After nearly five years, Ymir Amaranthus finally returns home at his father's request, however disaster strikes when multiple unexplained attacks have been reported happening around the supernatural fractions. Witches, vampires, werewolves, and crea...
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NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
One of the most culture-rich cities in America, and also one of the hottest. I don't know what convinced my father to move all the way out here all those years ago. The man could've gone anywhere in the world, London, Greece, hell even Salem Massachusetts would've been a better place to live but he decided on starting his legacy in New Orleans — the city where pissy drunk adults come and cause mayhem in the streets during the weekends.
I remember my sister telling me we're here in New Orleans because it used to be a safe haven for the supernatural at the beginning of everything before America was even a thing and colonization was the number one thing white men wanted to do but after The Red Rebellion nearly wiping everyone and everything out most of the supernatural population had dwindled in numbers, most creatures were forced to reside in Halence where it's safer and free of judgment — apparently. Only supernaturals from well-off families or those with resources outside of Halence only ever leave the realm. The Amaranthus coven is the only house of witches to live outside the realm. I remember asking my father once when I was little why we didn't live in Halence with all the other houses and he let out a small laugh and said, "We're Amaranthus, we don't need to hide."
I never really looked at the other supernaturals leaving the human world for Halence as hiding but that's what my father thinks and I never asked him about it again. I wish I could hide, disappear, and untraceable from everyone in the world. I tried to be but for some reason, my annoying family insists that I come home for this stupid anniversary of a coven I detached myself from years ago. I haven't been to the last five so why was this one so important that Father just had to make sure I made an appearance? Wasn't his four other kids and house full of thirty-something followers enough?
No, nothing is ever enough for Erik Amaranthus.
My father's manor is located in the more remote part of New Orleans, where stores and suburban areas have become almost obsolete. Hidden along a dirt road path filled with red clay and potholes that made cars groan aloud whenever they accidentally came in contact with one. There were only about four other houses on this path, and all of them were separated by large amounts of land, each growing vegetables or harvested by farm animals. It wasn't until the cab got to the final house at the end of the path that the driver put the car in park. I haven't been here in almost five years, and even then I barely remember anything, but what I do remember is this house. I looked out the window to see the familiar wrought iron gate.
It was the first thing to greet me as I approached the manor. Large, white, and rather intimidating if I'm being honest with myself. Nothing about the place is homey, and the ancient iron gate in front of me wasn't exactly throwing me a welcome home party either. It was at least eight feet tall and quite old-looking. The tops of the fence posts were adorned with black spikes, threatening anyone who dared try to climb or jump this fence. Years later and it still sends chills down my spine.
