Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

❝Five girls, a hidden secret... and the bitter price of love❞

────✧────

The night wind whispered through the ancient trees, carrying the weight of sorrow and urgency.

In the clearing, bathed in the silver light of the moon, a towering man knelt before his five daughters. Shoulders once strong now bent under the burden of despair.

The girls stared at him with eyes full of confusion and fear. The air vibrated with magic, thick enough to raise goosebumps and leave a metallic taste on the tongue.

He, known for his strength and wisdom, seemed aged beyond his years. His trembling hands touched their delicate faces, as if he wanted to engrave every feature into memory.

— My loves... — he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. — I need you to listen to me. Danger is near, and I cannot allow it to reach you.

The girls exchanged uncertain glances.

Scarlett, the eldest, ten years old, tried to be brave and stepped forward:

— Father, you’re scaring us... What’s happening? Is this some kind of test?

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and replied:

— There’s no time for explanations, my Little Cherry. Trust me. You must forget... you must forget who I am.

Elena, nine, furrowed her brow:

— We can’t. You’re our daddy.

— I know, my precious... But I—

Caroline, eight, interrupted, tears streaming down her face:

— Don’t you love us anymore?

The question hit him like a blade.

— That’s not it, my sunshine. — His voice broke. — I love you with my life.

Bonnie, seven, threw herself into his arms, wrapping her neck tightly:

— Then don’t be sad, Daddy.

He wept in his daughter’s tight embrace.

— Don’t worry, my little sky...

Mei, the youngest, six, joined the collective hug:

— Don’t cry, Daddy!

He kissed the top of their heads, one by one, as if it were the last time.

— It’s all right, wǒ de xiǎo tiānshǐ. Daddy’s just a little emotional.

Then he raised his hands.

Golden light burst from his palms—thick and radiant, like liquid honey. Luminous threads extended to each daughter’s forehead.

They screamed. Not in pain, but in loss. As if something vital had been torn from inside them.

The loving glances in their eyes faded, turning glassy and vacant. One by one, the girls collapsed unconscious onto the soft grass.

The man lowered his head, broken.

— I love you... I hope one day you can forgive me. You will be safe. I promise I will return.

With one last look, he opened a portal.

On the other side, Sheila Bennett—grandmother to one of the girls—opened the door with a serene smile. But her expression shifted to concern when she saw the man carrying five unconscious children.

— Sheila... — his voice was steady, yet full of sorrow. — I need you to take care of them. I trust you. Protect them.

Sheila frowned, feeling the dark magic in the air. There was no time for questions.

— I will do whatever is necessary.

He handed her the daughters, tasting a bitter relief. And before he could falter, he whispered one last spell.

In Sheila’s mind, his very identity became a blur. She would remember her duty to protect the girls, but not him. Another layer of protection.

Weary, he stepped away.

With a gesture, he channeled his magic. The night sky seemed to tremble as an invisible dome descended over the city. Part of his life force anchored into the barrier, locking him out.

The weight almost crushed him.

But before he vanished into the shadows, a figure appeared.

A woman.

Her eyes glowed like embers. Her slow, cruel smile offered no comfort.

— Always so dramatic... building walls to protect your little treasures. — Her voice was melodic, yet poisonous. — The threat you fear doesn’t only want to make you suffer. It wants to destroy your daughters.

He froze.

— Who are you?! — he tried to see beyond the shadows, recognizing an ancient, familiar presence.

The woman stepped forward. Her black gown billowed like smoke.

— Haven’t you learned anything, little brother? The greatest threat to a garden doesn’t come from outside. It comes from the weed you planted yourself.

He snarled:

— I am not afraid of you! Show yourself and face me!

She smiled.

— Oh, you will have your chance... I’ll see you around.

And she dissolved into shadows.

Alone, he looked at the protected city. At his daughters, safe.

But he felt the crushing weight of the truth: he had built walls against the world... without realizing the real danger had always been by his side.

❝As the night swallowed the clearing, one truth remained: the past never stays buried❞

────✧────

Wǒ de xiǎo tiānshǐ: My little angel. (Translator’s note)

Chapter Text

The sun was rising over Mystic Falls, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange that gently spilled over the Bennett house. It was as if nature itself blessed that home with a new beginning — a warm whisper of light passing through the windows, settling delicately on walls filled with stories, spells, and memories.

Inside, the welcoming aroma of fresh coffee and the golden promise of pancakes floated through the air like a silent spell, drawing sleepy smiles to the lips of the five girls who, still stretching in their rooms, knew the day was beginning with love.

For Scarlett, at eleven; Elena, at ten; Caroline, at nine; Bonnie, at eight; and Mei, at seven, living with Grandma Sheila was like inhabiting two worlds: that of daily simplicity and that of sacred magic. A symphony of routine and small enchantments.

Since their arrival, Mrs. Bennett had established a serene and magical order that blended the mundane with the extraordinary. They were girls, yes — with backpacks, homework, and heated arguments over who would use the bathroom first. But they were also heirs to an ancient lineage, and the gift, or perhaps the curse, of power pulsed deep in their hearts.

— Girls, breakfast! — Sheila called from downstairs, her voice warm and full of love. The sound traveled through the house like a familiar melody, and the home came alive.

Caroline, with her sparkling energy, was already up, making her bed with almost artistic precision — there was something therapeutic in the order she created around herself. She was light in motion, savoring beauty in every gesture.

In the kitchen, the table was set like an altar of the everyday. Bonnie was already in her seat, a sketchbook before her and a pencil dancing between her fingers. Her focused gaze was that of quiet joy — drawing was where she found herself, where everything made sense.

Elena, sitting beside her, watched her sister with that thoughtful sparkle only writers carry. She loved telling stories, weaving feelings into words, capturing the moment, and making it live forever on imaginary pages.

Scarlett, more serious but with a gentle smile, helped Sheila serve the pancakes. She carried on her shoulders the natural instinct to protect — there was in her the shadow of the responsibility of a father who once loved them all more than eternity itself.

Mei, still wrapped in the haze of sleep, swung her feet beneath the table in an almost invisible rhythm — as if she were dancing even when she wasn’t.

— Remember — Sheila said, looking into each of their eyes with sweetness and firmness — magic only after chores and lunch. And only with supervision.

It wasn’t a severe warning, but a constant reminder: the power flowing in their veins demanded reverence, not impulse. They nodded naturally — they had learned that magic was like a sacred toy. Not to deceive, nor to escape responsibilities. Only to grow, understand, and respect.

— I’ve already finished my homework! — Caroline announced, raising her fork proudly.

— Liar! I saw you hiding the notebook last night — teased Elena, raising an eyebrow.

— I didn’t hide it, I just didn’t want Mei to scribble on my essay again — said Caroline, making everyone laugh, including the youngest, who shrugged innocently.

— I just drew a little flower… — whispered Mei, smiling, as if that were excuse enough.

The laughter echoed through the kitchen, light as a breeze. Moments like this were little enchantments.

After breakfast and a brief tidying of the kitchen, the call of the outside world reached them. Backpacks on their shoulders, quick kisses for grandma, and off they went — five sisters, five stories, five intertwined destinies — walking together to school.

In that mundane universe, they were just Scarlett, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie, and Mei:

The girl who shined in gym class.

The one who always wrote the best essay.

The class leader who solved everything with a smile.

The artist who drew as if she breathed.

The one who danced through the hallways with the grace of a fairy.

They were "ordinary" girls — with magic in their veins, love in their gestures, and the sky, still distant, kept in their names.

Between Days and Enchantments

On Mondays, the rush was the same as always — books, schedules, secret glances exchanged in the school hallways. After the last bell rang, extracurricular activities filled the afternoon like a second shift, vibrating with small passions.

Mei, with her almost supernatural lightness, headed to ballet class. Her movements were silent poetry, and the studio mirror reflected more than steps — it reflected her soul.

At the gym, Bonnie and Scarlett donned swimsuits and immersed themselves in the world of swimming.

— Ready for another dive, Bon? — Scarlett asked, adjusting her goggles, her eyes sparkling with energy.

— Only if you promise not to splash me so much today, Sky! — Bonnie made a playful grimace.

— No promises! — Scarlett replied with a crystalline laugh, already running toward the edge of the pool.

In the school auditorium, Elena and Caroline were preparing for the theater club rehearsal. Among improvised costumes and crumpled scripts, the world transformed.

— Do you think Mrs. Davison will give us the lead role? — Caroline whispered, excitement flashing in her eyes.

— If we do our best, definitely! — Elena was already imagining the scene, the pen almost pulsing between her fingers. — I’m even thinking about how I’ll write the kissing scene.

— Elena! — Caroline rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a laugh. — We don’t even know if there will be a kissing scene!

────✧────

When Tuesday arrived, Grandma Sheila’s requirement became reality: self-defense classes. At first reluctant, now proud — the girls faced the dojo with respect and discipline.

The space was marked by the strong smell of the mat, the sharp sound of impacts, and the heat accumulating in the air.

— Faster, Scarlett! — shouted the instructor.

She responded with a swift and precise spin. Her hair waved in the air as if obeying the force radiating from within.

Mei moved with the grace of a ballerina and the precision of a warrior — each strike was almost an enchanted choreography.

— Wow, Mei! That was beautiful! — Bonnie exclaimed, full of admiration, sweating but smiling.

— It’s like ballet... but with punches! — Mei panted, laughing between blows and light steps.

────✧────

On Wednesdays, Monday’s routine repeated with the same poetry. Mei at ballet, floating among mirrors. Bonnie and Scarlett in the pool, each stroke a small victory. Elena and Caroline, immersed in their characters, memorizing lines and inventing scenes.

At night, the Bennett house pulsed with lively reports of pirouettes, strokes, memorized lines, and small triumphs. It was as if the day echoed, alive, in the girls’ voices.

────✧────

On Thursdays, more self-defense. Sweat streamed, muscles ached, but power was growing beneath each of their skins.

— My hands hurt. — Caroline massaged her wrists with a grimace.

— That’s to make them stronger. — Scarlett said, already doing push-ups naturally. — One day you’ll thank grandma.

Elena, determined despite her lack of natural fighting talent, nodded.

— It’s good to know we can protect ourselves. — she murmured, more to herself than to the others.

Bonnie, in the background, trained slowly, focusing on her breathing as if measuring the energy within her own body.

On Fridays…

Ah, Fridays… It was the most awaited day. When night fell, the living room transformed. Curtains were drawn. Candles were lit, casting soft shadows on the walls. The air filled with the sweet, ancient scent of herbs and the delicate sound of grimoires’ pages turning.

Magic was present — not as a spectacle, but as a living presence.

— Today we’ll try a simple protection spell — Sheila announced, her eyes glowing with centuries of wisdom.

— Bonnie, you first. Focus on the energy in your hand.

Bonnie closed her eyes. A small flickering light appeared in her palm, slightly warming the air around her. The sisters gasped in wonder, leaning in as if they could touch the glow.

— Elena, try to feel the energy of the words. Intention is everything.

Elena recited each syllable as if telling a secret to the universe. The words gained weight and sound, sending a subtle shiver down Scarlett’s spine.

— Grandma, can we use this to clean my room faster? — Caroline asked, practical as always.

— Maybe one day, dear — Sheila replied with a smile. — For now, let’s focus on the basics.

Scarlett observed everything with sharp focus, absorbing each gesture as if reading a map to the future.

Mei, ever graceful, mimicked her grandmother’s movements as if each spell were a dance only she knew.

And there, in that house protected by ancient enchantments and true love, five sisters grew between the ordinary and the extraordinary. Between spells and chores, between dance and theater, between deep waters and enchantments, they slowly discovered who they were.

And even without knowing it… they felt, in silence, the echo of a forgotten love — eternal as magic itself.

The Bennett house was more than walls and a roof; it was a vibrant nest, woven with threads of magic, love, and, above all, the unbreakable sisterhood that bound Scarlett, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie, and Mei.

Grandma Sheila, the master weaver of this new family, watched each of them with eyes that saw beyond the surface. With immense affection, she perceived how the girls’ distinct personalities intertwined, creating an almost sacred balance — a delicate dance of light and shadow, laughter and silence, strength and tenderness.

Invisible Bonds...

Scarlett, the eldest, carried on her shoulders the silent weight of responsibility. It was as if she knew, deep inside, that protecting her sisters was her mission. She was the one who intervened in silly arguments with a firm look, who offered a shoulder for silent tears, who helped Sheila maintain the order and rhythm of the house.

— Keep your guard up, Bon! — she gently corrected during self-defense classes, even when Bonnie was more interested in scribbling on the dojo floor than defending herself.

Scarlett was the rock. The firm structure that ensured chores were done, schedules followed, and that they all moved together like a small pack — united and resilient.

Elena, with her thoughtful soul and eyes always attentive to what others didn’t say, was the natural confidante. At night, Caroline often nestled in her bed, confiding about a boy at school or a daily drama, and Elena listened — not just with her ears, but with her heart.

— You’re the best, Care — she would say, with the sweetness only she possessed, gently stroking her sister’s hair.

Bonnie also sought Elena. She often found her sitting in a corner, absorbed in her notebook, and approached with a new drawing in her hands.

— This looks alive, Bon. Like it’s breathing… — Elena murmured, enchanted by her sister’s art.

Caroline was the sunbeam in human form. A golden whirlwind always in motion. She invented the most elaborate games, turned Grandma Sheila’s old clothes into runway outfits, and spread laughter like confetti.

— Come on, Elena, don’t be so serious! Life is a party! — she pulled her sister into a spin in the middle of the room, twirling as if every step was a joyful rebellion against routine.

Scarlett sighed in mock despair, and Mei laughed out loud, enchanted by her sister’s contagious lightness.

The house became more organized with Caroline... but also louder, more alive.

Bonnie, the intuitive artist and witch, was silence in motion. She carried a rare sensitivity, allowing her to see beauty where no one else could. Her most magical connection was with Mei.

While the others engaged in structured activities, Bonnie and Mei immersed themselves in a world of their own.

— Look at this, Mei! It’s like magic, isn’t it? — Bonnie whispered, showing a sketch where a tree seemed almost to pulse with life.

Mei, with her dancing soul, responded with movement — spinning around her sister as if the art called her to dance. It was pure symbiosis: one drew, the other danced, and for a moment, the world became more beautiful.

Mei, the youngest, was the heart of the house. Spontaneous joy. Everyone melted before her innocent, captivating smile.

She made Scarlett laugh with dramatic imitations, inspired Elena to write stories light as clouds, and was the perfect partner for Caroline’s creative madness.

— Mei, you’re the most beautiful ballerina in the world! — exclaimed Caroline, watching her little sister spin through the room with arms wide open, as if the world were her private stage.

Family Days...

With the week’s chores completed, Saturdays were sacred. A day of unity, laughter, and teamwork.

The Bennett house was large — every corner carried memories and spells — and everyone’s help was welcome.

— Who’s cleaning the bathroom? — Caroline asked, already wielding a bucket and sponge with enthusiasm.

— Mei and I can sweep and vacuum! — Bonnie offered, pulling the youngest by the hand with a mischievous smile.

Elena and Scarlett took the kitchen. While washing dishes, Elena couldn’t resist:

— And the dragon, Sky… it had diamond scales! — she described, gesturing with soapy hands.

Scarlett smiled, letting herself get carried away:

— And it was invincible?

— Almost! — Elena replied, laughing.

In the afternoon, with the house clean and the scent of lavender in the air, the time was theirs. Board games, old movies, invented stories under the tree in the backyard.

The laughter of the five girls echoed like an enchanted melody, filling the rooms with an invisible — yet real — magic.

────✧────

Sundays were different. The day of freedom. Of family.

Sometimes Grandma Sheila took them on little adventures — which felt enormous to their hearts.

— Cinema today, girls? — she asked, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

— Yes! — came the unison chorus, full of excitement.

Other times, the destination was the park. There, Mei danced under the blue sky, her bare feet on the grass. Or the town square, where each sister delved into her thoughts, observing life around them. United, even in silence.

Grandma Sheila was not just the guardian. She was the heart. The anchor. The lighthouse.

Her presence filled everything — with gentle authority and a love that welcomed and guided.

She listened to everything: school gossip, teenage dilemmas, hidden dreams, and fears nobody spoke aloud. And she did it all with the same attention she gave to teaching magic.

She was the bridge between the real world and the hidden world, protecting her girls from dangers they couldn’t imagine — and preparing them, little by little, for the day they would have to face everything on their own.

In the Bennett house, magic was a shared secret. But love… was the most powerful truth of all.

────✧────

Far away, but never absent...

In a place belonging to neither heaven nor hell, a man watched. Mystic Falls was a golden spark in his vision, a pulsating star lit by his own sacrifice.

He saw everything — his daughters’ steps, the tight hugs to Grandma Sheila, the smiles, the talents blossoming.

Each achievement was a bittersweet blow to his chest. Pride and pain danced together in his lonely eternity.

He was the invisible guardian. The father who withdrew to protect them.

The magical barrier surrounding the town carried his essence — a protection crafted with his own soul. Impenetrable. Unbreakable.

The memories he had erased were the silent shield keeping his girls safe and their supernatural natures sealed. But also the abyss that separated him from them.

Each day, he asked himself:

— Did I make the right choice?

And the answer was always the same.
Yes.

The love he felt for his precious girls was stronger than any desire, stronger than any pain, stronger even than the darkness waiting for him.

He would continue watching.
He would continue loving.
A father forever — even if never recognized.

Chapter Text

Years slipped by like water in a quiet stream in Mystic Falls—silent, continuous, almost imperceptible, yet transformative.

They did not merely pass: they shaped the Morningstar sisters as time sculpts the stones on a riverbed. From little girls running through the yard, they became young women standing at the threshold of their own destinies.

The Bennett house remained a sacred refuge, warmed by the presence of the five Morningstar sisters and by Grandma Sheila’s steady, constant love. But time, the invisible sculptor, worked in silence.

The childish voices, once full of laughter, gave way to deeper tones—questioning, intense. The dreams of dolls and superheroes yielded to the restlessness of adolescence—with its doubts, its charms, and its first sparks of a power that could no longer be ignored.

────✧────

Mei Lian Morningstar was now twenty years old. Her twenty-first birthday was approaching, and with it, the sense that she would finally stand on equal footing with her sisters.

The young hybrid smiled at her fling, Tyler Lockwood, the mayor’s son, who still lay sprawled on her bed, hair messy, with the look of someone unwilling to leave.

“Already leaving?” he asked, voice husky, watching her walk toward the bathroom.

“I have to go, Tyler,” she replied with a soft giggle. “The dance school doesn’t run itself.”

“You work too much.” He stretched out his arm, trying to pull her back by the waist, but Mei slipped away laughing. “You could stay just a little longer.”

She tilted her head, amused.

“If I stay, my students will end up dancing without a teacher.”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to sulk.

“Guess I’ll just have to wait for that sleepover with your sisters... though I’ve got the feeling I wasn’t invited.”

Mei gave him a mysterious smile before disappearing into the bathroom.

“It’s a sisters’ thing, Lockwood. Secret.”

Inside the shower, warm water streamed down her skin, relaxing her muscles and stirring memories. Steam filled the space like a curtain between present and past. Each drop seemed to carry echoes of childhood, and without realizing it, Mei drifted into the pull of her memories.

Bonnie, at twelve, was already a mystery in motion. Her sketchbook felt more like a secret grimoire than a simple notebook. Each line carried a strange vibration, as if infused with power.

“See this, Mei?” she showed her one morning, eyes gleaming with fascination. “I drew it before it happened. The same crow that appeared in the yard today.”

Mei, eleven at the time, looked from the drawing to her sister, wonder in her gaze. Her dancing was no longer just grace and lightness either. When she spun, the air shifted temperature. The light seemed to bend, obedient to the rhythm of her steps. The mood of the entire house followed the cadence of her body.

