Two weeks had passed since the world stopped pretending. Not that anyone had agreed to it. It simply happened anyway.
At first, it was fascination. Then curiosity. Then obsession. And finally—behavior change.
The exposure of the Witching Hour had begun to produce consequences no council meeting, no senate discussion, and no emergency spellwork could fully contain anymore.
Across the Bareblood world, markets adapted in ways no one inside Nocturne had anticipated. Black market dealers began circulating crude "anti-supernatural" kits, fueled by half-understood myths scraped from old folklore websites and historical records. Silver—once a symbolic material buried in superstition—suddenly returned to relevance. It started small. Silver rings to act as hidden brass knuckles. Silver knives in varying sizes and length. Silver-tipped bolts sold under vague "historical reenactment" labels.
Then it escalated.
Silver bullets began appearing in underground listings across multiple countries. Crossbow bolts were marketed as "monster deterrents". Even improvised melee weapons began circulating online, advertised with language that blurred entertainment and intent. If guns had always been the weapon humans used against one another, then silver was quickly becoming what people associated with fighting the supernatural races, and perhaps even the magical beasts that supposedly lurked beyond the hidden territories of the Witching Hour.
At the same time, not all reactions turned violent. There were those who saw the Witching Hour differently of course. Fascination replaced fear in some circles. It was a given. With how much Barebloods craved something new, they quickly accepted with growing excitement. The internet had spent decades imagining hidden worlds. Now it was trying to process the fact that one had been real all along. Some expressed admiration, others curiosity, and a few even romanticized the idea of supernatural beings existing openly among humans. It was messy. Uncontrolled. Ingrid noticed it first in the quiet way her daily life changed. At some point, going outside stopped feeling normal. Not because of Kahn or Ronan, but because of everything else. She stopped taking Silas out casually. Grocery trips became deliveries. Meals became ordered instead of cooked outside. Even her vlogs had focused indoors, as if the world beyond her apartment had started to feel slightly less safe than it used to be.
At first, Silas didn't understand why. Then he saw the internet, or to be specific, the numerous forums on Reddit. He shouldn't have. It happened accidentally—one search turning into another, curiosity spiraling into recommendation loops that no one could control anymore. Ever since Ingrid had introduced him to smartphones, Silas had treated the device like an endless library. What began as simple questions about the Bareblood world quickly grew into hours of exploring anything that caught his interest. He searched how cities worked, why airplanes stayed in the air, what movies people watched, and countless other things he had never encountered within the estate. To everyone's surprise, he became proficient with the technology remarkably fast. Unfortunately, that same curiosity eventually led him into corners of the internet that Ingrid never intended him to find. And what he saw stayed with him. Humans discussing hunting werewolves. Openly. Casually. Some treated it like sport that could be introduced to the new age. Others like history correcting itself. A few spoke about silver as if it were a tool waiting to be used properly again. One video showed a discussion about skinning a werewolf for its fur for luxury brands. That was the moment Silas stopped smiling for the first time in days. After that, Ingrid quietly took his phone away. He didn't resist. He just went silent and just focused on eating as usual.
Far away, within the halls of the World Government, discussions continued long after the public hearing had ended. Control, it seemed, was becoming harder to maintain with each passing day. The round table was nearly empty now. each new document bringing another problem, another incident, or another reminder that the world was changing faster than anyone had anticipated. One file concerned rising silver sales across multiple countries. Another detailed the appearance of black markets advertising anti-supernatural weapons. Others were less hostile but no less exhausting. Government officials wanted answers to questions that they still can't fully understand. If vampires were real, where would they obtain blood legally? Did werebeings require special protections under existing laws? Would witches be regulated if magic could be taught? Who would be responsible when magical beasts crossed into populated areas? Could supernatural races run for public office? Do they pay taxes? Could a vampire be drafted into the military? Every answer created three more questions, and every question seemed to reveal just how unprepared both worlds were for living alongside one another. But of course, Theodore answered those questions quite well, proving to Soline that she chose well.
