Peter's ambition for power had taken him to some pretty dark places over the years. Teaming up with Kate to turn Scott into a Berserker and almost killing Kira was an entirely new low, though. This time, we couldn't allow him to walk away. 

Malia happily dragged her father out of the La Iglesia tunnels and threw him into the prison transport van. Chris injected Peter with a small dosage of yellow wolfsbane he had to spare, using it to subdue his shift until we could reach Beacon Hills. Our capture of the eldest Hale wouldn't lead to a trial by any means, a case like this would be utter nonsense to the public, but Eichen House would be willing to open their doors to a patient like him in their lower levels.

There's enough yellow wolfsbane to keep Peter out for the trip back, but be careful," Chris says warningly. He stands between us and the Calaveras, all of them gathered at his back as they patiently wait for him to join their ranks. 

"You're really going with them?" Scott asks Chris, warily eyeing the hunters over his shoulder. 

Chris nods. "I made a deal with Calaveras weeks ago. They'll leave you alone, all of you, but only if I help them catch Kate."

The Calaveras had proven that they had respect for us, but that didn't take away from the fact that they also had respect for their code. Chris' deal would ensure a bit of leeway in our direction if the time ever did come when one of the supernaturals around me broke what they held sacred. 

"What if you can't?" Scott replies.

"I'll find her. Someone has to," Chris swears.

Movement behind him draws my attention. Araya took a step forward to separate herself from the crowd of her men. She moves to be beside Chris, her eyes trained on me.

"There's always room for one more," she offers. 

I'm sure my shock is obvious on my face from the flash of amusement she displays. My eyes pass her to see the reaction of her men, all of them nodding in agreement as they now saw me as an ally.

I picture for a moment what life would be like with them.

I wouldn't have to question my morals at their side. They were already aware of the required ambiguity of conscience hunters had to have. It would be easy being with them and it would be what I'd spent most of my life waiting for: a place amongst hunters. 

That's why I originally pledged myself to the Argents. I was desperate to find a home and family, wanting to replace the one that I lost. But those were the actions of a naive child. I knew better now. I had better now. 

I glance at the pack; my pack. 

They aren't perfect by any means, nor are they anything like what I thought my family would look like as a child, but they were family nonetheless. I didn't need to pretend to be someone else with them. I could simply exist as the person I was, and strive to become who I wished I could be. 

"If you need help tracking down Kate, give me a call. I don't wanna miss out on all the action," I say to Araya, earning a chuckle from her and her men. "But I know who I am and I know my place. It's with my friends."

My eyes drift to the pack again, finding them all smiling. They admittedly looked relieved at my words, probably wondering if I would be tempted to accept Araya's offer. 

Araya isn't offended by my refusal. In fact, she almost looks proud, as if I've passed another one of her mysterious tests. 

"Then, until we see each other again..." she trails, reaching into the sleeve of her coat. 

She brings out a curved karambit blade. It's a decent piece of weaponry, but what makes it truly beautiful is its handle. The hilt is sculpted out of bone, and at the middle of it, rests a carving of a skull. I admire the piece and intend to compliment her on it, but her next action leaves me completely speechless.

She lifts the dagger to her lips and places a kiss on the surface of the skull. 

Her men see the gesture and exchange knowing smiles as they move to line up behind her. The pack watches silently, unsure of what's happening. I know, though, and I can't bring myself to speak because no words can do this moment justice.

"You've earned it," Araya says with a wrinkled smile. She then passes the dagger to Severo, and the burly man takes it eagerly. 

"Remember, once a hunter, always a hunter," he tells me before mimicking his mother's actions, pressing a light kiss to the blade in his hands. When he's done, he passes it to the next person.

Araya stands off to the side, watching proudly as her men do as she has done. Each one presses a kiss to the surface of the skull carved into the bone before giving it to those who wait. They all give respectful nods, but a few speak.

"Good luck, kid."

