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The forest had grown eerily quiet by the time Arthur and Alan Deaton returned.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet that came with early morning calm—but the kind that pressed against the ears, heavy and unnatural, as if the land itself was holding its breath.
Ahead of them, the remains of the Hale house stood like a wound carved into the earth. What had once been a strong, living home was now nothing more than a blackened skeleton of charred beams and collapsed stone. The structure barely held its shape, yet it remained upright enough to remind anyone who looked at it of what had been lost.
Even after hours had passed, the smell of smoke still lingered in the air.
It clung to everything.
The ground.
The trees.
The very wind that moved through the clearing.
Arthur slowed his steps as they approached, his usual casual demeanor fading just slightly.
"We're here," he said quietly.
Beside him, Alan Deaton came to a stop as well, his eyes scanning the scorched territory with a depth of understanding that went beyond what was visible.
His expression darkened, subtle but noticeable.
"The land remembers," Deaton said.
Arthur blinked, glancing at him.
"…That sounds ominous," he replied.
Deaton didn't elaborate.
He simply continued walking forward, his pace steady as he stepped into the clearing.
The moment they crossed into Hale territory—
The forest reacted.
Movement flickered through the trees.
Shadows shifted.
Pairs of glowing eyes appeared in the darkness between trunks, watching, tracking, assessing.
Wolves.
Alert.
Protective.
Ready.
Arthur raised his hands slightly.
"Relax, it's just me," he called out.
There was a brief pause.
Then one of the wolves stepped forward from behind a tree, its form shifting fluidly as bones realigned and fur receded. Within seconds, Derek Hale stood in its place, his expression guarded but familiar.
His gaze immediately shifted past Arthur and landed on Deaton.
"Emissary," Derek said, his tone acknowledging but cautious. "It's been a while."
Deaton inclined his head slightly.
"Derek."
Arthur looked between them, eyebrows lifting.
"Okay, yeah—you two definitely know each other," he said.
Derek crossed his arms.
"He used to advise my mother," he explained.
Arthur nodded as if everything made perfect sense.
"Right. Former pack druid," he said casually.
Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly not missing the ease with which Arthur said it.
"You know a lot," Derek remarked, "for someone who's human and was only recently taken in."
Arthur coughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively.
"Duh. Pack education," he said.
Derek didn't look convinced, but he didn't press further.
Instead, he turned toward the clearing.
"Come on," he said.
They moved forward together.
The survivors had gathered near what remained of the fire pit, the only area that still resembled something familiar. Several of the younger children sat close together, wrapped in blankets, their faces pale and drawn from exhaustion. Others, slightly older, were doing what they could—lifting small debris, clearing space, trying to feel useful in a situation they barely understood.
Standing near them, watchful and unmoving, was Laura Hale.
She noticed Deaton immediately.
"Deaton," she said.
Her tone carried respect—but also caution.
Deaton inclined his head.
"Laura," he replied. "I'm glad to see you're still holding on."
Arthur leaned slightly toward Derek, lowering his voice.
"Is it just me," he whispered, "or does everyone in this pack know him?"
Derek didn't even look at him.
"He helped raise us," he answered quietly.
Arthur nodded slowly.
"Yeah… that explains a lot."
Then the atmosphere shifted again.
The subtle movements in the clearing stilled.
Conversations quieted.
And from among the survivors—
The Alpha stepped forward.
Talia Hale.
Even in her weakened state, her presence was undeniable. It wasn't just authority—it was something deeper, something instinctual that commanded attention and respect without effort.
The air itself seemed to grow heavier as she approached.
Deaton bowed his head slightly.
"Talia."
Talia gave a small, acknowledging nod.
Arthur leaned back against a nearby tree, crossing his arms as he observed the interaction with quiet interest.
Yeah, he thought. This feels like two ancient NPCs about to exchange important lore.
Deaton studied her carefully, his eyes scanning for signs others might miss.
"We need to remove the poison," he said. "The wolfsbane is still affecting your system."
Talia nodded once.
"It lingers," she admitted.
Deaton's gaze shifted briefly toward the ruined house.
"The Argents are becoming arrogant," he said.
Talia's expression hardened.
"Yes," she replied. "They broke the code."
Her eyes darkened slightly.
"But only Gerard… and Kate."
