Twilight: Immortal Dusk

The clearing shattered into motion—trees bowed, earth tore, and the overcast air shimmered with the pulse of inhuman speed. It was a beautiful kind of chaos, the sort you couldn't choreograph if you tried.

Emmett crashed forward like a freight train made of raw muscle, brawny and grinning like he was born for a bar fight. His trousers were torn at the knee, suspenders dangling off one shoulder, and he moved with the unrestrained glee of a golden retriever given permission to wreck the living room.

Edward, meanwhile, was elegance incarnate—silent, swift, and dressed like he'd stepped off the cover of a jazz-era magazine. A waistcoat clung to his wiry frame as he sliced through the trees from the left, a phantom in monochrome. He was finesse to Emmett's fury.

And then there was Hadrian.

Not standing.

Moving.

A blur of deep crimson and burnished silver, he weaved through the space between them, laughter on his lips like he had nowhere better to be. His emerald eyes gleamed with mischief as he intercepted Edward mid-strike, catching the younger vampire's fist in a blur. He pivoted, rolled, and with a twist of motion that looked like dance and war had a baby, launched Edward straight into Emmett.

The impact was thunderous.

Two marble bodies collided. Birds fled the canopy. Pine needles rained like confetti.

"That," Katherine said from her perch atop a sun-warmed boulder, legs swinging, voice laced with a soft Scottish brogue, "makes it four times this week Edward's been used as a human cannonball."

"Vampire cannonball," Elizabeth corrected cheerily, sitting cross-legged beside her, curls bouncing as she tilted her head. Her blonde hair glowed under the filtered sunlight. "He tried flanking Hadrian on Tuesday. Didn't end well. He landed in the river."

Across the clearing, Daenerys stood with her arms folded, one brow arched, violet eyes glinting with intrigue and amusement. She was sculpted fire and silver, wrapped in a deep violet dress that flared like a royal flag in the breeze. Her pale skin shimmered faintly, like moonlight over ice.

"I told them not to go two-on-one," she said, her voice velvety and amused. "He's faster than Edward, stronger than Emmett, and smarter than both. Especially if he's had his tea."

"Which he hasn't," Rosalie noted, adjusting the hem of her high-waisted trousers and brushing dust from her blouse. Her gold eyes were sharp as her sarcasm. "Because we don't drink tea. Because we're dead. Remember?"

Daenerys smirked. "Old habits die harder than we do."

In the center of the clearing, Emmett peeled himself up from the dirt, a smudge on his cheek and laughter in his voice. "Alright, maybe we stop holding back."

Edward straightened his waistcoat with exaggerated dignity. "I wasn't holding back. I was calculating probability of countermeasure based on trajectory and—"

"You were getting tossed like a ragdoll in a barroom brawl," Hadrian said, brushing a pine branch off his shoulder. His voice was warm honey and dry amusement. "I've seen drunk centaurs fight with more grace."

Emmett barked a laugh. Edward sighed like a man eternally misunderstood.

Katherine leaned back. "Just once, I'd like to see someone knock that smirk off his face."

"Not gonna happen," Daenerys murmured, violet gaze still locked on Hadrian. "I've tried. Fire. Fangs. Frostbite."

Elizabeth beamed. "Romantic and terrifying. Goals."

Hadrian turned toward Daenerys, grin fading just slightly as his gaze lingered a breath too long. "You could always try again. Might give me an excuse to pin you against a tree."

"You don't need an excuse," she said smoothly, a single brow arching. "But it's cute that you think you do."

There it was—that familiar, molten tension sparking between them. A collision of storm and wildfire. The kind that made everyone else pretend not to notice while absolutely noticing.

But then...

Hadrian froze.

It wasn't weather.

It wasn't instinct.

It was something colder. Older.

His gaze cut to the trees beyond the clearing. Still. Too still.

Daenerys noticed. She stepped toward him, skirts swishing softly. "What is it?"

Hadrian didn't answer immediately. His jaw tightened. One hand flexed at his side.

Edward followed the direction of his stare, his own expression sharpening. "Hadrian?"

"Two of them," Hadrian murmured, voice stripped of banter. It was steel now. Ancient. "Not hunting. Not hiding. Deliberate. Like wolves who've found their scent."

