The metal door of the veterinary clinic slammed shut behind me with a heavy thud, cutting off the sounds of relief and disbelief that filled the exam room.
The Beacon Hills night air hit me like a frozen slap. It was damp, smelling of pine and wet earth. I took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen burn my tired lungs. My legs felt like lead.
Maintaining a Hydraulic Lock inside a werewolf's veins, fighting against an aggressive magical poison like Nordic Blue Wolfsbane, had taken its toll. My Reserve Ring, which had been pulsing with 500 units of extra mana, was now cold and inert on my finger—nothing more than a piece of dead silver and sapphire.
I was empty. Drained to the last drop.
"Hey! Nate! Wait up!"
The door swung open again and Stiles stumbled out, his phone flashlight bobbing in the darkness. He seemed to be vibrating—a chaotic mix of residual panic and manic curiosity.
"Dude! You can't just walk away like that!" Stiles gestured wildly, blocking my path. "You stopped the poison with your hand! You glowed blue! Derek was gonna lose his arm and you turned his blood into cement or something! What was that?! What are you?!"
I stopped, but didn't have the strength to turn around completely. I just tilted my head, glaring at him over my shoulder.
"I'm tired, Stiles." My voice came out raspy, dragging, with zero patience for an interrogation. "I just spent enough energy to light up a city block to save your friend's arm."
"I know! And it was incredible! But I have questions! So many questions!" he insisted, taking a step forward. "Like, an alphabetical list! Starting with 'A' for 'All-right, where did you learn that?' all the way to 'Z' for 'Zombies exist too?'"
I closed my eyes for a second, massaging my temples. The post-magic headache was starting to throb behind my eyes.
"Stiles," I called out, opening my eyes. "I am not going to explain the metaphysics of the universe to you in a dirt parking lot at eleven at night."
"But we need to know! Derek is in there staring at the wall like he's seen a ghost, and Scott is... well, Scott is happy because nobody died, but he wants to know too!"
"Tomorrow," I cut him off. "Tomorrow at school. During lunch. We'll sit at a table, away from everyone, and I'll explain."
"Explain everything? Like, with details?"
"I'll explain what you need to know so you don't die," I replied, starting to walk toward the edge of the woods again. "Consider it a survival seminar. I'll bring charts if I have to draw it out for you."
Stiles hesitated, looking at my expression of absolute exhaustion, and finally backed off.
"Fine. Tomorrow. Lunch. Don't flake." He pointed a finger at me, dead serious. "If you don't show, I'm investigating your entire life. I'll find out what brand of cereal you eat."
"Good luck with that," I muttered, stepping into the darkness of the trees.
I left the clinic behind. I left the Trio behind.
I walked the dirt trail that cut back to my house. The silence of the forest was comforting, but something was... different.
My eyes were stinging.
It wasn't exhaustion. It was pressure.
Even without active mana to cast a spell, my eyes seemed to be trying to process information that shouldn't be there. The darkness didn't look empty.
I looked at an ancient oak tree beside me.
At Level 3, I could see its vibration, its geometric structure.
Now...
I stopped, leaning my hand against the rough trunk so I wouldn't fall.
I could see inside.
Not like a medical X-ray. It was deeper. I saw the tree's life signature. A slow, pulsing emerald-green glow rising from the deep roots to the highest branches. I saw water climbing through the xylem, shining like threads of liquid silver. I saw the decomposition of a dead branch, a brown aura of entropy spreading.
Composition. Essence.
The sensation was so intense I had to close my eyes for a moment. It was too much information. The world had stopped being just shapes and started being content.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out the Grimoire. The leather cover felt warm to the touch.
I opened the book under the faint moonlight. The runes on the status page glowed, rearranging themselves before my tired eyes.
[Magic Sight: Level 3 ➔ Level 4]
Description: The user has overcome the barrier of form. Vision now penetrates the essence. It is possible to identify the magical and biological composition of targets, track specific soul signatures, and perceive emotional intentions through aura saturation.
I snapped the book shut with a soft click.
Level 4.
I had burned my tank, nearly collapsed my core, but I had expanded the engine.
"Soul signature," I thought, resuming my walk, using the trees as visual guides now that they glowed for me.
This changed the game. If I could see the composition of the soul... maybe I could understand what was really happening inside Jackson. Not just see the green aura, but see where his humanity ended and the monster began.
