Morning light filtered through half-drawn curtains, painting the cramped apartment in warm amber. Zephyr lay on his side, eyes half-open, the events of last night a blur of pain and adrenaline. His shoulder throbbed where the scout's claws had grazed him; every breath reminded him of the feverish power stirring inside.
A soft knock came at his doorframe. "Zeph?" His mother's voice—gentle, cautious—echoed down the hall. "Breakfast is ready."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as pain flared in his hip. Pulling on sweatpants, he grabbed an old hoodie and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
His mother stood at the stove, stirring a pot of steaming chai. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and worry creased the corners of her warm brown eyes. Lyra sat at the table, hunched over a sketchbook, doodling lunar phases in perfect circles.
"Morning," Zephyr said, sliding onto the bench. The scent of cardamom and milk eased his tension.
She ladled chai into two mismatched mugs and set a plate of parathas before him. "Eat up. You'll need strength today."
He bit into the flatbread, warmth spreading through his chest. Lyra peered up from her sketches, eyes bright. "Did you dream about docks again?"
Zephyr forced a grin. "Just the usual nightmares." He reached for the mug. The chai soothed his throat, but his gaze kept drifting to the shadows under the window. Somewhere, Corin's warnings echoed in his mind.
His mother cleared her throat and sat opposite him. She folded her hands around her mug, eyes distant. "I need to tell you something," she began softly.
Zephyr froze mid-bite. His mother rarely spoke of the past.
She let out a breath. "I haven't shared this before because I wanted to protect you both, but… your grandmother—my mother—was part of something older than this city."
Lyra's pencil stilled. Zephyr set down his paratha.
"I was born in Willow's Hollow," his mother continued, voice low. "A village north of here, where the moonlight felt alive. The women of my family were… keepers of the old knowledge. We tended the moon shrines, understood blood-runes, and kept the balance between man and beast."
Zephyr's pulse quickened. "Ma, that sounds like folklore."
She offered a sad smile. "For most, yes. But the Noon of Eclipse—when the moon passes over the sun—you don't dismiss what you see. My mother guided both coven emissaries and pack warriors through the tetrad ritual centuries ago. When the ritual shattered, our village became ground zero for hidden power. We were blamed for the collapse, hunted by both sides."
Lyra whispered, "Is that why we left? Why we never talk about Willow's Hollow?"
Their mother nodded, eyes glistening. "I fled with you two because I vowed to keep you safe. I married your father—a researcher at Aurex Biologics—to hide in plain sight. I buried my rites, cut all ties with the covens and packs. I thought I could give you a normal life."
Zephyr set his mug down, mind racing. "So Corin's blood rune—does that come from Grandma?"
She laid a hand over his. "Yes. Your brother inherited it, and now you carry it too." Her gaze hardened. "That is why the node's energy chose you. Your veins held the lineage no one else in the city possessed."
A cold shiver ran down Zephyr's spine. He glanced at the window, where the sky had deepened to dusk. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
She flinched. "Because I hoped it would never awaken. The old magic demands a price—blood, loyalty, sacrifice. I wanted you to grow up free of that burden."
His heartbeat thundered. "And now?"
She reached across the table, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "We face it together. I may not have the strength you do, but I know the old ways—what rites can calm the energy, what herbs can steady the mind." Her voice trembled with resolve. "I will help you master this… before it tears you apart."
After breakfast, Zephyr followed his mother into the cramped living room, where she produced a small leather satchel. Inside lay parchment scrolls, dried herbs bound in bundles, and a carved wooden talisman etched with blood-runes. He traced the symbols—familiar patterns, like the sketches Lyra had drawn.
"These belonged to Grandma," Mom said. "When you were born, she entrusted them to me. I never thought I'd need them." She unrolled a scroll, revealing instructions in flowing script: how to bind lunar energies, how to channel blood-magic without losing oneself.
Zephyr swallowed. He'd always envied the simplicity of Lyra's drawings; now he saw their meaning. "Show me," he said, voice steady despite the chaos inside him.
His mother nodded, rolling out a blanket on the floor beside the window. "First, we start with the calm ritual—grounding your senses. Light incense of sage and night-bloom petals. Breathe with the moon's cycle."
She demonstrated, lighting a small wick that curled fragrant smoke into the air. Zephyr closed his eyes, imitating her slow inhale and exhale. His lungs burned, but with each breath, the thrum in his chest softened—just enough to remind him he was still human.
They sat together in silence until the last tendrils of incense drifted away. Then his mother stood and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Feel my heartbeat," she whispered.
He leaned forward, pressing his palm to her chest. Her heart beat slow, steady—human. The wild urge that had pulsed in him receded, replaced by warmth and memory.
"Your blood is strong, but tempered by love and duty," she murmured. "Carry that with you."
As twilight deepened to night, Zephyr helped his mother pack the satchel. She tucked herbs and parchment between folds of cloth, then set the talisman around his neck. The wooden pendant was cool against his collarbone, the runes carved deeply.
He felt its weight—and its promise.
Footsteps on the stairs made both of them flinch. Lyra peeked around the corner, eyes wide. "Mom, Zee—there's someone at the door."
Zephyr's mother held up a finger, then moved to the peephole. Her face drained of color.
Through the frosted glass, two silhouettes darkened the hallway: one lithe and angular, the other broad and hulking.
A soft knock rattled the doorframe. "Elara Ardent?" A calm voice called—that unmistakable clipped tone of an aristocrat. "We need to speak with your son."
Zephyr's mother's hand trembled on the latch. She met Zephyr's eyes. "It's them."
He squared his shoulders, tucking the talisman beneath his hoodie. "Let them in. I need to see—"
She hesitated only a moment before opening the door.
On the threshold stood a woman in a tailored coat, collar high against the night, and beside her, a man whose eyes gleamed like polished steel. The vampire tutor and the wolf-pack scout—they had come looking for him once already.
Zephyr stepped forward. "You want to talk?"
The tutor inclined her head. "Yes, Zephyr. We have much to discuss."
His mother closed the door behind them, sealing the circle of trust and ancient power around him.
Outside, the eclipse moon glowed above—an unspoken reminder that the past had caught up at last.