Rosalie stepped forward, tension slicing through her. "Vampires?"

"Not ours," he said.

Daenerys was beside him now. Her hand brushed his briefly—barely there—but the contact grounded them both. "How close?"

"Close," he said. "Thirty seconds. Maybe less."

Katherine stood, dusting off her trousers. "Friends?"

Hadrian's eyes flared. A glint of emerald fire.

"I don't know yet."

And the clearing, once alive with laughter and movement, went still. The wind whispered through the trees like a warning, and all that remained was the echo of the coming storm.

—

The forest held its breath.

Then it exhaled.

Branches parted at the tree line, slow and reverent, as if the woods themselves recognized the arrival of something... significant. Shadows peeled back to reveal a tall figure emerging with the calm menace of a drawled warning. He looked about nineteen—but vampires lied with their faces. This one wore his history plain as daylight to their golden eyes: pale skin littered with crisscrossing bite marks and scars, the kind only a vampire could see and survive. He wore them like medals.

His eyes, though golden like theirs, held a different glint. War. Loss. Command. He moved like he belonged in a battlefield, not a clearing.

And then—

"Found you!"

A silver bell of a voice rang out, and a petite whirlwind of energy burst from the brush like confetti in human form. She spun into view, a blur of pixie-cut black hair, a navy swing skirt flaring around her knees, and a red scarf knotted at her throat. She stopped dead center of the clearing, hands on hips, grinning like she'd just solved a murder and also knitted everyone matching socks about it.

"Oh, thank goodness. Y'all took your sweet time getting here."

Silence.

Edward looked like he had just been told he was being evicted.

The girl squinted. "You're Edward, right?"

Edward, in his freshly pressed grey slacks and navy waistcoat, blinked. "I... am."

"Perfect! I'm taking your room."

Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "She's got bite. I like her."

Edward looked personally offended. "I just refinished the hardwood floors."

Alice waved a hand. "Mmm. Love that for you. Also love the sunlight in the southeast corner. It's fate."

Jasper stepped into the clearing behind her with quiet gravity, glancing once at Alice, once at the assembled vampires, and then letting his gaze settle on Hadrian.

Hadrian, standing like a statue carved in motion, his deep crimson jacket catching slivers of dying sun, didn't move. Didn't blink. Emerald eyes locked with Jasper's. The air between them shifted like two storms circling.

Daenerys stepped forward, cutting slightly in front of Hadrian. Not in challenge. In instinct.

Her violet eyes glittered like stormlight, a deep lilac swing dress hugging her hourglass silhouette, silver-white curls pinned back with pearls. She didn't speak yet. Didn't need to.

Jasper nodded once. "Ma'am. Sir."

Alice spun back around and grinned at the group. "Hi! I'm Alice. That's Jasper. We're not here to murder you, promise. Gold eyes and everything. See?"

Elizabeth stepped closer to Katherine and whispered, voice wrapped in her soft Scottish brogue, "She's completely mad. I love her already."

Katherine—small, sharp-eyed, black hair curling like secrets around her cheeks—snorted. "She talks like lightning and dresses like a Paris window display."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Kath."

"Shove it, El."

Jasper's slow drawl cut the air. "Saw you three sparrin'."

Hadrian arched a brow, hands sliding casually into his coat pockets. "Did you?"

Jasper nodded. "Fast. Real fast. You don't move like a newborn."

"Because I'm not."

"And you don't fight like a spoiled city boy, either. That was clean. Calculated."

Hadrian smirked. "You watching long enough to get ideas?"

Jasper gave a ghost of a grin. "If you're agreeable, I'd like to go a few rounds. Later."

Daenerys slid her arm into Hadrian's. Possessive. Regal. Dangerous.

"He's agreeable," she said, voice like velvet wrapping a dagger. "But I get first round. Always."

"Wouldn't dream of interruptin', ma'am."

Emmett, grinning ear to ear, leaned toward Rosalie. "Oh, I like this guy. He talks like Tennessee whiskey and looks like he eats bullets."

Rosalie shrugged elegantly. "Remind you of anyone?"

"...No?"

"Exactly."

Edward cleared his throat. "Why are you here, exactly?"

Alice turned to him brightly. "To join you, of course! You need us. Carlisle needs us. I saw it all. Don't worry, I brought a record player."

