The Vaelthorne carriage rolled through the dense forest that swallowed the path to the ancestral estate. Trees, twisted with age and forgotten magic, leaned inward, as if whispering secrets. The road was rarely traveled—its silence broken only by the steady clatter of hooves and the occasional cry of a raven overhead.
Inside the carriage, Seraphine sat across from Alaric, her hands clutched nervously in her lap. She wore a dark velvet gown, simple but elegant, the fabric chosen by Maika herself to honor the old ways. Alaric's hand reached across, folding over hers.
"You're trembling," he said gently.
"I am nervous, would they like me? can i face their judgement?" she whispered with a faint smile.
"You've faced worse. You've faced me," he answered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smirk. "Just stay by my side."
As they passed through the old iron gates, the mansion emerged—tall, cold, and brooding, like a ghost risen from time. Its grey stone walls bore the scars of old wars, yet the grand stained-glass windows still glinted with strange light.
The moment the carriage stopped, the doors opened without a knock.
Inside, the entry hall stretched wide and dim. An enormous chandelier hung like a cage of bones above their heads. At the far end stood two figures—Lord Vaelthorne and Lady Anathra Vaelthorne, Alaric's parents.
Lord Vaelthorne, tall and hollow-eyed, looked like he had been carved from stone. His voice was gravel and cold magic.
"So this is the one you choose?" His sharp gaze flicked toward Seraphine. "The girl born of no name?"
Seraphine lowered her head respectfully. "Seraphine Delacroix, my lord."
"No longer," Lady Anathra said coolly, stepping forward. Her long silver hair trailed the floor like threads of moonlight. "The blood that ran in your false family is not yours. We know this. You are not of Delacroix. That name dies with their disgrace."
Alaric's arm instinctively wrapped around Seraphine's waist. "She is mine. That is all that matters."
"Then she must be tested," Anathra said, her eyes gleaming. "The bloodstones will read her soul."
From the side, an ancient butler brought forth a velvet box. Inside was a ring with a shard of red crystal—a Vaelthorne relic that burned with fire if it touched impurity or unworthiness.
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "You're still playing by the old rules."
Seraphine took a step forward before Alaric could protest. "If this is what's needed for me to be accepted… I'll do it."
She slipped her finger into the ring.
The room held its breath.
The bloodstone did not burn. Instead, it flickered faintly, as if… curious.
Lady Anathra's brows furrowed.
"She is untouched," she murmured. "Unwritten."
"Pure," Lord Vaelthorne added. "a..human"
"A human, Alaric?" she hissed, her words dripping venom. "You brought a lowborn, fragile mortal into the sacred halls of Vaelthorne?"
Alaric turned slowly, his expression composed, but his aura crackled faintly—dangerously.
"She is not just human," he said, voice low. "She is Seraphine."
Lord Vaelthorne studied the girl with narrowed eyes, his silence heavy with judgment. But it was Anathra who stepped forward, her fury barely restrained.
"My father, Antoine Vellaria, cast aside everything—his immortality, his power, even his kingdom—just to marry a human princess," she said. "He asked Queen Vantessa herself to lock away his blood. He died as a man—weak and forgotten. And for what? Love?" Her lip curled. "You would follow his path of ruin?"
Seraphine remained still, head bowed slightly. She didn't flinch, but the shame pressed into her chest like iron. Yet before she could answer, Alaric stepped in front of her.
"Enough."
The word vibrated through the air.
"I am not my grandfather," Alaric said. "And Seraphine is not just a human. She is mine. She chose me.
"You shame your blood!" Anathra shouted, voice rising. "You are the heir to Vaelthorne and the last light of the Elven royal blood! You think I'd let you throw it all away for a girl who wore rags in another woman's house?"
That was the last word spoken before the air cracked with power.
A violent gust of wind exploded from Alaric. The marble beneath his feet fractured, the chandelier trembled and groaned, and the stained-glass windows flickered with ancient magic.
His aura—dark and luminous—rose like a tempest. Shadows curled at his feet while veins of light shimmered over his skin. A perfect storm of dormant bloodlines awakened.
His voice, calm but resonating with layered tones—Vampire, Elven, and something new—filled the hall:
"If either of you speak of her like that again…" he paused, eyes glowing gold and crimson, "I will kill you. Parent or not."
Silence fell like thunder.
Even Lord Vaelthorne—who had seen centuries of war—took a step back.
Anathra's eyes widened. Not in fear, but in revelation.
"This power…" she whispered. "It should have been impossible. Your blood was dormant. Both sides."
Alaric turned slightly, shielding Seraphine from their gaze. "I am no longer asleep. And neither is my blood."
Without another word, Alaric led Seraphine away, his power still humming in the air.
Behind them, Anathra fell to one knee, trembling—not with fear, but with disbelief. Her son had become something beyond anything she had ever known. Not a creature of past alliances, but a new force entirely.
-----
The Vaelthorne estate lay quiet again, though the tension from earlier still clung to the stone like dew. In the silence of Alaric's private chamber, Seraphine stood near the window, her fingers absently tracing the frosted glass.
She had said nothing since they left the hall.
Alaric stepped inside, his footsteps soft on the ancient rug. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.
"I should be asking you that," she whispered. "You almost killed them."
"I meant what I said."
"I know you did," Seraphine murmured, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were stormy with emotions she couldn't name—gratitude, confusion, fear. "But I need to know something, Alaric. The truth. All of it."
He looked at her, unreadable.
"Today, they said you were the heir of two ancient bloodlines—one of vampires, the other of elves. You never told me that."
"I didn't think it mattered."
"It matters to me," she said softly, stepping closer. "I've known something was different about you. But you were like me once... or I thought you were. Human. Mortal. But you're not, are you?"
Alaric sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees.
"No," he said. "Not anymore. And never fully, even before."
She joined him slowly, careful, like stepping toward fire. "Tell me."
He met her eyes, then spoke.
"My mother is the daughter of Lord Antoine Vellaria. He was once a powerful vampire, a warrior who fought beside Valus his distant cousin. But he gave it all up for love—a mortal princess from the human realm. To marry her, he asked Queen Vantessa to seal away his blood. He became fully human, and they had my mother, Anathra."
Seraphine blinked. "So she… she was born human?"
"Yes. But my father is different. He was one of the last royal elves—Vaelthorne by name. His family was hunted to extinction for the power in their blood. To survive, they too sealed their nature and lived hidden, monitored by the Council. When my parents met, their bloodlines were dormant. I was born without power. Just a boy."
"Until the attack," Seraphine said.
Alaric nodded. "After that something shifted. And when I woke… it was like my blood remembered. All of it. The vampire. The elven. And something else. Something… I don't understand yet."
Seraphine sat very still, absorbing everything. "So you're not like me."
"No," he said gently. "I was never truly human. Just hidden. You, Seraphine… you're pure. Untouched."
She looked away, lips pressing into a line. "Then why me? Why choose me? You could have had any of them—Celestine, or any noble woman with power, status, blood to match yours."
Alaric leaned closer, cupping her chin and lifting it until their eyes met.
"Because when I was buried in shadows… you were the light. It's not about blood, Seraphine. It's about soul."
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let it fall.
"But I'm so weak, Alaric. Compared to everything you are."
"Then let me be strong for us both."
She smiled faintly, pressing her forehead to his. "And if the world turns against me because I'm not born like you…?"
"Then I'll turn the world upside down for you."
Silence wrapped around them again, but this time it was warm.
And outside the window, the wind carried the faint rustle of destiny stirring.