“When you dance...” Bonnie murmured, almost shy, as if revealing a secret. “It feels like I can breathe better.”

Friday nights with Grandma Sheila were no longer just innocent games. The fire of the candles flickered in tune with each girl’s emotions.

Bonnie made flowers grow and change color without touching them.

Elena recited words that made plants move gently.

Caroline arranged objects with a glance, as if the air obeyed her.

Scarlett anticipated movements before they happened, seeing a second ahead of everyone else.

And Mei transformed the atmosphere into pure, silent poetry, as if the house itself breathed through her dance.

Sheila, watching them that night, raised her voice—firm, solemn, carrying ancestral weight:

“You are awakening... and when power awakens, girls, the world listens.”

The silence that followed was almost reverent. Each of them knew something within could no longer be denied.

Mei slowly opened her eyes, returning to the present. A soft smile escaped, as if she had tucked away an ancient secret for herself alone. She turned off the shower, dried off calmly, and finished getting ready in front of the mirror.

The night promised much: first the dance school, then the sleepover with her sisters. But deep down, there was a sharper edge of anticipation, a quiet expectation that neither Tyler, nor her students, nor anyone else could understand.

It was as though life itself was about to change—and Mei felt ready to hear what the world had to say.

────✧────

Scarlett, now twenty-five, breathed in deeply the scent of spring mixed with March’s bittersweet perfume. The trace of the protective little girl still pulsed in her chest, but now sculpted into a young woman with steady eyes, centered posture, and restrained strength.

As she adjusted her briefcase for the last hearing of the case, her mind wandered back to the days when she was only thirteen.

During martial arts training, her movements were not merely agile—they were pure expression. A fierce, almost hypnotic dance, where each punch seemed to carry the weight of a forgotten lineage. The air sliced around her, her feet sliding across the packed earth, raising small clouds that glittered in the fading light.

“More focus, Scarlett!” Sheila’s voice rang firm from the porch, her gaze sharp as a blade.

“I am focused!” the girl shot back, not breaking her stare from her imagined opponent. Her body dripped with sweat, but her fists remained steady, precise. “I just don’t like repeating what I’ve already mastered.”

Sheila arched a brow—patient, but unyielding.

“And that is why you still have so much to learn.”

Scarlett drew in a long breath, adjusting her stance before striking again. The rhythm of her movements was almost poetic: she was the wind before the storm. The sword still sheathed. The patient strength that acts only when necessary.

Each punch reverberated like thunder, and even the trees around seemed to lean toward her presence. In that moment, though just a girl, she already carried the aura of a warrior destined for something greater.

A brief smile curved Scarlett’s lips in the present. She and her sisters had never been ordinary. Since childhood they had been prodigies in everything: too smart, too strong, too sensitive.

And deep down, that frightened her.

“Forever twenty-one, officially twenty-five.”

The phrase always felt like a bitter irony. Time passed for the world, but for them… not in the same way.

Scarlett straightened her blazer. Over the past years she had received countless offers from prestigious law firms in New York, Chicago, even Washington. Tempting invitations any young attorney would accept without hesitation.

But not her.

“And leave my sisters alone? Not a chance...” she murmured to herself, almost like a silent vow.

Mei was still mortal. That was enough.

She breathed deeply, tucking away her thoughts. The courthouse awaited. A case to win first—and afterward... a sleepover to celebrate.

────✧────

Caroline looked into the mirror and smiled with satisfaction. She was radiant in her romantic yet professional look: a light dress, a fitted blazer, and the sweet perfume that always made her feel ready to conquer the world.

She loved her work, but that morning, she could only think of the night ahead: a sleepover with her beloved sisters.

As she put on her earrings, Matt Donovan’s familiar voice pulled her from her reverie. The sheriff leaned against the doorframe with a lazy smile.

“Do you really have to go?” he asked playfully, arms crossed.

Caroline laughed, walked over, and stole a kiss.

“Yes, darling. I do.”

“But today’s my day off...” he pouted dramatically.

She raised a brow, amused.

“Well, you’re free to hit the Grill. I’m sure Tyler and Mason Lockwood will be available. Since I’ll be busy with my sisters...”

Matt chuckled softly.

“Don’t forget about Ben. He practically lives at the Grill.”

Caroline grabbed her purse and winked.

“Perfect, then. You won’t be lacking company.”

She said goodbye with one last kiss before leaving.

In the car, driving toward the office, her thoughts drifted to Mei. And inevitably... to childhood.

Caroline, at thirteen, was pure energy. The girl in frilly dresses now led with spreadsheets, schedules, and storage boxes. School parties, group projects—even playtime was calculated with almost magical precision.

And perhaps it really was magic.

Behind every “everything under control” there was a slight tremor in her fingers. Sometimes, a tightness in her chest that she never mentioned.

“I just want everything to turn out right...” she murmured one afternoon, reorganizing the bookshelf with a quick flick. Some books floated in the air, hesitated for a moment, then aligned perfectly, obeying her will.

Bonnie watched from the armchair, eyes intent and a knowing smile on her lips.

“It’s all right—even when it isn’t.”

Caroline huffed, arms crossed, trying to hide the flush rising in her cheeks.

“That’s just stress, okay? Don’t give me that mysterious witch look.”

But Bonnie only smiled more. There was something in her gaze that always left Caroline unsettled—as if Bonnie could see past the façade, past the lists and the need for control.

Every list Caroline wrote was an attempt to silence doubt. Every completed task, a step to keep the world spinning within her carefully drawn order. Deep down, she feared chaos... because chaos always revealed more than she was ready to admit.

Returning to the present, Caroline laughed to herself inside the car. She had always been intense—and now, as a designer, her talents finally had the perfect stage to shine. Amidst colorful canvases, detailed projects, and dreams turned real, her need for control had found a safe place to flourish.

But still, that morning, nothing seemed more important than the promise of a simple night spent beside her sisters.

────✧────

Elena, at twelve, was diving ever deeper into the words that lived within her chest.

Her stories, once sweet and linear, now carried shadows, unexpected curves, and feelings that seemed to come from other lives.

She wrote as if she were breathing. The pen was an extension of her soul, and her eyes—filters between the visible and the hidden.

The room was lit only by a candle, and the scent of paper and ink surrounded her like a silent spell.

"What if the character… dies in the end?" she whispered, reading the draft to Sheila.

Her grandmother took the pages gently, as if holding something alive. She ran her fingers over the letters.

'"f she is reborn afterward, then yes. Every death must have purpose." Her eyes shone with pride. "Write with courage, Elena. Even the gods respect well-written words."

Elena bit her lip, reflecting. The fear of being bold still pulsed in her heart, but there was something greater: a flame demanding to be fed, even when it burned.

She leaned over the notebook and continued writing, her handwriting steady and quick, as if the story were in a hurry to exist.

At that moment, she was not just a girl—she was a creator of worlds.

"Elena?"

The deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She blinked, returning to the present, and found Damon watching her.

"Yes?"

"I asked if you’re on call today."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"No. But we won’t be able to see each other either. I’ll be meeting my sisters. We’re having a sleepover.'

Damon raised an eyebrow, with his usual sarcasm.

"You’re a doctor who still plays at being a teenager."

Elena rolled her eyes and grabbed the lab coat hanging nearby.

"I’m twenty-four, I’m young. You’re the grump.' She leaned in and stole a quick kiss. 'See you tomorrow."

She left the apartment without looking back.

Outside, the world had no idea. The building they were in was protected by a camouflage spell so powerful that even the most attentive were fooled.

No one knew about her relationship with Damon.

And, for now, Elena preferred it that way.

The words still accompanied her, like echoes of childhood. The storybook had become medical articles, research, and diagnoses, but the essence remained: she continued writing to make sense of the chaos.

And that night would be no different. The sleepover with her sisters might be just a pretext. Deep down, Elena knew: every reunion with them was a living chapter of a book still being written.

────✧────

Bennett House.

It was night…

Alone in her room, Bonnie found a package on the bed.

No note. No sender.

Carefully, she untied the ribbon.

Inside lay a dark metal amulet, cold as river stone. Ancient symbols were engraved on it—and they seemed familiar.

They echoed silent whispers, as if words forgotten in a language her soul had known even before birth.

When she touched it, a warm energy ran through her arm, like an invisible embrace.

A sigh echoed deep in her mind.

A male voice. Soft. Warm.

"My little heaven."

Bonnie shivered.

She didn’t know that voice.

But something inside her recognized the sound.

The amulet vibrated subtly in her hand, as if responding silently:

'You are not alone.'

Bonnie awoke with a racing heart.

She looked around. The room was quiet, lit only by dim light.

Since she was fourteen—when she had received the necklace as a graduation gift—she had never stopped dreaming about that night.

The first time she dreamed, Scarlett had been beside her, lying on the shared bed, and was the only one to notice when Bonnie woke startled in the middle of the night.

Confusion.

Pain.

The longing she felt upon waking paralyzed her. But she was not alone.

She had never been.

Her sister asked nothing—she simply extended her hand, held hers, and remained silent.

That gesture was enough.

From that night on, Bonnie knew that even if the dreams returned, she would never truly be alone.

She sighed, got up, and took care of her hygiene.

The hot bath steam fogged the mirror, but her mind was far away.

Mei.

She was worried, but confident. Still, something in her gut told her that her sister’s ritual would be different. And that unsettled her.

Wrapped in her robe, she began to get ready. She had five patients scheduled, but she would return early for the sleepover.

────✧────

Descending the stairs, she found Sheila grading papers.

"Good morning, Grandma."

"Good morning, my child." — Her grandmother replied tenderly, watching her with eyes full of pride.

And then, before she could stop it, an old memory took hold of Sheila.

The sun of that afternoon gilded the Bennett house backyard like a spell whispered by the earth itself.

It was summer—a kind of summer that seemed never-ending. The smell of warm earth, the hum of lazy bees, the rustling of leaves in the warm breeze, and the distant sound of an old radio from the kitchen. Everything conspired for peace.

But peace there was always relative.

"Mei, if you knock down my castle again, I swear I’ll turn you into a frog!" — shouted Caroline, her little hands covered in glitter and dry leaves.

"You don’t even know how to do that yet!" — Mei Lian retorted, spinning across the lawn like a top, her floral skirt flying around her.

"But if I did, it would be a frog with a pink tutu!"

Elena laughed, lying in the shade of the apple tree. The open book on her lap had been forgotten; in truth, she was just watching her sisters, like someone witnessing the birth of a story.

Scarlett, farther away, perched on the fence, eyes scanning the horizon.

"There’s a black rabbit on the path. It’s always there… but it never crosses the stone line. Have you seen it?"

Bonnie lifted her eyes from the sketchbook, the pencil tip smudging her fingers with graphite.

"I saw it, yes. Yesterday it was watching me. I think it feels the magic here."

"Magic?" — Elena asked, tilting her head.

"Fairy-tale type… or the real kind?"

Bonnie smiled enigmatically, as if holding secrets she herself didn’t fully understand.

"Is there a difference?"

Caroline huffed, tossing glitter into the air so that tiny sparkles rained down on them like golden confetti.

"I just want my fairy party decorations to be perfect! Mei messed everything up, Elena’s been lying there for hours, and Bonnie only draws weird stuff…"

"Calm down, Care." — Scarlett finally approached, the natural authority of the eldest clear in every step.

"Do this: you organize the table, Elena writes the lines for the play, Bonnie draws, and Mei dances. Everyone does what they do best."

She lifted her chin firmly.

"And me? I protect everyone. As always."

Bonnie raised her face, eyes shining as if she had just recognized something greater.

"You’re like… the guardian of our coven."

"Co-who?" — Mei asked, confused, wrinkling her little nose.

"Coven. It’s a group of sister witches. Or almost that."

"We’re not 'almost.' We really ARE sisters!" — shouted Caroline, pulling Bonnie and Mei into a clumsy hug that nearly knocked the drawings to the floor.

Elena couldn’t resist: she closed her book without looking and threw herself on top of the three, laughing out loud.

And, finally, even Scarlett sighed and let herself be enveloped. Five small bodies, five intertwined souls, one invisible bond.

From the porch, Sheila watched in silence, eyes misty.

At that moment, she felt it. The girls were aligned.

As if an invisible force had sealed their destiny—a sacred promise that even time would not dare to break.

And, in the far corner of the backyard, the black rabbit watched. Still, patient. As if it were waiting for something too.

"I’m going, Grandma." — said Bonnie, pulling Sheila out of her thoughts.

"Of course, dear. Have a wonderful day." — she said, smiling as Bonnie kissed her cheek.

Bonnie stepped outside under Sheila’s affectionate gaze. The sweet lady’s heart overflowed with pride.

Pride for all of them.

And, deep down, a gentle premonition that this day would mark the beginning of something that could never be undone.

Chapter Text

The courthouse had been a victory for Scarlett, but the mental exhaustion still weighed on her shoulders.

Each step on the way back home seemed longer than the last.

She dreamed only of getting rid of her heels, sinking into a hot bath, and finally relaxing.

Elena, in turn, carried the fatigue of a full day at the hospital.

The emergencies, the patients, the decisions — everything still pulsed in her mind.

She clung to the idea of putting on her pajamas and letting herself be lulled by her sisters' presence.

Caroline's fingers were stained with paint and her head was buzzing with ideas for new projects, but her body was begging for a break.

The sleepover would be the perfect excuse to disconnect from work.

Bonnie, after an intense day at the clinic, smiled at the thought of her patients' progress.

But each session left subtle marks of tiredness, and she knew that only her sisters' company could refuel her energy.

Mei felt her muscles ache after hours of dancing, but the anticipation of the night softened the effort.

It was as if every ache announced the reward that was to come.

They gathered, then, at the home of Sheila Bennett, the grandmother who had raised them and continued to be a safe harbor for all of them.

The air was filled with the sweet smell of freshly baked oatmeal cookies, while the fireplace crackled with flames, spreading warmth and soft light throughout the room.

In matching pink satin pajamas, they settled into the living room.

Soft pillows and fluffy blankets created a cozy nest, and the coffee table overflowed with treats.

Soon, Scarlett and Caroline, the most competitive, engaged in a silent dispute over the last slice of pizza.

— Hey, Care! That's mine! — Scarlett said, laughing.

— I saw it first! — Caroline retorted, pulling the slice with exaggerated theatricality.

Elena and Bonnie watched, amidst laughter, while Mei delighted in a still-warm cookie, as if nothing could disturb her.

With their stomachs satisfied, the conversation flowed naturally.

Between confidences and laughter, they talked about work, dreams, loves, and heartbreaks — as they always did, weaving their lives into each other in the intimacy of a night that was just for them.

— Sky, have you ever been scared for yourself? — Mei asked, suddenly.

Scarlett thought for a moment.

She could feel her sisters' eyes on her, attentive and hopeful.

To them, Scarlett had always been a rock, someone who worried more about others than about herself.

— Yes! You know... — she began, looking at the fireplace. — I think fear isn't when something goes wrong.

She paused, took a deep breath.

— Fear is when you realize you can't protect everyone you love at the same time.

Bonnie, smiling slightly, touched her sister's arm.

— But you always do the best you can. Always.

— Super Sky. — Caroline said, rolling her eyes, with a playful look.

Mei nodded, thoughtfully.

— It's strange... to think that you, who seem so strong, also feel fear.

Scarlett smiled, hugging her youngest sister.

— Yeah, we do. But that's what keeps us going.

— But was there ever a time it paralyzed you? — Elena wanted to know.

Scarlett lowered her gaze, her expression distant.

— Yes... my first year of college.

The flames in the fireplace danced, but Scarlett no longer saw them.

The memory dragged her back to the corridors of Whitmore, fifteen years ago.

Discipline was her middle name.

The same she exercised in martial arts, in her studies in Mystic Falls, in Grandma Sheila's lessons.

And now, in law school.

At just 15, she woke up early, studied late, and carried the world with impeccable posture.

But Whitmore had a different rhythm.

An underground vibration, an invisible pulse that didn't come from clocks or corridors — it came from the earth, from the roots, from what couldn't be seen.

The amulet on her wrist, ancient, dark metal, had become more than an accessory.

It was a constant whisper. A sentinel.

Its sudden tremors and heat no longer scared her. Scarlett had learned to listen to them, like someone listening to a newly awakened instinct.

One Thursday night, after hours of studying, she was returning to the dormitory.

The autumnal air was sharp, damp, but there was something more: a physical, suffocating weight.

Then, the amulet vibrated.

Violently. As if screaming.

The metal burned her skin.

Her instincts, shaped by Sheila, went off.

Everything in her said: go back, run away, forget.

But inside her chest, another force grew: courage. Destiny.

A muffled sound broke the silence.

Something being dragged through the dry earth, coming from the trail between the trees.

Scarlett held her breath.

Silently, she hid behind a large trunk.

The amulet burned stronger with each step.

And then, she saw.

Two figures.

One was dragging the other as if the body weighed nothing.

The faint light of a lantern revealed the scene.

The man's lips were stained with blood.

His eyes — hungry, sick.

Suddenly, he bit.

He sank his teeth into the victim's neck.

A weak moan.

The blood running.

It wasn't a robbery. Nor a fight.

It was predation.

It was real.

The amulet shone, wrapped in a discreet aura.

The creature raised its head... and looked in Scarlett's direction.

Her heart stopped.

But the eyes passed over her as if she were just another shadow in the night.

The spell kept her invisible.

He moved away, dragging the body into the darkness.

Leaving only the cruel silence. The smell of iron in the air.

Scarlett remained motionless, her heart pounding.

The amulet still pulsed, as if sharing the same adrenaline that burned in her veins.

— What did I just see...? — she whispered to herself.

Logic couldn't reach that place.

The supernatural existed.

And the amulet... wasn't just a gift.

It was a link. A bridge. A promise.

That night, between blood and shadows, Scarlett knew:

Nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

The flames of the fireplace came back into focus.

The warmth of the present replaced the shadows of the past.

Scarlett touched the amulet on her wrist, instinctively.

— That was the first time fear almost paralyzed me. I didn't sleep properly for weeks. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the hungry gleam of those eyes.

The room fell silent.

Elena squeezed her sister's hand, Bonnie's eyes were glistening.

Even Caroline, practical as ever, swallowed hard.

Mei, lying against her shoulder, whispered softly: — And yet... you stayed.

Scarlett just smiled, tired and tender.

— Because, sometimes, courage is that. Staying. Even with fear.

Mei was still in awe, holding Scarlett's arm gently.

Bonnie, sitting beside her, touched her sister's hand softly:

— You've always been strong, Sky. But no one needs to be invincible alone.

— Well remembered, Bonbon. — Scarlett replied, affectionately.

Mei looked at her sisters, her eyes shining:

— Wow... that's why you're our guardian. You always protect us, even before you know what's coming.

Scarlett smiled, a carefree, sincere smile.

— Maybe it's just instinct... or maybe, something more. — She squeezed the amulet discreetly, as if it were an invisible link to each of them.

Elena leaned in, curious:

— And after that night? Did you see anything else?

— No. But every time the metal vibrates, I know there's something beyond what the eyes can see. It's like the world is trying to tell me something. — Scarlett looked up at the ceiling, thoughtfully. — And it's my job to listen.

— Now you know how I feel. — Bonnie said, smiling and resting her head on her older sister's shoulder.

Caroline nudged Scarlett lightly, joking:

— Just don't forget that we protect you too, you know? After all, who protects the guardian?

Scarlett laughed, a light sound. The heavy atmosphere of the memory transformed into familiar warmth.

— I know... and I'm grateful for that.

— Grandma Sheila! — Caroline called with a mischievous smile.

