The room grew quieter as Richard moved toward the monitors.
Beth and Kendra followed close behind.
The guard pulled up the exterior surveillance footage from only minutes earlier.
Static flickered across the screen.
Then—
The street outside the Whitmore estate appeared.
The Blightcaster stood at the gate.
Kendra's face paled immediately.
"…What is that thing?"
Nobody answered.
Because then the footage continued.
The couple running.
The creature grabbing them.
The black energy draining from their bodies.
Beth covered her mouth in horror.
"Oh my God…"
Then—
The explosion.
The footage shook violently as the blast of wind and light slammed the Blightcaster across the street.
And there—
John.
Glowing.
Standing between the creature and the civilians.
The room went completely silent.
The guards stared at the footage like they still couldn't believe what they'd witnessed.
Richard's expression slowly shifted from confusion…
To shock.
To disbelief.
The footage continued playing.
John dodging attacks that should've killed him instantly.
Using blasts of air to throw himself through the street.
The floating grimoire beside him.
The glowing sigils burning through his jacket.
Then finally—
The punch.
The entire room physically flinched as the surveillance camera nearly whited out from the impact.
The blast shattered nearby cameras and distorted the footage with static before stabilizing again just in time to capture the Blightcaster collapsing into dust.
Silence.
Nobody spoke for several long seconds.
The only sound was the low hum of the generators.
Then one of the guards finally whispered—
"…That thing's been slaughtering people in the estates for three nights."
His eyes slowly moved toward the unconscious John lying across the couch.
"And this kid killed it."
The guard stared at the frozen image on the monitor.
John standing in the middle of the ruined street, glowing arm buried through the monster's chest.
"…No," he said quietly.
Then louder—
"No way."
He turned toward Richard, unease shifting fully into fear now.
"People don't move like that."
He pointed sharply toward the screen.
"They don't survive that."
Another guard nodded nervously. "You saw what that thing was doing to the other creatures. It was controlling them."
"And he killed it," the first guard snapped back. "With his bare hand."
His eyes shifted toward the unconscious John lying across the couch.
"…That's not human."
Kendra immediately frowned. "John's not a demon."
"You don't know what he is," the guard argued quickly.
Beth looked uncertain now too, glancing nervously between the footage and the unconscious boy.
The room's tension thickened instantly.
Then Richard spoke.
Firm.
Controlled.
"If that kid was with them," he said sharply, "then why did he stop that monster?"
Silence.
The guard opened his mouth—
Then stopped.
Because nobody had an answer for that.
Richard looked back toward the footage again.
Toward the moment John threw himself between the civilians and the creature.
Toward the moment he ordered them to run.
Toward the fight.
The blood loss.
The fact he still dragged himself to their gates afterward.
Richard's expression hardened slightly.
"That thing out there has been tearing people apart for days," he said quietly. "If he was one of them…"
His eyes moved toward John again.
"…then he had every opportunity to let it kill those people."
Nobody argued this time.
Because the footage spoke for itself.
Kendra looked toward John worriedly now.
"He came all the way here for me…" she whispered softly.
Beth blinked at her. "Why would he do that?"
Kendra swallowed hard.
"I don't know."
Across the room—
The grimoire suddenly flickered faintly on the table.
Everyone jumped slightly.
One of the guards immediately raised his rifle toward it.
The pages shifted once on their own.
Then stilled again.
The room fell silent.
Richard slowly exhaled.
"…Whatever's happening," he muttered quietly, "I don't think we understand any of it."
The room stayed silent after the grimoire moved.
Nobody seemed eager to speak first anymore.
The guards kept their weapons lowered—but not relaxed.
The footage remained frozen on the monitor.
John standing against the creature in a storm of light and wind.
Then—
TAP.
TAP.
TAP.
The sound of a cane striking hardwood echoed softly from the hallway.
Everyone turned.
An old man stood at the entrance to the room.
Thin.
Frail.
Wrapped in a dark robe over sleep clothes, one trembling hand gripping a polished cane tightly for support.
