The snow settled thick on the ancient stump, its gnarled roots protruding like the bones of some long-dead beast. As I drew closer, an instinctual shiver coursed through me—not from the cold, but from the palpable weight of history it carried. It was remarkable to consider the strength it once commanded, now dwarfed by time and nature. A fact not changed by the decision to place my backpack beside it.
This was the Nemeton—the heart of Beacon Hills' shadowed secrets. It was the very reason for my assignment to Beacon Hills by the Department of Supernatural at the FBI. My task was to establish a connection with the Nemeton and assess the town before my official stationing in the coming year.
Preparing to begin the ritual to assume the role of guardian—following the unofficial guardian Talia Hale— With deliberate care, I brushed snow from the ancient wood, then removed my jacket and shirt, folding them neatly atop my pack. Positioning myself on the Nemeton, raising my right hand, I extended a claw—my own, cold and sharp—gazing at it as the chill seeped into my bones. I took a breath, steadying myself.
Beneath the silence, I could feel the pulse of the forest, waiting.
I performed a ceremonial midline sternotomy, a symbolic act of surrender and devotion. Then I intoned the invocation:
"Mater, donum potentiae tuae peto ut custos huius loci fiam. (Mother, I ask for the gift of your power to become the guardian of this place)
Vires quaero ut me defendam, ut hostes meos vincam. (I seek strength to defend myself, So that I may overcome my enemies.)
Celeritatem quaero ut velox sim. Ut hostes meos vincam. (I seek speed so that I may be swift. So that I may overcome my enemy)
Scientiam quaero ut sapiens sim. Ut hostes meos vincam. (I seek knowledge so that I may be wise. So that I may overcome my enemies.)
Genulo ad te, Mater, flecto ut mihi detur occasio vera custos esse et potentia defendendi eos qui se defendere non possunt. (I kneel before you, Mother, that I may be given the opportunity to be a true guardian and the power to defend those who cannot defend themselves.)
Gratias tibi ago, Mater, pro hac occasione." (I thank you, Mother, for this opportunity.)
As I finished, I felt the energy stir beneath me, rising like a tide. The frozen leaves and brittle branches lifted, swirling around me in a restless wind. A warmth seeped into my core, chasing away the cold, mending my wounds, fortifying my resolve. The forest seemed to breathe with new life, and darkness beckoned just beyond the edges of consciousness.