— Yes, dear. — Sheila, who was in the kitchen, appeared in the living room.

— Read the cards for us! — Caroline asked, with puppy-dog eyes.

— Of course. — Sheila gave in, smiling, as the girls settled down to listen.

The warmth of the fireplace, the smell of the oatmeal cookies, and the presence of each sister created a nest of security and love.

Grandma Sheila placed the first card carefully, almost ritualistically, and began the reading:

For Scarlett:

— I see your light, success in your hands, happiness within reach...

But there is something more. A subtle shadow approaches, invisible to the eyes, but present in the air.

Trust your intuition. The greatest danger arises where you least expect it.

Scarlett squeezed the amulet, feeling the seriousness of the words and a shiver running down her spine.

For Elena:

— My healing angel, your heart is pure, and your journey will be illuminated by love.

But something is approaching you too. A path forks, and a hidden force tries to divert your destiny.

Only clarity of purpose and honesty with yourself can guide you.

Elena took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her grandmother's words and the warmth of Scarlett's hand holding hers.

For Caroline:

— My flower, your talent and creativity will open doors to happiness and love.

But there is something strange around you, a melody out of tune that doesn't align with your essence.

Listen to your inner voice and don't be seduced by false glows.

Caroline bit her lip, trying to smile, and shook her head in understanding.

For Bonnie:

— My wise one, your empathy is a shield for others, but you must protect yourself too.

I see happiness and love on your path, but a silent storm is approaching.

Don't drown in the pain of others; know when to step away. Your heart is a guide, but also vulnerable.

Bonnie closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, feeling her grandmother's warning in every fiber of her body.

For Mei:

— My ballerina, your strength and grace will take you to greater heights than you can imagine.

But there is something in the shadows, a subtle, yet dangerous presence.

Your body is a temple, but also vulnerable. The greatest power lies in the ability to adapt.

Don't fight what you can't control; this way, your journey will be lighter.

Mei squeezed Scarlett's hand, swallowing hard and trying to absorb every nuance of the card.

Sheila collected the cards, her dark eyes reflecting ancestral wisdom.

She saw light and darkness, love and danger... and also something more.

An energy united the granddaughters, but something about it was indecipherable. A danger coming from the same place for all of them, but manifesting in different ways.

A mystery that Sheila preferred not to reveal.

Each card was a warning and each warning a trigger.

April 2005

The magical barrier erected by Father Morningstar over Mystic Falls began to manifest.

Wild animals avoided the city, as if they feared crossing an invisible boundary. Travelers got lost and came back, confused.

— I just felt like I shouldn't go in — said a trucker, when asked by a police officer. — Like... something was telling me to leave.

It was as if the city said, with an ancestral voice:

— Do not enter.

Sheila, always observant, felt the weight of this protection.

She saw her granddaughters maturing, felt the power vibrating in them, growing like seeds awakening from the earth.

But the protection was not eternal. A shiver ran down her spine every time she thought about what existed beyond the boundaries of Mystic Falls — a cruel, ruthless world, interested in the awakening of the five young Morningstars.

Even without full knowledge, Sheila knew: something evil coveted her granddaughters' power.

Coming out of her thoughts, Sheila looked at each one, with hope and faith:

— Your destiny is in your hands, but remember: you are not alone. The strength of one is the strength of all. And love is the greatest magic that exists.

With a weak smile, she stood up, leaving the girls with her words... and with the feeling that the future was more mysterious than it seemed.

The five young women watched Sheila leave. Her words echoing in their minds.

Each warning, each nuance, hung in the air like an invisible perfume, reminding them of the balance between power and responsibility.

Elena took a deep breath, leaning slightly on Scarlett's arm.

— It's a lot to think about... — she whispered.

— I know — Scarlett replied, discreetly squeezing her youngest sister's hand. — But together, we can face anything.

Bonnie smiled, trying to dissipate the weight of the atmosphere:

— She just wants us to be prepared. And to stay together.

— We know. And I'm grateful for that. — Scarlett's eyes swept over each sister, feeling more secure. — But it reminded me that, no matter how prepared we are, there will always be things that surprise us.

Elena held Scarlett's hand, smiling with confidence:

— So, we promise one thing? Always together. No matter what comes up.

Scarlett nodded, with a sparkle in her eyes:

— Always.

Caroline, always practical and playful, jumped off the sofa and ran to the corner of the room, grabbing some pillows.

— Oh, let's liven this place up! — she said, throwing them in the air. — Who said we can't have fun after so much drama?

Mei made an elegant spin on the rug, making her sisters laugh.

— She's right! — she said, smiling. — A little lightness helps to clear the mind.

Laughter returned to the room, shy at first, but soon full of strength.

They organized a small circle on the floor, lay down under blankets and pillows, and began to play with small challenges: telling funny childhood stories, remembering pranks they did together, and even inventing improvised games with their grandmother's treats.

The heavy atmosphere the flashback had brought transformed into familiar warmth, into a memory of love and protection.

Each touch, each smile, each gesture was a reinforced bond.

— You know? — said Elena, grabbing a slice of cookie. — No matter what comes, I trust you. Always.

— And we trust you — Caroline completed, patting her sister's hand.

Mei looked at all of them, shining:

— We're ready. We always were, we just didn't know it.

Bonnie closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the strength of the bond.

— So... let's enjoy the night. Our sleepover deserves to be perfect.

And so, between laughter, stories, and treats, the Morningstar sisters transformed the night into a refuge.

A safe space, full of its own magic, where love was the greatest protection and laughter, the best spell.

Caroline began braiding Bonnie's hair, while Scarlett braided Elena's, and Mei put her head in Bonnie's lap, who was running her fingers through her sister's hair.

The house echoed with laughter, the grandmother's voice calming their spirits, but especially, with the unconditional love that only sisters could feel.

The night ended with them sleeping on the living room floor, nestled one on top of the other, the sound of the fireplace crackling in the background, and the grandmother, sitting in her armchair, smiling and admiring her girls.

It was the perfect way to end an exhausting day: in the company of those who loved them most.

────✧────

The Distant Gaze of the Father

Far. But never absent.

In a threshold between heaven and hell, where time did not exist, a man watched.

He was the invisible guardian.

The father who erased himself so that his daughters could shine.

He saw every achievement.

Every gesture.

He felt every emotion.

The diplomas, the professional victories, the rituals, the awakened powers. Everything.

Scarlett, the responsible one.

Elena, with words in her eyes.

Caroline, leading everything like a born leader.

Bonnie, the most magical and artist. Mei, dancing even while applauding.

And Sheila — his beloved mother-in-law — sustaining everything with ancestral love.

The amulets he had left for them were a part of him.

Forged with his own essence.

They were a link.

A whisper.

A promise.

He also felt pain — excruciating — for not being there.

For not being remembered.

But he knew: it was the price of protection.

The barrier over Mystic Falls was his sacrifice woven in magic.

As if every beat of his absent heart was sewn into the fog that protected the city.

And yet, every day, he asked himself:

— Did I make the right choice?

The answer was always the same.

— Yes.

The love he felt for his daughters was more than time.

More than the void.

More than eternity itself.

The amulets pulsed softly, echoing every beat of his absent heart.

Each vibration reminded them that he was there, even if invisible.

And he would continue.

Watching over.

Loving.

Silent.

He remembered the nights he wished he could hug them without breaking the veil of protection.

He felt every one of their joys as if it were his own, even from a distance.

And, from where he was, he felt every emotion, every word absorbed by them, and smiled silently.

He knew that, despite his absence, his love was the bridge that united and protected each of them.

Nothing, neither time, nor distance, nor the invisible world itself, could erase that.

He was there.

He always had been.

He always would be.

Chapter Text

Saturday's sun bathed Mystic Falls in a golden light, bringing with it the promise of rest.

At Grandma Sheila's house, the smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mixing with the vibrant energy of the five sisters.

The week had been long, almost a battle for each of them. And the need to reconnect, laugh, and forget about problems was palpable.

"Has anyone seen my wallet?" Scarlett's voice echoed from upstairs, slightly anxious. "I can't go shopping without it!"

"Sky..." Elena replied, rolling her eyes with a knowing smile. "It's in your purse, where it always is. You never look properly."

Scarlett appeared in the hallway, descending the steps with a theatrical air.

"Well, someone could at least help me look, instead of judging me, couldn't they?"

The sisters laughed.

Caroline, already seated at the table with a cup of coffee, wrote in her notepad.

"After shopping, can we stop by that new decor store that opened at the mall? I need inspiration for a new project."

"Project or an excuse to buy more pillows?" Bonnie teased, raising her eyebrows.

Caroline threw a bread crumb at her sister and shrugged.

"Inspiration comes in many forms."

Bonnie, finishing breakfast, raised her cup in an imaginary toast.

"Alright. But only if we make a mandatory stop at the spa. No thinking about work today." She cast a knowing look at her three older sisters, who nodded, smiling. "And you, Mei? Are you ready yet?"

Mei, sitting beside her, nodded enthusiastically.

"Ready as can be! I already know what I'm going to look for." She paused, her eyes sparkling. "New dance sneakers."

Bonnie smiled, lightly touching her youngest sister's shoulder.

"That's the spirit."

Grandma Sheila, always attentive, watched everything from the head of the table. Her tender eyes swept over her granddaughters with affection.

"Enjoy yourselves, girls. Life needs days like this to balance out the others." she said, serving herself some tea.

After a delicious breakfast, the five left the house, excited.

────✧────

The mall was crowded, but for them, it was like an amusement park.

Amidst laughter and jokes, Scarlett found a pair of shoes she insisted on trying on right away.

"Sisters, I present the shoes that will change my week!" she exclaimed, strutting down the store aisle.

Elena laughed and, soon after, walked out with an elegant coat in her hands.

"Well, if she's going to strut, I'm going to pose like a Parisian writer." she commented, flipping her hair back.

Caroline dove into the decor shelves, her eyes sparkling upon finding a unique lamp.

"Inspiration found!" she declared, as if she had won a trophy, already imagining a magical ceiling for her room.

Bonnie, meanwhile, got lost in a bookstore. With her eyes lit up with enthusiasm, she held a thick volume, whose cover was adorned with ancient symbols, strangely familiar to those in her grandmother's grimoires.

"I've found my next portal." she murmured, reverently stroking the cover.

And Mei, radiant, came out of the sports store showing off her new pair of dance sneakers.

"Alright, no one can stop me now!" she declared, doing a little dance.

The day of shopping wasn't just retail therapy.

It was a reminder that, despite the mysteries and dangers, life was also made of simple, happy moments.

When the sun began to set, they headed to the spa. There, between relaxing massages and muffled laughter, they allowed themselves to forget everything.

Bonnie sighed, sinking into the soft armchair.

"See? Nothing like a perfect Saturday."

Caroline lifted the clay mask on her face and laughed.

"I think I'm officially ready to face anything."

Elena looked at them all with tenderness.

"Maybe the most powerful magic we have... is exactly this."

And on that Saturday, between stores, laughter, and rest, the five Morningstar sisters once again proved that their greatest strength lay in the small shared moments.

────✧────

Scarlett and Mason Lockwood's night was lulled by the gentle sound of Mystic Falls falling asleep.

Mason's warm arms enveloped her, but her mind was far away, caught up in Mei's upcoming ritual. Her little sister would soon no longer be human, and this, along with the cryptic messages from the cards, made her uneasy.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" Mason's voice, soft and concerned, broke the silence. He noticed her distant gaze, lost on the ceiling.

"Yes. Just thinking about a case," Scarlett lied, the excuse coming out faster than she expected.

Mason ran his thumb over her hand, in a calm gesture.

"You know you can talk to me, right? I can handle even the most difficult versions of your day."

Scarlett held his gaze for a moment and gave a short smile.

"I know. Thank you."

His smile was affectionate, familiar, safe. But the heavy, bitter guilt hit her hard.

She liked Mason, truly. The relationship was calm, safe, he was a good man.

But since the ritual — and, more specifically, since the dream with that mysterious man — something had changed within her.

An intense certainty consumed her: she felt she was born for that stranger, just as he was for her.

The lie wasn't just about work. It was about what she felt, a truth that scared and intrigued her at the same time.

Destiny, love, family... everything seemed intertwined in a tangle of mystery and emotion.

And at the center of it all, the face of the man from the dream.

Her gaze fell to her wrist, where the bracelet she had received as a graduation gift rested. The small white gold amulet pulsed with a subtle warmth against her skin. She touched it lightly, and the warmth intensified — not in an alarming way, but firm, like an anchor pulling her back to the memory of the night that would change everything.

Her mind drifted, going back in time as if diving into a deep lake.

The scene dissolved into floating petals... and, in its place, another took shape. More intimate. More powerful. More transformative.

She remembered: a law degree in hand, pride in her eyes, internship confirmed, contract signed.

But none of those academic achievements compared to the night of her 21st birthday.

Because on that night... Scarlett would cease to be merely human.

The Bennett house in Mystic Falls seemed to breathe with its own ancestral magic that night.

Candles lit in every corner. Herbs burning with a dense aroma. Ancient symbols drawn on the floor with salt and myrrh powder, where the visible and invisible worlds met.

The living room — the same place where so much laughter echoed on Fridays — was now a sacred temple.

Grandma Sheila walked in circles around Scarlett, murmuring incantations in a language that seemed forgotten by everyone except the stones.

Her gaze, filled with centuries of wisdom and the weight of the lineage's responsibility, was fixed on her granddaughter.

Sheila lightly touched Scarlett's amulet, as if awakening a memory.

"When I say the word, close your eyes and breathe with me. Remember: you are not alone."

Elena discreetly adjusted a candle. Caroline aligned the salt on the floor, a designer's precision. Bonnie observed the symbol's design, attentive to the smallest detail. Mei squeezed her hands, silent, her heart beating to the same rhythm as the flames.

The air thickened. The flames trembled, obeying an ancestral call.

Sheila took a deep breath.

"Are you ready, my child?"

Scarlett nodded. Her heart was strong. Her mind was quiet. Destiny awaited.

And the night, outside, held its breath.

The sisters were there, rigid, attentive, solemn, forming a circle of protection that seemed to radiate its own light.

"Scarlett," said Sheila, her voice choked with emotion and responsibility, "today you cross a portal. You claim your lineage. And you finally become who you were born to be."

Scarlett's heart beat like a ceremonial drum. The air seemed heavy, time slowed down, and each step she took seemed to cross centuries.

 * The Connection with the Lineage

Kneeling in the center of the circle, Scarlett looked up at her grandmother.

Sheila held an oak staff covered in symbols that burned with their own light, radiating an ancestral heat that crossed the centuries.

When Sheila began to recite the chants, a heat ran down Scarlett's spine, exploding in her limbs like liquid fire.

Every word vibrated within her, resonating in the deepest fibers of her being.

Every heartbeat of the witches who came before her reverberated in her chest.

Every past life shone like a silent flame.

And the roots beneath the earth pulsed, connecting her to the force that sustained the world.

The echo of her name engraved on the bones of time returned, ancient and welcoming, embracing her.

 * The Trial of the Elements

Her sisters brought four bowls, arranged as living symbols:

Earth – Water – Air – Fire

Scarlett touched each one and felt the world respond:

Earth: moved gently under her feet, alive, molding to her touch, firm and nourishing.

Water: swirled in spirals, wrapping her in gentle currents that danced like liquid memory.

Air: blew through her hair, caressing her like an ancestral kiss, carrying ancient secrets and future promises.

Fire: hesitated for a moment, trembled and then enveloped her with an intense heat, licking her skin without harming it, recognizing the force that ran in her veins.

Nature responded. Each element vibrated in harmony, but the fire leaned over her, honoring her not just as a daughter, but as an heir.

She was a daughter of all forces, woven into the fabric of the world.

Alive in every breath, drop, root, and blaze.

 * The Fragmented Vision

Rare herbs burned, spreading a dense smoke that enveloped Scarlett, coiling like living mist.

Her eyes closed.

The world dissolved into images that arrived like thunder in slow motion.

White wings with golden details tore through the sky.

Tearing reality.

Golden eyes fixed on her, filled with eternal pain and memories of forgotten eras.

Shadows bathed in power, fragments of past lives.

A man with immortal features, suffering eyes, emerged between lights and shadows.

A whisper broke the silence:

"My little cherry."

Scarlett's heart ached with intensity.

She didn't know who he was, but the pain spoke of a blood bond, a connection that not even time could break.

 * The Fusion of Essence

Sheila handed Scarlett a medallion, wrapped in ancient linen, imbued with ages.

Upon touching the object, a sharp pain shot through her chest like an icy blade.

Brief. Acute. Almost unbearable.

Her fingers curled.

Her breath failed.

For a moment, it seemed that all the air had disappeared.

And then, the energy shifted.

Something lodged inside her.

A dense, incandescent fire that burned with celestial and infernal intensity at the same time.

Every cell vibrated.

Every heartbeat resonated like a cosmic symphony.

In the absolute silence, Scarlett understood: she had never been just human.

Her essence transcended mortal limits, connecting her to the infinite.

 * The Awakening of the Anomaly

The sisters offered blood.

Subtle cuts on their palms, crimson drops falling into the sacred chalice.

A living mixture of soul, love, and promise.

"The strength of sisterhood will guide your path" said Sheila, handing her the chalice.

Scarlett held it firmly.

She raised it to her lips.

And drank it all.

Hot.

Dense.

Bitter.

Primordial.

As if drinking the very essence of the world.

Then, came the collapse.

The floor seemed to dissolve under her feet.

Reality shattered into lights and shadows.

Fragments of past and future danced in sublime chaos.

Time ceased to exist.

Her body fell to the center of the circle, but her soul — freed from the weight of the flesh — ascended, tearing veils of existence as if awakening from a long, deep sleep.

Scarlett was reborn.

No longer just a daughter of fire.

But a living anomaly.

A living force.

A spirit that carried the past, present, and future within her.

Whole. 

Untamable.

Her eyes, now opaque, white as morning mist, stared at the sky.

Her breathing was slow, weak, but the power that emanated from her filled the entire circle.

Grandma Sheila ran, her hands already illuminated by a diagnostic spell.

The sisters surrounded her in an instant, hearts racing, mouths silent.

But Scarlett was no longer just there.

Her spirit had awakened.

She now found herself in a damp, cold field, enveloped by a silvery mist that seemed to dance between worlds.

The soil breathed memories and silence.

And ahead...

A black oak tree stood like an ancient sentinel.

Its twisted branches were the bones of time, its roots plunged into the confines of existence.

From its branches hung silver veils, threads of destiny not yet woven.

Underneath it, a man.

Beautiful. Tall. Silent. Eyes as sad as eternal winter.

He didn't say a word.

He didn't need to.

She knew, with the certainty of someone looking at their own reflection, that this was the other half of her soul.

To the right, a red she-wolf — as alive and fiery as fire itself.

Scarlet eyes, fixed on her, as if guarding her forever.

To the left, a constant bonfire, whose flame crackled without consuming, like a living memory.

Scarlett was at the center.

And there, without words, she understood:

That man was waiting for her. Always had been.

The pain he carried echoed hers.

His loneliness was a mirror.

Eternity... was the price.

The Awakening

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden light on the wooden floor.

The smell of burned herbs still lingered in the air, dense and sacred.

Scarlett opened her eyes.

Her chest rising and falling gently.

For a moment, her eyes glowed with a reddish hue — embers lit in the darkness.

Around her, love.

Bonnie, holding her hand, smiled through tears.

Mei held back laughter and tears at the same time, emotion escaping through her watery eyes.

Elena hid her tears by silently wiping her face, the posture of a doctor replaced by that of a sister.

Caroline, firm, watched in silence — eyes full of pride and contained fear.

