting was cordial, but his blood-red eyes missed nothing. "I'm pleased you've reconsidered my offer."
"We haven't reconsidered. We're accepting with conditions." Rhydian slid a scroll across the table. "Read them. Sign them. Then we have an alliance."
Draven picked up the scroll, crimson eyes scanning the terms.
Minutes passed in tense silence.
Finally, he laughed—genuine and slightly surprised. "You're more paranoid than I expected. Kill switches, escape clauses, mutual non-interference agreements. You've thought of everything."
"I've survived five hundred years by assuming everyone wants to kill me. I'm not changing strategy now."
"Wise." Draven signed the scroll with a flourish, his signature burning into the parchment with dark magic. "I agree to all terms. The Eastern Territories and Shadowlands are now allied against the common threat."
The moment his signature settled, the ancient magic in the hall activated. Glowing threads of power wound around both parties, binding them to the agreement. Break the terms, and the magic would exact punishment.
It was as close to trustworthy as an alliance between enemies could get.
"Now," Draven leaned forward, "let's discuss what we're really facing. Kieran, your vision last night—I felt the disturbance in the magical currents. Every sensitive creature for a thousand miles felt it. The Sealed One you encountered, it's in the Northern Wastes."
"How do you know?" Kieran asked.
"Because three of my patrols went missing there last week. And the one survivor—before he died from his injuries—described something impossible. A darkness that ate light. A presence that made vampires feel like prey." Draven's expression was grim. "I sent another team to investigate. They found ruins that shouldn't exist, with seal-stones that have been dormant for millennia now glowing with warning signs."
"Which Sealed One?" Silvara's voice came from the corner where she'd been silently observing. "There were seven originally. Each with different powers, different dangers."
Draven's eyes flicked to the ancient fae with something like respect. "Silvara. I'd heard rumors you still lived. It's an honor."
"Save the pleasantries. Which one?"
"We believe it's Zarath the Devourer. The third sealed. It feeds on magical energy, growing stronger with each meal. At full power, it could drain entire regions of life, leaving nothing but dead earth and withered souls."
Horror flooded through Kieran. The creature from his dream—it wanted to consume him, drink his light. Because he was pure magical energy given form.
"If Zarath is awakening, we have maybe three months before it breaks the seals completely," Silvara said. "Maybe less if it finds a strong enough power source to feed on."
Every eye in the room turned to Kieran.
"No," Rhydian growled. "Absolutely not."
"I'm not suggesting we sacrifice him," Silvara said quickly. "But we need to accept reality. Kieran is exactly the kind of power source Zarath would be drawn to. Moon fae magic is pure, concentrated. One moon fae could provide more energy than a thousand lesser supernatural creatures."
"Then we keep him away from the Northern Wastes. Simple."
"It won't matter." Draven's voice was regretful. "Zarath will sense him eventually. Will come for him. The question isn't if they'll face each other, but when. And whether Kieran will be ready."
"He's been training for less than two weeks!"
"Which is why we need to accelerate. I have ancient texts, sealed away for centuries. Information about the Sealed Ones, their weaknesses, how moon fae historically fought them." Draven looked at Kieran. "I'll share everything. Help you prepare. But in exchange—"
"What do you want?"
"When Zarath is dealt with, assuming we survive, I want Shadowlands to formally recognize Eastern Territory sovereignty. No more expansion into my borders. No more recruiting my outcasts. A true, lasting peace."
Rhydian studied him. "That's it? No demands for tribute? No insistence on political marriage alliances? No claims on our resources?"
"Beast King, I'm fifteen hundred years old. I've seen empires rise and fall over territorial disputes that meant nothing in the long run. Right now, I don't care about borders. I care about surviving to see next year." Draven's expression was sincere. "If Zarath wins, territories won't matter. We'll all be dead or enslaved. So yes, that's it. Help me stop this apocalypse, and afterward, we stay out of each other's way."
Kieran felt his fae senses reading Draven's emotional state again. Still that underlying fear, but also determination. And something else—respect? For what they represented?
"He means it," Kieran said quietly to Rhydian through their bond. "This isn't a trick. He's genuinely trying to save the world."
Rhydian's jaw clenched, internal struggle visible. Finally: "Fine. Peace treaty after Zarath is dealt with. But if you betray us before then—"
"The alliance magic will destroy me. I know." Draven smiled slightly. "I'm many things, but suicidal isn't one of them."
They spent the next three hours discussing logistics. Combining forces, sharing intelligence networks, coordinating defenses. It was surreal—ancient enemies working together with professional efficiency.
But the threat of extinction had a way of making enemies into allies.
As the meeting concluded, Draven pulled Kieran aside.
"A word, moon fae child. In private."
Rhydian tensed, but Kieran touched his arm. "It's fine. The wards prevent violence, remember?"