And maybe, just maybe, I could see what the hell was wrong with the Dark Mage.
I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, dragging my heels.
The script's inertia might be strong. Jackson was hurt, Derek was saved, Scott was learning. But things were shifting. And with this new vision, I no longer had to rely solely on my memories of a TV show.
I could see the truth now.
I reached my backyard wall twenty minutes later. I didn't have the strength to use Impulse. I had to climb it the old-fashioned way, scraping my knees on the rough brick and landing awkwardly on the grass on the other side.
The house was dark, silent.
I entered through the back door, locking it behind me.
The kitchen was in twilight. Marcus was sitting at the table in the dark, with only the moonlight coming through the window. He wasn't reading maps or grimoires now. He was just waiting.
As I entered, he turned his head. He saw the dried sweat on my forehead, the paleness, the heavy gait. He saw the dead ring on my finger.
He didn't ask if I succeeded. He knew how to recognize a mage who had just finished heavy labor.
"Does the wolf live?" Marcus asked, his calm voice cutting through the silence.
"He lives," I replied, going to the sink and drinking water straight from the tap, not caring about a glass. "Scott brought the bullet. I held the poison back long enough."
Marcus nodded, satisfied.
"You exposed yourself."
"They saw," I admitted, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Stiles and Scott. Derek too. There was no hiding it, Dad. It was that or let him die."
"And you chose the alliance over the secret," Marcus analyzed, not as a criticism, but as a tactical observation. "It's a risky bet. Werewolves are loyal, but they attract trouble."
"I know."
I walked toward the stairs, stopping on the first step. My legs threatened to give out at any second.
"Go to sleep, Nathan," Marcus ordered, standing up to lock the other doors. "Tomorrow, we deal with the consequences. And recharge that ring. You never know when you'll need it again."
"Good night, Dad."
I climbed the stairs, feeling the weight of the house and my own magic. The script was in tatters, my secrets had leaked, and I was stronger than ever.
But at that moment, the only thing that mattered was the pillow.
The sunlight invaded my room without the slightest ceremony, burning my eyelids before I could even open my eyes.
Groaning, I rolled over and covered my head with the pillow. My body felt like it weighed a ton—that typical magic hangover from someone who drained their core to the last drop.
I waited a minute, checking my status mentally.
[MP: 980 / 2,800]
Less than half. Natural recovery during sleep had done the basic job, but I still felt like a phone at 30% battery in power-saving mode.
"Get up," I ordered myself, kicking off the blanket. "The world doesn't stop just because you played supernatural doctor."
I took a quick shower to wash off the hospital smell and put on clean clothes. I slipped the Reserve Ring onto my finger—still empty, it would need a full day to recharge passively—and went downstairs.
The smell of strong coffee and frying bacon guided me to the kitchen.
The scene I found was domestically deceptive.
My mother, Alice, was at the stove, flipping pancakes with casual dexterity. Marcus was sitting at the head of the table, reading a print newspaper—an archaic habit he kept because "digital screens are traceable."
"Lazarus has awakened," Marcus commented without looking away from the international politics page. "I thought you'd sleep until noon after yesterday's performance."
"I considered it," I replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down. My voice was still a bit raspy. "But I have class. And I have a PowerPoint to present to Stiles."
Alice placed a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of me, followed by a mug of steaming black coffee. She kissed the top of my head.
"Eat it all. You need to replenish mass. Magic consumes calories, Nathan."
"Thanks, Mom."
I ate in silence for a few minutes, feeling the food and caffeine begin to wake up my brain. Gradually, the sleep fog cleared, giving way to tactical planning.
Today was an important day. Not just because of the explanations I owed Stiles and Scott.
There was something else. A date.
I looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall. "October 17th."
I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
"October 17th. Allison's birthday."
In canon, this was the day she skipped school with Scott. The day they "escaped" to the forest. The day Kate Argent gave her the necklace with the family crest.
Kate's necklace was a symbol of manipulation. A way to pull Allison into the world of Hunters.
I needed to give her something. Not to compete with Scott—he could have the romantic walk in the woods—but to ensure she survived what was coming. Elias Halloway was loose, and he loved emotionally vulnerable targets.
I cleared my throat, looking at my father.
