It was Halloween, more than a decade ago. The trees shivered every time a cold breeze ran through their branches. The sidewalk was littered with an assortment of autumn colored leaves. Houses were decorated with carved pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake skeletons.

Raven hated it.

She hated everything about Halloween. She hated the fake decorations, she hated the movies that played on Disney Channel, she hated "fun-size" candy and most of all she hated the fact that her mother died on Halloween when she was only seven. No one really knew why her mother was at the lake house they rented sometimes in the summer, no one knew why she was in the cold lake and no one knew why an excellent swimmer, one who worked summers as a lifeguard when she was a teenager, one who was on her school's swim team, had inexplicably drowned.

Raven became cold and rigid after her mother died, refusing to shed a single tear at her funeral. She used to be a fun, care-free child, running around the house with absolutely no worries of the future. But her soul was sucked out of her the second they laid her mother to rest. Raven was forced to grow up quickly and look out for Clarke and Octavia. At the age of seven, she became her sister's second new mom - after their grandmother.

The eldest sister remembered that day perfectly. Halloween of 2002, when she was fourteen, Clarke was twelve, and Octavia was ten. It was extra chilly and Octavia had the sniffles so Raven gave her the sweater off her own back, and was reduced to nothing but a long sleeve t-shirt. She had just picked up her little sisters from school and they were walking home. She could remember that Bryan Sparks, the high school's biggest sixteen year old douchebag, was right behind the trio. Raven could feel his eyes burning into her skin and could practically feel his rancid breath on her neck. Along with being a douchebag, Bryan was also a huge pervert so it wasn't helpful that Clarke went through puberty a little early and was developing faster than the other girls at her school.

"Hey Raven, what's your sister's name?" he called out.

"She's twelve, asshole." At this point, she told Clarke and Octavia to walk in front of her.

"Age is but a number." he snorted.

Raven did her best at ignoring him, she could only hope that Clarke could too. The rest of the brisk walk home went undisturbed, but as they neared their grandmother's house and the sisters began walking in a horizontal line again, Raven could only see Bryan's fingers reach out to touch Clarke from the corner of her eyes. A blind rage came over the eldest sister, she grabbed his fingers and pushed back on them as hard as she possibly could. There was a loud snapping sound, followed by Bryan's screams and pleas to let go. But she didn't. She began punching and hitting every piece of him she possibly could, kneeing him in the groin at least three times before he was on the ground. At that point, she sat on him and furiously swiped at his face, she didn't stop until adults pried her off of the bloody boy with three broken figures. Needless to say, Bryan never took that route home again.

Clarke never really understood what happened that day, and Octavia doesn't remember. Raven felt it was pointless to tell them.

The only other thing Raven remembers from that day is later on when her grandmother was cleaning up her bloody and bruised knuckles and the other two sisters were dressing up as witches to go trick or treating.

"You're a very special girl, Raven." her grandmother told her in between wipes of the blood "Don't ever forget it."


Clarke had her face buried in her hands, trying to drown out the noise of her sobs with her palms. She didn't ask for any of this, she never wanted to be a witch, how was she going to handle the violence that came with her magic, how was she going to handle the risk her and her sisters would have to face on a day to day basis. She was 25 with an undecided college major and a recently deceased warlock ex-something. The truth of the matter was, she couldn't handle any of this.

Octavia rubbed circles onto her older sister's back. "It's going to be okay, Clarke." she whispered. But she wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Clarke or herself.

Bellamy desperately wanted to comfort Clarke, but he was a bit tied up, literally. While he was semi unconscious on the floor, the eldest sister seized the opportunity and tied him up to a chair in the kitchen with various cables and ropes. She wasn't quite prepared for this hostage situation. Nor was she prepared for Bellamy to almost bleed out on the floor, expecting his death to be more like Wells' - what with the explosion and all.

Raven was the only one who wasn't preoccupied with Clarke, throughout their whole life Raven had come to terms with the fact that Clarke cried often and most of the time there was no consoling her, you just had to let her deal with her own feelings. Raven's eyes were instead fixed on the strange man tied up in their kitchen. During the madness, she had picked up the weapon, fully expecting to use it again. She was probably the only one out of the trio mentally strong enough to handle stabbing someone. Raven also didn't want either of her sisters to handle that sort of emotional trauma later on down the road.

"Who are you? And tell the truth." Raven demanded, her grip tightening on the weapon with every word she spoke.

It was obvious they had casted the truth spell. Their grandmother had casted it on Bellamy sometime in the 1940s, back when she was a younger, naive witch, but it didn't work. The spell was meant more for humans. The only thing this spell was going to do was make the sister's tell each other the truth for the next 24 hours. Even though he himself wasn't being forced to tell the truth, Bellamy felt no reason to lie anymore, seeing as he was tied up and Raven looked like she was ready to kill.

"I'm not a warlock." his southern accent fading as the truth escaped from his chapped lips. Clarke stopped crying for just a second to make direct eye contact with the hostage. There was some sort of connection between the two, like they had known each other for a while. Like they had loved one another in a past life. The sister wiped the drying tears from her cheeks and stood up straight, wanting to not look weak in front of the man.