Sheila approached and returned the bracelet to her.

But now, the amulet was not just a shield.

It was alive.

Warm.

Pulsed like a second heart.

An anchor. A weapon.

The old Scarlett had died.

The new one... had awakened.

Somewhere

While Scarlett's eyes reopened to the world, in a realm between worlds — where time is just a whispered memory and space does not obey the logic of the living — an ancient vampire awoke.

His eyes opened in the dark, amidst ancient tapestries, consumed candles, and books that whispered forgotten names.

There was no sound.

There was no touch.

But there was a call.

A thread.

A sigh.

A vibration in the fabric of destiny.

He felt it.

And he knew.

She had awakened.

He rose calmly.

Walked to the window.

Opened a crack.

The dawn light kissed his pale skin.

And for the first time in ages...

He felt peace.

In the air, a subtle perfume: iron, dew... and ancient female magic.

His eyes darkened.

A whisper escaped his lips:

"Finally."

────✧────

Even before the ritual, Scarlett was already powerful.

Her magic didn't come from formulas or books.

It was pure, raw instinct.

Since childhood, her energy had responded to emotions.

If she felt fear, the house trembled.

If she felt anger, glass exploded.

When she cried, the air became dense, as if the world suffered with her.

There was a day... a drunk man tried to scare her on the street.

She screamed.

And he was thrown against the wall, unconscious.

Without her even touching him.

Sheila always said:

"You need control before power, my child."

But Scarlett knew.

There was something buried inside her.

A wild, ancient core.

And the ritual finally unlocked that essence.

Now, spells didn't require words.

The air rippled around her when she walked.

Candles bowed to her presence.

The spiritual world whispered her name.

She didn't conjure magic.

She was magic.

But Scarlett was never just a spell.

From an early age, she loved fighting.

She loved the body's movement, the impact, the discipline.

She would drag her sisters to self-defense training.

At the time, it seemed like just a precaution.

Now, it was prophetic preparation.

Under Sheila's tutelage, magic and physical combat merged.

Fist and incantation.

Strength and spell.

Body and spirit as a single weapon.

After the ritual, her body had become immortal — like the first immortal in the world.

Cuts healed in seconds.

Bullets ricocheted.

Superhuman reflexes.

Time no longer touched her.

But immortality brought with it a curse.

The thirst.

At first, she believed it was hunger.

Then, she thought it was instinct.

But she soon realized: it was something deeper.

It wasn't a lack of control.

It was a ritual.

A single enchanted drop was enough.

A ceremonial chalice satiated her for weeks.

That drop, prepared with ancient magic and the essence of the Bennett lineage, maintained her balance.

She wasn't a vampire.

She was more.

The blood strengthened her.

But she dominated it.

Never the other way around.

She was not a slave to the thirst.

She was its master.

However, her strength didn't only come from immortality.

Scarlett was gracefully lethal.

Made of steel and dance.

Of instinct and purpose.

Warrior. Guardian.

Sister.

And she had chosen:

"To protect, always."

────✧────

The first time her wings appeared, Scarlett believed she was dying.

It was night.

She dreamed of the black oak.

The man was there.

His hand extended.

But, upon trying to touch him... a pain shot through her back.

Burning. Excruciating.

She woke up screaming, her body arched.

And then... the wings opened.

Red. Luminous. Incandescent.

As if their feathers were made of fire and blood.

They broke the bedroom ceiling.

Sheila fell to her knees, murmuring prayers that no one else knew.

Scarlett cried.

Not from pain, but from memory.

An echo of a familiar sensation.

A déjà vu of freedom.

'You've flown before. When you were little. When he held you...'

She didn't know who he was.

But her heart screamed a name that her lips couldn't pronounce.

The wings were a part of her.

Celestial.

But with an infernal touch.

The mark of her fatherhood.

She learned to hide them.

To control them.

Flying was freedom.

But also responsibility.

The day she became a wolf was also the day she killed.

Bonnie, naive and new to college, trusted a charming tutor.

But he was a degenerate warlock, a collector of stolen powers.

He wanted to rip something out of her.

Scarlett arrived in time.

And didn't think.

Acting with supernatural speed, she broke the warlock's neck.

He fell like a rag doll.

The scream that escaped her throat was not human.

Her body expanded.

Bones cracked.

Skin transformed into fur.

And then the Scarlet Wolf appeared.

Huge. Majestic.

Ruby eyes.

It leaped through the window and disappeared into the night, leaving only silence.

And Bonnie, in shock.

When Scarlett returned to human form, she was naked and bloody.

Kneeling. Trembling. Crying.

"It was for her..." she whispered.

"He was going to hurt Bonnie."

Sheila wrapped her in her coat, murmuring:

"I know, dear. You protected your sister. And that... is everything."

And every day, Scarlett felt it.

Her essence pulsing like a lost song, found again.

The ritual had awakened her.

But that power... had always been there.

Asleep.

Waiting.

Back in the present, the warmth of the amulet dissipated.

She let out a sigh and let the memories settle.

Mei's ritual awaited her.

Scarlett hoped her sister's transformation would be smooth.

She fell asleep, with the certainty that they were ready for whatever came.

Mei didn't know what awaited her.

But Scarlett knew who they were.

And what they were going to protect.

And so, destiny began to move toward the inevitable.

Chapter Text

The forest was the sisters Morningstar's sanctuary and private battleground.

Sun blades stabbed through the dense tree canopy, igniting the ethereal mist that danced over the damp ground.

In the center of the clearing, Scarlett was a gray blur, a study in motion and contained fury. The deadliest in combat, she moved like a shadow detached from her body, swift and relentless. She spun, dodged, and attacked in a silent symphony of strength.

Even containing her supernatural speed, the remaining agility was enough to steal the breath of any mortal.

Her sisters — Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie — formed an attentive circle, energy crackling between them. Each was a predator at rest, ready to leap into the dance at any moment.

Apart, under the shade of an ancient oak, Mei, the only human among them, watched with her heart pounding against her ribs. Her large, expressive eyes absorbed every detail.

Her strength did not reside in Scarlett's steel muscles, nor in Caroline's feline agility. Mei was built of a different matter: the grace of a ballerina. A delicacy that her sisters did not see as weakness, but as a secret weapon.

"Remember, Mei," Elena’s voice, always a balm, cut through the tension. Her lilac eyes, filled with ancestral wisdom, fixed on her younger sister. "Your strength is not in brutality. It resides in your sharp mind, your fluid grace, your precise agility."

"And the element of surprise," added Caroline, the strategist, a fox-like grin dancing on her lips. "No one expects art to become a weapon. Use the shock to your advantage. It’s your ace in the hole."

Bonnie, whose veins seemed to pulse with the very sap of the forest, stepped forward.

"The Earth beneath your feet, the Fire in your spirit, the Water in your blood, and the Air in your lungs... they are not obstacles, Mei. They are your partners. Dance with them, and the whole world will dance with you."

Scarlett stopped abruptly, the air settling around her. The ferocity in her eyes was replaced by a gleam of immense pride.

"The fight is a conversation between bodies, Mei. It's about intellect, strategy, and connection. You have all that overflowing. Now, show us."

With those words, she stepped back, opening the stage for her youngest sister.

"It's your turn."

Mei closed her eyes, inhaling deeply the smell of wet earth and decaying leaves.

For an instant, the entire forest seemed to hold its breath with her.

She felt the firm ground beneath her feet, the caress of the breeze on her face, the warmth of the sun kissing her skin.

She was not a warrior. She was a dancer. And that was her stage.

When she opened her eyes, the fear had dissipated, replaced by a radiant calm.

She didn't fight. She flowed.

Every parry was a port de bras. Every dodge, a perfectly executed plié.

The sisters, once judges, became an enchanted audience.

Mei didn't face them on equal terms; she enveloped them, using her unique style not just to defend herself, but to weave a disconcerting web of movements.

Scarlett launched a low attack, a blade of wind skimming the ground, but Mei, instead of leaping, spun into a dizzying fouetté, her extended leg drawing an arc that nullified the blow with a disarming beauty.

Caroline tried to corner her with a complex tactic, but Mei surprised her, using her sister's own momentum against her in a maneuver that defied the logic of battle.

Elena wove subtle illusions to confuse her, but Mei remained a beacon of focus, her center of gravity unwavering.

Finally, Bonnie smiled, accepting the challenge on a deeper level.

With a subtle gesture, she made vine tentacles emerge from the earth, coiling toward Mei.

The young woman danced among them, gliding over the damp ground as if it were a mirror of ice.

But a treacherous root, commanded by Bonnie's amused smile, lassoed her ankle, pulling her into a gentle fall.

Mei sighed, laughter bubbling in her chest as she felt the soft grass on her back.

"That's not fair, Bonnie!"

"Oh, that was delightfully fun," Bonnie replied, extending a hand to help her up. "You are absolutely exceptional, Mei."

In the end, all were breathless, but Mei was smiling from ear to ear.

She hadn't won. But she had conquered something much greater: doubt.

She had proven to herself that her body, allied with her incipient magic, was an instrument of power.

"You are a ballerina, Mei," Scarlett said, a genuine smile transforming her beautiful face. "A supernatural ballerina."

The forest, once a battleground, was now a stage consecrated to the human sister's dance.

She still didn't possess their titanic strength, but she had her own.

And that, for now, was enough.

────✧────

"Well, that’s enough for today," Scarlett declared, and a chorus of relieved sighs echoed through the clearing.

Even for immortals with an accelerated healing factor, a break was very welcome.

"Thank all the gods!" exclaimed Mei, laughing, the sweat mixed with the forest dew streaming down her face. "Now that we're done, how about something fun? A swim at the waterfalls. What do you think?"

"Yes, please!" Bonnie's voice was pure excitement, her eyes shining with the promise of cold water.

"Yes. We urgently need a bath!" Elena said, amused.

"I'm in, but first..." Caroline began, her eyebrows arching in pure mischief. "Bikinis!"

"Show us the way, Care." Scarlett replied with a smile.

With a snap of her fingers, Caroline tore a shimmering rip in the air. A portal opened, buzzing with energy, revealing the illuminated kitchen of the Bennett house.

There, Sheila, Bonnie's grandmother, was calmly preparing tea.

The sudden appearance of five sweaty, leaf-covered young women in her kitchen made her jump, the cup rattling in the saucer.

"By the beard of Merlin!" she murmured, the fright quickly turning into an affectionate smile as she saw her granddaughters' faces.

They rushed through the portal like a hurricane of joy, each leaving a loud kiss on Sheila's cheek as they ran upstairs.

"Sorry for the scare, Grandma!" Bonnie shouted from the top of the stairs.

Sheila just chuckled, a husky, warm sound, shaking her head. Their chaos was the music of her home.

"We’re going swimming, Grandma! Don't you want to come?" Elena invited, already back, a towel draped over her shoulder and a smile on her face.

"Ah, dear, I'll pass," Sheila said, her eyes twinkling. "I have some academic ghosts to exorcise at the college. Have fun for me."

"Will do!" Elena replied. As soon as her sisters came down, she reopened the portal. The sound of the waterfalls' thunder invaded the kitchen for a brief second.

With a final wave to their grandmother, they crossed the threshold and, in the blink of an eye, were back in nature, the air vibrating with the power of the water.

"This is the life!" Bonnie shouted, stripping down to just her bikini.

Without hesitation, she took a running leap and jumped off the cliff in a perfect arc, cutting the water's surface like an arrow.

"Show-off!" Caroline screamed, laughing, before jumping in right after with a noisy cannonball that splashed water everywhere.

"Children," Scarlett laughed, exchanging a complicit look with Elena and Mei. In a synchronized, graceful movement, the redhead jumped, her body tracing parallel paths in the air.

"Come on, Mei, we can't be left out!" Elena exclaimed, already preparing to jump.

"No way!" Mei replied.

Hand in hand, they ran and dove together, their cries of joy mixing with the roar of the waterfall.

There, in the crystal-clear waters, they were not beings of immeasurable power; they were just girls.

Scarlett was not the implacable combatant or the intimidating lawyer, but the older sister who loved the sensation of a deep dive.

Bonnie was not the primordial witch or the perceptive psychologist, but the one who let out the sharpest scream at the shock of the cold water.

Elena was not the enigmatic-eyed immortal or the dedicated doctor, but the gentle soul who felt complete in the communion with her sisters.

Caroline was not the personification of chaos or the designer trying to order it, but the adventurer seeking the next thrill.

And Mei, in her precious humanity, was not the dance teacher, but the youngest, free to err, to laugh, to be simply loved.

They were a coven, a pack, a force of nature.

But above all, they were sisters.

"Just thinking that we have work tomorrow, I already want to freeze time and stay here forever," said Caroline, floating on her back, her eyes closed against the sun.

"As tempting as that is, I don't think the space-time continuum would appreciate it," Elena replied with an amused smile.

"And Grandma would give us a historic scolding. Again," Bonnie reminded them.

"She would forgive us," said Mei, with a wink that encouraged Caroline's rebellion.

"We can't," Scarlett's voice was soft, but final.

"Oh, we can," Bonnie corrected.

With a subtle movement of her fingers in the water, she levitated Mei to the rock they jumped from.

Mei screamed, a mix of fright and delight, before launching herself into a series of aerial acrobatics.

"We just shouldn't," Bonnie finished, with an enigmatic smile.

"That was spectacular, Mei!" Caroline applauded.

The five sisters stayed there, suspended in the time they dared not stop, until the sun began its lazy descent.

Later, in an improvised studio that smelled of turpentine and magic, peace took on a different form.

Bonnie, given over to her first passion, stared at a family photograph—a sunny picnic, all of them with Sheila.

With brushstrokes that were both delicate and firm, she not only reproduced the image on the canvas but immortalized the feeling of that day. The laughter imprinted in the photograph seemed to be reflected in every color that emerged under her brush.

On the Persian rug, Mei lay on her stomach, her song notebook open.

In childhood, she danced around Bonnie while her sister painted; now, her own art flourished in the stillness, the pen dancing on the paper in search of the perfect melody.

A faint scratch echoed each time the pen tip marked the sheet, creating a soft counterpoint to the sound of pages turning on the sofa.

There, Scarlett had found refuge in a book, her features relaxed as she traveled between the lines.

Beside her, Caroline was sketching in a notebook. They weren't design projects, but silk secrets and ambition: the first drafts for the dress brand she dreamed of. Her eyes shone, already envisioning future fashion shows and creations.

Sitting near them, Elena was finalizing the last pages of her novel—a story woven from a vivid dream she had during her 21st-birthday ritual. Each sentence seemed to carry not just fiction, but memories and fragments of her soul.

And in the main armchair, like a queen on her throne, Grandma Sheila read her grimoire. The light from the lamp illuminated the ancient runes, casting mystical shadows across the walls.

She was the anchor.

The guardian of their legacy.

These were the moments.

Moments when silence was not empty, but a silent symphony of souls in harmony.

There, in that sanctuary of creativity and affection, the weight of the worlds the six women carried on their shoulders did not matter.

The only thing that mattered was the simple, overwhelming beauty of being together.

The outer universe, with its threats and demands, could wait.

Inside, the only superpower that reigned was their unity.

────✧────

The silence of the studio was a tapestry woven with threads of peace and creativity, a harmony so perfect it seemed eternal.

And then, it was shattered.

Not broken, but violently ripped apart by a sound that should never exist in that sacred space.

Grandma Sheila—the granite anchor upon which the family stood—emitted a scream of pure horror and pain, a sharp, fractured sound that froze the blood in the Morningstar sisters' veins and made the very air vibrate with agony.

Five heads turned in a sync of panic.

Five hearts stumbled and then raced into a war drum rhythm.

The scene before them was a profanation.

The ancient grimoire, normally an object of wisdom and comfort in Sheila’s hands, convulsed in a demonic frenzy. Its pages turned by themselves, a storm of parchment moved by an invisible, malevolent wind, so fast that the edges seemed about to disintegrate.

A ghostly luminescence—purple, sickly, and pulsing—radiated from the open book, bathing the studio in a nightmare light. The shadows twisted into misshapen creatures, transforming the sisters' faces into masks of terror.

Then came the worst.

From the swirling pages, an unknown symbol, woven of light and liquid darkness, emerged. It did not float. It lunged, ravenous, searing itself into Sheila's skin with the violence of a branding iron.

A subtle hiss.

The smell of ozone and burnt flesh.

And the scream that seemed to tear out her soul.

The mark glowed agonizingly on the matriarch's palm before being absorbed into the skin, leaving behind a scar that seemed to burn not just the flesh, but her very essence.

Mei was the first to break the paralysis.

Driven by a primal and fierce instinct, she launched herself toward her grandmother, her tunnel vision focused only on the injured hand. Sheila's scream still echoed in her ears.

"Grandma, are you okay?" her voice was a trembling thread, her hands touching Sheila's face with desperate delicacy.

The matriarch nodded, a difficult, spasmodic movement.

The other sisters, freed from the spell by Mei's movement, converged, a whirlwind of fear and protection. They knelt around Sheila, who was shaking uncontrollably, gasping, her eyes flooded with tears of shock.

Color had fled from her face, leaving a gray, cadaverous pallor.

Suddenly, the page of the grimoire from which the symbol was born glowed again—a softer light, but no less sinister.

Upon the ancient parchment, as if written by a ghost pen, an enigmatic message began to form, letter by letter, in a whisper of light.

The sisters held their breath.

Their eyes fixed on the warning.

They read together, their voices joining in a haunted chorus that barely dared to disturb the terrified silence:

'Beware! Evil approaches. Prepare yourselves. She will come for all of you.'

The air in the studio became dense, heavy, almost unbreathable.

The message glowed for one last, long instant, like the gaze of a specter bidding farewell, and then dissolved into nothing, leaving the page empty.

The silence that remained was filled with a mute, suffocating terror.

They looked at each other, their widened eyes reflecting the same terrifying question.

The world, which moments before was a refuge, had contracted, becoming a trap.

The enemy was no longer at the gates.

It had invaded their sanctuary.

Their soul.

Their family.

The dancing, the painting, the writing—everything turned gray before the overwhelming cold of the fear that now united them.

The threat was not for one.

It was for all.

The hunt had begun.

"Come, Grandma." Bonnie's voice, though shaky, regained a hint of her proactive authority.

She helped Sheila stand and gently settled her on the sofa. Taking the injured hand, she whispered an ancient spell, and a soft, golden light enveloped the scar.

"Thank you, my child," Sheila thanked her, her sigh still laden with tremor.

"What the hell was that?" Caroline's voice was rough, a mix of anger and apprehension.

"We don't know," Elena replied, her hand pressed against her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"But we will find out." Scarlett's voice was a rock, her face an unshakeable mask. But inside, a serpent of icy panic coiled in her stomach.

A panic not for herself, but for them.

For all of them.

Mei hugged Sheila, a gesture of pure relief at seeing her recover, the need for physical comfort overcoming the shock.

"I'm fine, dear," the matriarch said, her voice regaining strength, returning the embrace.

Bonnie handed a steaming cup of tea into her grandmother's hands.

"It was a warning," she said, her eyes distant, analyzing the memory of the magical event. "I didn't feel the intention of a direct threat. It seemed... a desperate alert."

"An alert? It burned Grandma!" Caroline retorted, confused, the image of scorched flesh etched into her mind.

"Many witches do that," Scarlett explained, her gaze meeting Bonnie's in a silent understanding.

"...When the warning needs to be delivered through magical barriers," Elena completed the reasoning, her voice almost a whisper.

"That was anything but subtle!" Mei's voice was firm, in her concern and protection seeing only the violence. "It was an attack."

"Damn, you're right. It was a disguise. Or..." the realization hit Caroline like lightning, her eyes widening. "Something must be preventing them from contacting us."

