Chapter 226: 226 Milla’s Film

Settings

Font Size

A

A

16px

Font Family

Background Color

226: Milla’s Film 226: Milla’s Film “Duncan!” Mishka laughed, swatting at her brother.

The celebration went late into the night.

There was food and music, stories and laughter.

Someone brought out champagne—Tom, naturally, who’d apparently been preparing for this eventuality.

Toasts were made, some eloquent, some rambling, all heartfelt.

Mishka found herself watching Bruce across the room, deep in conversation with Julian about security arrangements for the wedding.

Her fiancé.

The word felt strange and wonderful on her tongue.

“He makes you happy,” a voice said beside her.

Gillian, the community’s financial advisor, stood with a glass of wine, her expression knowing.

“That’s rare, especially in our world.

Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for finding joy, even when everything else is chaos.”

“I’m trying not to,” Mishka admitted.

“But with everything happening—Jean still out there, Emma now a target, the community still recovering from losing Mrs.

Callahan—it feels almost selfish to celebrate.”

“It’s not selfish.

It’s necessary.” Gillian gestured to the room.

“Look at them.

Everyone here has been living under constant stress, constant fear.

They need this.

They need to see that life goes on, that love endures, that there’s something worth fighting for beyond just survival.”

Mishka looked around the room with fresh eyes.

Gillian was right.

The residents of Eldergrove were laughing, genuinely happy.

For this one evening, the threats and dangers faded into the background, replaced by community and celebration.

As the party finally began to wind down near midnight, Bruce found Mishka on the community center’s back patio, looking up at the stars.

“Hiding from your own engagement party?” he teased, sliding an arm around her waist.

“Just taking a moment.” She leaned into him.

“This is real, isn’t it?

We’re really getting married.”

“We’re really getting married.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Any regrets?”

“None.

You?”

“Only that I didn’t ask sooner.”

They stood together in comfortable silence until Julian appeared in the doorway, his expression grim.

“I hate to interrupt,” he said, “but we’ve got a situation.

The perimeter guards just reported movement in the woods beyond the eastern boundary.

Multiple figures, coordinated positioning.

It looks like surveillance.”

Mishka’s joy evaporated, replaced by cold dread.

“How many?”

“At least six, possibly more.

They’re staying just outside camera range, but they’re clearly watching the community center.” Julian’s eyes were serious.

“They know we’re all gathered here.

They know we’re celebrating.”

Bruce’s arm tightened around Mishka.

“It could be coincidence.”

“Could be,” Julian agreed.

“But I don’t believe in coincidences.

Not with everything that’s happened.” He looked directly at Mishka.

“I think someone’s keeping tabs on you specifically.

And now that you’re engaged, now that you’ve got something precious to protect…”

He didn’t need to finish.

They all understood the implication.

An engagement made Mishka happy, but it also made her vulnerable.

It gave her enemies a new pressure point, a new way to hurt her

“Double the patrols,” Mishka said quietly.

“And don’t tell the others tonight.

Let them have this one evening of celebration.”

“Already done,” Julian confirmed.

“But Mishka, Bruce—you need to be extra careful.

Someone’s watching, and they’re patient.

That’s more dangerous than any immediate attack.”

After Julian left, Mishka stared out at the darkness beyond Eldergrove’s glowing boundaries.

Somewhere out there, in the shadows between the trees, hostile eyes were watching.

Planning.

Waiting.

Bruce turned her to face him, his hands gentle on her shoulders.

“We’ll get through this.

Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” Mishka echoed, the word both a promise and a prayer.

Inside the community center, laughter still echoed.

The celebration continued, joy persisting despite the darkness pressing at Eldergrove’s edges.

And on Mishka’s finger, the pearl engagement ring shimmered with protective magic, a small shield against the dangers she knew were coming.

But even magical protection couldn’t shake the feeling that by accepting Bruce’s proposal, by claiming this happiness, she’d just made herself a bigger target than ever before.

Milla’s documentary premiered on a cold Thursday evening in November, broadcast simultaneously on three major networks and streaming platforms across North America.

Mishka sat in her living room with Bruce, her engagement ring catching the light from the television screen as the opening credits rolled.

Around Eldergrove, she knew other residents were doing the same—gathering in homes, at the community center, watching as their lives, their secrets, their truth was laid bare for the world to see.

The film opened with aerial footage of Eldergrove, the gated community looking peaceful and ordinary in the golden hour light.

Then Milla’s voice, warm and clear, began the narration.

“What makes a community?