"Dad."
Marcus folded the corner of the newspaper and looked at me over his reading glasses.
"Speak."
"In the vault..." I began, hesitantly. "Do we have any protection artifacts? Something small? Discreet?"
Marcus lowered the newspaper completely. His expression shifted from disinterest to sharp curiosity.
"Protection?" He arched an eyebrow. "You have the ring. The car is a tank. What more do you want? A full suit of armor?"
"Not for me," I corrected, playing with the fork on my plate. "For... someone else. A civilian."
The silence at the table was instant. Alice stopped washing dishes and turned around, a mischievous smile appearing on her lips. Marcus, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes—that "interrogating father" look mixed with "tactical mage."
"A civilian," Marcus repeated, his voice heavy with irony. "And who would this civilian be, so important they need arcane shielding from the Salt family? The Sheriff? Coach Finstock?"
"No, Dad. It's... someone from school."
Marcus let out a short breath that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.
"Ah. I see." He crossed his arms. "It's for the Argent girl, isn't it?"
I felt my face heat up slightly. Damn fatherly intuition.
"Yeah," I admitted. "Today is her birthday. And with Elias loose, and the Alpha running around... I just wanted to make sure she had an extra layer. Nothing aggressive. Just... a warning if something gets close."
Alice gave a little giggle, turning back to the sink.
"Oh, Marcus, leave the boy alone. It's romantic. And practical. The best combination."
Marcus shook his head, trying to maintain a serious posture but failing miserably.
"Romantic..." he grumbled, standing up. "Giving enchanted jewelry for a birthday. Classic mage move. At least you're consistent, Nathan."
He walked to a built-in cabinet in the dining room wall, which opened with a touch of mana, revealing a small collection of boxes and objects.
He poked around a bit and came back with a thin silver chain, holding a small pendant—a simple, milky moonstone.
He tossed the necklace to me. I caught it mid-air.
I examined it with Level 4 Vision.
There was a microscopic rune etched inside the stone. Reflection.
"It's a Passive Vigilance Amulet," Marcus explained, sitting back down. "It won't stop a rifle bullet, and it won't stop an Alpha from ripping her head off. But if someone tries to use mental or sonic magic on her... the stone heats up. And it creates a repulsion barrier for three seconds. Enough time for her to run or shoot."
"Perfect," I murmured, tucking the necklace into my pocket. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me," Marcus went back to his paper. "Thank me by making sure her father doesn't find out his daughter is wearing another family's magic around her neck. Chris Argent can be pragmatic, but he's territorial."
"I'll be discreet," I promised, standing up and grabbing my backpack.
"Nathan," Alice called out before I left the kitchen.
I turned around.
"Happy birthday to her," my mother smiled. "And be careful. Protection gifts create bonds."
I nodded, heading out to the garage.
I got into the Charger, feeling the weight of the necklace in my pocket.
It was Allison's birthday. The script said she'd spend the day with Scott.
I parked the Charger in my usual spot, the V8 engine dying with a low, guttural rumble that made a few heads turn in the parking lot.
The school was in its usual morning chaos. Backpacks dragging on the asphalt, car doors slamming, shrill laughter, and the mixed smell of hormones, cheap deodorant, and coffee in thermal cups.
I got out of the car, adjusting the backpack on my shoulder. My hand went automatically to my jacket pocket, feeling the small velvet box containing the necklace.
I took a deep breath and let Level 4 Magic Sight adjust. The world gained that overlay of information and colors, but I focused only on one specific signature.
It didn't take long to find her.
Allison Argent was standing near the side entrance, away from the main flow of students. Her aura wasn't its usual vibrant pink. It was tinged with an anxious grey, almost furtive, with flickering edges that indicated an intense desire to disappear. She was looking around, clutching her books to her chest like a shield, with the posture of someone about to flee a crime scene.
Scott was a few meters away, leaning against Stiles's jeep, watching her. His aura was a mix of gold (affection) and a restless red (the Wolf wanting to approach), but he kept his distance, respecting her space.
I walked over to her, cutting through the cars.
"Planning a prison break or just skipping first period?" I asked, stopping beside her, leaning against a blue sedan.
Allison jumped, turning so fast she almost dropped her books. Her eyes widened in genuine panic for a second before relaxing when she saw it was me.