Sheila sighed, a heavy sound that drew all eyes.

"It was the ancestors. Our ancestors," she said, her gaze fixed on Bonnie, her voice charged with a gravity that sent a shiver down everyone's spine. "The Bennett women ripped the veil to warn us. Something terrible is coming."

The matriarch stood up.

The trembling woman of moments ago disappeared, replaced by a figure of power and unwavering determination.

"We need to be on maximum alert. Mei's ritual is approaching. Until then, nothing can happen to her. But even after... you have to protect yourselves."

Every word was a decree, a weight that settled upon all their shoulders.

They nodded in unison, a silent pact of protection.

The day, which had begun in harmony and light, ended in shadows and omens.

Each retreated to her room, but not for sleep. They went to vigil, their senses sharpened, their hearts heavy with a new and terrible clarity.

Throughout the house, whispers of protection spells echoed, weaving barriers of light and intention, especially around the rooms of the two humans in the family.

But even with the magic buzzing in the air, a cold dread had set in.

An unwanted tenant whispering that no wall, magical or otherwise, would be enough for what was to come.

In the solitude of her room, Sheila Bennett stared intently at the wall, still trying to understand the vision she had had when the symbol burned her skin.

With a sigh, she vowed to find out.

Chapter Text

The smell of antiseptic at Mystic Falls General Hospital was a second skin to Elena.

In the diagnostic room, the cold light of the monitor illuminated the aged face of the patient, Mrs. Peterson.

"The biopsy you had will give us the definitive result," Elena said, her tone gentle, yet firm. "But please, let me be honest. I see signs that lead me to believe the best course is to start treatment as quickly as possible."

Elena didn't need the tests.

Even before the report arrived, the illness unfolded in her mind like fine lines of dark smoke, sinuous and precise. Every organ, every cell, every point of fragility was revealed before her—a silent map only she could read.

No heartbeat accelerated, no gasp betrayed surprise. For everyone else, it was just routine; for her, the pulse of life and death throbbed in invisible colors.

After reassuring the patient, Elena left the room and headed to the hospital cafeteria.

As she walked, the patients' thoughts and pains intertwined in her mind like threads of energy. The responsibility weighed heavily, but it also propelled her—an invisible current that drove her without choice, between exhaustion and clarity.

With a sandwich in hand, she sat in a corner, far from the hustle.

For a moment, her mind was free of charts and diagnoses.

The smell of coffee mixed with a dizzying sensation. A shiver ran down her spine. Visions of flowers, stones, and ancestral corners unfolded in her mind—and the memory of her ritual erupted...

Vivid.

Cutting.

Frightening.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

The overwhelming feeling that something greater than herself was happening.

She remembered the voice of Grandma Sheila, the cards arranged in a circle, the advice laden with ancestral weight.

And the burden of being the family's healer.

For Elena Gilbert Morningstar, a doctor by vocation and a witch by lineage, the calling did not come like thunder.

It came as a whisper.

An invisible flow beneath her patients' skin, revealing a world beyond anatomy and reason.

She felt life in a way no medical textbook could teach.

And no matter how hard she tried to cling to logic, the supernatural pulled her like an inevitable current.

After Scarlett's awakening, something changed. Something profound.

Elena began to see beyond flesh and bone.

Faint auras danced around the patients, vibrating in invisible colors and pulses. Rivers of energy flowed beneath human skin, and illnesses without apparent cause revealed themselves in tones, shapes, and sounds that only she could understand.

Grandma Sheila knew.

The Anomaly in Elena was awakening.

And it needed to be guided—before it consumed her, before it unbalanced her.

The ritual was scheduled for Elena's twenty-first birthday, celebrated in the most sacred place they knew: Grandma Sheila's secret garden—a sanctuary of balance and growth, where every flower seemed to hold a secret and every breath of wind carried wisdom.

The breeze brought the damp scent of petals and the gentle murmur of leaves. The five sisters were gathered, hands intertwined, forming a circle that pulsed like a heart.

Scarlett led the ritual. Her presence radiated a silent, ancient, almost palpable power—the kind of strength that doesn't impose itself, but simply exists.

The Mirror of Truth

Before a clear lake, Elena knelt.

The surface reflected her soul—and in it, the paradox.

First, the doctor: tired, yet firm eyes, surrounded by a brown warmth of healing.

Beside it, the shadow: a specter of icy lilac eyes and a smile that was half caress, half promise of destruction.

She saw the vast complexity of herself—the doctor who trusted science, the witch who listened to the whispers of nature, the savior and the dark one.

She did not look away.

She accepted the cold touch of the shadow's ice and the soft warmth of the light's fire.

The reflection smiled. And, with it, the entire lake seemed to breathe.

Elena reached out and touched the surface—the water was cold, alive, pulsing beneath her skin.

A circular wave spread, enveloping her legs, her hands, her heart. The current ran through her completely, as if the lake recognized her choice: to become whole, to flow between opposing forces without resistance.

She smiled back, feeling the vibration echo down to her bones. The surface gently rippled, reverberating the moment her soul recognized itself.

It wasn't just a reflection.

It was decision. It was action. It was power.

The witch and the doctor, the light and the shadow, were now united—and the water was the silent seal of that union.

The Soul's Song

She closed her eyes.

The sisters chanted an ancient incantation—deep, ancestral.

The sound grew in spirals of golden dust, floating over the heads of the five sisters.

Elena felt the chant not just in her ears, but in her bones.

Her body vibrated like the pillars of an old church, whispering forgotten secrets.

And then, she understood: she knew how to sing it too.

The song of her soul.

And of the universe.

When she opened her mouth, the sound that escaped was not human—it was a third voice, dense and primordial, like the echo of a sleeping mountain.

The garden soil vibrated beneath her feet, and the scent of Grandma Sheila's flowers mingled with the warm air.

The petals bowed in reverence to the newfound harmony.

An invisible thread connected her heart to eternity.

She breathed in the rhythm of this universal harmony,

feeling herself part of the same pulse that moved stars and storms.

Even when the sound ceased, the chant still vibrated within her—silent, eternal.

The Weave of Life

With bare hands, Elena approached the ancient loom.

It was covered in dust and magic.

The threads of darkness were not cotton—they were black smoke, very fine, made of pain, memory, and fury.

The threads of light, in contrast, looked like liquid crystal: bright, pulsating, the pure essence of hope.

She took them without hesitation.

The echo of the chant still resonated within her when she began to weave.

She mixed colors. Created loops. Intertwined knots.

The sound of the loom accompanied her breathing—a gentle compass, like the beating of her own heart.

With each throw of the shuttle, the black smoke thickened before being tied down by the liquid crystal.

The shadow did not dissolve, but was contained, delineated by the light.

The pain transformed.

The imperfection revealed its own beauty.

In silence, she thought of the scars she once tried to hide.

Now she understood: each one of them was an essential thread in her tapestry.

When the weaving ceased, a small piece of fabric rested in her hands.

In it were all her united fragments—

Light and shadow.

Laughter and tears.

Courage and fear.

A sacred fragment of the cosmos, contained in her hands—

pulsing with a lilac mist that breathed along with her.

The Touch of Balance

Two stones were placed in her hands.

A black obsidian—protection, depth, shadow.

A clear quartz crystal—healing, clarity, light.

Elena felt the heat of the obsidian burning, almost cold.

She felt the lightness of the quartz pulsating with vitality.

She pressed them against her chest.

The doctor, who trusted touch, felt the cellular structure beneath the quartz.

The witch, who trusted energy, perceived the flow of the cosmos beneath the obsidian.

The instant the two stones touched the center of her chest, a lilac electric arc flashed, aligning her internal axis—opposites that did not cancel each other out, but completed one another.

In the touch of the obsidian, she perceived the silent weight of the world's pain.

In the touch of the quartz, she felt the lightness of hope.

And, in the subtle shock between the two, she found balance.

The doctor and the witch were one.

Body and soul intertwined, shadows and light dancing in perfect harmony.

Every breath wove the very essence of the universe within her.

The Chalice of Unity

A rustic chalice, made of ancestral ceramic, was passed to her.

Inside it, drops of blood dripped from her sisters' hands—

each drop, a bond; each cut, a silent vow of union and strength.

The aroma was sweet, earthy, ancient.

Laden with ancestral memories and promises.

The amulet around her neck didn't just pulse—it glowed.

A white-lilac flash illuminated the faces of the five sisters as Elena drank.

The blood was dense, but the energy set every cell on fire, elevated every beat of her heart.

Her eyes opened, revealing a lilac depth that seemed to absorb all the light of the garden.

Her body did not fall; it floated for an instant—rigid, vibrant—before being supported by her sisters.

The air around them smelled of electricity and ancient magic.

Then, she closed her eyes.

She was still smiling, even in sleep.

Within that sleep, she was waking up.

Waking up to herself.

To the strength she carried.

To the bond that united her to her sisters, to magic, and to the destiny that now flowed through her entire being.

The Glass Dream

Elena was in an empty house, made entirely of glass.

Light danced in infinite reflections, multiplying every movement.

The crystal floor displayed dark blood on the walls—but, from the transparent ground, vivid flowers, red as embers, sprouted.

An impossible contrast. Beautiful. Painful.

A piano played alone.

The melody was melancholic and pure, echoing through the silence of the glass.

And in front of the fireplace—whose flame burned with a gentle, constant glow—she danced.

She danced with a faceless man, whose presence enveloped her like a warm cloak.

He did not speak.

But his hands whispered—on the curve of her waist, on her skin, in the air.

She felt peace and loss at the same time.

A familiarity that hurt.

His scent was fire and cedar—strange, unforgettable.

And his eyes, even nameless, were deep as abysses, full of an ancient understanding.

The melody slowed.

The light curved around them.

And Elena realized—she was dancing with duality.

With the shadow and the light, accepting them in the same beat.

The Awakening

The golden light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the curtains of the Bennett house.

The scent of burnt herbs and the energy of the ritual still hung in the air.

Elena was lying among her sisters.

Caroline hugged her.

Bonnie held her hand.

Mei stroked her hair.

Scarlett watched in silence—her gaze fixed, protective.

She sat up slowly.

Her mind clearer than ever.

Her body vibrating with a new energy—profound.

Every heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Every leaf moving outside, every gust of wind, resonated within her.

As if the world breathed along with her.

Elena felt her body, mind, and soul expand.

Light and shadow danced together inside her, weaving a harmony previously impossible.

She didn't need to name herself. Just feel.

For an instant, time seemed to curve around her.

The air became denser, almost sacred.

And she understood.

The old Elena—the human doctor—had been transmuted.

Now...

she was immortal.

Divided in her essence,

but complete in her duality.

Somewhere...

In a room with arched windows, walls lined with ancient books, and the aroma of centuries permeating the air, an ancestral-souled vampire paused his reading.

The night was serene; the moon shed silver light through the windowpanes.

But something in his breathing became dense, heavy, as if the air had been altered by an unknown—viscerally familiar—essence.

He raised his eyes from his treatise on Celtic mythology.

The notes in the margin, previously important, suddenly seemed insignificant.

The yellowed pages whispered ancestral secrets.

The fireplace burned with a gentle glow, casting dancing shadows on his disciplined face. Always contained. Always silent.

But on that night... something broke inside.

An invisible thread pulled at his spirit.

It spanned centuries.

As if something he didn't know he was looking for had finally emerged.

He felt tenderness.

And a melancholy so delicate that it seemed to hurt.

As if a soul very much like his own had been touched by eternity.

A soul that understood the beauty in ruin, life in death, the dance of duality.

And she had called him.

Without a voice.

Without words.

Just with a faint vibration in the immortal blood that still dared to circulate in his veins.

He closed his eyes.

For an instant—just one—he saw:

A golden field.

A woman kneeling on the earth.

Eyes tear-filled, but firm.

Face like a veil of mist.

Something in her posture.

In the way she touched the ground.

In the way she faced her own shadows.

He leaned in, as if he could hear her breathe.

It wasn't love. Not yet.

It was recognition.

A shattered mirror of an unlived past.

It was the silent confirmation of a sealed destiny.

He inhaled slowly.

The vision dissolved.

The air in the room now seemed only the memory of an unknown scent.

The glass of bourbon in his hand, which he didn't even remember holding, trembled slightly before he set it down on the table.

But the impact remained.

He knew: soon, they would meet.

────✧────

In the first few days, silence was the greatest transformation.

There were no explosions of power.

Just a restless lightness.

As if a new world had sprouted within her, waiting to be explored.

Medicine, her safe harbor, was no longer enough.

Now, Elena saw through bodies.

She heard broken thoughts, especially from those who hurt, those who feared.

She saw silent tumors.

She felt souls that wanted to leave.

She didn't just diagnose.

She felt.

During training with Scarlett, her strength grew like a tide.

She disarmed Caroline with a single gesture, swift and precise.

In dives with Bonnie, she disappeared under the water like a liquid shadow, almost effortlessly.

At night, she wrote.

As if words were the only means to anchor herself to the new Elena emerging beneath her own skin.

The Nightmare

It happened in a dark dream.

Elena ran through mirrored corridors, surrounded by reflections that were not hers.

She heard the voices of dead doctors.

Blood ran down the walls.

Children murmured her name.

When she looked back...

The floor opened up.

She fell.

And screamed.

In the scream, they emerged.

Black wings like ancestral ravens.

Made of pain and light.

Real. Imposing. Painful.

She woke up on the bedroom floor.

Blood and feathers.

Not from the dream. But from herself.

Sheila rushed in.

She found Elena on her knees, wings open like veils of the night.

"I... I don't know how... they came out," Elena whispered, confused.

Sheila simply embraced her, feeling the power radiating from her granddaughter.

"You are being who you always were."

The Proof of Instinct

Elena never wanted to kill.

For her, death was a system failure.

But when the threat came to Sheila, instinct spoke first.

A warlock invaded the Bennett garden.

Obsessed with the power of the bloodline, he wanted to create a prison world.

For that, he needed Bennett blood.

Elena felt the rupture in the air before she even saw the flash of profane magic.

Sheila fell.

Her abdomen pierced by a magical dagger.

"Grandma!" Elena roared.

With supernatural speed, she reached the enemy.

Her fingers closed around his heart.

The warlock collapsed before realizing the danger, his body slumping lifelessly while the organ still pulsed in her hands.

She turned to Sheila.

Lilac eyes blazing.

Power boiling in her veins.

She healed her grandmother with a firm touch, the skin regenerating beneath her fingers.

But before she could breathe...

The pain became a roar in her throat.

Her knees buckled.

She felt the earth in her hands as her skin stretched and tore.

Rage was the only form.

The world narrowed to the smell of blood and the need for the hunt.

The wolf within her awakened, fueled by the pain and fury of seeing Sheila injured.

She ran into the forest.

When she returned to human form, fallen in the rain, Sheila was there.

Eyes kind and full of acceptance.

"Thank you, darling. Don't blame yourself. Death, sometimes, is the gift that balances the scale."

That night, Elena cried in Bonnie's arms.

She allowed the emotion of the transformation and the first blood to overwhelm her.

Mei dressed her gently, in silence.

Scarlett and Caroline watched from outside, a living wall of protection.

The next morning, Elena wrote.

Like never before.

About the pain.

About the wings.

About the blood.

About the fact that, even after killing, she still felt like herself.

At the end of the last notebook, she signed.

Then, she picked up the dead warlock's dagger.

She felt its evil power.

With a focused look, she reduced it to dust and buried the remains under a flower in the garden.

She knew: she would never back down.

Back in the present, Elena felt: that moment, years ago, had shaped her life.

And now, Mei's ritual was approaching.

The sandwich lost its taste.

A chill ran down her spine.

The familiar thirst, a constant reminder of the duality that now defined her.

But instead of panic, there was only acceptance.

After the warning from the cards and the "attack" the previous night, Elena knew...

No matter what came.

They would face it together.

Elena picked up a bottle of blood.

As she drank, the phone vibrated. Damon was calling.

She smiled, but there was a contained sadness in that gesture.

No matter how hard she tried, the image of the man with black eyes, impeccable suit, dancing with her, would not leave her mind.

In silence, she wondered:

"Is being with Damon the right choice? After everything that happened?"

But her heart, confused and stubborn, whispered yes.

She sighed, staring into nothing, holding the bottle like a link between past and present.

"Damon..." she murmured, only to herself, before answering the call.

The smile returned to her lips, softer, more real, but her eyes still carried the weight of what she couldn't forget.

Chapter Text

The instant the symbol of living darkness etched itself into Sheila's skin, the scream that died in her throat wasn't from physical pain.

The burn was a mere echo, a carnal reminder of a far deeper violation.

The mark wasn't a scar. It was a key.

And, as it plunged into her flesh, it opened a door—not outward, but inward, to a place where sanity unraveled like shattered glass.

The reality of the studio dissolved in a blink.

Sheila was hurled into a spectral plane, a frigid limbo where the air was thick with the silent wails of lost souls. The cold didn't come from the skin, but from the spirit, as if her essence were being stripped away layer by layer.

In the center of that purgatory, a figure made of living antimatter stood. It wasn't merely darkness: it was a hungry void that devoured light itself. With every glance, its form shifted—a blur of impossible silhouettes that should never coexist in the same space.

Seated before a chessboard, the entity radiated ancestral power and pure malevolence, so dense it made Sheila's essence tremble.

Around it, specters stirred like moths trapped in a black flame, writhing in morbid ecstasy. They were the audience for a cruel, divine game.

Sheila's heart—or whatever passed for a heart on that plane—turned into a stone of ice.

The pieces on the board.

There were six.

They were them.

Carved not in ivory, but in solidified soul, each piece was a perfect replica, pulsing with the vibrant essence of her family.

There was Sheila, the Queen Mother.

Scarlett, the Rook of fury and protection.

Elena, the Bishop of light and compassion.

Caroline, the astute and unpredictable Knight.

Bonnie, the Elemental Queen, burning with the power of the world.

And in the center, small and vulnerable: Mei, the Pawn, still modest, but charged with incalculable potential.

An unbearable silence dominated the abyss as the formless hand of darkness rose.

With a slow, deliberate, and almost bored motion, it touched Sheila's piece.

A casual push.

An inevitable slide.

In the core of her being, Sheila felt the undeniable truth, a fracture in her soul: her time, her purpose as the physical guardian, was ending.

Her piece was being sacrificed.

Sacrificed for what?

To open the game.

The vision shattered, returning her to reality with the brutal force of a punch.

The scar on her hand burned, but it was an insignificant heat compared to the winter that had settled in her heart.

The initial fear dissipated, replaced by something much colder.

Not despair.

Not surrender.

But a steel determination, forged in anticipated grief.

Leaving the memory behind, the matriarch let out a deep sigh.

Not of relief.

But of a resignation that hurt like branding iron.

She had always known she needed to prepare them. Her mission wasn't just to love, care, and protect. It was to mold them, to sharpen them until they became blades capable of cutting fate itself.

The warning from her ancestors was no longer a prophecy. It was a sentence.

The hunt had begun, and Sheila knew it since the day her firstborn, Emma, died.

The girls' father had entrusted not just Bonnie, but all the daughters to her. This burden sealed her certainty: something powerful and sinister was moving in the shadows.

And she... would be the bait.

The first piece to be devoured, so the others could advance.

Pain?

Fear?

Sacrifice?

Empty words.

The only thing that mattered was their survival.

She would gladly die, if her death bought the future of her granddaughters.

While mechanically correcting her students' tests, Sheila's mind was a turmoil. The smell of fresh ink and paper seemed to mock her, trying to anchor her to a normality that no longer existed.

The tarot cards she had been reading for weeks now screamed in her mind in a mocking chorus.

The Tower.

Death.

The Devil.

Shadowy presence.

Inevitable pain.

