A hundred miles west of brundie's borders, a castle loomed. Its roofs a dark shade of crimson, like blood still flowed in its cracks. The castle stood solemnly with no signs of the battles it had seen.
Underneath it's blazing blood crowned roofs, the walls also spoke of a ghost tale. The wind carried their whispers to the north, a tower stood silently to receive their lonesome tales.
*******
Underneath the crimson shade castle, the lights of a chandelier flared to life. The hall was a dark shade of brown, its walls were covered by murals spinning the tale of a woman and her kingdom of beasts. At the centre of this hall, a ring shaped table stood, it was proud and valiant, after all it did seat the worlds greatest powers. The ring shaped round at this moment sat a man, his dark hair with a few crimson strands flowed down his back. His head rested on his palms as laziness douzed his crimson eyes.
"Nairel, it's been at least an hour, where are the rest of them", he spoke to the shadow behind him. "They are on their way sire." A simple response, a response he was quite accustomed to.
Nairel looked on as his boss looked bored.
One arm rested against his chair's carved wing, fingers loose, a goblet of untouched blood balanced carelessly in his hand. His long black coat lay open, as if this were a casual evening and not a gathering that could decide the fate of Brusellie itself. His red eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, as though he were listening to music only he could hear, though he did not truly relax. He waited.
Beyond the thick iron doors, the wards of the continent trembled.
To the west, east, and south, ancient barriers flickered like dying stars, while thousands of dark witches gathered in quiet, patient lines—staffs grounded, eyes lifted toward war.
To the north—his north—shadow beasts had been sighted where none should exist.
And all of it pointed inward.
Toward Brundie.
Toward his bloodwing.
Toward Raven.
********
The doors groaned open.
The council arrived one by one, each presence bending the air in its own way.
First came the druid—female, ageless, her hair woven with living leaves that swayed as she walked. The stone floor softened beneath her bare feet.
The werewolf followed, tall and broad, his golden eyes sharp even in human form. His steps were measured, as if holding a storm behind his ribs.
The witch entered next. Female. Pale. Her black robes moved with her cat like steps , runes flickering faintly on her jade like face. Her gaze slid briefly to Damian—calculating, cool.
The fae glided in with a faint shimmer, wings folded tight and hidden by illusion, a knowing smile carved permanently into his sharp face.
The beast kin came heavier, clawed feet clicking against stone, muscles coiled beneath fur and armor.
The chaos demon arrived in silence. Female. Red eyes like burning cracks in reality itself, her presence causing the lights to flicker wildly before settling again.
Last came the naga, long body coiling smoothly, scales reflecting the red glow as his golden eyes narrowed.
The doors closed.
Their crowns sparkiling in acknowledgement of their garthering.
Damian lifted his goblet slightly, finally acknowledging them.
"You're late," he said lazily.
The werewolf snorted. "The world is unraveling."
Damian shrugged. "It always is."
They took their seats. The table hummed as ancient binding magic recognized its owners.
The druid spoke first. "The wards of the west, east, and south weaken by the hour. This is not coincidence."
"Nor subtle," the fae added lightly. "Dark witches do love their drama."
"The north should be untouched," the naga said slowly. "Yet shadow beasts walk there."
All eyes slid, inevitably, to Damian.
His expression did not change.
"The north is under my protection," he said calmly. "Shadow beasts do not frighten me."
The witch leaned forward then, fingers lacing together atop the table. Her voice was smooth, deliberate.
"This disturbance has a center."
Damian's eyes flicked to her, sharp now.
"Careful," he warned softly.
She did not stop.
"Every surge of unstable magic traces back to Brundie," she continued. "And every anomaly bends toward your lands. Toward your castle."
Silence thickened.
"And," she said, eyes locking onto Damian's, "toward the child you so closely guard, we both know she doesnt belong to brusselie, she broke our balance."
Damian's goblet cracked in his grip.
The sound echoed like a gunshot in the hall.
He straightened slowly, the lazy air draining from him like spilled blood. His eyes burned now—ancient, furious.
"No," he said.
The witch opened her mouth.
"No," Damian repeated, sharper. "You will not finish that thought."
"She is not a normal child," the witch pressed, carefully but firmly. "Her power signatures do not align with any known source. Druidic roots tremble around her. Fae magic bends. Demonic energies recoil—"
"I said no."
Damian rose to his full height. The shadows behind him stretched, wings unfolding across the wall.
"She was a baby," he said coldly. "Abandoned. Powerless. Crying at my gates."
"You do not know that," the witch replied. "You only know what you chose to see."
The chaos demon shifted, uneasy. The druid's leaves stilled. Even the fae's smile faded.
Damian slammed his hand on the table.
The hall shook.
"She is my daughter," he said, voice low and lethal. "She will not be turned into a theory or a weapon to soothe your fear."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Deep inside him—buried beneath centuries of certainty—something twisted.
Because he had felt it too.
The strange pull of magic when Raven laughed.
The way the wards hummed differently when she slept.
The way ancient things noticed her.
He pushed the thought down, hard.
"If there is war coming," Damian continued, regaining his composure, "it will not be blamed on a child who has done nothing but exist."
The witch studied him for a long, quiet moment.
"This council will seek the truth," she said finally. "With or without your approval."
Damian's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Then pray," he said softly, "that the truth is kinder to you than I will be."
The torches flared red.
And somewhere above them, in the castle that crowned the north, the shadows danced, surrounding the blood wing castle, waiting for a glimpse of the girl guarded by its walls .