Volterra, centuries-old and drenched in shadow, echoed with a silence too perfect to be natural. The rain had not touched its cobbled streets in days, as though nature herself recoiled from the darkness within.
Yet the night cracked open like a wound.
Raiko stood at the gates, Alice and Rosalie flanking her. Their sudden arrival in a burst of lightning had singed the very stone.
Rosalie gave a low whistle. "Knock knock. Time to storm the palace."
Alice frowned. "Something's watching us. Not vampire. Not human. Something... older."
Raiko closed her eyes. The air shimmered around her. She extended her senses—electric, divine, and something darker now awakened in her.
They were not alone.
-------------
In the mountains above Volterra, the Witchflame Conclave stirred. Cloaked women in white and crimson robes chanted in a tongue so old even the Volturi feared its cadence.
At their head stood Mother Ysolde, a witch with a gaze like molten silver.
She opened her palm. Flames in hues of pink and teal danced in her grip.
"Stormborn walks," she murmured. "As prophecy weaves anew, our pact must be reforged. Bring forth the Accord."
A younger witch approached, carrying an old grimoire bound in stitched skin. Pages flapped despite no wind.
"The Storm is here," she whispered. "She brings balance… and obliteration."
---------------
Inside Volterra's walls, Raiko, Alice, and Rosalie cut through corrupted guards. Their eyes burned with the void, their bodies twisted by some unseen curse. But Raiko, faster than lightning and crueler than thunder, ended them with the elegance of a goddess.
Alice decapitated one with a spiral kick. "They're puppets now. No souls left."
Raiko's voice was cold. "Then we sever the strings."
She raised her hand, unleashing a bolt so dense it melted stone and shattered the central spire.
The castle screamed.
---------------
Meanwhile, Sulpicia, wife of Aro, waited with the Blade of Dusk in a secret chamber. As Raiko and her allies advanced, Sulpicia raised the blade. Its hum responded to Raiko's presence.
"She is here," she said aloud. "The one who walks between storm and silence."
Behind her, the corrupted form of Marcus approached. His face was now a mask of living shadows.
"Give it to me, sister of the dawn," he hissed.
Sulpicia wept. "Forgive me, Marcus."
And with one swift motion, she plunged the blade through his chest.
---------------
Outside, Raiko paused. She felt it.
"Someone just sacrificed everything to delay the darkness."
Rosalie growled. "Let's not waste that sacrifice."
Alice pointed toward a path that was not there seconds ago. "The witches are summoning us."
-------------
High in the ruined cathedral, the three entered a chamber glowing with eldritch sigils. Witchfire illuminated stone thrones and floating relics.
Mother Ysolde stepped forward.
"You are she whom our coven foresaw—Raiko, Emissary of Endings."
Raiko looked at her with sharp violet eyes. "I didn't come for riddles."
Ysolde nodded. "Then listen well: Nyxothar was once sealed by three divine pacts. One has broken. Two remain. The second is ours."
She raised the grimoire. "We can lend you our power. But we demand something in return."
Raiko crossed her arms. "Name it."
Mother Ysolde's voice trembled. "Save our future. A child—born of witch and vampire—shall carry our hope. But she must live."
Rosalie blinked. "Wait. A child? How—"
Alice interrupted. "I've seen her. In a dream. Black flames. Golden eyes. A bloodline not of this world."
Raiko stepped forward, hand over her chest.
"I swear by storm, steel, and soul: she will be protected."
Ysolde bowed. "Then take our blessing."
The witches surrounded Raiko. Incantations rang in the space between worlds. Pink-blue fire coiled around her arms and merged with her thunder. Her aura burned with divine chaos.
A new glyph appeared on her back—crescent moon wrapped in lightning bolts.
---------------
As they left the witches' domain, the night sky cracked open.
An enormous shape unfurled across the heavens.
Nyxothar.
Watching.
But it did not attack.
It waited, and smiled.