"We'll give you that call soon."

"Take care of yourself." 

I can only stare at them in shock, unable to do much else as the line of over a dozen men slowly fades.

"Argent, what are they doing?" Kira asks in a hushed voice. 

"It's a sign of respect amongst hunters, and it's one of the Calaveras' oldest traditions," Chris tells her, doing his best to hide the emotion in his voice.

"Traditions for what?" Scott presses, making Chris turn to him.

"When one of us retires."

The Calaveras held bonds in high regard. 

When one of their own decides to leave the life of hunting behind, they honored them. The head of their family would give a blade from their own collection to the person as a wish of good fortune. Then, they would kiss their sigil, passing on a symbol of their own life as a blessing to their brother-in-arms, hoping they would find peace and health in the world beyond. 

It was their way of sharing prosperity. It was their way of showing admiration. It was their way of telling the blade's recipient that it was okay to let go. 

The line continues on, hunters passing one by one. Soon, Cyrus is the last. 

His shoulder which had been injured from the Berserker is wrapped up in a makeshift sling, and his skin is sickly and pale, but he's alive. 

"Thanks for saving my ass out there, Knight," he says with a tired smile. The two of us share an exchange of light laughter; a moment of comradery.

He offers his kiss to the blade before holding it out to Chris. He may not be a Calavera, but neither was I. Tradition could be altered for a moment today. 

Chris gives Cyrus a grateful nod as he accepts the karambit and comes to stand in front of me. He twirls the blade between his fingers, staring down at it with an expression that seems almost sad, yet hopeful. He doesn't give his blessing right away, choosing to speak to me first.

"Before you head back to town, you have to make one more stop. Parrish already has the coordinates, he'll lead you there," he says. 

At the mention of the deputy, I glance in his direction. He's watching the scene in front of him with intrigue, not exactly understanding what he's witnessing, but supportive anyway.

"Why?" I ask Chris when I look back at him. 

He smirks to himself, keeping his answer cryptic. "It's part of the deal I made."

"You're not going to tell me anything else, are you?" I snort, and his smirk only widens because of it.

"No," he says simply. 

His attention falls back onto the dagger in his hand and his humored expression slips. We were finally saying a proper goodbye to each other but it wouldn't change all that we had lost. This wasn't how it was meant to be for us, and though he doesn't say it, I know Chris and I are both thinking of her. 

Chris takes a steadying breath before kissing the hilt for a solid second, then extending it to me. I take it from him graciously, able to feel his hands shake as they briefly touch mine. He offers an empty smile before walking away. The Calaveras follow him, all of them ready to continue the hunt for Kate, their world unchanged. 

I should feel a weight lifted off my shoulders, but it didn't feel right.

"Chris," I called out, making him turn to face me.

Without thinking, I jog up to him and throw my arms around his neck to pull him into a tight embrace. He's frozen at first, as this is something we've never done before, but soon his arms wrap themselves around me. 

"Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes," I whisper.

Chris pulls back, still holding onto me, but leaving enough space for me to see the slight shake of his head. Tears well in my eyes at the sight, as he doesn't need to say anything for me to understand what he means. 

That part of his life ended the night Allison died. 

Chris had to find his own place in the world now, just as I had, and he couldn't do that by clinging to the past. He had to be free of his demons, too. 

I let him go, forcing a teary smile for his sake. He gently caresses my hair before pulling away completely, moving to finally join the Calaveras. They climb into their vehicles and drive off, waving and honking on their way out of the ruins around us, leaving behind nothing but dust and bullet casings.

Scott and Stiles come to stand on either side of me, the three of us watching them fade. 

Our attention shifts to Derek as he rounds his Cruiser after closing the passenger side door for Braeden. His eyes travel to Malia first, exchanging a knowing smile with his cousin. Then, he gives friendly gestures to Liam and Kira before his eyes settle on Scott, Stiles, and I.

With one last nod, he gets into his car and drives away. 

