Across continents and covens, the supernatural world stilled.
It began as a silence—a pause in the heart of the night, a lull in the wind, a moment when even the restless dead seemed to hold their breath. Then, the tremor came: a pulse through the world's ley lines, ancient and primal, felt not with the mind but with the marrow.
In a candlelit chamber deep in the Carpathians, an old witch gasped, clutching her chest. Her apprentice rushed to her side, but the crone could only whisper, "Something… has been born." She could not name it, nor recall any tale or warning. But the fear was real—a bone-deep certainty that the world had shifted.
In the forests of the New World, the Original vampires paused in their hunt. Elijah's eyes narrowed as the hairs on his arms stood up. Rebekah felt a coldness in her veins, as if the earth itself recoiled from her touch. Klaus, ever attuned to the wild, felt a thrill of danger he could not explain. None spoke of it, but all sensed a new predator had entered the game—one older than any of them could remember.
Werewolves, scattered in their hidden packs, lifted their heads to the sky and howled, their song tinged with confusion and warning. The moon's pull felt different, heavier, as if the cycle of nature itself had been disturbed.
In hidden sanctuaries, covens drew their circles tighter. Spells faltered, scrying bowls clouded with visions of storms and shadows. The oldest among them searched their memories for an answer, but found only dread and a sense of taboo—a story erased, a name forbidden even in thought.
Hunters, too, felt it: a prickle at the nape of the neck, an urge to sharpen their blades and check their wards. They spoke in whispers of omens and ill winds, but none could say what had changed.
No one remembered Sagar Jadhav. His legend had been scrubbed from history, his name a blank in the world's collective memory. Yet every supernatural being, from the lowliest hedge-witch to the most ancient vampire, felt the same instinct: something has awakened, something that should not be.
And so, across the world, the supernatural community braced itself—without knowing why, without knowing for whom. Fear and anticipation mingled in the air, as the world waited for a storm it could not name.
Far beneath the earth, Sagar smiled, savoring the flavor of their unknowing dread. The game had begun anew.