Elizabeth looked to Hadrian. "Are we just... okay with this?"

He glanced at Daenerys, who smiled wickedly. "Depends. If she touches my tea set, I will turn every one of her hair ribbons into ash."

"You don't even drink tea."

"Old habits," she purred.

Hadrian grinned. "And besides... she steals your shoes, I'll steal her future."

Alice called over her shoulder, already walking. "I heard that! Rude."

Katherine smirked. "If she calls me 'Kath' again, I'm biting her."

"You're not biting anyone," Edward said.

"You don't know that."

As the group began moving toward the Cullen home nestled in the woods, Jasper matched Hadrian's pace.

"You ever fight in a war?" he asked.

Hadrian didn't look at him. "Too many."

Jasper nodded once. "Same."

Up ahead, Alice was already halfway to claiming Edward's bedroom.

Elspeth leaned into Katherine, smirking. "He walks like he's got ghosts hangin' off his ribs."

"If he starts quoting scripture, I'm kissing a tree."

"You'll kiss a tree anyway."

"Tempt me."

Daenerys tugged Hadrian to a stop near the porch. Her hand slid into his, fingers interlacing.

"You sure you want them here?"

He tilted his head, smiling slightly. "I want you here. That's enough."

Her eyes softened. "You always say the right thing."

"No," he said, lowering his voice, leaning in close. "I just say what I mean."

She kissed his cheek, lingering at the edge of his jaw. "Still. If she touches my dresses, I will torch her socks."

"That's fair."

And behind them, the house waited.

So did the future.

And somewhere in the far reaches of the forest, something older stirred.

Not watching. Not hunting.

Waiting.

—

Cullen Residence – Front Porch

The Cullen house stood nestled against the thick evergreen shadows like a whispered secret from a jazz-infused dream. Its glass panes caught the dying light in shimmering art deco patterns, while the cedar shingles wore the Pacific mist like a tailored suit. The quiet wasn't just silence — it was presence, the kind that held a hundred years of stories beneath its diamond-hard skin.

Hadrian's emerald eyes traced the sharp angles of the porch railings, while Daenerys, her silver curls catching the last glow of the sun, leaned against the frame like she owned every bit of air between sea and sky.

Emmett, all muscle and mischief (and still looking way too much like Noah Centineo if he'd been lifted from a high school dance straight into a vampire club), grinned and jabbed Hadrian's ribs. "I swear, Hadrian, you better keep this place from catching fire. One wrong spell and we're all toast."

Rosalie, every inch the sharp-edged queen of ice and sass, folded her arms like she was daring a storm to come. "Not nearly fireproof enough for you around, flame boy."

Hadrian smirked, flicking his wrist. A tiny spark danced between his fingers, then winked out. "Keep dreaming, Rosalie."

Alice floated up the stairs like a sparkler tossed into the night. Her pixie hair bobbed with every enthusiastic step, and her wide eyes sparkled as she absorbed the room's vibe.

"Ohhh, I love it. This place is like Gatsby threw a party with a ghost librarian," she breathed, fingers tracing the delicate hand-carved banister. "Seriously, is that hand-polished mahogany? Because if it is, I'm moving in tomorrow. Just say the word. I promise I'm good at dinner parties."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Usually there's a blood ritual involved. Tonight's no exception."

Before the door could even creak, Carlisle Cullen — tall, regal, Alexander Skarsgård incarnate with that easy, quiet confidence — looked up from a leather-bound tome. His pale gold eyes met Esme's, Bitsie Tulloch's gentle smile a perfect counterbalance, softening his measured concern.

The door burst open — no, exploded with personality.

Alice, as if auditioning for the leading role in Broadway's Weirdest Family Reunion, bellowed, "Hellooooo! Carlisle, Esme! Your auras are chef's kiss—very 'parents of a mysteriously hot immortal boyband.'"

Carlisle blinked, adjusting his cufflink. Esme's smile deepened, maternal instincts kicking in like clockwork.

"Have we… met?" Esme asked, amused but cautious.

Without hesitation, Alice launched herself forward and hugged Esme with the sort of abandon reserved for kittens and late-night jazz solos. Esme stiffened for a second, then softened, returning the embrace with that graceful warmth of a woman who knows the right touch can fix anything.

