Two months had dissolved into the planetary timeline since the prehistoric gates of the Abyssal Cradle had successfully closed behind the heels of the Brooklyn crown. Across the globe, the chaotic and blood-soaked history of the old supernatural hierarchy had ceased to exist, replaced by a structural, unyielding tranquility that the human history books would simply record as the era of unexpected diplomatic stabilization. Under the unwavering parameters of The Sovereign Pax, the atmosphere of the planet had become a living, selective cage. The Alphas managed their regional vassal packhouses like corporate governors, the Sanguine vampires quietly liquidated their offshore assets to fund international welfare hubs, and the Ley Line Keepers maintained the planet’s energy nodes in perfect sync