Reluctantly, Rhydian moved away, though he watched them like a hawk.
Draven led Kieran to a corner of the hall, his expression unreadable.
"You're wondering why I'm really doing this," he said without preamble.
"The thought crossed my mind."
"The truth? I had a mate once. Three centuries ago. A werewolf—our bond was illegal, forbidden, everything your bond with Rhydian is." Draven's eyes grew distant. "We hid it for decades. Built a secret life together. And then the Vampire Court found out."
Kieran's breath caught. "What happened?"
"They executed her. Made me watch. Said I was bringing shame to our race by bonding with a lesser creature." Draven's voice was cold fury barely contained. "I killed half the Court that day. Would have killed them all if the Elders hadn't stopped me. They exiled me to the Eastern Territories as punishment."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It taught me something valuable. Power structures that prevent love, that call natural bonds 'unnatural'—they're worth destroying. When I see you and Rhydian together, defying every rule about what's acceptable, I see what Mira and I could have had if the world had been different."
Kieran studied the ancient vampire, seeing him in a new light. Not just a political threat, but someone who understood their struggle intimately.
"So you're helping us because..."
"Because you represent the future I wanted. Where bonds are celebrated, not condemned. Where hybrid monsters and fae-blooded hunters can build something beautiful together." Draven's smile was sad. "And because if Zarath awakens fully, there won't be a future for anyone. But mostly the first thing."
"Thank you. For trusting us with that."
"Use it as motivation. When the battle comes—and it will come—remember that you're not just fighting for yourselves. You're fighting for every impossible love story, every forbidden bond, every relationship the old powers tried to destroy."
Draven walked away, leaving Kieran with a new understanding of their unlikely ally.
Rhydian was at his side immediately. "What did he say?"
Kieran pulled him close. "That we're worth fighting for. All of us."
That night, back in Shadowlands, Kieran trained with a new intensity.
Silvara pushed him harder, teaching him offensive applications of his moon fae powers. How to weaponize emotion, turning terror into a physical force. How to create moonlight barriers that could withstand assault. How to sense Zarath's presence when it got close.
"You're adapting beautifully," she praised after he successfully manifested a moonlight shield that blocked Lyria's full-force strike. "Another few weeks and you'll be formidable."
"We don't have weeks. We have maybe a month before Zarath comes."
"Then we make every day count."
They trained until Kieran collapsed from exhaustion. Even then, his mind wouldn't rest. He studied the ancient texts Draven had sent over—accounts of past moon fae battles against Sealed Ones.
Every account ended the same way.
The moon fae won.
The moon fae died.
"You're going to burn yourself out," Rhydian said, finding him in the library at 3 AM, surrounded by scrolls and books.
"I need to know everything. Every weakness, every tactic, every—"
"Every way they died?" Rhydian gently closed the book Kieran was reading. "That's not helping. All you're doing is psyching yourself out."
"They all died, Rhydian. Every single moon fae who faced a Sealed One died in the process. The best-case scenario was they survived long enough to weaken the creature so others could finish the job." Kieran's voice cracked. "I'm going to die fighting Zarath. The only question is whether I take it with me."
"No." Rhydian's voice was steel. "We're not accepting that. Those moon fae fought alone. You have me. You have the Shadowlands. You have Draven's forces. We're not letting you sacrifice yourself."
"You can't stop fate."
"Watch me."
Rhydian pulled him close, and Kieran felt the bond pulse between them—determination, fury, absolute refusal to accept a future without his mate.
"Promise me something," Kieran whispered.
"Anything."
"If I do have to sacrifice myself. If that's what it takes to stop Zarath. Promise me you'll let me. That you won't destroy yourself trying to save me if I'm already gone."
"No."
"Rhydian—"
"I said no. I won't promise to let you die. I won't promise to survive without you. The bond doesn't work that way—you die, I follow within hours. We both know that." Rhydian's eyes blazed. "So instead of planning noble sacrifices, how about we plan to both survive? To win without anyone dying?"
"What if that's not possible?"
"Then we make it possible. Together." He pressed his forehead to Kieran's. "I didn't survive five hundred years of loneliness just to lose you after a few months. So no sacrifices. No heroic deaths. We fight smart, we fight together, and we both walk away."
Kieran wanted to argue. Wanted to be realistic about their chances.
But looking into Rhydian's eyes, feeling the absolute certainty through their bond, he found himself believing.
Maybe they could survive this.
Maybe love was strong enough to defy fate.
"Okay," he whispered. "No sacrifices. We both survive."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
They sealed it with a kiss, and Kieran felt something shift in his fae core. The bond strengthening, solidifying, becoming something unbreakable.
If Zarath wanted to consume him, it would have to go through that bond first.
Through Rhydian's love.
Through five hundred years of survival instinct and hybrid power.
Maybe the ancient entity should be afraid of them.