The moonlight bathed Ravenshade Estate in a soft silver glow.
Alaric took a slow breath as he wandered the estate grounds alone, his cloak brushing the ground in quiet rhythm. He rarely walked without purpose, but tonight felt... heavy. Restless thoughts plagued his mind, and fresh jealousy lingered from Seraphine's glowing expression when she spoke of Carlos.
His steps came to a halt near the old marble fountain in the west courtyard.
Someone was already there.
The figure turned—tall, composed, and bathed in moonlight. Carlos Mendez stood by the water's edge, a faint smirk playing on his lips, the wind stirring his dark hair. But it wasn't just his face or the confident posture that struck Alaric—it was the aura. That familiar smell—a cold blend of ancient power and envy—lingered in the air like iron and frost.
Carlos approached slowly. "Quite the night for wandering," he said casually.
Alaric narrowed his eyes, though his expression remained calm. "You're still here."
"I am," Carlos replied, stopping a few feet away. "Why wouldn't I be? After all..." He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. "This place is partly mine, isn't it? My blood once roamed these halls. Just like yours."
A tense silence fell.
Then Carlos added with a sly grin, "You knew, didn't you? From the moment we met again. You remembered me."
Alaric didn't flinch. "Victor."
The name hung in the air like a curse.
Carlos—Victor—smiled wider. "Big brother," he said mockingly, his voice dripping with irony. "It's been a while."
Alaric stepped forward slowly, his voice low and controlled. "You made sure to meet her yesterday."
"She's blooming beautifully," Victor replied, eyes darkening. "Just like before. Karena, reborn. I recognized her the moment she laughed."
Alaric's fists tightened at his sides. "What do you want, Victor?"
Victor sighed, almost lazily, as if bored. "To stay, for now. This estate is as much mine as it is yours. I was the one promised to her—Karena. I was her fiancé before you stole her away."
"Karena is gone," Alaric said firmly, his voice like stone.
But Victor laughed. Cold. Cruel.
"She's not gone," he said. "She's dormant. Sleeping inside that girl—your precious Seraphine. You and I both know why you chose her at the ball. She's the spitting image of Karena Carello. You didn't fall in love by accident, brother. You were drawn to her. We both were."
Alaric's silence was answer enough.
Victor stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you feel it, too? That ache? That memory beneath your skin?" He pressed a hand to his chest. "It's like déjà vu, isn't it? You, me, and her. Just like before."
Alaric's gaze turned distant, haunted by the memory of their tragic past—the forbidden love, the betrayal, the blood spilled between them. Karena's tears. Her final spell. The twins.
But when his eyes met Victor's again, they burned with new resolve.
"I won't stop you from staying," Alaric said quietly. "But you will not speak to Seraphine of the past. Not until she remembers on her own. Not a word about who she was. Not a whisper of who you were to her."
Victor's smile faded slightly. "Still trying to protect her from the truth?"
"No," Alaric replied. "I'm giving her the chance to remember on her own terms."
"And when she does?" Victor challenged. "When she remembers me?"
Alaric stepped closer, inches away now. "Then she will choose. Freely. Without manipulation."
Victor chuckled darkly. "You think she'll choose you again, after what you did to her? After you left her that night, begging for your help?"
A flicker of pain crossed Alaric's face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"That's why I won't run this time," he said. "No more fear. No more regrets. Whatever trial awaits, I'll face it. With her."
Victor studied him for a moment. Then nodded slowly.
"So be it," he murmured. "Let's see how fate plays this round."
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the shadows of the estate.
Alaric stood alone, the wind tugging at his coat. His thoughts were a storm—but beneath it all, one truth grounded him:
He would not lose her again.
At the estate.
Seraphine lay still in her bed, but her mind was restless, her thoughts tangled in a fog she couldn't clear. It had been days since her meeting with Carlos in the capital, and the memory of their conversation lingered like a shadow in her heart. Something about him felt so familiar—too familiar.
As she drifted into sleep, the fog in her mind thickened, until reality itself began to blur.
She was standing in a lush garden, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers.
"Karena..." a voice whispered from behind her.
She turned slowly, her heart skipping in her chest.
There, standing in front of her, was a man—a striking figure with dark hair and pale skin, his eyes sharp and knowing. He wore elegant clothes, but there was something hauntingly familiar about him. It took her a moment to recognize him.
Alaric.
But it wasn't quite him. This was a version of him she'd never known, a younger, more carefree version. His eyes were full of something—passion, longing, and an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Karena," he said again, his voice softer this time, filled with a sadness that seemed to echo through the air. "You know who I am, don't you?"
Her chest tightened, and a strange warmth spread through her. She stepped toward him, drawn by an invisible pull. "I... I don't know," she whispered, though her heart told her otherwise. There was something in his gaze, something she had seen before.
Alaric—this man—reached out, cupping her face in his hands, his touch electric. "You know me better than anyone. You know our story."
A flash of memories—scattered and fragmented—rushed through her mind. She saw herself, not as Seraphine, but as a woman with long dark hair and eyes full of fire. She saw a different version of herself—Karena—standing beside him. They were both in a grand hall, surrounded by people, yet their eyes only met each other's. She could feel the weight of the world around them, but the connection between them felt undeniable, even in this fleeting moment.
She saw the pain in his eyes, and she felt it, too—deep and aching, like a wound that had never healed.
"Why... why can't I remember?" Seraphine whispered, the words tumbling out in a desperate breath. She reached for him, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his chest.
His expression softened, and his lips curled into a gentle smile. "You will, Karena. You always do." His voice was filled with a quiet resolve, but there was a pain behind it, like a promise that had yet to be fulfilled. "But remember this—no matter what happens, I will always come for you. Always."
Suddenly, the air grew cold, and the world around her began to distort. The colors bled, and the garden faded into darkness. A heavy weight pressed against her chest as a voice—familiar yet distant—called her name.
"Karena!" The voice rang out in a sharp cry, like a warning.
She turned, but all she could see was the figure of a man, shadowed and blurred by a fog that seemed to swallow everything. His face was hidden, but there was a sense of power that radiated from him, dark and imposing.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The man didn't answer at first. He only stepped forward, his presence growing stronger, his power suffocating. A hand, cold and powerful, reached out to grasp her wrist.
"You will remember."
Seraphine gasped as she was pulled closer, but before she could struggle, the darkness consumed her.
---
She awoke with a start, her heart racing in her chest. Her sheets were tangled around her, and her breath came in sharp gasps as though she had been running. The echoes of the dream still lingered in her mind—Karena, the man who claimed to be Alaric, and the shadowed figure that haunted her.
"Karena... Alaric... Who was that man?" she whispered to the stillness of the room.
She didn't understand. She couldn't make sense of the fragments of memories that felt so real yet so distant.
But as she sat up, her hand instinctively pressed against her chest, over her heart, where a strange warmth seemed to pulse. She could feel the lingering touch of Alaric's hands on her face, the sense of familiarity overwhelming her. The memory of his eyes—dark, desperate, and filled with love—clung to her like a shroud.
Who was she?
And why did she feel like this wasn't the first time she had loved him?
The next morning, Seraphine tried to push the dream aside, though it clung to her mind like a whisper in the back of her thoughts. She tried to focus on the day ahead, but the questions kept coming, unbidden. Why had she seen Alaric in her dream, and what did it mean that she had been Karena? Was she destined to relive a love that had ended in tragedy? Or was this something deeper—something tied to her rebirth?
As she moved through the estate, her thoughts kept returning to the man in the dream, the shadowed figure who had tried to claim her. She felt a shiver run down her spine. Who was he?
And what had he meant by those words?