Approaching grief.

The calm of the past years was just that: a bad joke. An illusion for fools.

But Sheila Bennett never allowed herself such a luxury.

She trained them since they were entrusted to her, not just in spells, but in combat. Not just to be powerful, but to survive.

And still, the fear remained.

Because Sheila knew what grief could do.

When Emma, Bonnie's mother, died, she herself succumbed to alcohol. Neither her daughter Abby nor her grandson Jamie were able to bring her back.

She loved them, yes. But only Bonnie's visit—who carried so much of Emma in her face—could elicit a smile from her.

It was only when those five little girls became her responsibility that the will to live was returned to her.

They were her granddaughters.

Her precious girls.

And her only fear was that the pain, when it came, would break them.

Even in the face of the threat, Sheila would not retreat.

On the contrary, she would advance.

With Mei's ritual on the horizon, the youngest's training would be intensified. It would be brutal. But it was necessary.

Sheila would ensure that, when her time came, her girls were already ready.

And yet, there was a void that no spell could fill.

No matter how much she knew about wolves, ancestral magic, and even the limits of the immortal side, there was no way to touch the flow of celestial power that pulsed within them. It wasn't her granddaughters' magic that stopped her, but the alien nature of that gift.

She knew that if she could guide them there, in that blind spot, they could defeat any threat in an instant. But she couldn't. It was a missing link, something beyond her comprehension, so vast and ancient that not even the experience of her lineage could reach it.

The granddaughters didn't know either. Ignorant of the extent of their own power as Angel-Demons, they relied on portals, time control, the wings that sometimes appeared... but all of this was only a fragment of what they were capable of. And this ignorance was their greatest vulnerability, something Sheila felt weighing on her heart like an anchor of fear.

She carried on her shoulders the unbearable weight of being the blind guardian of the most powerful thing in her girls.

With firm hands, she picked up a map of Mystic Falls and began marking points. Every line on the map, every plan drawn, was a silent scream: 'Survive, even if I can't fully guide you.'

The Illusion of Peace

As the days passed, routine became a farce.

The girls continued their lives, but everything was nothing more than a performance on a glass stage about to shatter.

Every shadow was a potential enemy.

Every creak of the house, a herald of doom.

No one slept out.

No one dared to leave Sheila alone.

The sanctuary had become a fortress besieged by an invisible enemy.

"We have to be ready for hell," Caroline said, her tense voice echoing through the small library as she flipped through an ancient grimoire.

"Magically and physically ready," Scarlett replied, her eyes fixed on her own book, but not truly reading. She was planning. Her gaze was steel.

Suddenly, she got up and started pacing. The combat instinct had already taken over her body.

"But we've always trained..." Elena intervened. Her soft voice was tired, almost broken.

Fighting had never been strange to her. Heir to complex bloodlines, Elena carried a mosaic of forces in her blood. Her father, a vast supernatural power. Her mother, Isobel, Grayson Gilbert's half-sister—a human hunter lineage. And then there were the Petrova. That's why she was a duplicate, destined to fight to survive.

But this... this wasn't just survival.

It was profanation.

"I think all the preparation in the world might be little," Bonnie whispered.

The weight in her voice, a hollow dread, made all heads turn to her.

"You... saw something?" Mei's voice trembled. It was the question they all feared to ask.

Bonnie's face twisted in frustration and fear.

"No! That's the problem. It's like looking into an abyss. I see nothing. The future of none of us exists." The confession came out as a broken whisper, more a wound than an answer.

For Bonnie, this was a cruel punishment. A psychic witch who had always been able to see the threads of time, now blind. Since the ritual, her powers were almost limitless. She saw futures, read minds, created illusions. She had spent years building barriers not to go crazy.

And now, before her, there was a wall. Invisible. Cold.

Not built by her, but by an external force.

An absolute void.

Mocking.

"Something... or someone is blocking you," Caroline said, closing the grimoire with a bang that sounded like thunder.

Her strategic mind was already racing. And the possibilities were terrifying.

"And if someone with that kind of power exists..." Mei let the sentence die in the air, swallowed by fear.

They all knew the unspoken truth. After the ritual, their abilities surpassed even those of an Original. They were anomalies. The greatest ever created.

And the idea of facing someone equal—or worse, someone superior—was suffocating.

The weight of Sheila's humanity.

Mei's fragility.

All of it weighed like an anchor on their minds.

"Panic won't solve anything," Scarlett said, adopting her alpha voice. The facade of strength almost hid the terror in her eyes.

"What if we try together?" Caroline suggested, a spark of desperate hope lighting her face.

"It's worth a try," Elena agreed.

"Yes, but first... protection," Bonnie said, her voice firm. "I won't be caught by surprise again."

After a whispered spell, the air shimmered like shattering glass.

The five sisters held hands. The silence around them was a prayer.

"Show us the future..." Bonnie murmured.

The vision hit them like a heat wave—not a simple flash, but a sudden dive into another era.

The air changed. Time stopped.

It wasn't an image; it was an entire life condensed into one second.

Suddenly, they were in an untouched forest, the air laden with the smell of pine and damp moss.

The sun poured in golden rays through the canopies, and the dominant sound was the crystalline laughter that danced through the wind.

Light. Free.

Witches without the burden of the anomaly or the chains of destiny.

Around them, five men—young, in rustic clothes, from a forgotten time.

They were neither soldiers nor nobles. They were simple men, marked by a raw gentleness that radiated from every gesture, as if every touch were a silent promise.

Scarlett felt the heat of a strong arm around her waist—the firm touch of a hunter, his hand wrinkled by work.

There was a protective solemnity in him, a dormant fury—but directed only at the outside world.

In his clear eyes, she saw the promise of an unshakeable home.

Elena rested on a white blanket, her head leaning on the shoulder of a man with a noble posture, even simply dressed.

He exuded an ancestral calm, a sense of duty, as if he carried centuries of loyalty in silence.

His love was a gentle anchor, promising her redemption and acceptance.

Caroline laughed, and the sound echoed through the field of wildflowers.

She curled up in the arms of a man with a cunning smile and unpredictable gaze.

Delight was his touch; danger, his promise.

She felt the rush of adventure, her heart pulsing in perfect sync with his—certain she would be loved with a wild intensity.

Bonnie was holding hands with the one who made her feel completely seen.

His fingers, lightly stained with dirt, squeezed hers with a silent devotion.

He was vibrant, impulsive—the very definition of harmonious chaos.

He did not fear her. He adored her.

And when their eyes met, the psychic link between them vibrated like an ancient song, deep and alive.

Mei, the youngest, played with the hair of a young man with a tender countenance.

He smiled at her with patient love, teaching her about the earth and the stars.

His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and awakened feelings in her that transcended time.

It was a picnic in a paradise molded in liquid magic.

They felt the wind on their skin.

The smell of earth.

The human and vulnerable heartbeat of their beloveds, contrasting with the power they themselves carried.

The forest breathed with them, every leaf pulsing in tune with their hearts—as if the world, for an instant, believed in the impossible.

And in that perfect glimpse, they understood that magic sometimes shows not what will be,

but what the heart would have chosen...

if the world were fair.

It was a pure future.

An impossible future.

When the vision ended, they were all gasping. Shock was etched on their faces.

"What the hell was that?" Scarlett whispered, her heart racing, her hand pressed against her chest.

The men from the post-ritual dreams came to their minds. But that... that had been too real to be just a dream.

Mei could barely speak, her eyes shining with something between ecstasy and fear.

"Wow... that was... wow."

"Looks like our future is turning into hippies on a paradise island," Caroline said, forcing a grimace that didn't hide the tremor in her voice.

"That should make us feel calm..." Bonnie confessed, staring into the void. "But I don't feel that way." She faced her sisters. They all nodded, the same weight corroding their chests. "The wall is still there. After this scene... there is only the void. As if my eyes have been gouged out."

"Don't worry, Bon," Elena said, pulling her into a tight hug. "As long as we're together, everything will be fine."

"Elena is right," Scarlett stated, serious. "If the price to get to that island is crossing hell, so be it. As long as we get there... together."

They nodded, the bond between them tightening like a hangman's knot.

The vision was not a solace.

It was torture.

A mirage of unreachable peace, hovering over an abyss of darkness.

The evil was not just knocking at the door.

It was already inside.

Laughing at the future it planned to steal.

Meanwhile, on a spiritual plane that bent at the edge of reality, an ethereal woman smiled.

It wasn't a smile of joy, but the cold, cruel curve of lips that had forgotten what happiness was. Her skin seemed made of veils of darkness that moved like living smoke, and in her hair were sparks of dead stars.

Her eyes, two holes of emptiness between broken constellations, watched the threads of the Morningstar sisters' destiny shining on an astral map.

"Everything is moving... in perfect sync," she whispered, her voice a dark melody that seemed to corrode the silence. "The youngest will soon ascend. The board will be complete. And the matriarch... ah, poor Sheila already smells her own mortality."

She slid a hand through the cosmic smoke. Space responded like a veil being torn.

A new chessboard materialized, made of solidified darkness.

The pieces were neither stone nor wood.

They were grotesque replicas of Sheila's vision, but they pulsed, as if made of flesh and shadow. Some cried. Others screamed voicelessly.

The woman laughed. Not a human laugh, but a hollow, dissonant sound that echoed in the void like chains breaking.

"So many pawns to be sacrificed..." she said, with an acidic humor forged in centuries of hatred. "So many beautiful futures to be crushed, just to corner the queens."

The pieces trembled under her slender hand, as if they recognized the cruel destiny that awaited.

The vision the sisters had?

It wasn't hope.

It was a list of targets.

Their happiness would be hunted, one by one, until it turned to dust.

She would stage something worthy of a tragedy. A novel written with blood and tears.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold, isn't it?" she murmured, leaning over the board. "And for the Morningstars... I'm preparing a feast of ages."

Her laughter grew louder. First soft, then hoarse, until it exploded in a hollow, dissonant sound that seemed to corrode the very silence, as if chains of antimatter were breaking. It was a laugh that seemed to come from several mouths at once, as if the souls imprisoned within her were also forced to laugh.

"And at the right time... Checkmate." Her voice carried a perverse magnetism, the promise of inevitable annihilation. "You will pay for everything, Daddy Morningstar." The title left her lips with the venom of an old joke. "And I will have a front-row seat to watch you suffer helplessly while your precious daughters pay for every one of your sins."

As she spoke, the shadows around her screamed. They were not echoes. They were laments. The souls that had been lost in her previous games.

Her booming laughter mingled with these screams, becoming a chorus of torment that made space vibrate.

And there, in the heart of darkness, she wasn't predicting fate.

She was writing it.

Chapter Text

Caroline was sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by fabric swatches, color palettes, and sketches scattered like fragments of a dream. The apartment looked like a creative labyrinth—and she, the queen of chaos trying to give shape to her own mind.

Her latest project, the renovation of a coffee shop in downtown Mystic Falls, consumed every minute of her rest. The fatigue weighed on her shoulders, yet it was still better than facing the shadow that hovered over them.

The late afternoon light streamed through the curtains in golden strips, touching the fabrics as if to steal some of their color. Caroline ran her fingers over a sample of blue velvet, her eyes fixed on the void, when a familiar voice broke the silence.

“What’s up, queen of mess, haven’t you eaten yet?” Matt’s voice echoed with a smile.

She blinked, returning to the present, and a tired—but genuine—smile formed on her lips.

“Matt! I lost track of time... I thought you were at work.”

He knelt down among the fabrics, moving the papers to make space. His light touch organizing the chaos drew a brief laugh from her. Matt kissed her forehead, tenderly.

“And I thought you were turning into an inspiration board.” He lifted a bag. “I brought your favorite sandwich.”

A sigh escaped her—half relief, half hunger.

“You’re an angel. Just give me a minute, I just need to...”

“Caroline,” he interrupted her gently, holding her hand, “five minutes won't ruin your masterpiece.”

She hesitated, her gaze divided between the work and his affection, and finally surrendered. They sat on the floor, side by side, surrounded by fabrics and unfinished dreams. Caroline devoured the sandwich while talking about textures, tones, and sensations.

Matt just watched—the sparkle in her eyes, the excited gesticulation of her hands, the enthusiasm that transformed every idea into something alive. Caroline was light. Light amidst the constant darkness of Mystic Falls.

The silence that followed was comfortable, almost sacred. Only the sound of their mixed breaths and the warmth of their intertwined hands. He was her safe harbor. And she loved him—truly loved him. Matt was her rock, her certainty.

But since the ritual, something inside her remained misaligned. An invisible crack, as if a part of her was still vibrating on another frequency—a memory that never silenced itself.

The image of Matt by her side began to fade, the colors of the room dissolving like ink in water. The smell of coffee, the touch of the fabric, the weight of the present—everything was slipping away.

And then she was back.

The memory emerged, vivid, painful.

Caroline saw herself in a gown, her diploma in her hands and her heart light—for an instant, believing she could be just human again. But the next memory was stronger. It was her twenty-first birthday. A year after Elena.

And it was on that day that she also faced the ritual.

The day everything changed—and nothing, not Matt’s love, nor the light of the sunset, would ever make her forget the metallic taste of that sacrifice.

The Awakening of Caroline: The Rite of the Forging of Will

Caroline had always been the group's vibrant energy—the one who organized, anticipated, controlled.

But there was an attack that left scars that time would not erase.

Sheila knew: if Caroline wished to reach her fullness, she would need to confront the darkness that still lived within her.

The ritual would be a journey of Will Forging.

And it would happen in the place Caroline feared most: the basement of the Bennett house.

The cold breeze descending the stairs seemed to whisper challenges, like voices of ancient spirits testing her courage.

Caroline took a deep breath.

Each step was a renunciation of comfort—and a surrender to truth.

Each shadow, a mirror of what she tried to hide.

But she knew: the moment had come to prove to herself that her strength went far beyond aesthetics and control.

The Confrontation with Chaos

On the night of the ritual, Caroline spent hours alone in the basement.

The air, saturated with salt and burnt herbs, clung to her skin like a living mantle.

There was no light.

The world was reduced to the circle of salt that protected her—the only point of order in an ocean of darkness.

Her eyes scanned the objects left by Sheila:

quartz crystals that held the sunlight,

black mirrors that swallowed her image,

ancient books whose pages whispered forgotten secrets.

Everything in fragile balance.

Everything in ancestral symmetry.

Then, the sound began.

A disturbing high-pitched note—long and cutting, tearing the fabric of reality.

Chaos set in.

The objects trembled.

Books fell, crystals rolled, shadows twisted like invisible snakes.

The air became dense. Frigid.

And, in an instant, painful memories invaded her mind.

The attack.

The fear.

The broken world.

Perfection shattered into a thousand fragments.

Caroline stumbled a step back.

The circle of salt shook—for a second, it almost dissolved.

But she lifted her gaze.

She breathed deeply.

Pulled the heavy air inside her, like one wrenching courage from a burning field.

The circle reignited with a golden spark, responding to her inner strength.

She allowed the fear to exist.

Not as a prison.

But as a living presence—a shadow that deserved to be recognized, not denied.

And then, she stood up.

Firm.

Inside the circle, she faced the chaos as one faces an ancient titan.

Every toppled stone.

Every swaying shadow.

Every whisper laden with fury.

And she responded with the calm of one who knows their own power.

The storm roared—and Caroline did not flinch.

She faced it.

And survived it.

The basement, previously just dark and silent, now vibrated with respect.

The mirrors reflected flames that did not exist.

The crystals flickered like living hearts.

Even the air seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Caroline fell to her knees, exhausted, but smiling.

Chaos had bowed before her.

And in that instant, every particle of the house recognized:

Caroline was not just a survivor.

She was a tamer of the storm.

When she opened her eyes, the air felt new—light, warm.

The energy still pulsed within her, alive and tamed.

The stairs in front of her seemed more illuminated than before.

And, as she climbed back up, Caroline realized that something inside her had changed forever.

Chaos now had a new name.

It was called will.

The Flame of Determination

The next morning, Sheila led Caroline back to the basement.

In the center of the space, a burning brazier pulsed like a living heart.

The fire crackled with its own intensity, projecting shadows that danced on the stone walls, painting the environment with golden—almost sacred—reflections.

“Keep the flame alive, Caroline,” said Sheila, her voice firm as the echo of ancestral wisdom.

The flame wavered.

It flickered as if reflecting the doubt that still resided within the young blonde's chest.

But Caroline took a deep breath.

She immersed herself in her own energy.

She allowed the memory of the pain to pass through her—and, instead of fleeing, she embraced it.

She felt the old frustration of being underestimated.

The rightful anger of being silenced.

The thirst to prove, to the world and to herself, that no one else would determine her limit.

The fire responded.

First, with shyness.

Then, with recognition.

It grew.

It took shape.

It bowed to Caroline’s will.

She raised her hands.

She didn’t touch the fire—she only felt it.

And, by the power of her mind and the intensity of her heart, she made the flame dance.

It grew.

It shrank.

It spun in the air like a living creature.

And then... it synchronized with her breathing.

A ballet of light and heat.

Smooth. Absolute.

Control.

Focus.

Strength.

The brazier was no longer just fire.

It was an extension of Caroline.

A reflection of her determination.

A living manifestation of contained power.

Every crackle, every spark vibrated beyond the basement.

It echoed in every fiber of her soul.

The Web of Destiny

With her eyes blindfolded, Caroline was led to another room.

The air there felt different—denser, quieter.

When Sheila removed the blindfold, Caroline saw: the space was covered with translucent threads, suspended like spider webs woven by magic itself.

They were almost invisible.

Delicate as silk.

Strong as beams of light.

A living network.

A magical web.

Destiny braided in silence.

“Cross it without touching anything,” Sheila ordered.

Caroline hesitated.

She took a step.

Another.

But soon stumbled.

The threads vibrated in response, emitting a sharp sound, almost a lament.

Every mistake made the web pulse like a warning—a reminder that balance and haste never coexist.

Frustration rose like a tidal wave.

She wanted to succeed, she wanted to control.

But she remembered the chaos she had faced.

The flame she had dominated.

And, above all, the power that came from inner silence.

She took a deep breath.

Silenced her mind.

Let her heart take command.

Then, she felt.

Not with her eyes.

Nor with her hands.

But with something deeper.

She felt the vibration of each thread.

The space between them.

The movement of the air.

The air—which had previously oppressed her—now enveloped her.

It whispered secrets.

It guided her steps.

Caroline bent.

She turned.

She slid.

She moved with supernatural lightness, as if the wind itself became part of her body.

Every step was a note.

Every gesture, a symphony.

The Air element had chosen her.

It granted her the gift of feeling the invisible.

Of understanding the intangible.

Of being the bridge between control and freedom.

When she reached the other side, Caroline had not merely crossed the web.

She had mastered it.

She had danced with the wind.

She had turned every thread into an ally.

And in that instant, she understood:

She was no longer a prisoner of destiny.

She was the weaver of it.

The Breaking of Limits

Sheila handed her a rough quartz crystal—opaque, dense, ancient.

A heart of stone that held centuries in silence.

“Break it with the strongest part of you.”

Caroline closed her eyes.

And the memories came like sharp blades:

The voice that called her weak.

The times she kept silent so as not to bother.

The fear of being too much—and of never being enough.

Every limit.

Every doubt.

Every diminishment.

Everything echoed within her.

And this time, she did not run away.

She breathed.

She felt the fire in her lungs.

And she allowed the scream to be born.

It was not pain.

It was liberation.

A primal sound, tearing the air and the flesh of the world.

The vibration passed through the floor, her bones, the space—and then the crystal.

The quartz moaned.

It cracked.

It fragmented.

Into hundreds of shimmering pieces, dancing in spirals of light.

The echo of the scream still lingered in the air when Caroline opened her eyes.