"I'm Alice," she said breathlessly into Esme's shoulder. "This is Jasper — the cowboy with eyes like molasses and enough war stories to make a preacher blush."

Jasper, Austin Butler with a drawl smooth as bourbon, tipped an imaginary hat. "Charmed, ma'am," he said, sliding inside like he belonged there all along.

Carlisle's gaze shifted to Hadrian, brow arching. "Friends of yours?"

Hadrian's emerald gaze darkened with mock solemnity. "I swear, I've never seen her before in my life. But she burst into our family like a grand theft maestro, so I like her already."

Alice spun on her heel with a theatrical flair. "I'm a seer! I see futures—your future was just too cute not to crash this party."

Daenerys, leaning coolly against the stair rail, eyes flickering violet like flint, watched Alice with a mixture of amusement and barely concealed wariness.

"She's quick. But she's chaos in kitten heels," Daenerys muttered with a sly grin.

Katherine, the sharp-tongued, black-haired Jenna Ortega with a Scottish brogue, chuckled darkly. "High praise, that. I think I'm already in love."

Elizabeth, ever the voice of quiet reason, whispered, "Again?"

Carlisle cleared his throat, extending a hand to Jasper. "Carlisle Cullen. You're welcome here — but do explain."

Jasper shrugged, eyes narrowing with the weight of long travels. "We've been running — no coven ties. Alice saw something, said we needed to be here. With you."

Hadrian stepped forward, voice low and intense. "Just in time. Something's stirring out there. And no, it's not my afternoon tea."

Alice beamed, practically glowing with mischief. "Exactly! You're the one with the weirdly magical blood-moon abs and enchanted gin, right?"

Hadrian blinked, amused. "That sentence took a sharp turn."

Rosalie folded her arms tighter, eyes narrowed. "Wait—you saw his enchanted alcohol?"

Alice gasped, placing a hand dramatically on her chest. "Felt it in the vision. A bottle glowing like it's bottled moonlight. Vampires tipsy. It was transcendent."

Daenerys arched an elegant brow, stepping closer, silver curls tumbling forward. "You let her see that, but you won't tell me where you hide the spellbound brandy?"

Hadrian's grin was slow, playful, and deadly serious all at once. "Firstly, I didn't 'let' her see anything. And secondly, you bite when drunk."

Daenerys's smirk sharpened, voice low and teasing. "I bite when sober."

Hadrian's eyes twinkled. "Fair enough."

Carlisle pinched the bridge of his nose. "I feel the narrative slipping through our fingers."

Alice's grin was too wide, too wild. "Don't worry, I'll recap. Jasper and I? We're drifters — no coven allegiance. We saw a darkness coming — big, ancient, and not like us. In every future that doesn't end with ash and teeth, we're here."

Elizabeth cocked her head, skeptical. "So what, magical destiny?"

Alice's tone dropped to something almost reverent. "More like inevitability."

The room hushed.

Jasper's drawl cut through the stillness, calm as a slow-moving storm. "There's something out there remembering what we forgot. It's movin', and it feels like it's coming home."

Carlisle frowned. "What exactly is it?"

Alice shrugged, expression clouded. "That's the tricky part. The futures are shattered — like broken glass. We can't see it. Just the weight pressing through everything."

Hadrian's jaw tightened. "Then we drink."

Rosalie's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. Really?"

Hadrian strode over to the corner bar — a piece of vintage craftsmanship holding bottles lined with glowing glyphs, like liquid moonlight trapped in glass.

"I am not dealing with eldritch nonsense sober," he said, pulling a cork from a crimson bottle. The liquid shimmered like the northern lights in a glass.

"One shot," he said, offering the crystal cut glass to Jasper. "Made with enchanted wine and phoenix-ritual-blessed animal blood. It hits like a symphony before a debt collector kicks down your door."

Jasper raised the glass with a slow, appreciative nod. "Cheers, then."

He drank.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

"…I can taste the color blue," Jasper said, eyes wide with wonder.

Alice clapped her hands. "Success!"

Edward slumped dramatically into an armchair, Timothée Chalamet's sharp cheekbones catching the low light. "We're all going to die."

"Probably," Katherine muttered, already pouring herself a glass with a wicked grin. "But at least we'll be tipsy."