Beside him, Soline leaned back in her chair, looking exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. The latest talks with the Bareblood representatives had ended earlier than expected, producing no real agreements or solutions. What remained was tension, uncertainty, and the growing feeling that events were beginning to move beyond anyone's ability to properly direct them. Theodore found the situation uncomfortably familiar. The Great Silver Hunt had never begun with armies marching across battlefields. It had started with stories, rumors, fear, and people convincing themselves they had reasons to act. Soline seemed to reach the same conclusion, and the realization settled heavily between them. The similarities were becoming harder to ignore with each passing day. Neither of them offered a solution afterward, because neither truly had one.
Charlotte, meanwhile, seemed completely unaffected by everything happening. She continued reading reports with the same calm expression as always, occasionally making comments, correcting mistakes, or pointing out problems people had overlooked. While everyone else worried about where things were heading, Charlotte looked oddly relaxed. If anything, she seemed more interested than concerned.
Then it happened. New York, Central Park. A livestream. A confrontation. No one inside Nocturne saw it first through official channels.They saw it the same way everyone else did. Through a phone, well, to the younger generation. A shaky recording. A sudden panic in the crowd. A supernatural being, not part of any known faction inside Nocturne nor the entire Witching Hour, being attacked in broad daylight by civilians who had decided they no longer needed permission to act on what they believed. The supernatural was a werefox. Young by werebeing standards and far too trusting for someone living in the Bareblood world. Like many others after the public reveal, he had spent the past few weeks watching videos of Silas online. Seeing a werewolf pup accepted, adored, and treated like a celebrity had convinced him that perhaps things really were changing. So he decided to see the world for himself and quit hiding from his cozy apartment.
That afternoon, he wandered through Central Park in his beast form, tail swaying behind him as he trotted along the pathways without a care in the world. Children pointed excitedly when they saw him. Some asked for pictures. Others simply waved. The werefox happily waved back. He bought snacks from food stalls. Took pictures with tourists. Answered curious questions from strangers as they sit on benches. At one point, he even allowed a small group of children to touch his tail after politely asking permission first.
For several hours, it felt normal. It felt safe..
He was truly happy for that moment.
Then something changed. A few adults began following him. At first, the werefox barely noticed as he never saw Barebloods doing anything to him nor had the gall to fight a werebeing. They stayed at a distance. Watching. Whispering. Recording him with their phones. Then the whispers became arguments. The arguments became shouting. The shouting became rage.
Someone yelled that monsters should never have been allowed among ordinary people. Another shouted something about protecting humanity before it was too late. A third held up a silver ring for others to see.
The werefox stopped walking. Confused. Several people stepped toward him. Then the first punch landed. The silver ring struck across his cheek. A sharp hiss escaped him. Smoke rose from the point of contact. The crowd froze. The attackers didn't. More so, they smiled that silver truly worked.
Another blow followed. Then another. Silver burned wherever it touched. His fur blackened. Skin blistered beneath it. The werefox stumbled backward in shock. He didn't fight. Didn't growl. Didn't defend himself. He simply curled inward as the attacks continued, ears flattened against his head while silver-coated fists struck him again and again, not wanting to escalate this growing fear on their hearts and the possibility of a unity between races in this small world. Pain shot through his body with every impact.
Around him, screams erupted from bystanders. Some tried to intervene. Others ran. Many simply stood frozen, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing.
The werefox collapsed onto the pavement. Still not fighting back. Still trying to understand why this was happening. Only minutes earlier he had been eating snacks, taking pictures, and laughing with strangers. Now silver burned through his skin while a crowd watched the first public attack against a supernatural unfold in broad daylight.
Someone finally started screaming for the police. Someone else began recording. And before the first sirens could even be heard in the distance, the video was already spreading across the internet, from multiple perspectives, both from the attackers and the onlookers who tried to help.