"This is the Supreme One chosen by Marcus and the others? A… mortal?"
At the head of the grand hall, a lively and beautiful girl who looked no older than a high school student raised her perfectly arched brow, her voice laced with surprise. Her inquisitive gaze swept over Alex, then shifted toward the composed man seated beside her.
The opulent hall around them shimmered with chandeliers dripping in crystal, their soft light casting golden reflections upon the polished black marble floor. Ancient tapestries hung along the towering walls, and a subtle, cold fragrance—something between sandalwood and iron—permeated the air.
The man she addressed sat with regal poise, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. Not a strand of his dark hair was out of place. Everything about him—his stillness, his sharp eyes, his measured breath—radiated timeless elegance and command.
This man was none other than Elijah Mikaelson, the renowned leader of the Original Family—a name that evoked both awe and dread across the immortal world.
And the girl was his sister, Rebekah Mikaelson, another Supreme in her own right—equal parts grace and wrath, depending on the day.
"I must admit, this is rather unexpected," Elijah murmured, his tone calm yet edged with genuine curiosity.
A mortal... as Supreme?
In his thousand years of existence, Elijah had witnessed countless anomalies—witches who bent fate, wolves that transcended their nature, even demons masquerading as gods. But never this.
A mortal standing where only the apex of the immortal elite had ever stood?
He narrowed his eyes slightly, observing Alex with the precision of a predator. The young man's gait was confident, almost casual. His expression unreadable, posture relaxed—but not arrogant. Still, Elijah could discern no supernatural aura, no unusual energy signature. By all appearances, Alex was entirely human.
And yet—
Elijah didn't allow appearances to fool him.
Their own family history served as a cautionary tale.
Long ago, their father Mikael had laid hands on Dracula's ring—a cursed artifact steeped in blood magic and ancestral vengeance. Though Mikael had remained mortal for years after acquiring the ring, he had sired three children during that time. When a werewolf murdered their youngest, Mikael's rage had burned hot enough to ignite fate itself. Their mother, a formidable witch, used forbidden rites to awaken the dormant bloodline.
And so, Mikael and his children became the first of a new species.
Immortal. Undying. Unyielding.
Thus, the Originals were born—four Supremes emerging not over centuries, but in a single generation. An impossibility made real.
Elijah often recalled the weight of that transformation—the burning, the rebirth, the power. And the betrayal that followed. Mikael's obsession had turned on his own children. The war that ensued had carved scars deep into their family, some still bleeding to this day.
Given that legacy, Elijah would never belittle someone just because they were mortal.
Especially one chosen by Marcus.
Still, he couldn't deny his skepticism. A mortal might carry the potential for greatness—but potential was not power. And power was what ruled this world.
Rebekah exhaled, tossing a golden lock behind her shoulder.
"Thank goodness Niklaus isn't here, or else…" Her voice trailed off with a visible shiver.
She could already hear the snarling sarcasm, the accusations of betrayal, the inevitable bloodshed.
Given Klaus's volatile temperament, if he discovered they were honoring a mortal as Supreme, half the hall might be ash by now.
"We should indeed be grateful for that," Elijah said, offering her a subtle nod. "Peace is too rare a luxury to squander."
Across the room, the tension was far less reserved.
"Pfft—a mortal? Did Marcus and the others lose their minds?"
At a long table draped in ivory silk, a young vampire with sculpted features and tousled bronze hair let out a disbelieving laugh.
The surrounding vampires, elegant in posture but youthful in manner, murmured their amusement behind carefully veiled expressions.
This was the Cullen family's section.
The one who spoke was Edward Cullen, whose pale beauty had dazzled countless mortals over the decades. His smirk was laced with disbelief—and a trace of envy he didn't quite understand.
"Edward!" Carlisle Cullen, the family's calm and measured patriarch, frowned faintly.
Though he, too, found the announcement startling, etiquette demanded restraint. After all, this was not their domain. The Cullen family were here as guests—witnesses, not judges.
"Come on, Carlisle, you're thinking it too," Edward muttered, waving a dismissive hand.
Carlisle turned slowly, his eyes steady and unreadable.
"Edward. What exactly did you promise me when you begged to attend tonight?" he asked, voice low but firm.
Edward winced. "Okay, okay! I'll behave."
He paused, glancing around at the assembled guests. Supremes from every bloodline—purebloods, halfbreeds, even exiled elders—had gathered under one roof for this. The sheer concentration of power was intoxicating.
"I'm just… excited. So many Supremes in one place—it's like a vampire super-festival."
Suddenly, a sharp gasp cut through their banter.
All eyes at the table turned toward Alice, who had stiffened mid-smile. Her fingers clutched the edge of her seat, knuckles pale. Her eyes were locked on Alex, and a cold sweat glistened on her brow.
The cheer drained from her expression as fear took root.
"Alice? What did you see?" Carlisle asked at once, his voice tight.
Alice blinked rapidly, as if trying to shake off a vision she'd rather forget. Her lips parted, but her voice barely escaped.
"H-He's… terrifying," she whispered, breath trembling. "I've never seen anyone so terrifying before."
Her words hit the table like a thunderclap.
Edward turned toward Alex, baffled. "Who? That mortal Supreme?"
"Edward, shut up!" Alice snapped, her voice harsh and uncharacteristically fierce. Her eyes, normally gentle, flashed with real panic. "Do you want to get us all killed?"
Edward stared at her, stunned. He had never seen Alice like this—not even during the darkest nights of their past.
He closed his mouth at once.
Carlisle leaned back slightly, his eyes drifting toward the young man who was still moving through the hall, flanked by Marcus and the other elders.
What kind of being could strike such fear into someone like Alice?
And if Alice's visions were accurate—and they always were—what did that mean for all of them?
Around the grand hall, murmurs grew.
A mortal Supreme?
It was too rare. Too improbable. And far too dangerous to ignore.
But Alex, seemingly unfazed, continued walking with calm precision. His expression didn't change, even as hundreds of ancient eyes followed his every step.
He nodded politely to each faction's leader, offering quiet greetings with a composure that betrayed no fear.
Then—
"The Volturi have arrived!"
The sharp declaration rippled through the air like the toll of a bell.
Every head turned toward the entrance.
And there, emerging from the shadows beyond the great double doors, came three figures cloaked in rich medieval robes, their presence cold and overwhelming.
Their steps echoed across the hall, slow and purposeful.
The leaders of the Volturi had come.
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