THE WARDEN'S WHISPER: A new presence drifts into Hemlock Grove, carrying with it a breath that unsettles the long-stagnant air. Whispers move through the streets like smoke, curling into doorways and lingering in the marrow of those who listen. In the quiet, fates begin to uncoilโslow, deliberateโas if the town itself is holding its breath. And yet, beneath the hush, a single question gnaws at every heart and slips between every prayer: Where is the eldest of the Darkhavens, and what shadows follow in her absence?
A SHADOW'S CAUTION: english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. please don't hesitate to reach out to me via DM if something is misspelled. alcohol mention, moderate language, grief, magic burnout, suicide mention (J.R.'s).ย
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HEMLOCK GROVE, PENNSYLVANIA.
The sky is overcast. Thereโs that strange stillness in the air like something watching from behind the clouds.
A crow perches on the rusted fence.
Letha sat cross-legged on the cement bench, a bright contrast in her pale pink cardigan and knee-high socks. Sheโs mid-bite of a green apple when she spots Peter and Roman walking across the yard toward her. Peter has that usual lazy gait, smelling faintly like smoke and crushed pine. Roman, tall and cold as a katana, walked beside him, a cigarette between his lips.
โTook you long enough. I was about to start writing both of you dearly departed letters.โ Letha Godfrey murmured, with a wide smile and bright eyes.
Roman's eyes softened, a small smile appearing on his lips at the sight of his cousin.
โLynda needed help with her tarot spread. Death card again.โ Rumancek joked, smiling at the girl in front of him.
โHow romanticโฆโ Roman murmured, leaning against the bench, eyes squeezing.
โYou two are insufferable, I swear.โ Letha chuckled, rolling her eyes.
Roman flicks ash off the end of his cigarette as the wind shifts again, curling through the branches above.
Just then, a low growl cuts through the stillnessโthe unmistakable purr of a turbocharged engine. All three of them look up as the unmistakable black Mercedes pulls smoothly into the student lot, matte finish gleaming like oil under the gray sky. It doesnโt roarโit glides, like it knows itโs being watched.
The car parks at a deliberate angle, just shy of the yellow line. The door opens, and out steps Baelor Darkhavenโblack slacks, a sweater of the same color, wool coat unbuttoned like he couldnโt care less if it caught fire. One hand holds a steaming paper cup, the other an unread book. He closes the door with his hip and doesnโt look at anyone.
He walks across the courtyard with the energy of someone arriving late to a play he already hates; the brunette looks exhausted.
โIf you say demon or doppelgรคnger, I swear Iโll scream.โ Baelor murmured, voice low enough to curl beneath the chatter of the quad.
Darkhaven dropped onto the bench beside Letha with the easy arrogance of someone who had never asked for space in his life. He nudged her asideโhalf playful, half proprietaryโhis knee brushing hers as if the years between visits had never happened. His car keys jingled faintly when he slid them into his pocket, the sound catching like a chime in the fog of her thoughts. It was an oddly steadying sound; she had heard it before laughter and before tears, before the kind of nights neither of them spoke about in daylight.
She tilted toward him in that small, instinctive way one does when the body remembers someone before the mind has time to. Letha didnโt have to ask why he was hereโBaelor never needed a reason when it came to her. Whatever storms raged between him and Roman, whatever loyalties splintered under the Godfreys and the Darkhavens, they had nothing to do with the quiet oath the two of them had carried since childhood: that if one called, the other would come.
Her smile was faint, barely a shift of her mouth, but Baelor caught it like he always didโcataloguing every flicker of her as if heโd been tasked with guarding them. He didnโt say it aloud, but she knew. And she loved him for thatโjust as fiercely as he loved her, in the unshakable, untidy way of people who had survived each otherโs worst and still found room to stay, even in the silence.
โAel?โ Letha asked, confused, staring at him.
โYou were speaking loud enough to wake the dead. Again.โ He sipped his coffee, unbothered.
โAnd you came to join the sรฉance?โ Roman frowned, taking a drag of his cigarette.