(AN: I know the names are being repeated often, but they are being mentioned between different characters in different contexts. Please understand.)
Laura stepped forward, her voice edged with anger.
"They tried to wipe out our entire pack."
Deaton's expression cooled further.
"That is not the hunter's way," he said.
Arthur crossed his arms, unable to hold back.
"That might be true for most hunters," he said, "but we're not talking about most hunters."
His gaze shifted toward the forest.
"We're talking about the Argents. Specifically Kate Argent… and her father."
He let out a breath.
"They don't seem too concerned about tradition."
Both Talia and Deaton looked at him at the same time.
There it was again.
That look.
The kind that said:
'This child knows things he shouldn't.'
Arthur met their gaze with an innocent, slightly confused expression.
But inside—
Yeah… I'm going to get myself killed at this rate.
He sighed internally.
'Is Tom Holland possessing me? Or is this more of a Mark Ruffalo situation? Because I am definitely oversharing.'
Derek's low growl pulled attention back to the present.
"She came back this morning," he said.
Deaton's eyes sharpened immediately.
"She attacked again?"
Laura shook her head.
"No," she said. "She was watching."
Arthur added helpfully,
"With a rifle… and a very creepy smile."
Deaton exhaled slowly, clearly trying to process both the situation—and Arthur's commentary.
"Then the situation is worse than I feared," he said.
Without wasting time, Deaton stepped into the center of the clearing.
From his coat, he pulled out a small pouch.
Arthur immediately recognized the fine gray powder inside.
"Mountain ash," he muttered.
Deaton began sprinkling it carefully along the ground, forming a wide circle around the group. His movements were precise, deliberate—each line placed with intention.
As the circle closed—
Something changed.
The air shifted.
A subtle pressure spread outward, like an invisible barrier snapping into place.
Arthur felt it immediately.
"Whoa," he said, crouching slightly to examine it. "That's actually pretty cool."
Deaton spoke calmly.
"This will prevent most supernatural creatures from crossing."
Arthur raised a finger.
"Except humans."
Deaton nodded.
"Yes."
Arthur sighed deeply, dragging a hand down his face. 'this idiot, their enemies now are hunters, HUMANS! why would he sprinkle a fairy dust to us? peter pan go get this bald head. instead of protection it will become a prison. those pups can't get out if things gets troublesome. '
"Guess who that makes the pack's delivery boy," he muttered.
Derek smirked faintly.
"You volunteered."
Arthur groaned.
"I really need to learn how to shut up."
Despite everything, the presence of the barrier seemed to calm the younger children. Some of them relaxed slightly, their fear easing just enough for them to breathe normally again.
One small child tugged on Arthur's sleeve.
"Arthur?"
He looked down.
"Yeah?"
The child pointed toward the forest.
"There's something out there."
Arthur frowned.
At first—
Nothing.
No sound.
No movement.
Then—
Every werewolf in the clearing reacted at the same time.
Heads lifted.
Bodies tensed.
Eyes sharpened.
The wind shifted.
And with it—
The scent came.
Metal.
Gun oil.
Wolfsbane.
Derek's eyes flashed gold instantly.
"They're here," he said.
Laura's claws extended, her stance lowering into a defensive position.
"Hunters."
Arthur stared toward the trees, disbelief written clearly on his face.
"Oh, come on," he muttered.
He spread his arms in frustration.
"I literally just got back."
Talia stepped forward slowly, her presence once again commanding the space.
Her eyes burned with Alpha authority.
"Everyone stay inside the circle," she ordered.
Arthur muttered under his breath,
"This day is getting way too repetitive."
Deep within the forest—
Hidden among the shadows—
A blonde woman lowered her binoculars.
Her smile was sharp.
Amused.
Predatory.
Kate Argent pressed a button on her radio.
"Visual confirmed," she said calmly.
"The Alpha is alive."
Behind her, hunters moved into position, weapons ready, eyes locked on the clearing.
Kate lifted her rifle once more, settling it against her shoulder with practiced ease.
Her smile widened.
"Let's see how long that ash circle lasts."
Back in the clearing—
Arthur felt it.
That instinctive prickle along the back of his neck.
The kind that didn't come from sight or sound—
But from something deeper.
Something was about to go very, very wrong.