Past and Present:

  Adam sat hunched over his computer, the soft glow of the screen carving deeper lines into his already weary face. Emails poured in from governments around the world, each detailing desperate measures to protect their citizens now that the threat of Dalareyes had resurfaced. Every notification chimed like a tolling bell, underscoring the urgency pressing in from all sides. Many nations had been indifferent to the chaos—until their wealth or territory was threatened. In times like these, survival eclipsed ideology.

  A quiet knock broke the heavy silence. Adam, exhausted but alert, called for the visitor to enter. His secretary, Madeline, stepped inside and closed the door with a solemn gentleness.

  “Good evening, sir,” she said, her steady voice edged with concern. “The Swiss team has collected Thalia and completed their meeting with Brunhilda. They’re on their way back with new information.”

  Relief washed over Adam, tempered by the familiar ache of worry. His children might be extraordinary, but they were still his children. “Thank you, Madeline. At least they’re safe.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a gesture born of constant strain.

  “Any news on Alejandra and her team?”

  Madeline checked her notes, her brow tightening. “They’re also returning. They uncovered what Rekirakiel was searching for and eliminated the Angels accompanying her. They mentioned receiving assistance but didn’t specify from whom.”

  A flicker of hope rose in Adam’s chest, quickly shadowed by dread. “Casualties?”

  “Two, sir. Simon and Mika. Their bodies are being returned.”

  The words hit him like a blow. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the surge of grief. Preparation never softened loss.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. Dismissing her, he crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured a generous whisky.

  “To Simon,” he whispered, drinking it down. He poured another.

  “To Mika.”

  The burn did nothing to ease the ache.

  He would need to inform Joseph of their deaths when he returned. The thought twisted in Adam’s gut, a cruel burden he alone had to carry.

  Setting the glass down with deliberate care, he crossed the room to a tall bookcase. His fingers brushed the worn spines—relics of a past that felt impossibly distant. He pressed a hidden button, and the bookcase sank into the floor, revealing a concealed chamber lit by the soft glow of a single console.

  The machine pulsed faintly, its surface alive with shifting light. Adam stepped inside, the air thick with reverence, and placed his hand on the interface. At his touch, the console hummed, awaiting the next name. Each entry summoned a holographic figure—spectral images of the Next-Gen who had given everything to protect the world. Their faces flickered like ghosts, intimate and haunting. Beneath each projection appeared the names of their mothers, their birthdates, and, for too many, the date their lives ended. A quiet ledger of sacrifice.

  He lingered on each face. Some smiled, captured in moments of joy; others bore the solemn weight of the battles they had fought. Every image was a story, a thread in a tapestry woven with struggle and loss. This console was his shrine—a way to remember his and Joseph’s descendants, to ensure their sacrifices would never fade.

  For a moment, he envied Mary and Eve. The magic that created them—and all female Next-Gen—had spared them the agony of losing children. They could not bear life, a harsh necessity in a world where war never ceased.

  Adam typed another name. Cain appeared, rendered in pale light. The ache of that ancient loss still pierced him. He dismissed the image and entered Simon’s name next. The hologram shifted from blue to white as he confirmed the date of death. Then came Mika, standing beside her twin. Thousands of lives, countless losses—and the weight of every one of them rested on his shoulders.

  Each child was a part of him, yet Adam had knowingly sent them into danger. The necessity of creating the Next?Gen warriors had always been clear, but the cost was staggering. Every face in the console’s archive represented a life sacrificed for the greater good, and he carried the unbearable knowledge that he could never repay that debt.

  Before leaving, he typed in Thalia’s name. Her image appeared in haunting blue—a reminder of the life she had abandoned when she became a Vampyre. He had never found the courage to mark her as dead, choosing instead to preserve the memory of who she had been. The decision still weighed on him.