I don't know where he's going and I don't think he does either, but I do know he'll find his way back to us eventually. 

"We'll see them again," Scott voices my thoughts, his words hopeful, as always. 

"Yeah, we will," I agree with him, smiling down at the blade in my hands. I place it into my pocket, the same one as the key to the loft. A new beginning waits at the tips of my fingers. 

Parrish waits off to the side patiently, watching us as we approach him and the others. He tosses something to Stiles when we're close enough. Stiles catches it clumsily, finding a collection of keys attached to a carabiner in his palms. 

"Drive my car," Parrish orders him politely.

"I can drive the van?" Stiles offers, gesturing to the police van that currently housed a sleeping psycho.

"I'm the only one here with a badge." Parrish frowns. His implied argument is valid because the last thing we needed was a seventeen-year-old getting pulled over at the border with Peter in the back all cracked up on wolfsbane.

"I have a badge," Stiles counters, making us all look at him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"A real one?" Kira interjects. Stiles keeps his expression neutral as he ignores the prying stares around him.

"I have a badge," he repeats.

Parrish gives us one of his charming smirks as he backs away from us, heading to the transport van.

The rest of us chuckle at Stiles' expense as he stands there dumbly. He scowls and motions for us to get into Parrish's SUV. Luckily, it has enough seats for all of us. There are two rows in the back on top of the driver and passenger seats. 

Kira and Scott take the very back while Liam and Malia are in the middle, and then Stiles and I are at the front. I was grateful Malia didn't push to be next to Stiles. I'm sure she assumed I was up here to be on alert for Chris' surprise, which was partially true, but I mostly didn't know what to say to Liam.

The thought of him makes me turn his way, unable to help it, and I find him already watching me.

My eyes pass him to Scott as he looks like he's already fallen into a peaceful sleep, his head resting on top of Kira's as the kitsune slumbers on his shoulder, too. After the night they had, I'm not surprised they were already passed out.

Thank you, I mouth to Liam, no one noticing. I didn't think my words would be enough to repay him, but the smile he gives me in return made it seem like it was.

I face forward again, getting comfortable in my seat as Stiles starts to drive. Slowly, I feel my eyes begin to droop, and I don't fight off my exhaustion. Instead, I use the breathing of the Beta behind me to lull me to sleep.

---

A light tapping on my arm wakes me up.

Stiles pulls his hand away, gesturing to something in the distance.

I sit up, taking in our surroundings. Beyond the miles of desert around us, there were multiple jagged volcanic rock clusters ahead. I hear the others sit up in their seats at the sight, the leather of Parrish's covers bending under the movement.

"Why are we coming here?" I mutter confusedly. 

"You know what this place is?" Stiles glances between me and the rocks as we continue to drive forward. I nod, unable to find anything else to say. 

We pull to a stop when Parrish turns. He rolls his window down as he comes to our side, now directly across from Stiles. 

"Is this really where Chris told you to take me?" I ask, leaning over the middle console to speak to the deputy. 

Parrish grabs a tablet and holds it up to show coordinates and a map, revealing our exact location.

"He said you'd recognize it. You do, right?" Parrish says a bit fearfully, probably not wanting to be stuck out in the desert in the middle of nowhere. 

"Yeah, I recognize it," I say softly. 

Parrish nods, relieved. He looks to Stiles after. "I'm gonna call your dad about Eichen and Peter. Let me know when you guys are ready to head out, okay?" 

"Yeah, thanks, Parrish," Stiles agrees. 

The deputy gives us all one final look before rolling his window back up to do as he said he would, leaving Stiles to continue driving closer to the rock formation. 

There's an opening in the stone, an archway that provides access to what lies beneath the desert we drive on. It's almost impossible to actually see into the entrance, as if there was an endless abyss of shadows through the threshold. As we get closer, my friends are able to see that the rocks are decorated with skulls, some of them are simply hung or placed onto the surface, while others are smelted into the structure. 

