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Synica nodded. “For good reason. The djinn sealed it. At great sacrifice to our people. That’s how dangerous it was. We do not want that veil being opened.”

“What if some of Fane’s pack is in there?

” Boain’s arms were folded across his chest. Lorna, his mate, stood beside him, her hands tucked into her jeans pockets as she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“We can’t leave it closed if there’s a chance they’re in there.

What was so dangerous that you decided to seal it? ”

Synica’s eyes dropped down as she took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself for whatever she was about to say. “The Ruler of the Realm of the Dead began to crave more power than he had as the being that he was.”

“So you’re saying that a very powerful being got power hungry?” Jeff asked dryly. “That’s not original.”

Synica’s lips turned up in a wry smile. “Evil never is original. All evil seeks the same thing. Power. And so we made it so he could not gain any more power.”

“I’m guessing he’s probably not happy about that.” Drayden narrowed his intense gaze on the djinn elder. “Powerful beings don’t like the word ‘no.’ So there’s a possibility we have people trapped in this realm with a ruler who’s been trapped there for centuries?”

Synica shook her head.

Drayden’s brow rose. “Millennia?”

The elder nodded.

“Shit.”

“Double shit,” Boain muttered. “We’re not leaving the veil closed. If all of us go, combine all of our power, there’s got to be a way to keep this ruler from getting out.”

“We could lose everything,” Synica said softly.

“Or we could take back everything that’s been stolen,” Tyler countered. He turned to the gathered alphas and allies, his voice firm. “If Shade is opening the veils, we need to be there. And if the Realm of the Dead is opened as well, then we will do what we always do. We fight.”

“So be it,” Myron, one of the other djinn elders said, his lips set in a resigned frown.

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, and Tyler felt a flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Then we head to draheim.” Tyler’s voice was steady. “And we make sure our people come home.”

A fter too many tense moments of arguing, the pack mansion was alive with action.

The alphas had finally found common ground: they were going to draheim to help Shade open the veils.

Whether they liked it or not, Shade’s reckless quest was their best chance to free the people Celise had trapped.

But the decision didn’t settle the tension—it only shifted it.

Now, the wolves, fae, warlocks, and djinn moved through the great hall like a storm preparing to break, their movements quick and purposeful, their voices low and taut.

Synica stood near the far wall, her eyes watching as the wolves geared up.

Weapons clinked and clattered as blades were strapped to belts and shoulders.

Bowstrings were tested, and arrows were counted.

The room smelled of leather, steel, and wolf—earthy, raw, and potent.

The air vibrated with suppressed energy—the kind that made the hair on her arms stand on end.

Tyler was at the center of the chaos, his dark eyes scanning the room as he gave orders.

His mate, Sadra, stood close to him. She was a steadying presence in the whirlwind.

Synica watched as wolves shifted into their forms, fur rippling over muscle and bone with practiced ease.

Others stayed human, their postures tense but ready.

The fae, with their ethereal grace, prepared their magic.

The warlocks murmured incantations under their breath, and their hands glowed faintly with power.

And the djinn—her people—stood apart, silent and still, their faces unreadable masks.

Synica’s mind churned, as her thoughts were a tangled web of memories and fears.

She had told them about the Veil of the Dead, about Raja’s hunger for power, and how her people had sealed him away.

What she hadn’t told them—what she couldn’t bring herself to say—was the full truth.

That Raja wasn’t just bound to his realm.

He was bound to the Nushtonia itself. And that truth, more than anything, was what terrified her.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the table beside her. The cool wood grounded her as she forced herself to speak. “There’s something else you need to know.” Her voice cut through the noise, drawing every eye to her.

Tyler stopped mid-step and turned to face her with a frown. “What is it?”

Synica took a steadying breath. “Raja isn’t just sealed in his realm.

He’s bound to the Nushtonia . When my people trapped him, we used the artifact to contain him.

It became a part of him, and he became a part of it.

That’s why the Nushtonia is so powerful.