There was no blood.

There was no wound.

Only power.

She had not touched the crystal.

But she had molded it with her own will.

Transcending the physical.

Breaking the limits.

Recreating herself.

Caroline did not just break the crystal.

She broke what held her contained.

The Chalice of the Covenant

Finally, Sheila presented her with the ceremonial chalice.

Obsidian and silver.

An artifact that breathed ancient power.

Inside it, the mixed blood of Scarlett, Elena, Bonnie, and Mei glowed in deep red—almost alive.

The sisters watched her in silence.

Their gazes formed an invisible circle around her.

Guards.

Roots.

Bonds.

Caroline felt their energy crossing the air and intertwining with her soul.

Not as a burden.

But as roots that grounded her to the earth and to destiny.

She raised the chalice.

And drank.

The liquid was thick, warm.

It tasted of lightning and wet earth—the flavor of eternity.

The power rose like an electric current.

It awakened ancient forces.

It opened portals within her.

Every sip was a pact.

A link.

A calling.

Before the sacred sleep enveloped her, Caroline smiled.

A smile of acceptance.

Of rebirth.

The Dream

The garden was formal, yet twisted.

White roses were entwined with crystal thorns, and the light—cold, metallic—made everything beautiful and threatening.

Caroline tried to prune the branches.

Every cut was useless.

They were reborn.

Stronger.

Wilder.

Then, she appeared.

The white wolf.

Eyes of ice.

Fur like snow under the moon.

She did not judge.

She only observed.

And, serene, she lay down before her—a silent invitation to cease the struggle.

Caroline lowered the shears.

The silence vibrated like an ancient spell.

It was then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

A man.

Blue eyes, electric.

A mischievous smile on a serious face.

He said nothing.

He only guided.

He led her to the center of the garden, where chaos and order merged into an impossible harmony.

And he enveloped her in a silent waltz.

Caroline let control slip from her fingers.

And acceptance be born.

His scent was wet earth and sandalwood.

A paradox.

The same one that existed within her.

She danced—with the savagery she had always tried to suppress,

with the beauty of what could not be tamed.

And, for the first time, she did not want to defeat chaos.

She just wanted to belong to it.

The Awakening

The morning light filtered through the curtains of the Bennett house.

The air still smelled of salt and burnt herbs.

Caroline opened her eyes.

Lying among her sisters.

Scarlett and Elena helped her sit up.

Bonnie and Mei watched in silence—looks of reverence, as if witnessing a sunrise.

She rose.

Slowly.

Her mind—clear as the broken crystal.

Her body—vibrating, every fiber pulsating with power.

The girl who sought perfection had died.

What remained now was something more.

The Master of Will.

Forged in chaos.

Transmuted by the flame.

Chosen by the wind.

Sealed by the blood.

Complete in her strength.

Whole in her essence.

And when she smiled, the world seemed to bow—not to perfection, but to the harmony born of accepted imperfection.

Somewhere...

An ancient gallery.

Renaissance sculptures.

Paintings of pain and beauty.

A millenary man paused his brush.

The breeze entered through the window, bringing an intoxicating perfume:

damp earth.

Fresh jasmine.

He closed his eyes.

And saw her.

A wild garden.

Crystal roses among shadow thorns.

And in the center—her.

Dancing.

Sometimes trying to control.

Sometimes surrendering.

Gracious.

Fierce.

By her side, the white wolf.

The man felt dizzy.

Order and chaos.

Beauty and savagery.

Strength that does not need to dominate to exist.

He knew that scent, that soul, that spark.

He had seen it in fragments for centuries.

Now, it was real.

His own inner wolf roared in recognition.

A rare smile curved his lips.

His cruel eyes softened for an instant.

“Fascinating...” he murmured, before returning to the canvas.

Without realizing it, he had painted:

a white rose, born from the twisted soil.

First Days

The first days were a whirlwind of sensations.

Caroline felt people's vibrations—intentions, emotions, veiled lies.

Her spells became instantaneous, requiring only a thought.

Reality seemed to bend to her will.

In training with her sisters, her strength and agility rivaled Elena's.

She moved objects with her mind, controlled the temperature of environments, altered magical vibrations in the air.

Bonnie, observing with keen perception, commented:

“You are the most grounded of us... You mold the world as if you have always belonged to it.”

On a quiet afternoon, during a street fair in Mystic Falls, Caroline felt it first: a chilling shiver ran down her spine.

In the crowd, a group of supernatural hunters approached—enchanted weapons vibrated with hostile magic.

One of them, corpulent, empty-eyed, focused on Mei.

Caroline acted without hesitation.

A savage scream escaped her throat—not human.

Her body contorted.

Blonde hair became white, imposing fur.

Her blue eyes shone with intense light.

The white wolf—majestic, with snowy fur, sharp fangs, dominant eyes—emerged.

Authority incarnate.

She interposed herself between the hunter and Mei.

Graceful, precise, untamable movements.

With a leap, she disarmed the aggressor.

Broke the weapon.

And made him flee in panic.

She did not kill. She dominated.

When she returned to human form, naked under the light rain, her sisters watched her—enchanted and full of pride.

“I... I know how to do this,” Caroline whispered.

She felt the wolf still alive inside her, pulsing beneath her skin.

That night, Caroline didn't cry.

She sat with Sheila, discussed strategies, traced defenses.

Elena hugged her.

Scarlett nodded, acknowledging her strength.

Bonnie and Mei snuggled close, warmed by her presence.

The next morning, Caroline was drawing in her notebook: not clothes.

But amulets of protection.

The awakening of Caroline's wings was a manifestation of her inner strength and the need to protect.

Unlike Scarlett or Elena, it was a natural extension of her will—an ethereal shield, materialized when the need screamed loudest.

During a confrontation with heretics who underestimated her determination, Caroline felt energy accumulating in her back.

A feeling of expansion, of lightness, as if something broke to release a long-repressed power.

And then, they appeared.

White wings.

Pure as untouched snow.

Strong as tempered steel.

Majestic.

Not flaming like Scarlett's, nor shadowed like Elena's.

These were the personification of Caroline’s unyielding will, a physical manifestation of her determination to protect those she loved.

The feathers shone with ethereal light.

When they beat, they created gusts of cold wind that destabilized the attackers.

They were a shield, a weapon, and a visual declaration of power.

In that moment, enveloped in her white wings, Caroline became: the celestial guardian.

The immaculate protector.

The personification of the purity of her will.

Her enemies retreated.

Not just because of the imposing sight,

but because of the aura of unshakeable strength that emanated from her and her sisters.

She had learned to fly—not just physically, but spiritually—carrying with her the strength of determination and the purity of heart.

Caroline Forbes Morningstar—Immortal with white eyes.

The Alpha Wolf.

The Guardian.

The Strategist.

“Care?” Matt called, and she smiled, coming out of her thoughts, feeling the familiarity of his warmth.

She approached, kissing him softly, a gesture of apology and affection.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't avoid it.

Even her dreams, previously filled with projects and decorations, were now haunted by a pair of eyes.

Blue eyes.

Matt's eyes were blue like the summer sky: tranquil, full of tenderness.

But the eyes in the dream... were an electric blue.

Intense, almost savage.

A blue that disturbed and fascinated her at the same time.

She felt a coldness in her chest, an inexplicable memory.

A connection that came from the depths of her soul, now linked to the vision shared with her sisters two days ago.

“I... I'm dreaming too much, maybe.” she murmured softly, almost to herself, touching her own shoulder.

The danger that Grandma Sheila had foreseen, that the Bennett ancestors warned about, seemed to be installed in Caroline’s very heart.

An image flashed in her mind.

Those electric blue eyes.

A shiver ran through her body.

That was not just a dream.

That man existed.

And, somehow, during the ritual, her soul found him.

A question formed in her mind, clear and urgent:

'Who is this man? And why did destiny put him in my path?'

She looked at Matt, at his eyes, and then at the window, where the sunlight was timidly entering.

The answer did not come.

But Caroline knew one thing:

something bigger was coming.

Something she would have to face—not with brute force,

but with wisdom, courage, and her divided heart.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere at the Mystic Grill was a familiar frenzy.

The smell of grilled burgers mixed with the clinking of dishes and the constant buzz—a chaotic symphony that filled every corner under the amber light that spilled from the lamps like warm honey.

Bonnie and Scarlett entered together, squeezing between crowded tables and hurried waiters.

Bonnie wore dark slacks and a green blouse. Her curls were pulled back in a careless bun, with a few rebellious strands brushing her face. There was a serene elegance about her—and, beneath the surface, the weight of the visions that never let her rest.

Beside her, Scarlett stood out with her impeccable posture: a tailored business dress, red hair in loose waves, the firm gaze of someone who could command an entire room. Even amidst the chaos of the restaurant, she exuded that innate aura of leadership.

The two moved, sustained only by the promise of lunch after an exhausting morning.

"I can't take another therapy session with Mrs. Gable," Bonnie grumbled, laughing as they moved up the line. "She spent forty-five minutes complaining that her dog was judging her."

Scarlett raised an eyebrow.

"At least your dog isn't trying to professionally sabotage you, like my colleague." The tone was playful, but there was a real shadow beneath the words.

Before Bonnie could respond, she stopped suddenly. Her laughter dissolved into silence.

Her eyes were fixed on a corner of the restaurant.

Ben was there.

Sitting alone, reading a book, his face serene under the golden light.

Her heart gave a strange leap—a quick beat, followed by a pang of guilt.

Ben was her fixed point in the chaos, the silent anchor that kept her standing when everything fell apart. He made her laugh, listened to her, loved her. And she loved him too. But something inside her... trembled.

Bonnie walked to the table, her heart pounding.

When Ben looked up and smiled, all the surrounding noise seemed to dissolve.

"Hi, beautiful. I thought I wouldn't see you today," he said, standing up to kiss her hand.

His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, a subtle caress that made her shiver.

"I told you I'd stop by," Bonnie replied, sitting down.

She smiled, but the guilt burned inside her like a hidden ember.

Ben carefully closed the book and leaned forward.

"Is everything okay? You seem... distant."

She looked away, fiddling with the napkin. The words scattered.

In her mind, another image arose—brown eyes, wild and deep.

A different face.

A presence that seemed inevitable.

The same man who kept appearing in her visions.

The one who attracted and frightened her at the same time.

"Bonnie?" Ben's voice called her back.

She blinked, returning to reality with a tight stomach.

Ben looked at her with tenderness, but there was a brief shadow in his gaze—fear that she was hiding something.

"Sorry," she murmured, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."

Ben covered her hand with his.

"Then let me be your rest. Just for a few minutes.You always carry the whole world, Bonnie.But you can let me carry you, even if only for a little while."

The words struck her chest like an arrow of sweetness and pain.

She loved him.

But since the ritual, her heart seemed to be at war with itself—divided between love and destiny.

And Bonnie feared that Ben would be dragged into the abyss she knew was opening up.

From the line, Scarlett watched the scene with raised eyebrows and a provocative half-smile, giving her a silent look: tell me later.

"How about coming over tonight? A movie, dinner, or maybe we can go dancing... whatever you want," Ben suggested, with that cute smile that always disarmed her.

Bonnie sighed, momentarily surrendered.

"A movie sounds good."

She leaned in for a quick kiss, but he pulled her close, prolonging the kiss sweetly.

"See you tonight, beautiful," he murmured against her lips.

"Okay." Bonnie smiled and returned to Scarlett, who was waiting for her with an amused expression... but also with a hint of concern.

"Everything alright?" the redhead asked.

"I think so," Bonnie shrugged.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know." The tone came out lower, almost a whisper.

The two ordered their food and soon sat down. Shortly after, Caroline, Elena, and Mei entered—bringing with them a wave of laughter and lightness that made the Grill seem smaller, more welcoming.

Elena, still in her scrubs and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, exuded exhaustion, but also firmness.

Caroline, in a loose dress with a baby-pink blazer, lit up the room with her smile.

Mei, in ripped jeans and a black cropped top, displayed the quiet confidence of someone who had not yet faced the ritual.

The five gathered, but the silence that fell was not of a normal lunch.

It was dense, laden with everything that was left unsaid.

The clinking of cutlery and the surrounding laughter seemed distant, an ironic soundtrack to the weight they carried.

Bonnie was the first to break the spell.

She took a deep breath, looked at her sisters... and let it slip:

"I'm thinking of breaking up with Ben."

The shock reverberated like thunder. Cutlery paused in mid-air, eyes met, the disbelief visible in every gesture.

"What? Why?!" Caroline and Elena asked almost in unison, their mouths agape, their cutlery frozen.

Bonnie squeezed Scarlett's hand under the table, her eyes moist.

"I can't keep him around with the evil that's lurking for us."

"Bon..." Caroline began, but was interrupted.

"Care, it's not just that." Bonnie's gaze drifted, as if she was still seeing fragments of the visions. "The dream in the ritual, the shared vision... and I don't need to remind you of what happened to Grandma, or the tarot cards.Ben is wonderful. But I can't hurt him."

Scarlett sighed heavily, dropping her cutlery.

"I feel the same way. Mason is kind, but I can't stop thinking about the dream. It's been years."

"Me too..." Caroline admitted, her voice low, almost a whisper. "I love Matt, but it feels like something is missing."

Elena pressed her lips together, the confession burning her throat.

She ran a hand through her hair, looking away at the tray, as if the gesture could contain the turmoil inside her.

"I dream too. Always about the man in the faceless suit." Her eyes filled with vulnerability. "But this is crazy. We can't let this stop us from being happy."

"Lena is right," Mei said, calm but firm. "You can't stop living because of a dream."

"It's not just the dream, it's the danger," Bonnie corrected, firm, her gaze heavy.

Scarlett lifted her chin, her alpha voice cutting the air.

"We have to live, Bon. With caution, on guard... but we can't let evil steal our peace."

Bonnie sighed, letting go of her resistance.

"You're right."

They went back to eating, but the silence that followed was not one of comfort.

It was the silence of those who carry a heavy burden.

A silence that knew: even amidst burgers, laughter, and bar music, destiny was already at the table with them—patiently waiting its turn to be served.

────✧────

After lunch, Elena returned to the hospital with the conversation still echoing in her mind.

The doppelgänger wished she had Bonnie's courage. She wished she had the strength to simply break up with Damon. But there was something that held her to him: a dependency she could barely understand.

She was an anomaly—one of the most powerful in the world—and yet she found herself enchanted by the man in the suit from her dreams, the one whose face she could never discern. Also trapped with a man who hurt her sister, she wondered, day after day: What kind of sister am I? How can I do this?

Ela se perguntava, dia após dia: 'Que tipo de irmã eu sou? Como posso fazer isso?'

Entering the office, Elena took a deep breath, adjusted her lab coat, and began to work.

Every patient seemed smaller in the face of the weight she carried in her heart.

The trembling hands of a mother, the shy smile of a child—everything seemed to carry a lesson, a reminder that, no matter how powerful she was, she was still vulnerable in her own universe of emotions.

Meanwhile, Scarlett returned to the office, the echo of Bonnie's words hammering in her mind.

She felt like Bonnie, but different.

The moral dilemma, the responsibility to protect those she loved, the fear of ruining something good—it all disturbed her.

The ritual had profoundly affected her. It showed an enigmatic, almost predestined future, connected to her supernatural essence, yet still distant and almost impossible.

There were so many dangers lurking, so many secrets she still couldn't unravel.

And the man of the dreams? An unknown—a blessing or a curse?

Scarlett wasn't breaking up with Mason out of fear or cowardice. She didn't yield to anyone's manipulation. She was her own mistress, an alpha who decided her own path.

She took a deep breath, firmly closed the office door, and walked down the courthouse corridors with measured steps.

Every echo of her shoes on the marble floor was a silent reminder: she was writing her own story, and she would not allow evil to dictate her choices.

Scarlett's gaze was firm, her spine straight.

Even knowing that danger could lurk in every shadow, that destiny would try to influence her decisions, she moved forward without hesitation.

Every gesture conveyed determination: she was the one in command of her own life.

Even with the tension in the air, a certainty accompanied her: she would not be manipulated. She would not be a piece on anyone's chessboard.

Her story was hers, and hers alone.

Caroline couldn't concentrate on work.

The conversation during lunch exposed a vulnerability she didn't expect.

Knowing she wasn't alone in her dilemma didn't bring relief; the confusion still squeezed her chest.

Was Matt safe?Or did she truly love him?

Would the man of the dreams be a blessing or a curse?

Everything mixed in her mind like an uncontrollable whirlwind.

The visions disturbed her, leaving her feeling powerless.

The perfectionist, the control freak, the natural strategist—Caroline found herself hostage to something she couldn't dominate.

The pen trembled slightly between her fingers as she tried to work, but every spreadsheet seemed to dance before her.

Although Caroline, Scarlett, and Elena had psychic abilities—fruits of the ritual—they were not like Bonnie.

Bonnie was born psychic, her natural powers molded over time.

The others were still learning to control their abilities; almost two years had passed since Caroline's ritual, and yet the feeling of powerlessness was constant.

After what happened to Grandma Sheila, none of them could glimpse the future, not even Bonnie.

The weight of responsibility and uncertainty hung over them all like a silent shadow.

Meanwhile, Mei returned to the studio with a racing heart.

Her ritual had not yet passed, but Saturday was approaching, and the fear of the unknown accompanied her like an invisible shadow.

She was not like her sisters—she wasn't immortal, much less psychic like Bonnie—but she knew everything would change after the ritual.

The mere idea of it made her chest tight, her thoughts racing.

Tyler occupied a light and fun space in her life.

Still, the prospect that, after the ritual, she might feel trapped with someone she didn't know scared her.

A shiver ran down her spine imagining the responsibility that would come with the power she would gain.

The studio felt heavier that day.

The wind coming through the window wasn't just cold; it seemed to whisper omens.

The shadows lengthened, and every object in the room somehow carried the weight of what was to come.

Mei could feel the danger floating in every corner, palpable and silent.

She took a deep breath. She clenched her fists, feeling determination grow alongside the fear.

Every step after the ritual would be in the name of family, the protection of her sisters and Sheila—the woman who raised them, who loved them as daughters, who would sacrifice everything for them.

Fear or not, Mei could no longer hesitate.

The ritual was approaching. And she needed to be ready.

Every breath was a commitment to herself.

With every gesture, a silent promise: to fight, protect, and survive.

For the future. For the family. For the legacy Sheila entrusted to them.

────✧────

After an exhausting day at work, Bonnie decided to follow her sisters' advice and live without analyzing every step.

She didn't go home; she went straight to Ben's, as they had agreed.

"Good evening," she said, smiling as soon as he opened the door.

The familiar scent of the apartment, the soft light in the hallway, everything seemed welcoming.

"Good evening, beautiful," he replied, surprised, pulling her into a passionate kiss as he brought her inside.

His hand caressed her cheek delicately. "I thought you were going to cancel."

"Sorry about the other nights... I just didn't want to leave Grandma alone."

The heat of guilt lingered over her for an instant, but he just smiled, unhurried.

"You don't need to apologize."

He kissed her again, deep and warm, and Bonnie felt the tension of hours dissolve.

"I need a shower," she said, smiling and stepping back slightly.

She hurried to the bedroom, feeling her heart still racing.

In the bathroom, the hot water running over her body washed away not only the dirt but the weight of the days.

When she finished, she came out wrapped in a towel, chose comfortable nightwear, and applied lotion, each gesture an almost ritualistic self-care.

Then, she went down to the living room, ready to watch a movie.

Ben chose a comedy, and it was a great decision.

They sat together, in silence, sharing popcorn and soda.

Bonnie snuggled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, the firm and constant beat of his heart against hers.

His scent—casual, intimate—mixed with the smell of the popcorn chocolate.

