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In a dimly lit chamber, long wooden tables were covered with small plates of food, candles flickering in the corners. The Ash of the Covenant gathered around, their faces stern, tense with the weight of recent events.
One of the council members broke the silence, voice low and deliberate: "The Hunters are now gone… within Beacon Hills."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the group. Another responded, leaning back in his chair:
"Gerald thought the Argents were untouchable. All those blatant desecrations, hunting, and killing of monsters—and even innocents alike—he never imagined anyone would challenge him."
A third member, tapping a finger on the table, added bitterly:
"Gerald has been operating outside the law for years. But he had strong allies. No one ever held him accountable… not until now."
A whisper cut through the room. "He deserved it."
The first speaker nodded. "We need to decide… what steps should we take next? Beacon Hills is now effectively under the Hales' control. Any aggression in this area is considered a declaration of war."
"We maintain balance,"
the first added, voice even but edged with warning.
"Like the Guardians. We did not defend the Argents. They repeatedly crossed the line. But this… this was different. This was slaughter, not justice."
A long pause followed as each member absorbed the weight of those words. One of the younger members finally spoke, voice hesitant:
"If the Hales grow stronger… their power is more than a simple pack. And Arthur Corvinus…"
"Yes,"
another said quietly,
"the last blood. His growth is… exponential. He will reshape this town entirely. Every group in Beacon Hills must tread carefully now."
The conversation turned to strategy, whispers of containment and surveillance. They agreed to avoid direct engagement for now, maintaining observation, and ensuring the balance of supernatural forces did not tip too far in any one direction.
.....
Back at Beacon Hills High, the sun was bright over the field, lacrosse sticks clashing in rapid motion. Scott, Stiles, Jackson, and the three vampires were mid-practice. Their movements were smooth, almost inhuman, and Scott's recent training showed in his speed and precision.
Jackson stopped mid-dribble, frustration painted on his face. "Scott! Seriously, what's your secret? You've improved so much over the past week!"
Scott wiped sweat from his brow. "Huh? Jackson, I'm just practicing diligently these past few days… trying to make up for the days I didn't practice. Or else Coach will reprimand me."
Jackson groaned, waving a hand. "Bull! You've been doing something else, haven't you?"
"Are you on drugs?"
"Your speed, your reactions… you're like a different player out there."
Stiles, standing beside him, smirked. "Maybe he's got a secret coach… someone who whispers 'move faster, hit harder, don't die' in his ear."
Scott rolled his eyes, laughing slightly. "Stiles, stop."
Lydia raised an eyebrow, observing the play. "Honestly, you're just being outclassed. That's all."
Jackson growled playfully. "Outclassed? By Scott? And the others? That's not fair. They're not normal players—they're… freaks or something!"
Stiles laughed, pointing toward the three vampires moving fluidly across the field. "Freaks is right. Watch that one—left-handed, right-handed, moves like he's in ten places at once. And don't get me started on Scott"
Scott shook his head, trying to focus on the ball. "Can we not make fun of each other for two seconds?"
Jackson snatched the ball, launching a pass that Scott intercepted midair, spinning and scoring. "See that? That's what I'm talking about!" Jackson shouted.
Stiles clapped dramatically. "Bravo! A perfect score, Mr. Blur. But don't let it go to your head. You'll still eat my face if you get too fast!"
Scott smirked. "I'm not going to eat you, Stiles. Don't flatter yourself."
The three vampires were in perfect sync, moving as though anticipating each other's every step. One of them intercepted a tricky pass from Jackson, then spun and scored effortlessly. Jackson growled in frustration, while Stiles muttered under his breath, "I'm starting to feel like I'm playing against the Avengers here."
Allison shook her head, amused. "Scott, you really need to work on passing to humans. They can't keep up with your… 'enhancements.'"
Scott nodded, smiling faintly. "I know… I'm trying to balance it."
"Balance?" Stiles laughed. "Dude, you've got glowing eyes and reflexes like a cat. Balance is irrelevant."
Jackson groaned again, throwing his hands up. "Fine. But seriously… next game, if I'm paired with you guys, we're winning by a mile."
The sun was high, the field alive with energy. Balls flew, feet pounded the turf, sticks clashed, and the supernatural presence of the Hales' allies only amplified the intensity. Scott darted across the field, dodging, weaving, scoring. Stiles ran after him, half-joking, half-panicked, "Scott! Watch where you're going! I don't want to get flattened again!"
The three vampires moved like shadows, precise and deadly, demonstrating moves far beyond ordinary players. They intercepted passes effortlessly, outmaneuvered the normal players, and coordinated as a unit that seemed impossible to break.
Jackson, red-faced and frustrated, threw his hands toward the sky. "Scott! Seriously! Teach me your secret! How are you this fast?"
Scott laughed lightly, dodging a fast pass. "I told you, Jackson… practice. And maybe a little… luck."
Stiles muttered under his breath, "Yeah, and maybe Arthur's influence too… don't forget the mysterious bunny with red eyes watching over him."
Jackson groaned dramatically. "Not this again…"
The game continued, the energy in the field electric. Every pass, every movement, every strategy reinforced the realization: Beacon Hills High was no longer just a school—it was a place where the supernatural trained alongside the human, preparing for challenges yet to come.