The cathedral's torches crackled against ancient stone walls, shadows dancing like restless ghosts. Lucian's words still hung in the air: "They're not interested in peace."
Soraya DelVayne leaned back in her chair, crimson eyes narrowed. "The Nocturne Circle was purged a century ago. You expect us to believe ghosts have come back for war?"
"They're not ghosts," Lucian said, flicking ash from his cigar. "They're survivors. Hybrids like me, but twisted. Not cursed—created."
Darius slammed a hand down on the table. "Created by who?"
Lucian's eyes met his. "That's what I intend to find out."
The other heads murmured among themselves. The Council—once a symbol of uneasy unity—was fraying at the edges. Tensions between the vampire court and the werewolf packs had been growing for months. Now, with a new player on the board, everything was about to explode.
A young witch—barely more than a girl—stepped forward from the shadows. She was with the Arcanum, the neutral magic guild that served as the Council's archivists.
"We've seen this before," she said softly. "Hybrid sigils, rituals using moonblood and bloodroot. It's old magic. Forbidden. Something—someone—is trying to break the boundaries between bloodlines."
Lucian turned to her. "Name?"
She hesitated. "Salem. Apprentice to High Seer Kael."
His expression softened—just a flicker. "You're brave, Salem. Stay alive."
She blinked. "I… I will."
Later That Night: Virelli Estate
Lucian stood on the rooftop balcony of his mansion, overlooking the city that pulsed below like a living thing. The skyline was jagged with steel and smoke, but beneath it all ran his world—tunnels, deals, blood money, and secrets.
A soft voice stirred the air.
"You look like a man who's seen a ghost."
Lucian didn't turn. He already knew who it was. Isadora Vale, his consigliere and enforcer. Ex-witch. Possibly immortal. Definitely dangerous.
"I've seen worse," he muttered.
She joined him at the railing, black-gloved fingers brushing the cold stone. "The Nocturne Circle. That's not just worse. That's apocalyptic."
"I thought they were dead."
"They were. I helped kill them."
Lucian turned now. "Then how are they back?"
Isadora hesitated. "Someone's been playing with resurrection magic. You know what that means."
Lucian exhaled, voice low and tired. "Necromancers."
Worse than witches. Worse than vampires. Necromancers didn't just deal in death—they commanded it.