"Nathan!" She exhaled, hand to her chest. "You nearly scared me to death. And... no. I'm just... waiting."
"Waiting for the right moment to go in?" I jerked my head toward the school door.
She sighed, defeated.
"Something like that."
"Good morning to you, then," I said, keeping my tone casual but lowering my voice. "And happy birthday."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Allison's face fell. The grey in her aura spiked. She looked around, paranoid, to see if anyone had heard, and then glared at me with a mix of shock and defensive suspicion.
"How do you know?" she whispered, sharp. "I didn't tell anyone. I took it off Facebook. I threatened Lydia with death if she told."
I smiled, staying calm.
"Lydia is good at keeping secrets, but she thinks very loudly in Chemistry class," I lied smoothly. "I heard her mumbling about 'seventeen' and 'presents' yesterday. Put the pieces together."
Allison let out a groan, covering her face with one hand.
"I'm going to kill her. I swear I will. I just wanted this day not to exist."
"Why? Seventeen is a good number. Prime. Odd. It has personality."
"It's one more year," she murmured, lowering her hand. "It means I'm getting old, Nathan. I repeated a year because of the moves. I should be graduating. I feel... behind."
"You're not behind, Allison. You're right on time."
I reached into my pocket.
"I know you don't want a party. And I know you hate the attention. That's why I didn't bring cake. I brought a gift."
She looked at my hand, hesitant.
"Nathan, I can't accept..."
"It's not a boyfriend gift, Allison," I cut in, serious. "It's a friend gift. Open it."
I took the small box out of my pocket and held it out to her.
Curiosity won. She took the box and opened it.
The milky moonstone glowed softly, nestled in the black velvet. Simple. Discreet. The Reflection rune was invisible to the naked eye but pulsed in my vision like a tiny blue heart.
"It's a Moonstone," I explained. "My dad has a collection of old things. He says it helps with mental clarity and... protection against bad vibes."
"Protection?" She touched the stone, feeling the mineral's coolness. "Against what?"
"Against everything that makes us want to scream in this town," I replied, looking into her eyes. "I felt like you were going to need it today. It's a passive vigilance amulet. If things get... intense, or dangerous, it helps keep focus."
She held the pendant, and I saw the moment the object's residual mana interacted with her aura. She felt it. Not as explicit magic, but as a wave of calm. The grey of anxiety receded, replaced by a bluish stability.
"It's... beautiful," she said, sincere. "And it feels... real."
"It is real. Wear it. Don't take it off, okay? Consider it a favor to me. With everything going on... the bus, the curfew... it's good to have an extra layer."
She smiled—a small smile, but a real one this time.
"Thank you, Nathan. For not making a scene. And for the... gift."
She took the necklace out of the box and, with a quick movement, put it around her neck.
Click.
The clasp locked.
Immediately, my Level 4 Vision registered the activation. The necklace pulsed once, and a translucent film of mana covered her aura, sealing her emotions and creating a barrier against external influences.
"Looks perfect," I said.
Allison touched the pendant, taking a deep breath. She seemed lighter.
"Thanks, Nate. Really."
"You're welcome. Now go. Scott is practically growing roots over there by the jeep waiting."
Allison looked at where Scott was, laughed softly, and nodded.
"Bye, Nathan."
She walked away, heading toward Scott with firmer steps. I watched the two of them meet. Scott looked at the new necklace around her neck, frowned for a second—the wolf instinct noticing the scent of magic or just the novelty—but Allison said something, smiled, and he relaxed.
They got into her car and left the parking lot.
I stood there, watching the car disappear around the curve of the street.
"That was an amulet, wasn't it?"
Stiles's voice came from right behind me, making me turn.
He was standing there with his backpack slung over one shoulder, clutching a thick folder to his chest. He was looking at me with narrowed, analytical eyes.
"Good morning, Stiles," I sighed.
"Don't change the subject. I saw. You gave her a necklace. Scott didn't get jealous, which means it wasn't 'romantic'. And Allison stopped looking around like she was about to be assassinated." Stiles pointed an accusing finger. "What does it do? Force field? Invisibility? Werewolf detector?"
I stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot, spinning on my heels to face Stiles. The morning light reflected off the car bodies, but my attention was entirely on the frantic, yellow, anxious aura in front of me.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the Grimoire in my backpack and the weight of what I was about to say on my tongue.