Is it the houses, the streets, the carefully maintained lawns?

Or is it the people—their stories, their struggles, their determination to build something better?”

The camera moved through Eldergrove’s streets, showing residents going about their daily lives.

Tom at his barbecue, waving to neighbors.

Lila tinkering with one of her gadgets on her front porch.

Children playing in the park, their laughter carrying on the breeze.

Then the perspective shifted.

The same scenes, but now with a shimmer of truth overlaying them.

Mrs.

Pemberton in her garden, herbs glowing faintly with magical energy.

A teenage werewolf jogging past, his inhuman grace obvious when you knew to look for it.

Emma sitting under a tree, protective wards visible as golden threads around her.

“This is Eldergrove,” Milla’s narration continued.

“A community like any other, except for one crucial difference.

Here, the supernatural and the mundane live side by side.

Here, the impossible is simply…

life.”

Bruce’s hand found Mishka’s and squeezed.

On screen, the documentary began telling the story of integration—how Eldergrove had started as a haven for supernatural beings, then gradually opened to human residents, creating something unprecedented.

Milla had interviewed dozens of residents.

Mrs.

Callahan appeared, recorded weeks before her death, speaking about Clara Eldergrove’s original vision.

Patricia and Thomas Henderson talked about discovering Emma’s abilities and finding acceptance in a community that celebrated rather than feared her gifts.

Julian discussed the challenges of maintaining security for beings with extraordinary powers.

And then there was Mishka.

She watched herself on screen, filmed in her home just days after Victoria’s arrest.

She looked tired, Mishka thought critically, dark circles under her eyes despite makeup.

But her voice was steady as she spoke about being a Siren, about the responsibility of power, about choosing to use her abilities to protect rather than manipulate.

“People fear what they don’t understand,” on-screen Mishka said.

“But fear fades with knowledge, with connection.

The people of Eldergrove—supernatural and human alike—have proven that integration isn’t just possible.

It’s powerful.

We’re stronger together than we ever were apart.”

The documentary didn’t shy away from the darkness.

Milla had included carefully edited footage from Victoria’s attack, interviews with trafficking survivors who’d found refuge in Eldergrove, discussions of the very real dangers the community faced.

But she balanced it with hope—Bruce talking about designing protective clothing, Emma demonstrating her ability to strengthen wards, the community coming together for Mrs.

Callahan’s memorial.

The final segment showed Mishka’s engagement party, the community center filled with celebration.

Milla’s camera had captured genuine joy, supernatural beings and humans dancing together, children of different species playing without thought to their differences.

“This is what’s possible,” Milla’s voice said over the footage.

“This is what we can build when we choose acceptance over fear, community over isolation.

Eldergrove isn’t perfect.

But it’s proof that integration can work, that different worlds can coexist, that the supernatural and the mundane can create something extraordinary together.”

The film ended with a sunrise over Eldergrove, the protective wards visible as shimmering light, and a quote from Mrs.

Callahan: “A community’s strength isn’t measured by its walls, but by the bonds between its people.”

The credits rolled in silence.

Then Mishka’s phone began to ring.

It didn’t stop ringing for the next three hours.

Calls came from Covenant officials, praising the documentary’s balanced portrayal.

From other supernatural communities, asking for advice on their own integration efforts.

From journalists requesting interviews.

From government officials expressing cautious support.

And from people expressing fury.

By midnight, social media was exploding.

#Eldergrove was trending worldwide.

The responses were violently divided.

Supporters praised the documentary’s courage, called it groundbreaking, demanded more representation for supernatural communities.

Parents of supernatural children reached out asking for guidance.

Human residents of other communities wanted to know how to replicate Eldergrove’s model.

But the opposition was equally vocal and far more vicious.

Religious groups called it blasphemy.

Conspiracy theorists claimed it was propaganda.

Anti-integration activists accused Eldergrove of being a threat to human safety.

And somewhere in the digital chaos, carefully coordinated voices began spreading fear—talking about supernatural beings as predators, suggesting Eldergrove residents were planning attacks on human communities, demanding government intervention.

“This is what Jean wanted,” Duncan said, having arrived at Mishka’s house along with Julian and several other community leaders for an emergency meeting.

“Visibility means vulnerability.

Now everyone knows exactly where to find a concentration of supernatural beings.”

“We knew this was a risk,” Milla said, though her face was pale.

“We discussed it before I submitted the film.

The Covenant approved it.”

“The Covenant isn’t responsible for protecting Eldergrove on a daily basis,” Julian said grimly.

