Chapter 5: The Emissary's Tale
POV: Scott McCall
The veterinary clinic after midnight felt like a different world entirely—shadows pooled in corners where fluorescent lights couldn't reach, and the familiar scents of antiseptic and animal stress were overlaid with something older and more mysterious. Scott's enhanced senses picked up traces of herbs he couldn't identify, along with the metallic tang of what might have been silver.
"This isn't just a vet clinic. It's something else entirely."
Derek had driven them here in tense silence after witnessing their reunion at the Nemeton, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and his jaw set in a way that promised difficult conversations ahead. Now he stood near the door like a guard, his attention split between watching the parking lot and monitoring Scott's vital signs for signs of another transformation.
Dr. Deaton emerged from the back rooms carrying armloads of books and scrolls that looked far too old to be part of any veterinary education. Behind him came a woman Scott had seen around the school—Ms. Morrell, the guidance counselor, though she moved with the same purposeful grace that marked Deaton as something more than his day job suggested.
"Why is my guidance counselor here? And why does she smell like the same herbs that are making my nose itch?"
"Scott," Deaton said, settling the ancient texts on an examination table that had been cleared for the purpose. "Stiles. Allison. I believe you've met my sister, Morrell."
"Sister?" Stiles squeaked. "Our guidance counselor is your sister? And she's here because...?"
"Because," Morrell said, her voice carrying the same calm authority Scott remembered from their brief interactions at school, "what's happening to you three requires expertise that neither of us possesses alone."
Allison stepped closer to the table, her eyes drawn to a leather-bound tome that lay open to a page covered in symbols that made Scott's vision blur if he looked directly at them.
"Is that... are those the same symbols from the tree stump?"
"The Nemeton," Deaton corrected gently. "And yes, those are the same markings you saw in your shared memories. They're part of a binding ritual that's much older than this town, much older than modern understanding of supernatural phenomena."
Scott felt Stiles and Allison's emotional states shift through their bond—curiosity mixed with apprehension, excitement tempered by the growing realization that they were in deeper waters than any of them had imagined.
"We're not just teenagers anymore, are we? We're something else. Something that comes with responsibilities we don't understand."
"Okay," Scott said, settling into the chair Deaton had indicated. "We're listening. Tell us what we need to know."
Deaton exchanged a look with his sister that carried the weight of a conversation they'd already had.
"What you need to know," Deaton said carefully, "and what you're ready to know may be very different things. But given the circumstances..." He opened the leather tome to a different page, revealing an illustration that made Scott's breath catch.
Three figures stood in a triangle formation around a tree stump, their hands joined and their eyes glowing with different colors—gold, purple, and silver. The drawing looked ancient, but the faces could have been portraits of Scott, Stiles, and Allison.
"That's us. But how is that possible? This book looks like it's hundreds of years old."
"The prophecy of the Triad," Morrell said, her voice taking on the cadence of someone reciting sacred text. "Three who are one, bound by blood and choice and power older than memory. The Warrior, whose strength protects. The Mage, whose will shapes reality. The Huntress, whose precision strikes true."
Scott looked at his friends—his packmates, his soul-bound family—and saw his own confusion reflected in their faces.
"The Warrior," Deaton continued, "is typically a werewolf or other supernatural being with enhanced physical capabilities. The Mage is someone with spark—the ability to manipulate magical energies through will and emotion. The Huntress is usually human, but enhanced beyond normal limitations through the bond itself."
"So Scott's the Warrior," Stiles said, his fingers drumming nervously against his leg in a way that made nearby electronic equipment hum with sympathetic energy. "I'm the Mage. And Allison is the Huntress."
"It's not that simple," Morrell warned. "The roles aren't rigid classifications. They're expressions of each individual's core nature, amplified and refined through the bond. You'll find that your abilities overlap and complement each other in ways that transcend traditional categories."
Scott felt a flutter of something that might have been pride or terror—possibly both.