"Look, Stiles..." I began, lowering my tone, making it serious, almost intimate. "Do you even have a life of your own?"
Stiles froze. The manic grin of curiosity faltered, replaced by genuine confusion.
"What? Of course I do. I have... a lot of things. I have the jeep, I have lacrosse, I have..."
"No, you don't," I cut in, taking a step forward, invading his personal space enough to break the shield of the joke. "Listen to what you just said. 'Scott didn't get jealous'. 'Werewolf detector'. Everything that comes out of your mouth has his name on it, Stiles. It's either about Scott, or about what affects Scott, or about how to save Scott."
Stiles opened his mouth to fire back, but no words came out. He blinked, disconcerted.
"You live in his shadow," I continued, relentless but without malice. I was using Level 4 Vision to look inside him, seeing that void that the Nogitsune would one day exploit. "You're the sidekick. The comic relief. The guy who researches, who drives, who bleeds, but who is never the protagonist of his own story."
I pointed to his chest.
"Where are your desires, Stiles? Your feelings? When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to, and not because Scott needed it?"
Stiles looked away, staring at the asphalt. His aura, usually electric, dimmed, turning opaque. He suddenly seemed smaller.
"He's my best friend, man," Stiles murmured, defensive but lacking conviction. "He needs me. Especially now."
"Everyone needs a pillar," I agreed, softening my voice. "But if you're only his pillar, what happens when you crack? Who holds you up?"
The silence weighed heavy between us. The noise of the school around us seemed distant.
"When are you going to stop being Scott's support and start being your own foundation?" I asked, looking into his eyes. "Because what's coming, Stiles... it's going to demand more of you than just sarcasm and blind loyalty. It's going to demand that you be someone whole."
Stiles looked at me. There was a vulnerability there that rarely appeared. He didn't have a smart answer. He didn't have a joke.
"I..." he began, his voice failing. "I don't know how to be anything else."
"Learn," I advised, adjusting my backpack. "Before the shadow swallows you for good."
I turned my back on him and walked toward the school entrance, leaving Stiles Stilinski standing in the parking lot, alone, dealing with a mystery that didn't involve werewolves, but rather his own reflection.
I entered the building and the hallway buzz enveloped me. I ignored the glances and the colored auras floating around me; I was operating on a different frequency. I reached the classroom, sat in the back row, and as the teacher organized materials, I rested my textbook on the desk.
Underneath the ordinary cover, I summoned the Grimoire.
The weight of the book changed instantly. The leather vibrated against my palm, recognizing the evolution of my core. With Level 4 Magic Sight, reading was no longer an effort; it was a tuning.
I began to leaf through it. The first pages, the ones I already mastered, glowed with absolute clarity, but what interested me was what came next.
I passed the last page of Hydraulic Stasis and reached what, until yesterday, had been just yellowed, empty sheets of parchment. Now, under my gaze, the magic reacted.
Runes began to emerge from the paper as if rising from a pool of invisible ink. They organized themselves into complex diagrams, glowing in a pulsing violet that indicated a level of complexity much higher than what I had been practicing.
"Geometry of Bonds," I read aloud, my voice no more than a breath.
The page revealed the science behind the connections I saw in the parking lot. These weren't just descriptions; they were instructions on how to read, track, and eventually intervene in the bonds between sentient beings. The Grimoire detailed how to identify an Anchor, like the bond between Scott and Allison, and how to distinguish a Bond of Servitude, like the one I feared was forming in Jackson.
I turned another page. More scriptures appeared, this time with drawings of pressure points in the human aura.
"Frequency Rupture."
This wasn't a spell of construction or protection. It was a technique of deconstruction. With Level 4 Vision, I could now see the natural "fissures" in the spiritual protection of any creature. The Grimoire was teaching me how to inject mana into these fissures to collapse the target's internal structure from the inside out.
It was dangerous knowledge. Cruel, even. But necessary.
I closed the book as the teacher began to speak, letting the Grimoire dissolve back into my mental space.
I had given Stiles a chance to find his own foundation. In exchange, the Grimoire had just shown me how to destroy anyone else's.
The Beacon Hills board was shifting, and I was finally starting to read the fine print of the contract.