โI came for silence. But clearly, Iโm asking for too muchโฆ They wonโt shut up about the new girl.โ
โYouโve seen Heather?โ Letha asked, turning to him, eyes wide and curious. Baelor nodded, his lips on a thin line.
โShe draws upside down sometimes. Not the sketchbookโher. Watched her hang off the bleachers like a bat this morning in the second period during gym. Thought she might fall. Kinda hoped she would.โ Darkhaven murmured, Peter rolled his eyes at his response.
โBaelor.โ Letha retorted, her warm gaze turning stern.
โWhat? It wouldโve made things more interesting. This place is duller than a funeral with no body.โ
He sipped from his cup. Again.
โSo you think sheโs weird?โ Roman mocked, his cigarette long burned.
โI know sheโs weird. I just donโt care.โ He shrugged.
โYou? Calling someone weird?โ Peter scoffed, his icy blue gaze landing on Roman, amused.
Baelor sets his drink down delicately on the edge of the bench, ignoring Peter's words, opens his bookโbut doesnโt read. He lifts his eyes toward the girl with the pink backpack in the distance.
โDo you ever feel anything?โ Letha taunts, annoyance visible in her voice.
Baelor raises an eyebrow at her like sheโs asked if he believes in the Tooth Fairy.
They fall into a strange, amused silence. Even Peter cracks a smile.
โTwo periods left.โ Roman groaned, his gaze on his watch.
Baelor stood, yawning. โSee you inside, dimwits.โ
Across the yard, Heather Ravenwood lifted her head. As if she knows theyโre watching.
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Heather Ravenwoodโs entrance wasnโt theatricalโbut it was impossible to ignore. Her boots clacked with too much confidence for someone new, her black coat swayed like a curtain drawn open too fast, and her pink-highlighted hair flashed like neon against the grayscale afternoon. She had round glasses, a lazy smirk, and the kind of attitude that could set off fire alarms if left unchecked.
Roman saw her before anyone else. โWell, shit.โ He muttered under his breath, leaning against a locker with the posture of someone perpetually unimpressed.
Heather cocked her head at him. โAre you the local bad decision?โ
โDepends.โ Roman said, lighting a cigarette and offering her a flick of the flame. โYou planning to make one?โ
โAlways.โ she grinned, taking the light. โThanks.โ
They shared a puff of smoke like a secret. She glanced over the hallway. โSo this is the famous freak show Iโve heard about. The vibeโs immaculate.โ
โYou havenโt seen the woodsโฆโ Roman answered dryly. โOr the bodies.โ
โOh, I will.โ she promised. โI love a haunted town.โ
Then, her eyes caught on Baelor. And for a secondโjust a secondโsomething dark flickered. The cigarette dangled between her lips. Baelor didnโt say a word. Didnโt stop walking. He walked unbothered, the static of hallway chatter washing over him like dull noise. Passed her like she was part of the wallpaper, like she didnโt matter.
Whispers followed Baelor Darkhaven like shadows.
โWhereโs his sister?โ
โWasnโt she always glued to him?โ
โI heard around town she has a terminal disease.โ
โShe hasnโt been back sinceโฆ you know.โ
โMaybe she cracked.โ
Y/Nโs absence was louder than any of the voices trying to fill it yet he didnโt flinch. He didnโt look up. He just walked. But his eyes met hers. Brief. Piercing. Enough.
His expression: unreadable.
His energy: sharp.
His silence: deliberate.
Reaching his locker, he swung the dented metal door open, the hinges protesting in a low groan. He set the book Irene had given him that morning carefully on the top shelfโits leather still warm from being carried close to his chest.
That was when the air shifted.
It wasnโt the faint draft of the hallway vents or the usual scent of waxed floors. This was heavier, overwhelming. It crawled in under the skin, sharp and metallic at first, then sweet in the way temptation was. Something reeked of Dark magicโmundane in origin, yet carrying a potency that could blister if touched too long.
Baelor didnโt move right away. He let the instinct sink in, the way one listens for the direction of a predatorโs breath. Then his hand found the black ceramic ring inside his locker, opening the velvet black box and slipping the guard on his finger. Cool, smooth, unyieldingโit thrummed faintly, as though answering his pulse.
