Night blanketed the world in silence as a storm of ravens swept across the sky like black smoke.
High above a forgotten land, a massive castle of ancient stone rose from the cliffs — jagged, weathered, and crowned with twisted spires that scraped the heavens.
The windows glowed faintly from within, casting flickers of gold and blood-red light that danced like fire behind stained glass.
This was no place built by human hands — it was carved from fear, memory, and power.
Set between realms, unseen by mortal eyes, the castle stood at the edge of existence, where the wind never stopped howling and the moon never waned. One by one, portals opened like ripples in the air, and figures stepped through — vampires from every corner of the world, cloaked in silence and shadow, drawn to the stronghold by ancient summons. The night of gathering had begun.
On the ancient stone bridge, cloaked in mist and silence, Jane and Alec stood like twin shadows—still, composed, and deadly. They were the highest-ranking enforcers of the Volturi Guard, and their presence alone sent fear rippling through even the boldest of immortals.
Jane's crimson eyes scanned the crowd, her expression unreadable, save for the faintest hint of amusement curling at her lips. With a mere thought, she could bring the strongest vampire to their knees, her power causing pain so intense it mimicked death.
Beside her, Alec was her quiet mirror—his own gift capable of severing all senses from his victims, casting them into a void of nothingness.
Between them stood Aro, cloaked in black velvet, eyes alight with ancient curiosity. Ever smiling, ever theatrical, he extended his pale, skeletal hand to each vampire who approached—his gift unraveling their every thought, memory, and secret with a single touch.
No lie could hide from him. No threat could remain unseen.
"Let us see," Aro whispered, voice delicate and razor-thin, as he pressed his palm to another hand. His eyes flashed with sudden delight—or perhaps fear. "Ah… so much potential.
But then, a shift in the air.
Two figures emerged from the shadows—one taller than the other—and instantly, the atmosphere changed. A low murmur spread among the gathered vampires. Even the Volturi guards stiffened, eyes narrowing, their postures tense.
The newcomers moved with quiet confidence, each step calculated and unhurried. Whispers rippled like wind through the crowd: they were from the Valentines Coven—a name that carried weight even in these hallowed circles.
The man wore a long, dark coat, high-collared and worn like armor. Gauntlets encased his hands, ancient and etched with runes. Beside him walked a silver-haired woman, her face completely obscured by a sleek mask and hood. Only a few delicate strands of her hair slipped free, catching the moonlight like threads of frost.
They said nothing. They didn't need to.
The air around them crackled with quiet power—older, colder, and far more dangerous than what the Volturi were used to. And for the first time in centuries, the masters of judgment felt the weight of being watched themselves.
"Ah… isn't this a surprise," Aro said with a cold smile, his eyes gleaming. "Lady Aurora and Lord Thrain. How unexpected to see you here."
He stepped forward with slow, deliberate grace, extending his hand—his usual gesture to read another's thoughts. But Aurora didn't move. Her gaze sharpened, narrowed with quiet disdain. She did not offer her hand.
A subtle tension cut through the air like a blade.
Behind them, Carlisle Cullen and Edward approached slowly, their steps measured. Neither spoke, but the shift in their expressions made it clear—they felt the storm brewing between the Volturi and the Valentines Coven.
Two ancient powers now stood face to face, and the air grew heavy with the weight of what might come next.
"Remove your hand," Aurora said coldly, her voice calm but edged with warning. "We are here on behalf of Her Grace—our mother."
Her eyes, hidden beneath her mask, burned with quiet fury as she stepped forward.
Aro's gaze narrowed—he had never felt such blatant disrespect before. His eyes sharpened, and the dark aura of his power began to coil around him.
"If you dare make an enemy of the Volturi," he warned, voice cold and dangerous,
She cut him off, her voice low and deadly:
"If you dare make an enemy of the Valentines, I will cut you down myself."
Jane narrowed her eyes, her power already stirring, ready to strike. But before she could act, Thrain moved.
Faster than anyone could follow, his sword appeared—cold steel pressed gently against Jane's neck.
"Your power is strong," Thrain said, voice low like thunder, "but you are still far from the eternal strength needed to harm us."
A breathless silence fell across the bridge. Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath.
"That's enough."
A new voice cut through the stillness, commanding and cold.
"No bloodshed will happen here. Do you dare to go against my will?"
Red eyes glowed fiercely in the darkness, fixing on them all.
Thrain slowly lowered his weapon, and just as silently, it vanished into thin air.
Aurora gave a curt nod before turning away, walking alongside the other vampires back toward the castle.
The shadows that had spoken dissolved into the night, leaving the bridge empty once more.
Aro watched them intently, then glanced over at Thrain—a man of honor. He reached out his hand cautiously. Their hands met, but Aro sensed nothing—Thrain's gauntlets shielded his mind from the vampire's probing.
Though anger flickered in Aro's eyes, he composed himself. Soon, all the vampires had arrived, their footsteps echoing through the ancient halls as they filed into the grand chamber. The air was thick with age-old power. Within the ornate hall, every coven took their rightful place—a sacred space where balance, law, and bloodbound rules reigned.
Aro stepped forward onto the elevated platform, his gaze sweeping over the gathered immortals.
"I call this meeting to order," he began, his voice cold and commanding. "From the youngest fledglings to the eldest ancients, all have come. But this time, we gather under dire circumstances."
He paused, letting silence build before dropping the weight of his words.
"The wolves… no longer have a leader."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a cold wind.
"He is dead," Aro confirmed, "and without him, the werewolves run unchecked. They slaughter humans and even our kind—without mercy."
Aurora's eyes narrowed from behind her mask, a sharp glint of contempt flashing through her gaze. Aro continued, and with a flick of his hand, a shimmering illusion appeared above them. It showed black-furred Lycans tearing through villages—humans and vampires alike screaming in chaos.
"This is our chance," Aro said, voice rising. "It is time we finally rid the world of them."
A gruff voice broke through the crowd.
"And how exactly are we supposed to fight them?" snapped one of the elder vampires. Others nodded in agreement, the younger ones remaining silent, unsure.
"With the help… of the Ancients," Aro said, lifting his eyes upward.
Above, twelve shadowed figures loomed on the upper balconies, their presence suffocating the room with dread and reverence.
Aro's gaze shifted toward one of them. "You hate werewolves, don't you?" he asked smoothly. "Your coven the Valentines—has the strength to crush them. Surely, you'll rise to the occasion?"
He smiled, predatory and smug, shifting all the pressure onto them.