His skin looked pale beneath the warm lights of the estate.
Sickly.
Eighty-four years old and looking every bit of it.
But his eyes—
His eyes were sharp.
Locked completely onto the security monitor.
"…Well, boy," the old man said quietly.
His voice was rough with age but steady.
"Does my story sound so crazy now?"
Richard's eyes widened immediately.
"…Dad?"
The old man slowly stepped further into the room, cane tapping softly against the floor with every step.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody even moved.
Because the expression on his face wasn't confusion.
It was recognition.
His gaze remained fixed on the footage of John.
On the glowing sigils.
On the floating grimoire.
The old man slowly shook his head in disbelief.
"…After all these years…" he whispered.
Beth looked between them nervously. "Grandpa… what story?"
Richard frowned deeply now.
Because he remembered.
The stories his father used to tell when Richard was younger.
Stories the family dismissed as dementia or fever dreams after the old man got sick.
Stories about monsters in the woods outside Fairhaven decades ago.
About symbols carved into trees.
About people who fought things that "weren't supposed to exist."
Richard had stopped believing those stories a long time ago.
But now—
His father pointed slowly toward the monitor.
Toward John.
And whispered—
"…A Keeper."
Beth looked at her grandfather uncertainly.
"…Grandpa," she asked softly, "what are you talking about?"
The old man remained staring at the monitor for another few seconds.
At John.
At the glowing grimoire frozen in the footage.
Then he slowly lowered himself into one of the nearby chairs with visible effort, gripping the cane tightly as everyone in the room watched him.
His voice came quieter this time.
More distant.
"…I was eight years old," he said.
The room stayed completely silent.
"My older sister's name was Constance."
His eyes unfocused slightly.
Like he wasn't seeing the room anymore.
Like he was somewhere else entirely.
"She disappeared one night."
Beth frowned slightly.
Richard slowly crossed his arms, listening despite himself.
The old man swallowed once before continuing.
"People thought she ran away."
His grip tightened on the cane.
"But I saw what took her."
The room's atmosphere shifted instantly.
Outside, the electric fence crackled faintly through the windows.
The old man's voice lowered further.
"…Creatures."
His eyes slowly moved toward the dark windows beyond the estate.
"The same kind roaming the streets out there tonight."
A few of the guards exchanged uneasy looks.
Beth sat down slowly beside Kendra now.
The old man continued.
"They came out of the woods near Fairhaven."
His breathing grew slightly shakier.
"Dead things… moving things… wrong things."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"And then they came."
Richard frowned. "…Who?"
The old man opened his eyes again.
"People from somewhere else."
He shook his head slowly.
"Another place. Another world. Another dimension maybe. I never knew."
His gaze returned toward the footage of John.
"But they called themselves Keepers."
The grimoire on the coffee table flickered faintly.
Several people in the room visibly flinched.
The old man pointed weakly toward it.
"They carried books."
His voice almost trembled now.
"Books with power inside them."
"…Grimoires," he whispered.
The room remained dead silent.
"Each one different."
"Each one alive in its own way."
Kendra slowly looked toward the book resting on the table.
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And only the ones chosen by a grimoire could wield its power."
His gaze shifted back toward the unconscious John.
"…The books chose their Keepers."
Richard stared at his father for a long moment.
Trying to process any of what he was hearing.
Finally, he shook his head once.
"…What are you saying, Dad?"
His voice stayed controlled, but uncertainty crept into it now.
"What does any of this actually mean?"
The old man looked at him sharply.
"Aren't you listening?"
He lifted a trembling hand and pointed directly toward John lying unconscious on the couch.
"This boy is a Keeper."
Nobody in the room spoke.
The old man's eyes shifted toward the paused surveillance footage still glowing on the monitor.
Toward the image of John standing against the Blightcaster.
Light against darkness.
Then he pointed at the screen too.
"That thing out there…" he whispered. "The creature he killed…"
His jaw tightened.