Hadrian looked at Alice with a slow smile. "You're one odd duck."

Alice twirled a lock of her pixie-cut hair. "And you're a magic vampire warlock prince. We're going to get along famously."

Daenerys, silver hair cascading over her violet eyes, slid closer to Hadrian, looping her arm through his. Her lips brushed his cheek with a kiss slow enough to leave a spark. Her voice, a whisper just for him:

"He's taken."

Alice's grin widened, conspiratorial. "Sweetheart, I'm not trying to steal him."

Daenerys's eyes flashed with something sharp and fierce. "Good. Because there wouldn't be enough left to bury."

Hadrian's emerald gaze locked with Daenerys's violet fire, a silent promise burning between them like an unspoken war.

—

Cullen Residence – Carlisle's Study – Just Past Midnight

The muffled hum of laughter still filtered in from the lounge — a soft, jazz-drenched blend of Emmett's booming guffaws and Alice's warbling improvisations over Ella Fitzgerald. But the study was another world entirely: dark wood walls, leaded-glass windows, and the golden glow of firelight that flickered over polished leather and iron-bound tomes. A record player spun a smoky Miles Davis number low enough not to intrude — only to haunt.

Carlisle stood by the hearth, sleeves rolled, gold eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He looked every inch the elegant physician-turned-patriarch — tall, statuesque, composed — but there was a glint of something colder under the surface, something old.

Hadrian leaned one shoulder against a bookshelf, emerald gaze burning low like coals behind thick lashes. His shirt sleeves were rolled too, but not for style — there were ink stains on one wrist and a faint smear of blood at the collar. The type of blood only immortals would smell, the kind that had once burned cities.

Carlisle broke the silence first.

"She's fierce."

Hadrian's lips curled. "She threatened to poison my drink just now. With dragonfire."

"I assumed as much," Carlisle said mildly. "She reminds me of someone."

"Joan of Arc?"

"More like Boudicca," Carlisle replied, gesturing toward the armchairs. "But with better cheekbones."

They sat, sinking into the leather with that eerie, silent vampire grace. Hadrian reached over and poured himself a glass of the amber liquid glowing faintly on the desk. It fizzed with a whisper of ancient enchantments. Magic and memory.

"She keeps me from leveling Volterra," he said casually, sipping it.

Carlisle chuckled. "Touché."

On the desk between them lay a map of Europe, spread wide like a wound. Red circles marked disappearances. Jagged black lines noted sightings. Tiny hand-sketched sigils gleamed faintly, updated in Alice's chicken-scratch handwriting.

"Aro and Caius hit a coven in the Carpathians," Hadrian said, setting down the glass. "Left two alive. A man with telekinesis and a woman who manipulates blood. Took them back to Volterra. 'Sanctuary,' of course."

Carlisle's face darkened. "Meaning…?"

"Join the Volturi," Hadrian said flatly. "Or die while they take you apart, cell by cell."

"Still curating gifts then," Carlisle murmured.

"They're not building a coven. They're building a pantheon."

Carlisle frowned. "And Marcus?"

"Still mourning. Alec says he hasn't spoken in months. Jane claims he flinched when Aro mentioned Didyme's name. And she smiled when she said it."

Carlisle exhaled. "She was always the cruel one."

Hadrian gave a short nod, reaching over to tap a new mark near northern Italy. "There's a new one. Chelsea."

Carlisle's eyes narrowed. "Bond manipulation."

"Emotional ties, family, loyalty, love… she can untangle them like threads in a tapestry. Or twist them into something new. She's their keystone now."

Carlisle leaned forward. "Can she affect us?"

Hadrian was quiet for a long time. Then:

"She can try. But this family was forged in fire. In love freely chosen, not manipulated. You built it on restraint, on sacrifice. That's not something Chelsea can touch. At best, she might cloud it. But break it?"

His emerald eyes met Carlisle's.

"Not a chance in hell."

From the lounge, Emmett's voice boomed: "I swear this glass just flirted with me!"

"Only because you keep winking at it!" Alice called back, over laughter.

Carlisle smiled faintly, but his eyes stayed on the map. "And you?"

"Aro thinks I'm distracted," Hadrian said. "That Daenerys and I are playing aristocrats in the colonies. Drinking cocktails, driving fast cars, forgetting who we used to be."

