As the battle drew to a close, two figures came into view. One lay sprawled on the ground; the other had crashed into a tree and now rested beside it.
"I just got my ass handed to me…" Derek muttered, coughing as he lay on his back.
"That makes two of us," John groaned.
Derek blinked, still catching his breath. "What is that thing?"
"A spirit I summoned," John said with a dry cough.
"They're great against demons… apparently good against werewolves too."
Derek turned his head, eyes locking onto the still figure of the golden knight. The towering spirit stood motionless, its sword planted in the earth where it had struck the Lycan.
"Derek," John coughed
"What?" Derek muttered, wincing.
"This… might be a bad time to ask, but—where did you bury your sister?"
Derek coughed, blood on his lips. His ribs were slowly healing.
"Where she would've wanted… where she could see the moon rise," Derek said, his voice strained.
John gave a slow, somber nod. "Yeah… I know exactly where that is."
Derek frowned. "I still don't get how you ended up dating my mom."
John let out a strained chuckle—it hurt to laugh. "What can I say? I like strong women."
His expression softened. "But I did love her."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"You know it has to be a Hale, right?" John said quietly.
Derek closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Yeah… I know."
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to make sense of it all. "Peter's still in a coma, and my little sister—she's out there somewhere. I have a way to contact her, but…"
His voice trailed off.
"Then who could it be?" John asked, voice low.
Derek didn't answer. He didn't have one.
On the road, the jeep rumbled as the three teens made their way back into town. In the back seat, a faint shimmer pulsed from the moon pendant around Iván's neck.
He didn't notice the glow—but he did feel a sudden wave of calm that washed over him.
His thoughts, once clouded by fear and the instinct to run, were finally beginning to clear. He let out a quiet sigh, reflecting on everything that had happened.
The sensed danger back there—he had felt intent. Whatever that werewolf is, it didn't just want a fight.
It wanted to kill him.
He stared down at his hand, flexing it slowly. His body had warned him, somehow. Instinct? Magic? He didn't know.
But one thing was certain—if that thing was after him, then it would try to get to his family to reach him.
And that was something he would never allow.
My mom. My sister. They're everything to me.
His eyes narrowed. He didn't know how to fight—at least, not yet.
But now that he'd seen what was really out there, he understood: even if he convinced his mom to leave Beacon Hills, there'd probably be something just as dangerous waiting wherever they went.
Running isn't the answer.
He had to get stronger—strong enough that nothing could touch them. Strong enough to protect the people he loved.
Iván glanced at Stiles, who was mid–mental breakdown, while Scott, also freaking out about what they'd heard.
Then his phone buzzed. A message from Rowan lit up the screen: We're all good.
Iván exhaled in relief.
His eyes drifted to the horizon, where the moon hung quietly in the sky.
Sooner or later, he'd have to face that too.
Elsewhere…
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the still air, untouched by the violence that had just occurred.
The last surviving vampire hung limply from a tree branch, Elijah's hand wrapped tightly around his throat—calm, unwavering, merciless.
"You won't get anything from me!" The vampire snarled, struggling against the grip.
Elijah tilted his head slightly, his voice composed and quiet, yet heavy with threat.
"Is that so? Have you already forgotten what I am capable of?"
He met the vampire's eyes, and the compulsion took hold like iron chains.
Terror flickered across the vampire's face.
"I extended your kin an opportunity—mercy, even. A chance to walk away with your lives." Elijah's tone remained eerily serene. "You refused. So now, I will simply take what I require."
He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Tell me… where is the Sun Pendant?"
The vampire trembled, the fire in his resistance guttering out. His voice came out hoarse.
"It's… it's with Lady Aurora. She's the only one who can hold it."
A faint smile curved Elijah's lips.
"Very good. Now… who is this Lady Aurora?"
"She… is one of Her Grace's seven children—her strongest," the vampire gasped. "She wields the gift of ice and commands magic."
Elijah's expression darkened, the flicker of amusement vanishing from his eyes.
"Where is she now?" he asked, voice low and cold.
"She's… she's on her way here," the vampire said.
Elijah's gaze sharpened as he sensed a powerful presence approaching.
"Well then… it seems she'll come to me," he murmured.
With a swift twist of his wrist, the vampire's neck snapped—his head shattering like brittle glass. Elijah let the body fall, already reaching into his coat. From within, he retrieved a small leather pouch, the sound of coins clinking softly in his hand.
He waited.
In the distance, Aurora dashed forward, her eyes locked onto him. With a graceful sweep of her arm, ice erupted beneath her feet, forming a glistening path that shot her across the snow like a spear.
"No hello? How rude," Elijah said coolly—then vanished in a blur, evading the frozen blast.
In a flash, Elijah lunged for her neck—but Aurora moved just in time, her eyes tracking his blinding speed. With a sharp motion of her hand, more ice erupted behind her, forming a jagged barrier.
Elijah, unfazed, flicked a single coin toward her with casual precision.
The coin shattered through the ice like glass, tearing straight toward her—but Aurora was faster. Her sword materialized in her grip, and with a sharp clang of metal, she deflected it midair.
The moment it struck her blade, a burst of concussive force exploded outward.
Aurora was knocked back, skidding across the ground—yet she landed firmly on her feet, eyes locked on him with steely resolve.
"Now, if you'd be so kind," Elijah said smoothly, "keep your sword and ice to yourself. I have no desire for a fight. A simple request—your necklace—and you get to live."
Aurora stared back at him, expressionless. She raised her sword, the blade shimmering with frost.
"The vampires you killed… that was an act of war," she said, her voice like ice. "As for the necklace—it will not be given."
Before Elijah could respond, her eyes narrowed.
"Ice Prison," she whispered.
With a swift slash of her sword, a wall of jagged ice erupted from the ground, spikes bursting outward in an instant.
Elijah was caught off guard, impaled and frozen in place, his body locked in a crystalline tomb.
Aurora circled the ice formation, her gaze sharp.
"You were strong… for a cursed vampire," she said calmly, turning her back to him. "But your arrogance led you to death."
Aurora turned away, her task complete. Her sword dissolved and shimmered out of existence as she vanished.