Nevenโs energy rose firstโtaut and commandingโan invisible hand settling firmly on his shoulder. Gabrielleโs followed, warmer, a quiet weave threading between the cracks, shoring up what Nevenโs shield could not. But beneath them, older still, came the deep pulse of Novah and Ireneโs magic. Protector-born, their enchantment was a different kind of forceโdense,old, threaded with the weight of the Veil itself.
Every Darkhaven child was given such a ward at birth.
As infants, necklaces hung against their small chests, the beads carrying blessings older than any written record. In adolescence, the talisman became a ringโceramic for resilience, bound to the wearerโs own pulse so its power grew with them. When they came of age in the coven, the final ascension marked the change to a bracelet, the last seal of their protection and their readiness to stand without it.
Baelorโs ring was the second stageโits ceramic surface carrying the quiet burn of four different heartbeats, four different vows. Novahโs grounding, Ireneโs vigilance, Nevenโs mercy, Gabrielleโs fierceness. Together they bound themselves around him, an unbreakable shield forged from the certainty of blood and the defiance of love.
The hallway felt less like a threat now, more like a place that had been measured, weighed, and quietly dared to try again. He exhaled slowly, the sound almost lost beneath the hum of lockers slamming shut further down the hall. Whatever had stepped into his path, it would not find him unguarded. He relaxed, closing the locker, and started walking again. Heather blinked, as if something cold had brushed her spine.
Roman caught it instantly. โYou just got scanned by a Darkhaven. Congratulations.โ
She scoffed. โHe always that friendly?โ
Roman smirked. โThat was friendly. Trust me.โ
She turned her head slowly, watching Baelorโs figure vanish into the stairwell, her gaze narrowing as if trying to pull a thread loose.
โHe knows.โ she said quietly. โDoesnโt he?โ
Roman didnโt ask what she meant. He just took a drag and exhaled like heโd seen it all before.
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Baelorโs room was too big for one person. Cathedral windows drowned the place in late-afternoon light, even with the heavy curtains half-drawn. The walls were a deep, almost-black blue, swallowing shadows whole. One corner held a drum kit under a black dust cover; another, a towering bookshelf sagged under the weight of folklore anthologies, vinyls, and the kind of occult texts that made visiting priests cross themselves. The bed was massiveโfour-poster, draped in charcoal sheetsโand the boy was sprawled across it sideways, a bass guitar balanced over his stomach. He plucked at the strings lazily, a deep, slow rhythm that didnโt go anywhere.
Just sound to fill the boredom.
The door opened without a knock. Neven stepped in, all dark suit and measured movements, the air around him humming like it always did when he was thinking too far ahead. In his hand was a rectangular box, wrapped in deep red paper and tied with a black ribbon.
โStill playing the same progression?โ His father asked, glancing at the covered drums. โYou neglect those like they wronged you.โ A beat. โI bought those for you, you know. Handcrafted. I thought youโd shake the walls with them.โ
Baelor didnโt look up. โDrums are too loud. Bass is quieter. Doesnโt echo in my head so much.โ
Neven crossed the room, picking up a stray drumstick from the floor and turning it in his hand. โQuiet doesnโt suit you.โ
โIt suits everyone else.โ Baelorโs fingers kept moving, low notes vibrating against his ribs. He kept his eyes on the bass, but the mention of โeveryone elseโ was hollow. Y/N hadnโt left her room in five days. The manor had felt cavernous since then, its halls swallowing every sound.