"Stop here," I command Stiles at a certain point, and he obeys. 

I quickly climb out of the van and the others follow. They stand behind me, staring up at the collection of towering rocks in wonder. Liam comes to stand next to me, his eyes focusing on the skulls with a calculating gaze. 

"What is this place?" Stiles breathes out. 

Liam is the one to answer him. 

"Tumba de Calaveras," he utters in realization. 

He remembers the story I told him of the catacombs that housed the remnants of every Calavera hunter, and the skull of their first kill. The others turn to him, surprised. Liam doesn't react. He only continues to look out at the outside of the tomb with fascination. 

"How do you know that-" Stiles abruptly interrupts his own question with another.

"Who's the bald chick?"

Scott pulls his best friend back protectively, only now realizing we weren't alone anymore. 

A thin woman stands in front of us, her complexion similar to the dry and hardened soil below our feet. She wears long brown robes that her hands are hidden in, and the fabric makes it seem like she's floating with how freely it dances in the wind. That, combined with the fact that she doesn't make a sound, makes it feel as though she's a ghost rather than a real person. 

"She's the keeper of the tomb," I explain as I take a step forward. The woman juts out her chin, quickly stopping me.

"You know the law, hunter," she warns in a smooth voice that betrays her hardened exterior. "No guns."

The others give her weary stares as there shouldn't have been any way she was aware of the gun tucked away beneath the layers of my clothes. I don't argue and do as she's asked, pulling out my Glock. I turn to hand it to someone for safekeeping, but then realize my options aren't the best. I'd do anything for my friends, but trusting them with a firearm wasn't on the list.

"I'll just leave this here," I mumble as I place my gun on the ground. 

"That's a good call," Stiles says. 

The keeper tilts her head, gesturing for me to follow her into the entrance of the tomb. I intended to follow her until Scott steps forward, stopping me. 

"Jac, I'm coming with you. I don't like you going in there without backup," he admits nervously.

"No one like you walks here, Alpha," the keeper interjects. "Not alive, at least."

She doesn't even spare a glance in Scott's direction. Her eyes were straight ahead, focused on the horizon. It may have seemed a little cold, but as far as I could remember, she treated everyone that way. I think the only kindness she truly held was for the dead she was surrounded by.

Scott seems intrigued by her words and moves forward anyway, only to be met with a glowing purple barrier that pushes him back with intense force. Malia swiftly reaches out and grabs his arm, keeping him from laying himself out flat.

"Mountain ash," Kira acknowledges, intrigued. She reaches out, slowly pressing her hand against the invisible barrier that only the supernatural could solidify. The ash itself is hidden in the tombs beneath us, creating a place of isolation from the world beyond for the dead. 

The longer her hand remains there, the more the barrier is exposed. It continues to grow around the perimeter of the tomb, and the pack watches in amazement as it seems endless, growing in width and height. 

"Woah," Liam breathes out from beside me. I turn to take in his profile as he stares up at the mountain ash. His eyes are filled with wonder as he's never seen anything like this before. He's mesmerized, and so am I.

Kira inevitably pulls away from the barrier, shaking her hand to relieve herself of the pain I'm sure had begun to radiate through her palm. 

"I can go with you?" Stiles offers. The others nod encouragingly at his words. 

"Guys, it's okay," I smile easily. "Stay here, I'll be right back." 

I trusted Chris, but more importantly, I trusted the Calaveras. I didn't believe this was a trap, not after the blessing they had given me today. Those weren't the actions of an enemy, but a friend. 

I remove myself from the others and step over the boundary. The keeper guides me to the mouth of the tomb and I don't look back as we enter, the surrounding shadows swallowing us whole. 

We journey down a steep decline as the path takes us underground. Torches on the walls in sconces to illuminate the tomb with flame, and sting my eyes with smoke. I can feel my breath grow shallow because of that and the depth we venture to. The world becomes quiet down here, making it feel like a realm separate from reality. Silence should be a relief in a place like this, but it only makes things all the more unsettling. 