He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her slightly closer.

Every gesture was a silent reminder of care and desire.

She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing deeply, feeling safe and desired.

For one night, she decided to be just a young woman.

Mei's ritual, the visions, the warnings, the lurking evil—everything would be set aside.

Just her, Ben, and the movie, lost in the silent warmth of the moment.

When the screen went black, he smiled at her.

"Better?" he asked, kissing her cheek affectionately.

"Almost," Bonnie replied, sitting on his lap, still snuggled close.

The warmth of their bodies, the soft scent of his skin, the firm touch of his hands, everything made her lose herself in the moment.

Ben smiled back, and she kissed him eagerly.

Their tongues met, heat and desire running through every gesture, every prolonged touch.

Ben's hands squeezed her waist as she moved her hips slowly, provoking a low groan from him.

He pulled away only to breathe, but Bonnie didn't stop.

She kissed his neck, feeling his heartbeat accelerate beneath her lips.

As she drove him wild, Ben moved his hands from her waist to her butt, squeezing firmly, pulling her even closer to himself.

"How about we go to the bedroom?" he asked, between groans and whispers charged with tension.

Bonnie nodded, without releasing the kiss.

He picked her up in his arms and entered the bedroom, gently placing her on the bed before lying down beside her.

There was no rush; only the surrender of two bodies that recognized each other, that needed to be together.

Bonnie snuggled into his arms, feeling his breath mingle with hers.

His hands traced gentle paths over her covered skin, every touch laden with affection and desire.

The shared warmth filled the space, and the world outside seemed to have disappeared.

The kisses continued, slower, deeper.

Every sigh, every murmur, turned into music, a silent language only they understood.

Bonnie felt her heart accelerate, her body warm, but also the peace of being protected in the arms of someone who truly loved her.

He lay over her carefully so as not to hurt her, arms and legs intertwined, feeling his body mold to hers, as if every movement were a silent pact of surrender and trust.

The room was silent, the dim light of the bedside lamp reflecting on her hair, on his smile, and all that remained were the two of them, breathing together, connected in a way that words could not reach.

"I love you," Ben said, kissing her forehead.

"Back at you," Bonnie murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

They stayed like that, lost in the intimacy of the touch, in the calm of the shared warmth.

Every breath, every embrace, every kiss was a silent promise of desire, surrender, and love.

For that night, the world could wait. For that night, only they existed.

Chapter Text

Bonnie’s office was an oasis of calm.

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, warming the neutral tones of the walls. The faint ticking of the clock marked time, filling the gaps in the silence.

In the soft armchair, a 16-year-old girl huddled under the hood of her sweatshirt. She looked like an island of discomfort.

Bonnie, sitting in a chair opposite, held a notepad. But her eyes were entirely on the girl.

“And how was your week, Sarah?” she asked, her voice soft and unhurried.

The teenager shrugged.

“Normal... I guess.”

Bonnie nodded, not pushing. With teenagers she knew: silence works as a tool.

She waited.

Finally, Sarah took her hands out of her pockets.

“My dad and mom are fighting again.” Her voice was almost inaudible. “It’s nothing major, I guess. They just... seem not to like each other anymore.”

Bonnie leaned slightly forward.

“That’s not ‘nothing major,’ Sarah. That’s painful. And it’s normal to feel bad about it.”

The teenager looked up, hesitant.

“What am I supposed to do? Stay in my room and pretend it’s not happening? I can’t do anything, right?”

“You can do a lot.” Bonnie kept her voice firm, yet welcoming. “You are not responsible for their problems, but you are responsible for taking care of yourself. That’s the most important point. We can think of strategies together to deal with the situation.”

Sarah took a deep breath, absorbing every word.

The session continued at a slow pace. Bonnie guided her, she didn't push her. She helped her name feelings, taught her to breathe deeply when the tension at home became unbearable.

She wasn’t trying to fix the girl’s family. She was trying to equip her with tools to survive the storm.

In the end, Sarah seemed lighter. She took off her hood, revealing a face still young, but now with traces of clarity.

“Thank you, Doctor.” The sincerity was rare and real. “I think... I’m a little better.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Sarah.” Bonnie smiled, genuine. “Remember: you are not alone. And no matter what happens, you have the right to protect yourself.”

When the door closed, Bonnie let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair. The exhaustion from the session was real, but the satisfaction of having helped someone was even greater.

As a psychologist, she had always been trained to observe the invisible — not the supernatural, but the undercurrents of the human mind. The unspoken emotions. The connections that mold the soul.

But after witnessing Scarlett become fire, Elena become healing and shadow, Caroline become chaos and order... her perception of the invisible had changed.

No psychology manual had predicted that.

Bonnie felt it. She felt their energy like a living map, each with a new essence. Her own awakening seemed inevitable, like a promise her ancestry would demand.

The wait, for Bonnie, was not passive. It was a real-time analysis of the immortal psyche.

While waiting for the next patient, her mind began to wander. Slowly, the office dissolved before her — as if the present was making way for something deeper. Something intimate.

Bonnie, since childhood, carried a rare sensitivity.

While others sought only to understand the human mind, she always went further: she heard what was not said, perceived what could not be seen.

Now, she tried to comprehend the whispers of the invisible world, the entrails of the supernatural.

And it was in the ritual of her 21st birthday that everything became clear.

As the most intuitive and most connected to the hidden worlds; since she was a girl, she felt the vibrations of nature, the call of the shadows, the echo of voices that did not belong to this era.

Her awakening to immortality, Sheila knew, would not be just a rite.

It would be an elemental trial.

An ancestral calling that would demand absolute surrender to the chaos and beauty of what she carried.

The ritual was named: Ancestral Storm.

It would happen on the night of her 21st birthday, in front of the lake, at the witching hour — the sacred moment between twilight and total darkness, when the veil between worlds becomes almost nonexistent.

The air smelled of wet earth. The breeze carried the chilly dampness of the water. Everything seemed suspended — as if even time waited in silence.

The moon was reflected in the lake like a watchful eye, witnessing the beginning.

Bonnie, dressed in white, seemed made of mist and moonlight. An apparition. An omen. A calling.

 The Judgment of the Flames

Scarlett raised her voice, deep and ancient, as if awakening the very heart of the world.

Each syllable floated in the air, weaving around Bonnie an invisible and vibrant cloak — a prayer, a blessing, a living barrier against the unknown.

The warmth of the older sister was not just physical; it was blood and love — a living ember that took hold of every fiber of her being.

Then, the air trembled. A flash erupted, sparks spun around, insistent and demanding.

Bonnie felt fear rise, but the heat enveloped her like a fierce embrace, transforming hesitation into courage, doubt into strength.

Each flame seemed to whisper:

“You are spark and hell. You are my flame.”

Scarlett's song intertwined around the flames, pulsing in Bonnie's chest like an ancestral oath.

The golden glow of the clearing was not just light — it was life, power, shield and sword, embrace and roar.

In that instant, Bonnie was not just protected: she was fire. Spark. Destiny.

And deep down, a certainty burned: it wasn’t only the fire that accepted her — it was all the ancestral flames awakening in her blood.

The Purifying Baptism

When the fire settled, the lake called her.

Bonnie entered the water.

The biting cold did not deter her. The fear that had chained her before was now just a spark, a challenge.

Around her, her sisters positioned themselves, each with her role in the awakening of the deepest witch among them.

With gestures of eternal sweetness, Elena submerged Bonnie in the lake. Seven times.

Each immersion led her to death and rebirth.

Each return to the surface, awakened something deeper.

The cold water clung to her skin like sharp silk, washing away fears, invisible scars, old hurts.

Her soaked curls streamed down her back like dark rivers, carrying shadows away.

Dimples of water ran over her body, heavy and persistent, trying to penetrate her essence.

Bonnie did not resist. The current softened, enveloping her in coolness and renewal, washing away every doubt.

An invisible wave passed through her heart, pulsing like an ancestral tide:

“You are current and deep sea. You are my flow.”

With each plunge, Bonnie felt the ancient power awaken in her veins.

The water was no longer just cold liquid: it was life, judgment, and rebirth.

She was the tide between worlds.

Deep sea that guards secrets.

And she understood: there was no fear that would stop her, nor shadow that would erase her.

She was living water. Power. Destiny.

And, as in the fire, she was not alone: all the rivers and springs of her ancestors now ran in her blood.

The Crown of Blooming

After the purification, came the fertile weight of the earth.

Sheila approached with a smile that mixed affection and apprehension.

Bonnie knelt, feeling the ground vibrate beneath her knees, deep and ancient.

The crown of flowers was placed upon her head. The petals, simple and wild, carried worlds: white daisies for purity, chrysanthemums for truth, baby’s breath for eternal innocence.

“For the Queen of the Bennett coven,” whispered Sheila.

Closing her eyes, Bonnie felt the light weight of the crown, but not as an ornament: as a silent oath, a promise to be who she was born to be.

Small roots emerged from the soil and wrapped around her ankles — not as a prison, but as an ancestral link.

She accepted.

The ground sustained her, firm, indestructible, like a millennial mountain that raises the sky.

A deep voice echoed:

“You are seed and eternal rock. You are my bond.”

And in that instant, Bonnie was flowers and stones, memory and blood, earth and destiny.

And, as before, she was not alone: every ancestral root of the Bennetts was now intertwined with her.

The Breath of Life

Caroline advanced through the lake, each step glittering in liquid silver.

With reverence, she raised the amulet and placed it around Bonnie's neck.

As soon as the touch happened, the air responded.

First, a delicate caress ran across her face. Then, the wind became biting, swirling in spirals, lifting leaves and dust, testing her firmness.

Bonnie remained upright, breathing deeply.

And then she gasped, feeling the breath enter her lungs, filling every cell with the world's very essence.

An ethereal voice boomed:

“You are breeze and storm. You are my breath.”

And in that instant, Bonnie was no longer just human.

She was the breeze that caresses.

The storm that sweeps.

The breath that gives life.

The amulet was not an ornament: it was a link, an extension of her essence.

And, as in the previous elements, she was not alone: every ancestral breath now echoed in her soul.

The Convergence of the Four Elements

Then, the four elements rose at the same time, each with its voice, dancing in unison around Bonnie.

The air whirled in her hair and lungs.

The water washed away all fear.

The earth pulsed firmly beneath her feet.

And the fire burned in her heart.

She felt each element within her, breathing, flowing, sustaining, burning.

Each pulse was an echo of creation.

Each breath, a memory of the ancestral power running in her veins.

Bonnie rose, small and infinite, mortal and eternal.

“You are the link. You are the bridge. You are the chosen one.”

And from that night on, she was not just protected.

She was the convergence of everything:

The breeze and the storm.

The current and the deep sea.

The seed and the eternal rock.

The spark and the hell.

She was destiny.

She was magic.

She was life pulsing in four forms, united in perfect harmony.

The Toast of Sisterhood

Mei, the youngest, approached.

Her hands trembled, but her eyes shone with an ancient determination.

She extended a silver chalice. The cold metal, engraved with ancestral symbols, seemed to pulse in her hand, vibrating with a power of its own.

Inside, the blood of the four sisters.

Shared life.

Intertwined destiny.

Sealed sacrifice.

Bonnie held the chalice with reverence.

The cold metal touched her lips.

The taste was dense: iron, ancestry, promise.

As she drank, she felt a warmth spread from the inside out, as if the souls of her sisters intertwined with hers, weaving an invisible thread of power and destiny.

And in that instant, it was not just sisterhood: it was the eternal pact of past, present, and future, tied in her blood.

When she swallowed the last drop, the world trembled.

The ancient thirst — that silent voice in the back of her mind — exploded within her, transforming into a primordial clamor.

The wind rose with colossal fury, throwing the sisters out of the lake.

The moon disappeared.

The sky turned blood red, as if the firmament itself was bleeding in empathy.

Thunder rumbled.

Lightning tore the sky.

The earth shook beneath her feet.

Trees burned in flames.

The formerly calm water of the lake churned like furious snakes.

The air became impossible to breathe, charged with ozone and fury, metallic and biting.

The smell of burnt iron invaded Bonnie's nostrils, while the roars reverberated in her bones, pulsing like an ancestral drum within her soul.

And then, the lightning struck.

One after another, tearing the night.

Each discharge passed through Bonnie, going beyond the flesh, tearing layers of the soul.

She screamed in agony.

The dress burned.

The skin blazed.

The body trembled, convulsed, contorted.

It was torment and ascension at the same time.

Each discharge seemed to open a door inside her, revealing forgotten veils of power, patiently waiting for this moment.

The night vibrated around her, like a chorus of ancient gods, drumming destiny.

And then, the last lightning strike fell.

Stronger.

Deeper.

More fatal.

Silence.

Bonnie fell to her knees in the water.

The world went silent.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

And she blacked out — not as an end, but as an ascension.

Ready to emerge transformed.

Whole.

Immeasurable.

Silence.

Darkness.

And, suddenly, softness.

Like her sisters before her... she dreamed.

Time was no longer a straight line. It was an amber liquid, thick and pulsating, where past and future mixed in an eternal echo.

Bonnie floated there, light, weightless, her mind an open field for what was to come.

Then, he appeared.

Not as flesh and blood, but as a promise.

A presence.

He wove himself from the soft shadows of the dream, a masculine outline wrapped in a mist that seemed to move and breathe.

His features, fluid, did not fully reveal themselves, but his eyes... Ah, the eyes. They were the only certainty. Brown like dark, old wood, or like wine resting in a chalice, they gazed at her with an intensity that ignited, yet at the same time was an embrace. In them, she saw the history of a thousand nights, the weight of a thousand promises.

A voice, hoarse and low as the sound of distant thunder, whispered her name. Not as a word, but as a profane prayer, a secret shared between the universe and her soul.

He danced around her, a silent flirtation. One step forward, and the air became an oppressive heat of desire. One step back, and tenderness spread like honey, slow and sure.

It was the most beautiful chaos, the most intimate mystery.

She didn't know him. And yet, she knew she loved him.

It wasn't a new emotion, but a certainty that already inhabited her veins, as if every life of hers had been just a rehearsal for that meeting.

It was the echo of a bond so ancient that it seemed etched into her essence.

The dream was a balm for the pain of rebirth. It was a prophecy. The first breath of a connection that was already destined.

The Awakening

When she woke up, the sun was already high.

Light entered through the window like warm fingers of a new era.

The room still smelled of rain and electricity, as if the storm that had molded her remained lurking, latent, inside her.

Bonnie was lying in her bed. The covers weighed less than the reverent silence around her.

Her sisters — Scarlett, Elena, Caroline, and Mei — and the always firm Grandma Sheila watched her with exhausted and awestruck eyes.

Scarlett took a deep breath, not daring to break the moment.

Elena and Sheila held Bonnie's hands as if confirming she was still there.

Caroline hugged Mei tightly, trying to calm her, wiping the discreet tears from her own eyes.

And then, in a thread of a voice, she murmured:

“That was... otherworldly.”

Bonnie sat up.

And the light itself seemed to bow in silence.

She could feel the flow of magic in the trees, the whisper of the stream in the distance, the pulse of every living creature.

Every particle of air seemed connected to her.

She was part of everything.

And everything was part of her.

The Bonnie who feared losing herself in her power had died in that storm.

Now: immortal.

Primordial Witch.

Mistress of Connection.

Whole.

Complete.

Awakened.

The storm had not only transformed her body.

It had shattered ancient chains, freeing every limit.

Her immortal body was light, fast, resilient — but above all, vibrant.

Every cell seemed to sing a hymn of power.

Wounds closed before they even bled.

Her eyes saw beyond the flesh.

And her intuition... was now vision.

Premonitions.

Glimpses of possible futures.

Whispers of secret pasts.

Bonnie was the bridge between what was, what is, and what could be.

Magic was no longer something she pulled from the world.

It was her.

She was the source.

She did not command the elements — she listened to them.

The fire leaned in for confidences.

The water brought hidden secrets.

The wind came laden with fury and laughter.

The earth, patient, sustained her essence.

And with a whisper, a glance, she molded everything.

Other people's minds were no longer a mystery either.

She felt emotions, intentions, thoughts floating on the surface.

And when her concentration intensified, her eyes took on a hypnotic gold — as if the sun lived inside her.

Whoever observed her felt a sudden fascination, the strange certainty of having their own soul read.

It was the reflection of her primordial connection.

The power of the magical web she now governed.

But along with the power... came the thirst.

Not a brute hunger.

But a yearning for connection.

She sought life in its purest form, balancing this need through the pulsating energy of nature, without always demanding the loss of lives.

Her amulet, once silent comfort, now pulsed to the rhythm of her magic — an anchor not to get lost in the infinite, a beacon for more intense premonitions.

Somewhere...

A dark room, lined with ancient tapestries and relics of forgotten empires, sheltered a man.

In an elegant suit and a provocative smile, he held a glass of whiskey. He did not age; he was a tapestry of centuries of excess, with a dangerous beauty and the elegance of a bygone era.

The night outside screamed with the sound of jazz, drunken voices, and the insistent beat of drums, but inside the walls, the world seemed to surrender to his calm.

Motionless.

And then... he felt her.

A shiver ran up his spine, an electric shock that made the glass vibrate between his fingers.

It wasn't just a feeling.

It was thunder exploding in his soul.

The storm.

The witch.

The golden she-wolf.

The soulmate.

He closed his eyes, and saw the scene in his mind with crystal clarity: a brunette woman kneeling in the water of a lake, curls glued to her face by the rain.

The sky bled lightning over her, molding her.

She did not flinch. She commanded the pain. She danced with the thunder.

A slow, dangerous smile full of desire spread across his face.

It wasn't just a smile; it was an invitation, a threat, an omen.

“Welcome, my dear...” he murmured, his voice heavy with ancient desire and rare tenderness.

He knew.

She had awakened.

And destiny, that capricious old lover, was finally tracing the path of an encounter neither of them could avoid.

The Following Days

Unlike her sisters, Bonnie's lupine transformation was almost... natural.

During a training session in the field, Sheila demanded:

“Let down all your defenses, Bonnie. Even the fear.”

Bonnie closed her eyes.

The ground beneath her feet recognized her.

Nature bowed.

Then, her body responded.

The skin stretched.

The bones molded.

But there was no pain.

It was liberation.

A golden she-wolf rose in the field.

She shone like the dawn in flesh.

Like liquid light.

Like sacred fire made body.

Her eyes burned with a sharp brilliance, and every movement was savage poetry.

And her howl — ah, her howl — echoed throughout the world.

A call to nature itself.

A roar that silenced everything, reminding them who commanded the roots of magic.

But there was more.

Her wings did not come with pain.

They were born in a dream.

They were woven in silence.

Golden. Shining. Pulsing.

When they manifested in the physical world, they radiated warmth and security.

Each beat pushed away the darkness not just with wind, but with intrinsic light — living proof of her essence.

To fly was not just movement.

It was grace.

It was destiny.

In the heights, Bonnie felt the winds of the world, the whispers of the ether, the touch of every current of air crossing the sky.

She was angel and demon.

Cure and ruin.

Peace and judgment.

Light and shadow.

She could weave blessings that restored souls...

Or curses that would extinguish even the last spark of life.

And she knew — with a wisdom that came from before language — that true power resided in balance.

The thread between worlds.

The seamstress of destiny.

The weaver of reality.

She was the living link of the roots of magic.

Bonnie came out of her thoughts and took a deep breath when she heard the phone ring.

The assistant's voice anchored her in the present:

“Your next patient has arrived.”

Bonnie straightened up, receiving him with the serenity of someone who knows the cycle is about to close.

But deep down... she hoped Mei's ritual would be the gentlest of all.

Because, if the storm had claimed her, what would be reserved for her youngest sister?