"Then what are you?" Clarke asked him, her voice hoarse.

Bellamy shook his head, wondering what his bosses were going to think of his failed mission. He closed his eyes as he spoke, "I'm a whitelighter." the man spoke through gritted teeth. Bellamy flinched when the words left his lips, expecting another attack. When it didn't come, he opened his eyes.

"What the fuck is a whitelighter!" Octavia screamed at him, slamming her fist down on the table, she was sick of the endless circle of the unknown, she just wanted the truth.

"Think, guardian angel. Protector. Guider." Bellamy told them. "I've been sent here to protect you three sisters... three sister witches."

Raven laughed at the nonsense the man spoke of, "Then where were you when Wells was about to kill us?"

"You didn't need me then. The entire line of Warren slash Halliwell witches was standing right behind you, your grandmother and mother were of course at the front of it. You need me now, for the future." He informed them, Bellamy could only hope they believed in his words, for they were truly true.

"Our grandmother..." Clarke spoke quietly.

"And mother?" Octavia finished, although her memory of their mom was the weakest.

Bellamy nodded, "You think they haven't been watching you every single day since they left this world? They haven't completely abandoned you. We've all been watching you three." He emphasized the word 'all', his tongue hitting the roof of his mouth.

"Who is we?" questioned Raven, she was still rigid, taking the man's words with a grain of salt. The eldest sister was absolutely prepared to kill him in order to save her sisters.

"Everyone up..." he tried his best to point to the heavens with his shackled hands "there."

"Okay hold up, I'm still really fucking confused." Proclaimed Octavia, "You're telling me that our mom and grams are here in spirit and that every single dead person is watching us? Wait, are you dead too?"

"I died in 1932." Answered Bellamy, his reminiscent mind taking him back to a very different time - the thought of death didn't scare Bellamy anymore, for he had already experienced all of it, the pain, his life flashing before his eyes, the numbness, and then the nothingness. He floated throughout limbo for a while before his bosses gave him the chance to come back and do good - an offer he couldn't turn down. "Not really every dead person, more like my elders. Fellow whitelighters who are higher up than me on the corporate ladder."

The information was a lot for the sisters to process, this was the exact reason why Bellamy's bosses wanted him to hold out just a bit longer.

"If you're already dead, then how come I almost killed you?" Raven wondered, acting as if she had spilled some hot tea and had exposed Bellamy's whole act.

"You almost killed me." Bellamy explained "You wouldn't have been able to kill me, only a few select things in the world can kill a whitelighter and a kitchen knife is not one of them." He chuckled at the thought "See, I usually heal a lot faster. But I've been feeling down on myself lately, and when that happens, my powers start to fade." His voice trailed off.

"We're really sorry about trying to kill you." Clarke apologized, "But what exactly does a whitelighter do?"

Bellamy smirked at the invitation, "We can do a lot of things." And with that, Bellamy's body was absorbed by bright blue and white orbs, once the light made contact with every piece of skin, Bellamy completely disappeared along with the orbs, his shackles falling to the ground behind him. The disappearance was accompanied by a light sparkling noise, a sound that sounded as if it came directly from God himself. Bellamy's vanishing act solicited wide eyed gasps from all three sisters. Raven looked around nervously, holding the knife closer to her chest, expecting Bellamy to reappear and take the chance to attack.

When the disappearing man came back into sight, he spoke again. "But mostly, I am here to protect you three. To guide you in any way I can."

Raven was still quite weary of the man, but it felt like there was a load off her shoulders. There was someone else willing to look out for Clarke and Octavia. She hadn't had someone like that around in a while, not even for the last few years of her grandmother's life, when she had gotten weak and ill. Raven couldn't help but smile at God's gift dressed in the form of Bellamy.


The underworld was depressing. It was truly a hell on earth, lying directly below the land of the living. The pit of despair and desperation was filled with nothing but rocks and fire, almost as if it was located at the bottom of a volcano. The people who roamed the underworld weren't anything special either - disgusting unhygienic lowlife warlocks, demonic creatures, and other evil species that were banished from the land of the living a long time ago.

Sure Marcus Kane lived in the underworld, but he liked to think he was the better than the rest of them. He wasn't as disgusting or as soulless as the other mucks who didn't deserved to be pitied - for he had a soul, a son and a love interest who may or may not reciprocate the same feelings Kane had for her. Kane had a reason to live, he had a goal, and that was more than any other darklighter below the Earth's surface.

Kane held a sharp piece of glass between his fingers, he breathed out on the makeshift mirror's surface and rubbed the mist off on his rugged pants before holding it up to his face to make sure he looked presentable. He only wanted to look the best for her, but deep down he knew her eyes wouldn't be on him today.

"Father, it's time." the voice called out to Kane. The darklighter took a breathe in, set the piece of glass down and then ran a few of his fingers through his dark hair to slick it back. Kane walked with his back straight - a symbol of masculinity and power down in the underworld - towards the voice of his son.

"Jasper," Kane spoke with power that vibrated throughout his throat and infused with his voice. The father gave his son a familial pat on the back "Are you ready to see your mother get coronated?"