The camera zoomed in, centering on Gale, the sharp-tongued blue-feathered Kenku news anchor with a reputation for roasting anyone who dared to sit across from her. Today’s guest was Professor Malverik, a somewhat disheveled man from Rave U, who had always worn an air of nervous energy like a cheap suit. Part of the Seraphi Pact, he’d been teaching there for decades. But what brought him into the hot seat wasn’t his dedication to the students—it was the wild, conspiracy-laden rant he had been on recently.

The backdrop of the studio was sleek and modern, neon lights glowing like the skyline of Ravetham behind them. Gale leaned back in her chair, talons tapping the side of her beak, eyes narrowed as if she were already preparing to pick apart whatever nonsense was about to spill from the professor's mouth.

"Good evening, Professor," she began with a sardonic tilt to her voice. "So, let's cut to the chase—you’ve been cloned. Multiple times. The President of the United States is a vampire. And, oh yeah, aliens are infiltrating the world’s governments. Did I miss anything?"

Malverik shifted in his seat, wiping sweat from his brow. His thinning gray hair stuck to his head like it had been glued down in a hurry, and he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days. "I—I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth. I’ve been killed and replaced more times than I can count, and each time they put me back together, something’s different. It’s not just the cloning—it’s the memories. They’re tampering with everything. And yes, the President, he’s one of them, part of the Illuminati. They’re using him to keep the public distracted while they tighten their grip on—"

Gale held up a talon, cutting him off with a grin that could slice through steel. "Whoa, whoa, wait. So, let me get this straight. You're telling me the leader of the free world is not only a vampire but also part of a secret cabal that's working with aliens from another solar system?"

Malverik nodded, his eyes wild with desperation. "Exactly! And they’ve been pulling the strings for centuries. They have bases on Mars, and their ships—"

"—come equipped with WiFi and room service?" Gale shot back, leaning in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look, Professor, I've heard some wild things in my time. But this? This takes the cake. What next, are you going to tell me they have a moon base where they host intergalactic poker nights?"

The audience, watching live, erupted in laughter.

Malverik, visibly rattled, clenched his fists. "You laugh now, but when the truth comes out—"

"Oh, Professor," Gale chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "I think the only thing that's going to come out is your sanity, if it hasn’t already left the building. The fact is, conspiracies are just the mind’s way of making sense of a world too chaotic for some to handle. But vampires running the White House? Come on." She winked at the camera. "Besides, the President couldn’t possibly survive without his afternoon espresso, let alone blood."

As the studio audience joined in, howling with laughter, a figure stood silently on a rooftop across the city, watching through the scope of a sniper rifle. Talonman, perched like a shadow in the dimming evening light, barely moved as he adjusted the scope. The world laughed now, but the truth could never come out—not like this. Malverik knew too much, and even if his story sounded insane, some pieces of it were too close to reality.

The Illuminati couldn't afford to take chances.

"Sorry, old man," Talonman whispered to himself. "But no one gets to spill our secrets."

With a pull of the trigger, the bullet sliced through the air. In a heartbeat, it connected. Blood sprayed across the studio’s pristine set, a crimson stain on Gale’s feathers as Malverik’s head jerked backward, his body crumpling to the floor.

The audience screamed. Gale froze in shock, staring down at the professor’s lifeless form, the laughter cut short by the sudden, brutal reality of what had just unfolded.

Chaos erupted.

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The towering spires of Rave U looked down on the courtyard like silent watchers as parents rolled up to campus. It was supposed to be an event to show the "inner workings" of the pacts—a way for parents to get a glimpse of the high-stakes world their kids were now neck-deep in. But this wasn’t some warm and fuzzy family day. Nah. This was Ravetham—where everything’s a flex, and you’re always sizing up the next person.

Kaelen? Absent. Not surprising. He wasn’t the type to show face at something like this, not when he had half the city of Ravetham watching his every move. Instead, his wife Loren was here, representing for the Drakov family. She glided through the courtyard like she owned the place—sharp, dangerous, with a smirk that said she knew exactly where all the bodies were buried. Dressed in a black maid outfit, she commanded respect just by standing still. Her eyes, sharp as daggers, swept across the courtyard like she was picking out her next target.

