Chapter 114: Making Decisions

Chapter 114: Making DecisionsA few days before the summit

The room was dim. Long table. Empty chairs lining both sides. But not for long.

The doors opened, slow and heavy, as members of the supernatural council filed in one by one. Rain echoed faintly outside—softer this time, like it was listening. Inside, the air was tense.

Fowler sat at the far end of the table. Human. Still in his patched-up military coat. A scar across his lip that hadn’t been there a month ago. He looked tired, but alert. Beside him sat Vulpina, arms crossed, gaze sharp. Across from her was Vladimir. Boris beside him. Greta came last. She didn’t speak. Didn’t sit. She just leaned against the wall near the far window. Her eyes... distant.

No one asked how she was.

Everyone already knew.

The silence stretched. Until finally—

"I suppose this is where we decide what to do," Fowler said, voice low.

Vulpina nodded. "The world already knows something happened. They know about vampires. Werewolves. Witches. Kitsunes."

"But not the extent," Boris added. "They know fragments. Names. Footage. Rumors. Nothing solid."

"And if we leave it that way?" Vladimir leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Let the mystery fade?"



Fowler shook his head. "It won’t. Not this time. Not after the sky cracked open. Not after cities fell. This wasn’t some hushed encounter in the woods. This was global."

"You’re suggesting we come out in the open?" Boris asked.

"I’m suggesting," Fowler said carefully, "that we stop pretending we’re ghosts. Because the world already sees us."

"No," Vulpina said. "They see pieces. What happens when they find out how deep it goes? How old we are? What we’ve done? How many times we’ve pulled the strings to keep them from tearing themselves apart?"

"Maybe it’s time they knew," Vladimir muttered.

"Maybe it’s time they feared," Boris added.

"We’ve kept balance for centuries," Vulpina said. "We intervened only when it was necessary. Now? We risk becoming symbols. Weapons. Targets."

Fowler looked across the table at her. "What’s worse? Being hunted in secret... or being feared in daylight?"

Greta’s voice cut through the air, soft but hollow. "What about those we couldn’t save?"

Everyone turned.

She didn’t look at them.

She was staring out the window.

"She was one of us. Remu. And we failed her. Whatever decision we make here... the world is watching. But they weren’t there. Not when she screamed. Not when she lost herself."

"She chose her path," Vladimir said.

Greta shook her head. "Doesn’t matter. She was still ours."

The silence returned.

Fowler finally leaned back in his chair. "We have two options. One—we gather our most powerful spellcasters and start a memory purge. Wipe the incident from the minds of every human on the planet. Risky. Draining. Possibly incomplete."

"Or two," Boris said, "we stand before them. As ourselves."

"And deal with the consequences," Vulpina added. "Fear. Riots. Maybe even war."

"Humans fear what they don’t understand," Vladimir said. "But they also remember who stood between them and annihilation."

Greta finally turned from the window. Her eyes were dark, tired. "Then maybe... we remind them."

Fowler nodded slowly. "We tell the truth."

"No stories," Vulpina warned. "No sugar-coating."

"Just the truth," Fowler agreed. "Let them choose what comes next."

Vladimir leaned back. "Then we go to the summit. We don’t hide."

Boris scoffed faintly. "You’re all too idealistic."

Vulpina looked at him. "And you’re too bitter to see the world has changed."

Another pause.

Then Greta whispered, "If we don’t guide it... someone else will."

The room went quiet again.

But the decision had been made.

No more masks.

No more shadows.

The supernatural world would stand in the light. Together.

And whatever came next—

They would face it.

As one.

Origin HQ – Training Grounds

Late morning. Sky overcast. Wind light.

Lucifer stepped out into the open courtyard behind the mansion. The air was crisp. Cool. Not cold. The clouds above drifted slow, letting shafts of sunlight break through every now and then, painting the stone walls in golden streaks.

Below, members of the Origin clan were training.



Some sparred with wooden weapons. Others practiced spell sigils in the air, their arms glowing faintly as they moved. A few were meditating, eyes closed, sweat running down their necks as they stabilized their inner energy.

They saw him the moment he walked out.

Silence rippled through the field like a breeze.

The first to notice him was Mira’s younger squad, who stopped mid-combat, blinking like they weren’t sure if they were seeing right.

Then one of them muttered—

"Is that...?"

Lucifer’s new presence wasn’t something you missed. His red eyes were the same—still sharp, still knowing—but now they glowed more like embers than fire. His hair had gone snow-white, short at the sides but longer on top, catching the light like silver threads. He was taller now. Shoulders broader. The air around him was still and heavy, like gravity bent ever so slightly in his direction.

And yet... his coat was the same.

Crimson, torn at the hem. The same boots. Same quiet steps.

But something inside him had changed completely.

The younger Origin members stood straighter. Nodded. Not out of fear. Out of something closer to... reverence.

Lucifer gave them a single glance. A nod in return. That was enough.

Then—

A car door shut.

He looked up.

A black van had parked just outside the front gate.

Five figures stepped out. All dressed in black. Clean. Sharp. Quiet.

Francisca.

Ella.

Mob.

Ken.

Angel.

They didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him. Looked at his hair. His face.

Mob raised a brow, impressed. Ken gave a short, low whistle. Angel blinked once, his usual quiet self. Ella kept her eyes on him, unreadable, the grief in her expression dulled but still deep.

But Francisca—

She smiled.

It was soft. Warm. Wistful. Her eyes shimmered a little, like she was trying not to make a thing out of it. But she walked forward anyway, stopping in front of him.

"...Took you long enough," she said, lightly elbowing his side. "I was starting to think you’d skip."

Lucifer smirked faintly. "Had to check if the world still spun without me."

Francisca exhaled a short breath of laughter. Then her expression softened. "You look different."

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

They all looked at him. Not like before. Not like he was the same guy who stormed battlefields in a coat of shadows.

Now he looked like something older.

Something final.

Francisca reached up, brushed her fingers gently across the edge of his white hair. "You... really changed, huh."

Lucifer looked past her at the others.

Ella stood near the back, holding a bouquet. Simple, dark blue flowers. Her jaw clenched when she met his eyes. But she nodded. Not in forgiveness. Just in respect.

Mob stepped forward and gave him a small punch on the arm. "Let’s go. You know she wouldn’t like it if we were late."

Angel just gave a faint smile. "We’re ready."

Lucifer looked around at them.

His people.

His friends.



He gave one final look over his shoulder at the training grounds, then followed them to the van.

The door slid open.

They climbed in.

No words.

Just silence.

Not the heavy kind.

The kind that meant something was about to begin. Or end.

Today was for Remu.

For who she was.

And who she couldn’t be anymore.

The van pulled away from Origin HQ, tires crunching softly on gravel.

And Lucifer didn’t look back.