It isn’t just an object of magic—it’s a living prison. And now Shade holds it.”

The room went still, the weight of her words sinking in.

“What does that mean?” Drayden’s deep voice was steady but grim.

“It means”—Synica’s throat felt tight as she spoke—“that every time Shade uses it, he’s feeding Raja. He’s waking him. And if Raja fully awakens, he won’t stay trapped. He’ll come for this world, and he’ll bring destruction with him.”

A heavy silence followed her words, broken only by the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth.

“We don’t have a choice,” Tyler said finally, his voice firm. “We still have to go to draheim and open the veils. If we don’t, our people stay trapped. We’ll deal with Raja if it comes to that.”

Synica nodded, though her stomach twisted with unease. She admired Tyler’s resolve, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into something far worse than they realized.

The group was nearly ready to leave when the television on the far wall caught Synica’s attention. The muted news broadcast had shifted to breaking coverage, the bold red banner at the bottom of the screen declaring: TERROR IN THE UNITED STATES.

“Turn it up,” Tyler barked.

One of the fae moved quickly to unmute the TV, and the room filled with the frantic voice of a reporter.

“We’re live outside what remains of the White House, where an explosion has devastated the area.

Reports indicate that this was no ordinary attack.

Witnesses claim to have seen … creatures.

Demons, some are calling them, wreaking havoc in the aftermath.

Military personnel are struggling to contain the situation as … as?—”

The reporter’s voice broke off as the camera panned to the chaos behind her.

Synica’s stomach turned at the sight. The once-pristine White House was a smoking ruin, its iconic pillars shattered and its roof caved in.

Fires burned across the lawn, and the air was thick with smoke and ash.

Screams echoed faintly through the broadcast, and the camera caught glimpses of creatures, twisted, monstrous forms with glowing eyes and slavering jaws, tearing through the terrified crowd.

Military personnel fired their weapons, but it was useless.

Synica watched as a fae woman lifted her hand, the air around her shimmering as she pulled the guns from the soldiers’ hands with a flick of her wrist. A warlock sent a burst of fire spiraling toward a group of humans, who scattered, their screams piercing.

And then Synica saw them. At first, she thought they were humans, but then the camera zoomed in, and she caught the telltale glow in their eyes.

Dormants. Humans with dormant supernatural bloodlines that had been awakened.

They were young, barely more than teenagers, but they stood their ground, forming a circle around a helicopter on the lawn in front of the burning structure.

And standing with them, interspersed in the circle were elf and fae warriors, a total of four.

In full warrior gear, they looked exactly like what many human movies and books depicted them.

The dormant’s faces were pale with fear, but their stances were resolute.

The elves and fae were seasoned in combat and looked pissed off.

One of them, a fae with violet hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, raised her hands, and a shield of light sprang up between her and an approaching demon.

“They’re fighting back,” Synica murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tyler’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the screen. “Dormants.”

“Terrified dormants,” Jeff pointed out. “Who look like they’ve only just realized that elves and fae exist.” He wasn’t wrong.

The dormants kept giving the other warriors wary glances but had apparently decided since they were standing beside them, instead of advancing on them, they must be the good guys.

“Bloody hell,” Boain murmured. “Is the President of the United States in that helicopter?”

“You’d think they’d have gotten him out when the shit hit the fan in London,” Drayden’s hands rested on his hips.

“Whoever it is, those warriors and dormants believe they’re worth protecting,” Angus, the Ireland pack alpha, pointed out. “But they look seriously outnumbered.”

Synica turned to face the room, her blood boiling inside of her at the thought of those young kids doing what the supernaturals should have been doing. “We go there first.”

“I swear this shit cannot get any worse,” Jeff muttered under his breath as he ran a hand across his face.

“We go there,” Synica repeated, her voice steady and unyielding. “We stop this. We get it under control. And then we go to draheim.”

Tyler hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced at the screen again. The images were brutal, the chaos overwhelming. But the sight of the dormants—young, terrified, and fighting anyway—seemed to solidify his decision.