By her side, Mira walked with a casual grace that hid her lethal edge. Mira—Kaelen’s baby mama, mother of Celesse—wasn’t here to play around. She didn’t need to talk to make her presence known. The way she moved said it all: calm, steady, and capable of breaking someone in half if needed.

Over in the Drakonis Pact section, their daughter Celesse was busy running drills with her fellow students, flames licking the edges of her hands as she honed her fire magic. Mira watched her with a faint smile—pride in her eyes, but no softness. This wasn’t a place for sentiment.

Across the yard, Selene was seething. The daughter of Veil, the infamous Siena Voss—Aasimar, muscle-bound tech genius, and Kaelen’s other baby mama—stood in the corner with her arms crossed, staring daggers at the ground. Veil hadn’t shown up, and Selene wasn’t about to let that slide. She was dressed sharp, her white hair catching the light, but her mood was darker than a midnight alley.

“She couldn’t even be bothered,” Selene spat, her red eyes glowing with barely contained fury. “Always too busy with some damn illegal mod job.”

Xyra, lounging nearby, barely looked up from her phone. Xyra didn’t care. She was used to her mother Alyssa—another of Kaelen’s baby mamas—skipping out. Unlike Selene, it didn’t faze her. Alyssa was handling her business elsewhere, and Xyra had already written her off for the day.

“Quit whining,” Xyra said, her tone as cold as her frosted blue lipstick. “You know how it is. Our parents have bigger things to handle than this circus.”

“Easy for you to say,” Selene shot back. “At least your mom isn’t modding illegal tech all the damn time.”

Meanwhile, in the Valefar Pact’s area, Aether was standing tall, even as his father, Ronan, loomed like a massive storm cloud next to him. Ronan, covered in Oni tattoos that seemed to pulse with their own life, wasn’t here to play nice. The man was Ravetham’s top chef, known more for his ruthless rise to the top than his culinary skills. His reputation was built in blood, and his presence here made it clear Aether had a lot to live up to.

“So, this is your domain now?” Ronan asked, voice like gravel grinding against stone. He scanned the tactical grounds of the Valefar Pact, where students were running combat drills with deadly precision. Fireballs, ice spears, and lightning bolts flew through the air like it was a warzone. This wasn’t practice; it was survival training.

Aether, standing in his sleek black gear, his boots spotless and his jacket pristine, nodded without looking at his father. He kept his cool, but the tension in his jaw said everything. “Yeah. I run this.”

Ronan grunted, unimpressed but not outright dismissive. “Better not be soft.”

Aether shot him a cold look. “Why don’t you step in and find out?”

Ronan chuckled darkly but didn’t push it. He knew his son had the skills to back up the talk—Aether’s control over the Valefar Pact was ironclad, and everyone in the courtyard knew it.

Meanwhile, Jason was on the other side of the courtyard, making small talk with the instructors of the Seraphi Pact. He wasn’t taking this too seriously, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. His kids—More and Nason—were somewhere around, probably causing trouble, as usual. Jason, forever the wildcard, had already smoked a joint before showing up, and it was obvious in the easy smile plastered across his face.

Loren wasn’t happy. Her smile was tight as she turned to Mira, speaking low under her breath. “Typical Adrian. Skipping out when it matters.”

Mira, ever calm, shrugged. “He’s got his reasons.”

Loren’s eyes narrowed. “He better.”

Kunai, standing in the shadows like a ghost, wasn’t here for small talk. He’d shown up for his daughter Rhea, who was already knee-deep in stealth training, blending into the shadows like a pro. Kunai, the quiet, deadly Kenku who was always watching, stayed silent, his sharp eyes following his daughter’s every move. Pride flickered in his expression, but he didn’t need to say it. Rhea was his legacy, and she was making him proud without a word exchanged.

By the end of it, everyone had seen what they came to see: that this wasn’t some regular university. Rave U was a proving ground for the powerful, the cunning, and the ruthless. For the parents, it was about control, legacy, and pride. For the students, it was about proving that they weren’t just living in their parents’ shadows.

No one left that courtyard untouched. The stakes were clear: you either thrived in this world, or you got burned trying.

Now that’s Ravetham.