"We're special. We're prophesied. We're important enough that ancient texts were written about us before we were even born."
"But why us?" Allison asked. "What makes three kids from Beacon Hills so important that the universe decided to bind our souls together?"
Deaton's expression grew grave.
"Because Beacon Hills sits on one of the most powerful supernatural nexuses in North America. The Nemeton has been drawing supernatural creatures here for centuries, creating a concentration of supernatural activity that periodically requires... management."
"Management?"
"Previous Triads have emerged during times of crisis," Morrell explained. "When the supernatural world threatens to overflow into the mundane one, when ancient evils wake up, when the balance between human and supernatural communities breaks down."
Scott felt the weight of destiny settling on his shoulders like a lead blanket.
"So we're what, supernatural emergency responders? Cosmic firefighters?"
"You're protectors," Deaton said simply. "Whether you want to be or not."
The silence that followed Deaton's pronouncement stretched uncomfortably, filled with the weight of implications none of them were ready to process. Scott found himself focusing on mundane details—the way the fluorescent light flickered over Morrell's shoulder, the sound of cars passing on the street outside, the rhythmic tick of a wall clock that seemed absurdly loud in his enhanced hearing.
"Protectors. Like that's something you can just decide to be at sixteen years old."
"Okay," Stiles said finally, his voice cracking slightly. "Okay, so we're prophesied magical protectors. That's... that's a thing that's happening. But what does that actually mean? What are we protecting against?"
"That," Morrell said with a pointed look at her brother, "depends on many factors. Historical Triads have faced different threats appropriate to their times and circumstances."
"What happened to the previous Triads?" Allison asked, and Scott caught the scent of her fear beneath the carefully controlled tone.
Deaton and Morrell exchanged another look, and this time Scott's enhanced hearing picked up the subtle change in their heartbeats that suggested uncomfortable truths.
"Previous Triads have had... mixed success rates," Morrell said carefully.
"Define mixed," Stiles demanded.
"Some fulfilled their purpose and lived normal lives afterward. Others..." Morrell gestured to a different section of the book, revealing illustrations that made Scott's stomach clench. "Others fell to the very power they were meant to wield responsibly."
The new drawings showed Triads in various states of corruption—eyes black with malevolence, bodies twisted by supernatural energy, landscapes burned and broken by uncontrolled power.
"Jesus Christ. That could be us. That could be what we become."
"The bond makes you stronger together," Deaton explained, "but it also makes you more vulnerable to certain kinds of influence. Triads who lose themselves in the collective consciousness, who forget they're individuals as well as a unit, often descend into madness."
"And Triads who are forcibly separated?" Scott asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
"Usually die," Morrell said bluntly. "The bond, once fully established, becomes necessary for survival. Physical separation beyond certain distances causes pain. Emotional separation causes... deterioration."
Scott felt Stiles and Allison's shock through their connection, along with a growing sense of claustrophobia that mirrored his own.
"We're stuck. We're bound together for life, and if we screw this up, we could become the very monsters we're supposed to protect against."
"How far?" Stiles asked, his voice tight with anxiety. "How far can we be separated before it becomes a problem?"
"Based on historical records, roughly twenty miles," Deaton replied. "Though the exact distance may vary depending on the strength of your bond and your individual power levels."
"Twenty miles," Allison repeated. "So if I want to go to college—"
"You'll need to choose one within twenty miles of wherever Scott and Stiles are going," Morrell confirmed. "Or find a way to manage the separation carefully, with regular contact and periodic reunification."
The implications hit Scott like a physical blow. No individual futures. No separate paths. Whatever they became, they would become together, or not at all.
"Is this what growing up feels like? Having all your choices made for you by forces you can't control?"
"Show us the full prophecy," Stiles said suddenly. "All of it. Every word."
