The Redeemed had been with us for three weeks when the nightmares began.
It started with the children—the youngest hybrids, whose connection to the bond made them sensitive to disturbances in the fabric of existence. They woke screaming, night after night, describing the same vision: a darkness deeper than any they'd ever seen, reaching toward them with hands that weren't hands, whispering promises that weren't words.
Then the adults began to dream.
I woke one night with Edward's arms around me, my heart pounding, my skin slick with sweat despite the cold. The dream was already fading, but one image remained burned into my memory: a pair of eyes, if they could be called eyes, staring at me from absolute nothingness.
"The Abyssal," I whispered. "They're coming."
Edward held me tighter. "How do you know?"
"I don't. But I feel it. Through the bond, through everything." I turned to face him. "We need to warn the others."
The council gathered at dawn, faces drawn with exhaustion and fear. Everyone had dreamed. Everyone had seen those eyes.
Orin spoke first, his ancient voice heavy with dread. "The Abyssal are closer than we thought. They've been watching, waiting, testing our defenses. The dreams are their way of announcing their arrival."
"How long do we have?" Darius asked.
"Days. Maybe hours." Orin's eyes met mine. "They move differently than we did. They don't manifest gradually—they simply... appear. One moment, absence. The next, presence. And then—"
"Then what?"
"Then they consume."
The next hours were a blur of preparation.
We evacuated the youngest hybrids to the deepest chambers, protected by guardian wards and vampire guards. We reinforced every entrance, every tunnel, every possible point of ingress. We gathered our fighters, our weapons, our courage.
And we waited.
The Abyssal came at midnight.
There was no warning—no gradual darkening, no pressure in the air. One moment, the stronghold was quiet, everyone at their posts. The next, the walls themselves seemed to scream.
They emerged from everywhere at once—from shadows, from corners, from the spaces between heartbeats. Beings of absolute darkness, their forms shifting and wrong, their eyes—those terrible eyes—fixed on us with hunger that had no end.
"Eleanor Vance." Their voices were not voices but the absence of sound, the silence between stars. "We have come for you."
"You'll have to go through all of us first." I stepped forward, my sisters flanking me, the bond blazing with light.
"So be it."
The battle that followed existed outside time.
The Abyssal didn't fight like any enemy we'd faced. They didn't strike, didn't wound, didn't kill—they simply... absorbed. Every moment of contact drained something essential from their victims—hope, love, memory, self. Hybrids fell not wounded but empty, their eyes vacant, their souls diminished.
"We can't fight them like this!" Mira screamed, pulling a young hybrid from an Abyssal's grasp. "Every time we touch them, we lose something!"
"Then we don't touch them." Cassandra's eyes blazed with desperate inspiration. "We use the bond. We create a barrier—not physical, but emotional. Love as a shield."
"How?"
"Together." She grabbed my hand, Mira's hand, forming the triangle. "Focus everything you have on each other. On the people you love. Let that light protect us."
I felt it—the bond intensifying, becoming something more than connection. It was a force, a field, a wall of pure emotion that pushed back against the darkness. Mira's fierce protectiveness. Cassandra's ancient wisdom. My desperate love for everyone I'd ever held dear.
The light grew, spreading outward, enveloping our fighters, our family, our home.
The Abyssal screamed—a sound like reality tearing.
For hours—or moments—or eternities—we held the line.
The bond blazed between us, a triangle of light that pushed back against the void. Around us, our family fought with everything they had—Cullens and guardians, hybrids and Redeemed, even Victoria, her unpredictability becoming a weapon against enemies who thrived on certainty.
But the Abyssal were endless. For every one that fell back, two more emerged from the darkness. They couldn't touch us while the bond held, but they could wait. Could watch. Could wear us down.
And we were tiring.
"I can feel them," Mira gasped. "Slipping through. Just a little, but—"
"Hold." Cassandra's voice was strained. "We have to hold."
But I could feel it too—the bond weakening, our exhaustion feeding the darkness. The Abyssal pressed closer, their hunger growing with every passing moment.
And then—a new light.
It came from nowhere and everywhere, pure and blinding, burning through the darkness like fire through paper. The Abyssal screamed, their forms dissolving, their hunger finally sated by something they couldn't consume.
The Luminari stood before us.
You called, the lead figure said—the same one who had judged us months ago. We heard.
"We didn't call." I stared at them, bewildered. "We didn't—"
Your bond. Your love. It resonated across dimensions. We felt it—a light in the darkness, a call we could not ignore. The figure's eternal eyes softened, just slightly. You have grown, Eleanor Vance. All of you have grown.
"The Abyssal—"
Are gone. For now. They will return—they always return. But you have proven something tonight. Something we did not think possible.
"What?"
That love can exist anywhere. That even in the deepest darkness, light can flourish. The figure paused. We have watched you, judged you, tested you. And we have found you... worthy.
"Worthy of what?"
Worthy of existence. Worthy of protection. Worthy of being called... peers.
The word hung in the air, impossible and beautiful. Peers. The Luminari considered us peers.
"What does that mean?" Mira asked.
It means we will stand with you. Against the Abyssal, against any force that threatens you. Not as judges—as allies. The figure's form shifted, becoming slightly more human. If you will have us.
I looked at my sisters, at my family, at the community we'd built. Then I looked at the Luminari—beings who had existed since before time began, who could have destroyed us with a thought, who were now offering friendship.
"Yes," I said. "We'll have you."
The Luminari stayed.
Not all of them—most returned to their own dimension, their own watch. But a handful remained, choosing to learn from us as much as we would learn from them. They walked among us, their light a constant reminder of how far we'd come.
The Abyssal retreated, driven back by a coalition of powers that had never before united. They would return—Orin warned us they always returned—but for now, we had peace.
Real peace.
I stood on the ramparts that night, watching the stars with Edward's arms around me. Mira and Cassandra joined us, completing the circle.
"We did it," Mira whispered. "We actually did it."
"We did it together." Cassandra smiled. "Like always."
I looked at my sisters, my love, my family. Then I looked at the sky, where Luminari light mingled with mortal stars.
"This is just the beginning," I said. "There will be more threats, more battles, more darkness. But we'll face them together."
"Together," they echoed.
And in the distance, a new dawn began to rise.
End of Chapter Seven