“I am.

And right now, my team is tracking three separate groups that have announced intentions to ‘investigate’ Eldergrove in person.

One’s a paranormal research team—harmless enough.

One’s a religious group planning a ‘prayer vigil’ outside our gates.

And the third…” He pulled up something on his tablet.

“The third is a paramilitary organization calling themselves ‘Humanity First.’ They’ve posted manifesto videos about the ‘supernatural threat’ and they’re raising money for ‘defensive operations.'”

Mishka felt sick.

“We need to increase security.”

“Already done.

I’ve called in support from three neighboring communities.

The Covenant is sending additional personnel.

But Mishka…” Julian met her eyes.

“Your interview was powerful.

Moving.

It also made you the face of this movement.

You’re going to be the primary target for anyone looking to make a statement.”

“Let them come,” Bruce growled.

“I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing rash,” Mishka interrupted, though she appreciated his protective instinct.

“Violence is exactly what they want.

It would prove their narrative that supernatural beings are dangerous.”

Her phone buzzed with another call.

She glanced at the screen and her blood ran cold.

The number was listed as “Unknown,” but something about it triggered recognition.

“Everyone quiet,” she said, putting the call on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Mishka Volkov.” The voice was cultured, feminine, and familiar from the auction house.

Jean Rousseau.

“Congratulations on your engagement.

And on your film debut.

Very moving.”

Julian was already signaling to his team, trying to trace the call.

Bruce moved closer to Mishka, his body tense.

“What do you want, Jean?” Mishka kept her voice steady.

“To offer my compliments, initially.

Milla’s documentary was masterfully done.

Emotional, compelling, inspiring.

It’s going to change the conversation about supernatural integration.” A pause.

“Unfortunately for you, not all change is positive.”

“If you’re calling to threaten me—”

“I’m calling to educate you,” Jean interrupted smoothly.

“You think you’ve won something by going public, by showing the world your happy little community.

But you’ve actually made my job much easier.

Before, I had to work in shadows, convince people slowly that Sirens and other supernatural beings were resources to be controlled.

Now, you’ve done half my work for me.

You’ve confirmed we exist, shown our abilities, even demonstrated young Emma’s remarkable powers.”

Mishka’s hand clenched around the phone.

“Emma is a child.

If you—”

“I won’t need to do anything to Emma.

You’ve already painted the target on her back.” Jean’s voice was almost pitying.

“By tomorrow, there will be a dozen organizations trying to figure out how to capture or control a Resonant.

Some will want to study her, others to weaponize her, still others to eliminate the threat she represents.

And that’s just the human response.

Wait until the supernatural factions realize what she can do.”

“The Covenant will protect her,” Mishka said, though fear clawed at her chest.

“The Covenant.” Jean laughed softly.

“The Covenant can barely protect itself.

They’re already fractured, already dealing with internal politics and external pressures.

Your little film has accelerated tensions that have been building for decades.

Within a month, there will be violence.

Within six months, there will be war—humans against supernatural beings, and supernatural beings against each other.

And when the dust settles, people will be desperate for leadership, for someone who can promise safety and control.”

“You,” Mishka said flatly.

“Me.

And others like me who understand that integration is a fantasy.

The strong will always dominate the weak, Mishka.

The only question is whether we’re honest about it or whether we pretend at equality while the powerful pull strings from shadows.

I prefer honesty.”

“You prefer tyranny.”

“I prefer order.

But we can debate philosophy another time.

I called primarily to let you know that I’ve sent you a gift.

Consider it an engagement present.” The line went dead.

Julian looked up from his tablet, his face grim.

“Call was too short to trace.

Bounced through seven different countries.

She’s using military-grade encryption.”

“What did she mean, she sent a gift?” Bruce asked.

The answer came minutes later when Julian’s radio crackled to life.

“Sir, we’ve got a package at the front gate.

No return address.

X-ray shows no explosives, but…”

“But what?” Julian demanded.

“It’s ticking, sir.

Like a clock.”

They evacuated the community center and established a perimeter around the package.

The bomb squad was called, but Mishka insisted on watching from a safe distance as they carefully opened the mysterious delivery.

Inside wasn’t a bomb.

It was a timer—digital, precise, counting down.

Currently showing 29 days, 23 hours, and 47 minutes.

And beneath it, a note in elegant handwriting: “Thirty days until the world learns what Eldergrove really is.

I wonder if your community will survive the revelation.

– J”

“What does that mean?” Milla whispered.