Stiles and his father arrived in his weathered Jeep, the engine's rumble announcing his presence. The vehicle came to a halt, dust settling around it like an ethereal fog.
Noah stilinski questioned,"Why did he want to bring you with me?"
Stiles shrugged and answered,"Don't know."
Stiles and his father Noah stepped out, boots crunching on the gravel driveway, eyes scanning the sprawling mansion before them. The massive wooden doors creaked open, revealing Alexander and Isabelle waiting with an air of composed urgency.
"Glad you made it," Alexander said, his voice steady but hinting at the gravity of the situation.
"Come on, we have to talk before Scott gets here." Isabelle added, her eyes darting to the darkening sky.
They led Stiles and his father inside, the heavy doors closing behind them with a resonant thud. The interior of the mansion was a labyrinth of opulent corridors and grand rooms, but their destination was clear. They guided him to the study, a room lined with towering bookshelves and bathed in the soft glow of a chandelier.
Alexander paused by one of the bookshelves, glancing back at Stiles and Noah with a knowing look. "This is it."
Stiles watched, heart pounding, as Alexander's hand reached for an unassuming book. The spine read "Angels: A Historical Perspective." With a firm pull, the bookshelf shuddered, then silently slid aside, revealing a dimly lit passageway.
Stiles' breath caught in his throat. "No way..."
Noah was in daze and questioned,"What is all this?"
Alexander placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "What you guys are about hear are things only you should. Not even Scott should find anout this."
Stiles and Noah was hesitant, but nodded.
Together, they stepped into the passage, the air growing cooler and the walls closing in around them. The door slid shut behind them, leaving the study—and the world as Stiles knew it—far behind. As they ventured deeper, the sense of anticipation and dread coiled tighter in Stiles' chest and Noah Stilinski was wary.
They soon entered—the library. As high as the walls rose, so it seemed did the rows of books that encircled a winding staircase in the middle of the large chamber. They lined what felt like every inch of the curving stone wall: shelf after shelf, tome upon tome, boxes innumerable filled with scrolls, every last one of them,
Isabelle knew, rare and precious and most likely unique. There were so many of them that ladders had been erected connecting to a reading terrace above them—which was also filled with books. And, as if books in shelves or on a terrace were not sufficiently excessive, there were stacks of books as tall as Stiles himself scattered about the floor. The knowledge that lay within them could never be absorbed by a single person in his or her lifetime.
Stiles looking at everything muttered,"Amazing."
Noah looking around in daze questioned,"Now can you tell me what that giant beast was?"
Alexander nodded taking a book from on of shelves and opened it, showing a picture of werewolf, Noah narrowed his eyes and questioned,"Werewolves, you are no joking right?"
Isabelle smiled and answered,"Ask you son?"
Noah hearing this looked at Stiles, who nodded and replied,"Yes, they are real and Scott got bit by one."
Noah was in disbelief at first, but slowly recounted Scott behavior and the rvents happened in Beacon Hills, he was now worried about Stiles being close to a werewolf questioned," So this he is killing these people?"
Stiles shook his head and answered"No, Scott is a new werewolf and doesn't have any idea about who is killing. The one killing these people is older and Alpha."
Noah was still worried about Stiles connection to Scott and questioned Alexander with wary tone,"What are you?"
Then, with a sudden, graceful motion, Alexander unfurled his wings. They emerged from his back in a cascade of blinding white feathers, glowing with a divine light. The wings were enormous, their span stretching wide and their edges gleaming like blades.
Stiles' breath hitched in his throat same with Noah. The sheer power and majesty of the wings left them awestruck. Each feather seemed to shimmer with an ethereal brilliance.
Stiles stood, still reeling from the sight of Alexander's angelic wings, when Noah's voice broke the silence. "Angels," he muttered in disbelief.
Isabelle stepped forward, her voice clear and firm. "Technically, he is Nephilim, with the purest of angel blood flowing through him."Isabelle have brief description of Shadowhunters and their history. Both Stiles and Noah where shocked finding out Alexander was an immortal with age of 2000 years old.
She glanced at Stiles and Noah, her eyes serious. "There are many of us out there, we are shadowhunters, Archangel Raziel
created out race and tasked us with protecting our world from demonic forces. We are the Shadowhunters, warriors hidden in plain sight."
Stiles blinked, shaking off his daze. "So you guys have been fighting demons all this time?"
Alexander, retracting his wings, nodded. "Yes. The so-called werewolf you've seen is just a small taste of what's out there. There are much bigger threats lurking in the shadows."
Noah, trying to process everything, asked, "Why tell us all this?"
Alexander's gaze was steady. "I wanted to recruit your son as a Shadowhunter. I believe he has great potential and could be a valuable ally in our fight."
Noah's face was a mix of shock and uncertainty, but Stiles' eyes gleamed with a spark of excitement. "You can turn humans into Nephilim?" he asked, his voice tinged with hope and curiosity.
Isabelle nodded. "Yes and sith the right training, you cane become an amazing shadowhunter. It's not an easy path, but it's one of honor and duty."
Stiles looked at his father, his mind racing with the possibilities. "Dad, this could be my chance to really make a difference."
Noah took a deep breath, his eyes flicking between Alexander, Isabelle, and his son.
Noah saw the determination in Stiles' eyes and understood the weight of the opportunity before them, this was gods gift. With a heavy sigh, he said, "I will talk with my son more about this."
Stiles felt a surge of excitement. He knew his father was halfway to agreeing. Ever since his friend Scott had turned into a werewolf, Stiles had felt helpless as a mere human.
Alexander, seeming to read Stiles' thoughts, stepped closer. "Stiles, don't tell Scott about any of this yet. He's not ready to accept his identity as a werewolf. For now, it's better that he remains unaware."
Stiles hesitated, the urge to share everything with his best friend tugging at him. But he also understood the gravity of the situation. "Okay," he agreed quietly. "I won't say anything."
Alexander nodded, satisfied. "Good. This is a big responsibility, and secrecy is essential until the time is right."
Stiles glanced at his father, then back at Alexander and Isabelle. The path ahead was uncertain and daunting, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of purpose.