"And are you?"

Hadrian grinned. "Of course not. We're building something of our own. Slowly. Quietly. A coven that can't be broken — because it isn't bound by fear. It's bound by choice."

Carlisle glanced at the bottles on the bar cart. Some glowed faintly. Others shimmered as though whispering secrets.

"What's in them?"

"Memory. Loyalty. Truth. Bottled spells layered with love and defiance." He smirked. "Not exactly FDA-approved, but it keeps Chelsea's illusions at bay."

Carlisle blinked. "You're fighting psychological warfare with enchanted alcohol."

Hadrian toasted him. "Welcome to 1950."

Carlisle studied the map again. "So we wait?"

"No." Hadrian stood, walking over to trace the perimeter of Volterra with one glowing fingertip. "We prepare. We get stronger. And when the Volturi come…"

He looked back, eyes glittering like a storm behind glass.

"We remind them why some families survive everything."

—

Meanwhile, in the Lounge...

Daenerys reclined like a queen in exile, one heel dangling lazily off the arm of Hadrian's abandoned chair. Her silver-blonde curls gleamed under the golden sconces, and her violet eyes scanned the room like a goddess sizing up her champions. She swirled her drink — moonlight in a glass — and smirked as Rosalie sniffed it suspiciously.

"This smells like a thunderstorm," Rosalie said. (Portrayed by Sophie Turner, all glamour and quiet rage.)

"That's because it was bottled during one," Elspeth said sweetly, her blonde hair tucked behind one ear as she lounged beside her. (Sabrina Carpenter, and just as sharp as she was soft.)

"You're joking."

"She never jokes," Katherine muttered, dark eyes glinting. (Jenna Ortega — cold, clever, coiled like a knife.) "She once spelled a tea kettle to shriek like a banshee every time Esme brewed mint."

"I warned her not to burn the mint," Elspeth said primly.

"I like it strong!" Esme called from the other side of the room. (Bitsie Tulloch, in full gentle matriarch mode.)

Emmett (jacked Noah Centineo with the energy of a golden retriever) was lying on the carpet, laughing hysterically at a bottle.

"Guys. I swear. This bottle. It winked at me. I'm not even mad."

Jasper (Austin Butler, pure Southern charm with trauma behind the drawl) chuckled. "Don't look it directly in the label. It'll steal your dignity."

Alice (Emma Myers, bouncing pixie energy) twirled in front of the record player. "It's enchanted, obviously. Everything Hadrian makes flirts. That's why Daenerys drinks it — she likes being the jealous one."

"Careful," Daenerys said silkily, lifting her drink, "or I'll start bottling your screams next."

Alice winked. "Promises, promises."

Hadrian re-entered the room as the needle lifted on the jazz record. Silence fell for a heartbeat.

He crossed to Daenerys, who didn't look at him — just lifted her glass.

"You were gone too long."

He leaned down, brushing his lips to her temple. "Miss me?"

"I always miss you," she murmured, lips curling. "Especially when the Volturi are making moves and I'm stuck entertaining our glittering collection of disaster darlings."

"You love them," he said.

"Of course I do," she purred. "But let's remind them why they love us, shall we?"

He took her hand. She rose like a storm in silk and heels, her eyes glowing faintly.

And just like that — war began with a kiss in the Cullen living room.

—

The Next Morning

Just past dawn

Fog laced the trees like a cathedral veil, low and thick, dampening the world in ghostly silence. The clearing was soaked in dew and a lingering echo of magic—a buzz beneath the moss that hadn't quite decided whether it was memory or warning.

Hadrian Kent stood at the center, coat draped casually over a tree branch like he owned the entire damn forest. His dark shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled past the elbow, revealing pale forearms inked faintly with runes that shimmered when the light hit them right. No heartbeat. No breath. Just pure stillness, wrapped in a man-shaped weapon wearing the ghost of a smirk.

"Tell me again why we're doing this before breakfast?" Emmett drawled, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer on sugar. His shirt had sleeves, but they were losing the battle against his biceps. "Not that I'm complainin', but my money was on a nice elk hunt before we got punched in the face."

"You don't even eat elk," Edward murmured, arms crossed, leaning against a pine like it had personally offended him. His gold eyes narrowed on Hadrian. "You just like throwing them at trees."