  Then came Arius. His hologram glowed stark white, a reflection of the day Adam believed he had been lost with his ship, The Ancients Retreat. Adam hesitated, then erased the date. The image shifted back to blue—a small act of hope amid overwhelming loss.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Finally, he summoned Selene and Leander. Their images stood apart, reminders of those who had stepped away from the Guardians’ mission. Their choice was understandable. Humanity’s prejudice against the supernatural had only grown sharper over time; Werewolves and Vampyres were still cast as monsters. No wonder they had withdrawn from a world that refused to accept them.

  Drawing a steadying breath, Adam exited the chamber and sealed the bookcase behind him. The contrast outside was jarring—rows of cubicles filled with human staff monitoring supernatural activity and scanning global news for emerging threats. He moved past them with purpose, heading for the elevator. His focus was singular now. He needed to see Thalia again after so long.

  The elevator opened onto a bustling floor of operatives. Amid the movement, Adam spotted Jacob, the head of security.

  “Jacob,” he called.

  Jacob straightened. “Sir, everything alright?”

  “I’m here to see Thalia and the others when they return.”

  “They should be here soon—ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” Jacob said, reading the weight behind Adam’s urgency.

  “Thank you. How’s everything else?” Adam asked, shifting the conversation outward.

  “It’s going well, sir. Every team at base is ready for deployment. All jets are fueled and stocked. If the Primordials or Angels attack, we can respond within minutes.”

  Adam nodded, appreciating Jacob’s unwavering diligence. The man had always been the backbone of their preparedness.

  “Sir… may I ask something?” Jacob’s voice wavered—an unfamiliar crack in the armor of a man who had charged into danger countless times. The flicker of fear in his eyes made Adam’s chest tighten.

  “Go ahead.”

  Jacob drew a steadying breath. “Can we win this? The Angels are weaker, but so are we. We have the fewest active Next?Gens in history. If a handful of Primordials can wipe out a team like Danny’s… what chance do we have?”

  Adam studied him, recognizing the weight behind the question. Jacob had seen more loss than most, yet he rarely voiced doubt.

  “In all honesty, I don’t know,” Adam said quietly. “But we won’t stop fighting. If this is the war we lose, then we’ll make sure they remember how hard we hit them. Maybe one day we’ll push them back.”

  Jacob nodded, though uncertainty lingered. “With respect, sir… you’re immortal. You don’t fear not coming back.”

  “You sure about that?” Adam replied, a shadow crossing his face. “For all I know, Arius is returning with ways to kill me. And I’d face every one of them if it meant protecting this planet. If I die in this fight, I’ll make sure I save as many people as I can—and take as many Angels with me.”

  Before Jacob could respond, flashing lights signaled an arriving jet. Adam turned toward the hangar as the aircraft descended. When the doors opened, Arius and Freya stepped out first. Silence rippled through the operatives—awed, wary, and painfully aware that these two could cause untold destruction of they so choose.

  Thalia stepped out of the jet, and the atmosphere tightened even further. Adam felt the entire room hold its breath. Still, he managed a genuine smile.

  “Welcome back, Thalia. It’s been too long.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re imprisoned by a psycho for over a decade and no one comes to help,” she said, her tone equal parts frustration and dry humor.

  “You wanted nothing to do with this operation,” Adam countered. “And how did he even catch you?”

  “Do you really want to know? As my father?” she asked, eyebrow raised. Adam wisely shook his head.

  “I thought you were over him, considering how many times he dumped you,” Arius added.

  “I was over him, then under him, then in front of him—sometimes behind him—depending on his mood—”

  “That’s enough,” Adam cut in quickly. Thalia flashed him a mischievous grin, though pain lingered beneath it.

  “Anyway, he caught me off guard,” she admitted.

  “A whole new meaning to caught with your trousers down,” Arius muttered, earning a playful punch that would have shattered anyone else’s arm.

  Adam watched them, relieved to see them together again despite everything.

  “Alright. What did Brunhilda tell you?” he asked, steering them back to business.

  Arius took the lead. “She was wrong about the translation. Demornium and Angelite can incapacitate us, but not kill.”