โI thought this might cheer you up.โ Neven said, nodding toward the box. Baelor eyed it suspiciously before untying the ribbon. Inside, nestled in black tissue, was a leather-bound Grimm fairy tale set, the spines stamped in gold. He brushed his fingers over the embossed lettering, something almost soft flickering in his expression. โTheyโre first editions.โ Neven added casually. โYouโre running out of shelf space, but I know youโd find room. Or we can just make one whenever you want.โ
Baelor smirked faintly. โYouโre trying to bribe me.โ
โIโm trying to remind you thereโs more to the world than this room.โ Neven let the silence hang for a beat before dropping the drumstick back onto the kit. โThereโs a party tonight. At Lisa Willoughbyโs.โ
Baelorโs eyebrow twitched. โAnd?โ
โAnd Roman will be there.โ
The bassline faltered. Baelor stopped playing, his thumb resting on the strings. โโฆWhy are you telling me that?โ
Nevenโs gaze didnโt waver. โBecause youโve been pacing in here for days without moving after you leave school. You should speak to him.โ
โWeโre notโโ Baelor hesitated, chewing on the words. โItโs not simple.โ
โIt never was.โ Nevenโs voice was quiet now, like a truth not meant for the hallway walls. โBut isolation sinks faster than bad company.โ
Baelor leaned back into the pillows, his expression unreadable. โDo you miss him?โ
โWho?โ Neven asked, even though he knew about who he was talking about.
โYour best friend. J.R.โ The name hung between them, the weight of it older than Baelorโs lifetime.
Neven didnโt answer right away. His jaw flexed, and he looked toward the window, where the glass caught the faint shimmer of rain.
โEvery dayโฆโ He murmured at last. โSometimes I see him wandering around my studyโฆโ Neven confessed, tears tarnishing his eyes, Baelor felt his fatherโs necromancy magic weighing on him, even though he never complained. Neven Darkhaven was too still. Too sharp. Too composed for a man. โSome people donโt leave you, no matter how much you wish they would.โ
Baelor let out a humorless laugh. โAnd you think Romanโs that for me?โ
โI think youโre already carrying too many ghosts for your age.โ
Baelor let out a humorless laugh, setting the bass aside. โYou think if I show up, weโll magically stop hating each other?โ
โI think if you donโt, youโll regret it.โ Nevenโs eyes flicked to the guitar. โBesides, you could use a change of rhythm.โ
Baelor leaned back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. โAnd you could just admit you want me to keep him away from my sister.โ
Nevenโs mouth curved, but not into a smile. โThat too.โ He turned toward the door. โEight oโclock.โ
When Neven left, the room felt larger again. Baelor stared at the bass for a long moment then at the Grimm set for a long moment, then at the drums. He could still hear the faint echo of his fatherโs voice, even after the door clicked shut.
The silence after him was heavier than the notes had been.
The warlock sighed, grabbing the box and pulling the nearest volume from the box. The leather was cool under his fingertips, the gilt edges catching the dim light. He flipped it open at random, landing on an illustration of a boy lost in a forestโtrees leaning in like they knew his name.
โHansel and Gretelโฆโ Baelor traced the image absently, a bassline forming in the back of his mind. Maybe his father was wrong. Or maybe heโd end up at that party after all.
On the other side of his door, Nevenโs footsteps echoed down the east wingโs marble hall, the quiet almost swallowing him whole. He passed portraits of Darkhavens long dead, their eyes following like they knew what he was thinking.
The study door was ajar, a warm spill of lamplight cutting into the corridor. Inside, Irene sat in a high-backed chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, a book open in her lap. She looked up without surpriseโlike sheโd heard him coming from the moment he left Baelorโs room.
โThereโs nothing you couldโve done to prevent J.R.โs death.โ His mother murmured, as if continuing a conversation theyโd been having for years.
Neven stepped inside, closing the door behind him. โAt least I couldโve seen something, Mother.โ His voice was tight, measured, the kind that carried more weight for what it didnโt say.
โYou blame yourself because of Romanโs misery.โ Irene said, closing her book with a soft thud. โBut itโs not your fault. Your children are here. Theyโre alive.โ
โYes, but his father was like a brother to me.โ Neven replied, his gaze fixed on the fire in the hearth. โAnd I justโฆ stopped caring about him since he died.โ
โThat bloodline was doomed the minute Olivia entered there.โ Irene said, her tone like a verdict passed down. โRoman is doomedโฆ You know this.โ
Nevenโs jaw flexed, but he didnโt look away from the flames. โDoomed or not, heโs still here. And Baelor still looks at him like a ghost that might speak back.โ
Irene studied her son for a long moment, her expression unreadable. โThen perhaps itโs not Roman youโre trying to save.โ
Neven didnโt answer. The fire cracked once, and in the silence, it sounded like a gunshot. He didnโt move from the fire, the light cutting hard lines across his face.