"Valid hobby," Emmett shot back.

Jasper said nothing. He was shirtless—because of course he was—his torso a roadmap of old scars that glittered faintly under the pale light like a story no one dared ask about. His hair was still mussed from the wind. His jaw was set.

Hadrian arched a brow. "You ready, cowboy? Or do you need a minute to wax poetic about the sunrise?"

Jasper's lips curved just barely. "Sun ain't the only thing rising this morning."

Emmett whooped. "Damn, Jazz! That Southern charm is comin' in hot today."

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don't turn this into a euphemism contest."

Jasper circled slowly, eyes on Hadrian. "You sure you don't wanna take your shoes off, fancy boy? Wouldn't want to scuff your soles."

Hadrian flicked imaginary dust off his cuff. "These were made from basilisk hide and spelled by a French witch with a grudge. They'll survive. Will you?"

Then the air shifted.

No countdown. No signal.

Just movement.

Jasper lunged first—a blur of teeth-gritted precision and war-born fury. Hadrian sidestepped, not with speed but something older, more fluid. Magic buzzed like static in the air as he twisted out of reach, the moss where he'd stood sizzling faintly.

Crack.

Jasper was already turning, elbow swinging toward Hadrian's temple. Hadrian caught it with one hand, the shockwave blowing pine needles off the trees in a ten-foot radius.

"You've been busy," Hadrian said, voice calm.

"You're holdin' back," Jasper returned.

Hadrian's smirk sharpened. "Darlin', I haven't even warmed up."

He shoved Jasper back—hard enough to crack a tree trunk. Jasper landed, rolled, came up grinning.

"Now we're dancin'."

He came again, fists a blur. Hadrian blocked one, dodged the next, then twisted midair and landed a kick that sent Jasper flying back across the clearing. The earth cratered where he hit.

Emmett whooped. "This is better than the heavyweight title at Madison Square!"

Edward muttered, "That's because they're not actually trying to kill each other. Yet."

Hadrian extended one hand. The air between him and Jasper shimmered like a mirage.

Jasper threw a rock. It hit the barrier and exploded into glittering dust.

"That magic nonsense again," Jasper drawled, licking blood from his lower lip. "You always fight dirty?"

"No," Hadrian said. "Sometimes I cheat, too."

He vanished. Reappeared behind Jasper, palm pressed to his spine.

"Boom," Hadrian whispered, and Jasper went flying.

He twisted midair, landed in a three-point crouch, and snarled. "Alright then. No more manners."

The next exchange blurred the air itself.

Punches landed like gunshots. Trees cracked. One poor pine simply disintegrated. The moss smoked. The clearing shook.

And still—they grinned.

Jasper came in low. Hadrian met him, grabbed his wrist, spun him like a dancer, then elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to echo.

Jasper coughed. "That all you got, sweetheart?"

Hadrian laughed, bright and wicked. "You want more? Say please."

They crashed together again, faster than human eyes could track. Jasper ducked under a glowing rune that pulsed midair and swept Hadrian's legs. Hadrian hit the ground but flipped back up like a cat.

Emmett was practically vibrating. "Okay but can they stop? Because I think the earth is cracking. Literally."

Edward finally stepped forward. "That's enough. Unless one of you plans to actually destroy the other, in which case let me grab a book."

Jasper and Hadrian locked arms mid-punch, forehead to forehead.

Breathless. (Not literally. Vampires. But you get it.)

"So?" Hadrian murmured.

Jasper huffed a laugh. "You're more than muscle."

Hadrian raised a brow. "Thank you. I moisturize."

Jasper grinned. They broke apart.

Emmett clapped Hadrian on the back. "Remind me never to piss you off. Or play poker with you."

Edward approached slowly. "That was... impressive."

Jasper nodded. "He doesn't fight like a vampire. Doesn't fight like a wizard either. He fights like... a myth."

Hadrian straightened his cuffs, then looked at them all.

"When the Volturi come," he said quietly, "I won't be behind you."

He met Jasper's eyes.

"I'll be in front."

From the house, a soft jazz number crackled to life.

And somewhere in the trees, Daenerys turned her head and smiled—a blade disguised in silk and silver.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

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