  They moved toward the elevator, operatives parting slowly, wary of the three Vampyres.

  Thalia’s voice darkened. “However, there is a form of Demornium that carries a trace of magic so ancient that even Brunhilda doesn't know its origin. That one is lethal.”

  Adam turned as she drew her sword. The weapon radiated a darkness that made his muscles tense.

  “That’s it?” he breathed.

  “It is. Brunhilda helped me forge it before I confronted the Archangels after I found out what they did to Ari. It wounded Michael—and he didn’t heal.”

  “So those rumours were true, it was difficult to believe, especially since you wanted nothing more to do with me at the time.” Adam reached for it. “May I?”

  She hesitated, then handed it over. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, the magic immense—but something felt wrong. The longer he held it, the weaker he became, as if the blade were quietly draining the life from him.

  “Amazing,” Adam murmured, still feeling the sword’s draining pull. “Where did she say this was found?”

  “A cavern near where Dalareyes was hidden,” Thalia said. “She took me there once to gather the material, but I can’t remember how to get back.”

  “You told her about Dalareyes?” Adam asked, concern flickering.

  “Dalareyes told her,” Arius cut in. “He showed up a few hours before we arrived and vanished again. Which brings us to the next bit of news.”

  Adam’s brow tightened. “What happened?”

  “He’s using tunnels to move around,” Arius explained. “Like the one at that warehouse where the Primordials came through. They’re everywhere.”

  “Any idea where he went?”

  “Brunhilda didn’t say. Probably sulking in his burrow,” Arius muttered.

  “Or he joined the Angels,” Freya added as they stepped off the elevator. Staff members gasped at the sight of the two Ancients, but the twins ignored the stares.

  “That’s possible,” Arius agreed as they entered Adam’s office and shut the door.

  “I’ll contact Eve and have her return to coordinate things,” Adam said. “Her report from Russia looked promising.”

  “What about you?” Arius asked, pouring drinks.

  “I’m joining the hunt for Dalareyes. I hesitated to leave, but he’s too dangerous to let roam free.”

  “I don’t want to hunt him,” Thalia said abruptly.

  Arius blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s your problem, not mine. And Adam… I’m not ready to jump back into the fight.”

  Adam nodded. “Stay as long as you need. Freya?”

  Freya lowered her gaze. “I’ll stay too. I’d just slow you down. Or be a burden again.”

  “You’re never a burden,” Arius said gently.

  “I was the day they took you,” she whispered. “You were too busy saving me.”

  Arius stepped close, lifting her chin. “You. Are. Never. A. Burden.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her into a quiet, steady embrace.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Arius whispered into Freya’s ear as he released her, offering what comfort he could.

  “Once Alejandra’s team returns and is debriefed, Eve should be back soon after,” Adam continued, shifting the conversation toward logistics. “Then we can head out.”

  “Where did Vayne go?” Freya asked, her voice cracking before she steadied herself.

  “Rekirakiel showed up. She went with a team to deal with her.” Arius turned to Adam, tension sharpening his tone. “You sent her to Rekirakiel alone?”

  Adam lifted a calming hand. “She had nine operatives with her—eight Next?Gens, plus Lucas.”

  “And how many did you lose?” Thalia asked quietly from her place against the wall.

  “Two,” Adam said. “They got help escaping, but Rekirakiel got away.”

  “You’re lucky it was only two,” Arius replied, his voice unsettlingly calm.

  “You think I don’t know that?” Adam shot back, frustration simmering. “I made the best call I could with what I had.” The charged silence between father and son made the others avert their eyes.

  “Let’s hear her report when she returns. For now, I’m contacting Eve.” Adam’s tone shifted into command. He looked at the twins. “And I’d appreciate it if you two stayed low. The atmosphere is tense enough without you adding to it.”

  He sank into his chair and began typing, the clacking keys filling the room as the others quietly withdrew. After a moment, Thalia, Arius, and Freya slipped out, closing the door softly behind them.