Agatha Harkness’ POV

Power always came at a price. That was the first lesson Agatha had learned as a young witch, and it was the lesson she’d spent centuries teaching others. Bellatrix was no exception.

Sitting in her parlor, a dim room filled with flickering candles and tomes bound in leather, Agatha twirled a strand of silver hair between her fingers, staring into the enchanted crystal before her. Bellatrix’s image flickered within, her sharp gaze directed at the strange newcomers in Seabrook High. A smile played on Agatha’s lips. The girl had no idea of her true potential—or the truth behind her creation.

“She’s close,” Agatha murmured to herself, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. “So close to unlocking what’s inside her.”

From the corner of the room, a deep, guttural growl interrupted her musings. Her familiar, a massive black wolf with eyes like molten silver, lay curled at her feet. Its ears twitched at her words.

“You disapprove?” she asked, her tone teasing but her gaze sharp.

The wolf huffed, resting its head on its paws.

Agatha chuckled softly. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. This was necessary. Bellatrix’s existence is tied to powers far greater than any of us. She’s the key—our key—to balance or destruction.” Her smile faded as her mind drifted back to the night she cast the spell, binding Bellatrix’s essence to the powers of chaos and order.

---

The memory was as vivid as the day it happened.

Agatha had stood in the center of an ancient circle etched with runes older than time itself, the winds howling around her. Stiles and Derek were there, both young and desperate, clutching each other like lifelines. They had come to her, begging for a miracle.

“You want a child?” Agatha had asked, her voice echoing with skepticism and a hint of amusement. “A Hale and a Stilinski? Interesting combination.”

“We’re serious,” Derek had replied, his jaw tight. “We’ve tried...everything.”

Agatha had raised an eyebrow. “Everything except magic, I presume. Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me? Creating life isn’t just snapping your fingers. There will be consequences—bindings, ties you cannot break.”

“We’re willing to take the risk,” Stiles had said, his eyes blazing with determination. “If there’s a price, we’ll pay it.”

Ah, the arrogance of youth. They hadn’t understood what they were asking for, not really. But Agatha had seen the potential, the opportunity. Bellatrix wouldn’t just be their child. She would be something more—something extraordinary. And so, she’d agreed.

The spell had required pieces of both of them—blood from Derek, infused with the primal strength of the Hale lineage, and a spark of Stiles’ chaos-infused soul. But it had also needed something else: a tether to the great forces of the universe. Agatha had woven chaos and order into the fabric of Bellatrix’s being, tying her to the very essence of magic itself.

“She’ll be strong,” Agatha had warned them as the ritual concluded, her hands shaking from the effort. “Stronger than you can imagine. But that strength comes with danger. Protect her, guide her, or she could tear the world apart.”

---

Agatha shook herself from the memory, her gaze hardening as she focused back on the crystal. Bellatrix’s power was growing, and soon, it would reach its peak. But the girl needed guidance—needed Agatha.

“She’ll thank me one day,” Agatha muttered. “Even if she doesn’t understand now.”

---

Stiles’ POV

Beacon Hills hadn’t changed much in his absence. The streets were still quiet, the forest still looming, and the supernatural undercurrents still present, even if most people ignored them. For Stiles, though, it felt like stepping into another life—one he’d left behind to protect his daughter.

Bellatrix. His heart clenched at the thought of her. She was everything he and Derek had dreamed of—fierce, intelligent, and powerful. Too powerful, perhaps. That was why he was here.

Stiles parked his Jeep outside the familiar high school, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He wasn’t here to stay—just to gather knowledge, to dig into the threads of magic that connected Bellatrix to the world. Wiccan wasn't just a threat; he was a clue. And if understanding him meant returning to the chaos of Beacon Hills, so be it.

---

“Stiles?”

The familiar voice startled him, and he turned to see Lydia standing in the doorway of the school, her face a mix of surprise and concern.

“lydia,” Stiles said, forcing a grin. “Long time no see.”

Lydia didn’t return the smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you left for good.”

“I did. Sort of,” Stiles admitted, climbing out of the Jeep. “But, uh...things got complicated.”

Lydia’s eyebrows shot up. “Complicated how?”

“It’s Bellatrix,” Stiles said, his voice dropping. “She’s...connected to something big, something dangerous. And I need answers.”

Lydia’s expression darkened. “You think Beacon Hills has those answers?”

“I think this is where it starts,” Stiles replied. “The magic that created her—it’s tied to chaos, to forces I barely understand. And now there’s this guy—Wiccan—showing up in her life. If I can figure out what he’s after, maybe I can help her.”

Lydia nodded slowly. “Okay. What do you need?”

“just your smarts,” Stiles said with a smirk. “I’ll do the digging.”

---

Later that evening, Stiles sat in the old Hale house, poring over Agatha’s notes and the scraps of research he’d gathered over the years. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood settling. It felt strange being here without Derek, but Stiles knew this was where he had to be.

“She’s tied to something ancient,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Chaos and order. But why?”

The answer lay somewhere in the tangled threads of magic and fate. Agatha had created Bellatrix for a reason—one Stiles was determined to uncover. He couldn’t afford to fail. Bellatrix was counting on him, whether she knew it or not.

And if Wiccan thought he could manipulate his daughter, he was in for a rude awakening.