โI tried, you know. Before J.R. died. I set up a blood bankโquietly, off the books. If things with Roman everโฆ shifted. If he couldnโt hold back.โ
Ireneโs brows arched slightly. โAnd yet he never saw it.โ
โI shut it down after J.R.โs death.โ Neven lied. โDidnโt even tell him it existed. What was the point? My hatred for Olivia made it easy to let the boy fend for himself.โ
โThe point.โ Irene said, leaning forward, โwas to ensure you didnโt have another corpse in your handsโone you could have prevented.โ
โI know.โ Nevenโs voice was low. โBut every time I looked at Roman, I saw her. The way she bends people. Breaks them. I thought maybe if I stayed away, it would undo her hold.โ He gave a short, bitter laugh. โIt didnโt.โ
โOf course it didnโt.โ Irene said. โUpirs donโt shed their bloodline any more than witches shed the Veil. You of all people should knowโblood carries what it carries. And Oliviaโs has always carried rot.โ
Neven turned at that, his gaze dark. โRot or not, Roman didnโt choose it. He's innocent. And Baelorโฆ Baelorโs drawn to him like a moth to flame. Itโs dangerous.โ
โAll fires are dangerous.โ Irene replied, โbut some burn cleaner than others. Youโd do well to remember that.โ
For a moment, neither spoke. The study seemed smaller somehow, the fireโs glow pressing against the walls.
โYou still care for him.โ Irene said finally. It wasnโt a question.
Neven looked back into the flames. โI care for the boy J.R. would have wanted him to be. But that boyโs gone. Now thereโs only what Olivia left behind.โ
โAnd if Bael can see past that?โ Irene asked. โYour children see things differently, hear things not even I'm able to hear with protector's magic.โ
Neven didnโt answer, and that was enough for her. She leaned back in her chair, the firelight catching the strands of her black hair. โDonโt lie to me, Neven. You didnโt shut down that blood bank out of spite for Olivia. You kept it because you knewโsooner or laterโRoman would transition fully. Youโve always known.โ
His jaw tightened. โKnowing doesnโt make it any easier to watch.โ
โItโs not supposed to be easy.โ She added. โUpirs, werewolves, and witchesโour lines run on inevitability. We can delay it, divert it, but the end is always the same.โ She rested the book on the table beside her. โWhat I donโt understand is why you didnโt try to bring J.R. back.โ
Nevenโs eyes flicked to hers, sharp. โYou do understand.โ She just wants me to say itโHe thought.
Ireneโs voice softened, but the words cut deeper. โBecause he took his own life. And you can stomach many things, but not that.โ
The fire cracked, loud in the pause that followed.
Neven exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff. โThereโs no magic in the world that can unmake that choice. Not without turning it into something he wouldnโt have been. And I couldnโtโโ He stopped, catching himself. โI wouldnโt.โ
Irene studied him for a long, quiet moment. โThen stop punishing the boy for his fatherโs ghost. If you truly believe Roman is doomed, the least you can do is make sure he isnโt alone when it happens.โ
Neven turned back to the flames, the shadows across his face deeper now. โAnd if itโs my children who end up burned in the process?โ
โThat is for them to decide.โ
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The party was loudโLisa Willoughby always overdid it. Blame her dadโs hedge fund and the fact that she once told me she โsaw death in my auraโ after taking two tabs of molly and kissing Ashley Valentine at a sleepover. Whatever. Her house was massive, music pulsing through floorboards like a heartbeat. Half the school was already high. The other half was pretending not to look at me.
Peter stood by the pool, cigarette tucked behind his ear, talking shit about the DJ to Heather. She laughedโloud, unfiltered. I liked her. She was like a breath of fresh air, wore black velvet and Doc Martens in October, but she had that weird magnetism like she saw people the way animals did.
