Blackmoor Academy was healing.
Or so it seemed.
While Richard rested and the warning of Dreadmarch haunted the core of every mind, daily life tried desperately to stitch itself back together. Classes resumed. Students returned to their dorms. Smiles were forced. Laughter felt... hollow.
But beneath it all, something darker was rising.
Something ancient.
Something whispered.
And it had a name: Violet.
---
The Puppet Strings
In the forbidden archives beneath the east wing, Violet sat with her legs crossed in a circle of glowing black runes. Her fingers were slick with crimson ink—not blood, but a darker alchemical blend from the cursed pages of a stolen grimoire.
She whispered names—one by one.
"Derrik. Lupa. Fenrir. Axel…"
The flames around the runes flickered green. Her eyes turned glassy black. And far above, four werewolves stirred from their dorms, faces blank, minds shrouded.
They moved.
Not like students.
Like weapons.
---
A Pack Unleashed
Hope was walking through the garden outside the greenhouse. London had gone to meet Raphael and Stephen for training drills. She had hoped for peace—just a moment of stillness. Just the sky. Just the scent of blooming wisteria.
But peace was a luxury she was never given.
She heard the growl before she turned.
Four werewolves in uniform stood at the edge of the garden, teeth bared, eyes wild.
"Guys?" she asked cautiously. "Are you okay?"
"Stay away from us, monster," Derrik hissed. "You shouldn't be here. You brought this evil. You're a curse."
Hope stepped back. "What…?"
Then they lunged.
---
The Fight
Hope barely dodged a claw swipe, flipping backward and landing gracefully. Her eyes flickered red and silver—the hybrid strength kicking in.
"I don't want to hurt you!" she shouted.
But they didn't care. Or rather, they couldn't.
The magic was deep. Rotten. Poisonous.
They fought with savagery. One tore a tree in half just trying to reach her. Hope moved like a blur—one second behind, the next above. She grabbed two by their shirts and slammed them into the earth, vines rising at her command to hold them down.
The third caught her arm. The fourth snapped at her throat.
She let out a blast of raw magic—blue fire rippling out in a wave. They were knocked back, unconscious.
Students nearby gathered in shock.
Hope stood in the middle of the devastation, panting, trembling. And then came the whispers.
"She's too powerful…"
"She nearly killed them…"
"It's always her. Trouble follows her."
"She's the reason Richard was gone…"
---
Violet Smiles
From the window of the third floor, Violet watched.
Smiling.
Her fingers gently stroked the cursed page. "They'll never accept her," she whispered.
---
The Next Wave
Two nights later, it happened again.
Hope was on her way to the library when she heard the crash.
Six vampires. All elite. Older students—some even on the student council. Faces blank. Movements precise. Controlled.
"Hope Mikaelson," one of them sneered, eyes bloodshot. "You should never have come here. You're not one of us."
"I've been here since the start," she growled, fists clenched.
"You're the reason this school is cursed."
"You walk with demons."
"You're not human. Not vampire. Not werewolf. You're a mistake."
They came at her like lightning.
Hope didn't hold back this time.
Fire exploded from her palms. A magic shield burst around her as she twisted mid-air, driving her heel into one attacker's chest. She blasted the others with telekinetic force, sending them flying across the hall.
But more students had gathered.
And this time… they weren't cheering.
They were whispering again.
Backing away.
Afraid.
Of her.
---
Aftermath
Hope sat outside the courtyard alone, blood on her knuckles, scratches across her cheek.
London came rushing toward her. "Are you okay?"
She didn't answer. Just stared into the dark.
Stephen, Raphael, Daemon, and Jessa arrived soon after, each of them furious—but also deeply shaken.
"They're under something," Raphael said. "It's not just anger."
"Yeah," Stephen muttered. "Feels like dark puppet strings."
Hope looked down. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I shouldn't be here…"
"No," Jessa said, taking her hand. "Don't you dare."
"You don't deserve this," Celeste whispered.
She watched the others closely. Especially Violet, who stood in the distance, pretending to be concerned. But Celeste saw it—the flicker of pleasure in her eyes.
She knew.
She just wasn't ready to speak.
---
A Silent Promise
Later that night, Celeste approached the forbidden section of the library. She stared at the lock, her hand hovering.
She had to know what Violet was doing. And why.
In her pocket was a protective charm Daemon had given her.
She clenched her fist.
"I'll find out. Before it's too late."