The space begins to narrow as we enter a tunnel that leads to the heart of the tomb. Hundreds of skulls line the walls. I can't help but stare at them as we pass. Some were human, but others obviously weren't. There were skulls that had fangs and rows of sharp teeth, multiple eye sockets, and even horns. 

I take deep breaths as we venture farther, reminding myself of what waited for me on the outside to remain steady.

"How long has it been since you've come here, hunter?" the keeper asks. I didn't think she was one for small talk. 

"Almost two years, I think," I reply, remembering it had been quite some time since I'd come this far across the border.

Eventually, we reach the chambers that house the graves. There are multiple pathways that lead to different branches of the tomb, all of them housing death, but the woman keeps forward with her destination already in mind. She knew these grounds better than her own face. 

I stare in amazement at the graves carved into the walls. Some were at my sides while a few were above me. A couple of plots had names of the hunters they held, but there were some that remained unmarked. The only commonality between them was the traditional embellishment of the Calavera's symbol outlined in gold. The intricate design gave these hunters a bit of beauty in their deaths, and belonging. 

"Do you know why I'm here?" I ask the woman, hoping for a bit of clarity. "Argent said this is part of the deal he made, but he didn't say what it was about." 

The keeper continues to walk as she answers me. "He asked us to house an object for him because he knew la loba couldn't walk these lands. He believed once she learned what we held, she would try and claim it again."

"Again?" I echo her words with confusion. 

The keeper doesn't answer as she finally stops. 

We now stand in the doorway of a circularly shaped room. The wall curved around a singular chunk of obsidian. The top of it was flat, becoming a makeshift table. On top of it, rested a large and rectangular wooden box. 

"See for yourself," the woman instructs me.

I go to the edge of the table, my eyes glued to the surface of the box the entire time, trying to decipher what was inside. I undo the metal clasp that locks it before opening the lid, and as I come face to face with my family sword once again, my entire world stops.

My mind immediately begins to prepare me for the worst. It tries to convince me the sword is a fake or that I'm dreaming, but my heart openly betrays my brain as tears fill my eyes. This wasn't a dream. This was real. My family had returned to me once more.

"He found it," I say brokenly, reaching out to touch the surface of the blade, the steel cool to the touch. Images of my father in the woods come to me as I remember how he smiled with this very blade in his hands. 

No matter what, this sword will always stand for our truest purpose...

"Sacrifice," I whisper as my mother had.

The keeper had come to stand at my side. I hadn't realized it until I noticed her watching me closely. I look at her and for once see an actual emotion on her face, taking me by surprise when her eyes seem almost sympathetic.

"Death has held you, hunter," she whispers, as if the dead around us shouldn't hear such a thing. "There is something within you that calls out to it. Be sure death has let you go completely before you tempt it again, or else it is all that will follow you."

I nod at her warning, unable to find my voice.

Her attention goes back to my sword as I reach for it, wrapping my hand around the hilt. I draw the blade out of the box and finally reclaim what was lost to me, and welcome the weight that comes with it.

"René," the keeper mutters. Her eyes are drawn to the engraving at the base of the blade right above the crossguard. It was almost impossible to see, but with her observation skills, I'm sure it stuck out to her like a sore thumb.

"It's my ancestor's name. He was the first Knight," I say.

The woman takes a step closer, her hand hovering above the blade as she gazes at it.

"It also means rebirth. A chance to begin again and become something more than you once were," she says knowingly, as if aware of every single moment of chaos and defiance that shaped my life. 

My distorted reflection stares at me in the blade within my grasp. 

Despite not being able to see myself clearly, I had never felt so sure of what I was meant to do. An unwavering amount of self-assurance coursed through me as I accepted the burden of my family's legacy, because I knew I would never carry it alone again.