Deaton closed the book with finality that felt like a door slamming shut.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean that knowledge of your ultimate fate could influence your decisions in ways that create self-fulfilling prophecies. You need to develop your abilities and your bond naturally, without the weight of predetermined expectations."
Scott's enhanced hearing caught the slight elevation in Deaton's heartbeat that suggested evasion rather than simple caution.
"He's lying. Or at least not telling us everything. There's something in that prophecy he doesn't want us to know."
"That's not your choice to make," Allison said, her voice carrying an edge of command that surprised everyone, including herself. "We're the ones who have to live this. We deserve to know what we're facing."
"And we will tell you," Morrell said, "when you're ready to hear it without letting it destroy you."
"When we're ready? We're sixteen years old and bound together by cosmic forces we don't understand. When exactly are we going to be ready for anything?"
Deaton moved to a different examination table, one Scott hadn't noticed was set up with what looked suspiciously like scientific equipment mixed with occult artifacts.
"What you need now," Deaton said, "is to understand the practical implications of your bond. How it works, what it can do, and what vulnerabilities it creates."
"Vulnerabilities?" Scott asked.
"The bond that makes you stronger also makes you targets," Morrell explained. "Anyone who understands what you are can exploit the connection. Pain inflicted on one of you affects all three. Emotional manipulation of one can destabilize the entire Triad."
"Great. So we're walking around with a supernatural 'kick me' sign attached to our souls."
"Show us," Stiles said. "If we're going to understand this thing, we need to see how it actually works."
Deaton nodded to Scott. "I want you to transform partially. Just claws and fangs, nothing dramatic."
Scott looked at his friends, their faces reflecting his own uncertainty.
"Here goes nothing."
He reached for the wolf that lived beneath his skin, coaxing it forward with the control Derek had been teaching him. His bones shifted slightly, claws extending from his fingertips as his canines lengthened into fangs.
The moment the transformation began, both Stiles and Allison gasped.
Stiles' eyes flashed purple as magical energy crackled around his hands involuntarily. Across the room, electronic equipment surged to life despite being unplugged.
Allison's eyes briefly glowed silver, and when she reached for a pen on the counter, her enhanced strength crumpled it like paper.
"Holy shit. It's real. When I change, they change too."
"The bond amplifies and shares your supernatural nature," Deaton explained as Scott retracted his claws. "Scott's transformation triggers corresponding responses in both of you. Stiles' magical outbursts will affect Scott's wolf nature and Allison's enhanced abilities. Allison's physical augmentation will strengthen both of your supernatural aspects."
"So we're not just connected emotionally," Allison said, flexing her hand where the pen had crumpled. "We're connected supernaturally."
"More than that," Morrell added. "You're three parts of a single supernatural entity. Individually, you're each powerful. Together, you're something unprecedented."
Scott felt the truth of those words settling into his bones. The bond wasn't just about friendship or loyalty—it was about fundamental transformation into something that transcended normal human limitations.
"We're not teenagers who happen to have supernatural problems. We're supernatural beings who happen to be teenagers."
"This is a lot," he said aloud, voicing what all three of them were feeling.
"Yes," Deaton agreed. "And it's only the beginning. What you've experienced so far is just the bond's initial awakening. As you learn to work together, as you develop your individual abilities, the connection will strengthen."
"And the risks?" Stiles asked.
"Will strengthen as well," Morrell said soberly. "The more powerful you become, the more dangerous your potential corruption. The more connected you are, the more catastrophic your potential separation."
Scott looked at his friends—his pack, his soul-bound family, his partners in cosmic responsibility—and saw his own determination reflected in their faces.
They were in this together. For better or worse, for power or corruption, for protection or destruction, they would face whatever came as a unit.
"Okay then. I guess we'd better learn fast."
As they left the clinic, none of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows across the street. Peter Hale's red Alpha eyes gleamed with calculated interest as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"I've found what we're looking for," he said into the device. "The Triad is real, and they have no idea what they're truly capable of."
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