"That's only the beginning."
A cold silence swept through the room.
Richard slowly crossed his arms tighter.
The old man looked between all of them now.
"You think this is an outbreak?"
He shook his head weakly.
"No."
His voice lowered into something grim.
"This is spreading."
Outside, somewhere far beyond the estate walls, distant screeches echoed faintly through the night.
The old man continued staring at John.
"And if what I remember is true…"
His expression darkened.
"…then people like him are the only reason towns like this survive at all."
Kendra slowly looked back toward John, her expression shifting from shock to worry.
Beth swallowed nervously. "You really believe all this?"
The old man answered immediately.
"I know what I saw when I was a child."
His eyes drifted toward the grimoire resting silently on the table.
"And tonight…"
He looked back toward the footage one last time.
"…I just saw it again."
The room remained silent after his words.
Even the guards looked less certain now.
Less ready to call John a monster.
The old man slowly leaned forward in his chair, gripping the top of his cane tightly as his eyes settled on Richard.
There was no confusion in them now.
No frailty.
Just certainty.
"If all of you want to survive this," he said flatly, "then that boy has to live."
He lifted one trembling finger and pointed directly toward John lying unconscious on the couch.
Blood still soaked through the bandages wrapped around his shoulder.
The grimoire rested nearby like a silent guardian.
The old man's voice hardened.
"I don't care how strange he looks."
"I don't care what powers he has."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Because whatever is happening out there…"
A distant screech echoed faintly outside the estate walls.
"…he fought it."
Nobody argued.
Because they had all seen the footage.
The old man looked back toward Richard one final time.
"With his bare hands."
Richard's jaw tightened as he looked toward John again.
Toward the destroyed jacket.
The blood loss.
The exhaustion that had finally dragged him down after somehow surviving that fight.
Beth looked shaken now.
Kendra looked terrified for an entirely different reason.
"…Can we save him?" she asked quietly.
The older woman tending John's wound hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"…If the bleeding slows soon? Maybe."
The old man spoke immediately.
"Then stop standing around."
His cane struck the floor sharply.
"Tend to him."
The room sprang back into motion around John.
Fresh towels were brought over.
Bandages replaced soaked ones.
Someone hurried to boil water in the kitchen while another searched through emergency medical supplies gathered since the attacks began.
The older woman examining John's shoulder frowned deeply as she carefully pulled part of the torn fabric aside.
"…The claw went deep," she muttered. "If infection sets in…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Didn't need to.
The old man's eyes sharpened immediately.
"Then don't let it."
He pushed himself upright again with visible strain, leaning heavily on his cane as everyone looked toward him.
Outside, the estate had gone strangely quiet.
No screeching.
No pounding against the outer walls.
The Blightcaster was dead.
And somehow—
Everyone inside could feel the difference.
The old man looked toward Richard firmly.
"That creature is gone now," he said. "The estate is contained again."
Richard frowned slightly. "Contained?"
"For the moment," the old man corrected sharply.
Then he pointed toward two of the armed guards standing near the doorway.
"You two."
They straightened immediately.
"Go to Dr. Benson's house."
One of them blinked. "Sir… outside?"
"Yes, outside," the old man snapped impatiently. "The doctor lives three streets over, not across the country."
The guards exchanged nervous looks.
The old man's expression hardened.
"Tell him to bring his surgical kit."
That got everyone's attention.
Even Richard looked concerned now.
"…Surgical?" he asked quietly.
The older woman tending John finally looked up from the wound.
"…He needs stitches," she admitted grimly. "A lot of them."
Her eyes moved toward the blood still slowly seeping through the bandages.
"And if there's internal damage…"
Silence.
The old man pointed his cane sharply toward the door again.
"Move."
The guards didn't argue this time.
They grabbed flashlights and rifles before quickly heading for the estate entrance.
As the front doors opened briefly, cold night air swept through the mansion.
And for just a second—
The grimoire's pages shifted softly beside John.
Like it was listening too.