Heather had a sharp tongue, haunted eyes. She had this witchy energy that didnโt feel performative. It felt real. Like maybe she could slip between worlds and come back with your secrets. Letha was seated beside me on the deck chair. Hair braided, flawless, pretending she didnโt notice Peter looking at her every time she leaned forward. Idiots. And me? I nursed a drink I didnโt want, feeling the crackle of my skin.
โSheโs cool.โ Letha said, gesturing toward Heather.
โShe is.โ Peter added, looking smug. โAnd she doesnโt ask if I live in a wagon.โ
I rolled my eyes. โYou do live in a trailer. Itโs a mobile sanctuary, thank you.โ
Heather tilted her head. โDo you guys ever not flirt?โ
Letha choked on her drink. I smirked. Peter just shrugged.
Thatโs when the air changed. Like lightning in reverseโelectricity leaving the sky. A shadow moved past the hedge, the crowd parting instinctively before I even saw him.
He stepped through like he belonged there, hair slicked back, dark shirt half-unbuttoned like some kind of gothic prince with a death wish. And people noticed. Conversations dropped. Even the stoners on the beanbags paused their blunt rotations.
The shift only happened when they were around. The trees sang in harmony at Y/N's presence but with Baelor, the air turned heavy, like a small cloud holding pouring rain.
Peter whistled low. โDid not expect to see that Darkhaven tonight.โ
โAel's here?โ Lethaโs brows rose. โHe never comes to these.โ
Heather smiled, a devilish grin on her face.
I stood, instinctual. Something about Baelor made meโฆ aware of myself. He had that effect. Always had. Even when we were kids. Even more now. He spotted us. Walked over like it cost him nothing.
โRoman.โ He said. Voice dry. Like he already regretted saying it.
โAel.โ I nodded. โDidnโt think you were the party type.โ
โIโm not. I came for the fire whiskey. And because my father said you were here.โ
I frowned, Neven Darkhaven told him about this?
Letha sat straighter. โI didnโt know you two were friends againโฆโ
He didnโt answer. Just looked at Peter, then Heather. One by one. Heather held his stare.
โCan I sit here.โ He said. Not really asking.
Darkhavens didnโt ask for things; they just took them. Like the Godfreys.
โSure.โ Peter said, a little too cheerfully. โWe were just trash-talking Lisa's taste in music and wondering if Roman's gonna get himself hexed tonight.โ
โRoman should hex Ashley tonight, sheโs been in love with him since third grade.โ Baelor's voice was flat, a glint of amusement hanging from it.
He just wanted me far away from his sister. I watched them laugh, but I wasnโt in it. Not really. Because she wasnโt here. Y/N. And it was like the air still remembered her. Her eyes. Her perfume. The way she filled a room and left it echoing after.
โSoโฆโ Heather asked, making me snap out of my thoughts. She tilted her head towards Baelor. โWhat are you into?โ
Baelor blinked. โEntropy. Folk magic. Grimm fairy tales. Trying not to kill my ex-childhood best friend for wanting to sleep with my twin. Nothing too crazy.โ
Letha nearly dropped her cup. Peter spat out his soda.
I stared at him. โSeriously?โ
Baelor sipped from a flask he pulled out of his coat. โWhat? Itโs a party.โ
Heather was grinning now. Like she lived for this shit.
Fuck me, itโs gonna be a long night.
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๐: under the old moon:ย @melancuntly @vadersangel @kikibit @rottingpink @ch404 @fathelzzz @a-differentbrandof-beans @voidofsunlight ๐ฏ๏ธ๐ค
ย ย ย โซ โโโโ โชโขโฆ ๐ โฆโขโซ โโโโ โช
๐โ๐ป: welcome to the freak show, your majesty @mephistoraven. we've been waiting for your presence. as promised, i hope you guys enjoy this birthday special. it was made with love, care and a lot of crash outs. see ya next week. thank you for the support, sending love, always. <33 :)
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