The Last Wildcard

CHAPTER ONE

The Wildcard

The helicopter blades cut through the fog, their thunder vibrating straight into Riven Ashcroft’s ribs. She kept her hands flat on her thighs, fingers steady by force of will, as the island rose beneath them. From above, Elysian Isle looked like it was lifted from a luxury travel feed, with emerald canopy, white beaches, a ring of water so still it seemed painted on. Paradise curated for beautiful lies. Riven didn’t trust still things.

The pilot never turned to look at her. The headset pressed tight over her ears crackled with static, then a smooth voice slid through. “Contestants, welcome to Elysian Isle.”

As if the name could soften what everyone knew this place really was.

The helicopter descended onto a circular landing pad carved from obsidian stone. Floating lenses drifted into position the moment the skids touched down, red lights blinking alive in unison. The broadcast was already live. Somewhere beyond the clouds, millions of eyes were turning toward her.

The doors slid open. Heat rolled in, thick and humid, carrying the scent of wildflowers and blood beneath it. Riven stepped out last.

The instant her boots met the stone, the island reacted. Not with spectacle but with a subtle tightening, like a breath drawn too deep. The wind stuttered. The jungle went unnaturally quiet. Somewhere far away, something howled, then cut off mid cry. Riven ignored it. She lifted her chin and walked forward.

The dress production had given her was black, sleeveless, slit high enough to be deliberate. Elegant enough to make heads turn. She felt every stare snap toward her, felt the shift ripple through the gathered contestants. Wolves with eyes too bright. Witches with sigils faint beneath their skin. Shifters coiled tight with violence. Fae smiling without warmth. Conversations died as she approached, attention narrowing on her. 

A notification ticker flared briefly across one of the floating screens.

[Live Stream Comment Section | Landing Pad – Cam 01]

wildwatcher88: Wait—who is she? New girl alert.

moonhowl: She’s human?? No way they’re serious.

darkhearts: The black dress is a choice though…

fangirl_kay: Someone check her pulse, she looks too calm for this mess.

A woman in crimson stepped forward, her heels clicking against stone. Vivian Drake, Darling Supernatural’s beloved host, her beauty honed to a sharp edge. Her smile bloomed wide as the cameras drifted closer. “Welcome, besties,” Vivian purred. “Another season begins.”

Applause broke out on cue. Some genuine, some hungry, some calculated. Vivian’s gaze slid to Riven and lingered a fraction too long, like she was appraising merchandise. “And as promised,” she continued, “we have a surprise.”

The murmur that followed had a cutting edge to it. Riven felt a prickle crawl under her skin.

“Every season, we introduce a wildcard,” Vivian said. “Someone who doesn’t quite fit the rules.” The cameras pivoted, framing Riven from every angle. “This season, we went further. Meet Riven Ashcroft.”

There was a pause. The kind the editors loved.

“A human.”

The word detonated