Immortality—this shimmering, coveted gem, the siren song of countless hearts who yearn to slip the noose of time. To live forever is to wield a double-edged blade, one side gleaming with endless possibilities, the other sharp with unspoken costs. Immortality calls like a promise, yet drags like a curse.
What is it to be immortal? Is it a freedom from death, or an exile from life? To escape the decay of flesh, yes, but perhaps only to rot at the core. The mortal pulse of urgency, that drumbeat of beginnings and ends, is stripped away. A sunset no longer holds the same crimson fire when you know it's just one in a long procession stretching out eternally. Love, too, loses its sharp urgency—when your days stretch endless, why hurry toward the warmth of another soul? You begin to forget that this urgency is what makes life blaze in fleeting, brilliant arcs.
Sebastien paused his writing, momentarily exciting his trance. He sighed and gazed out the window, taking in the tranquil scenery. He refocused on the page in front, dipped the quill, and continued to write.
He had been away from his sire for many years now. Lord Elijah said that their father had found them and they needed to flee. He was still a year into his training back then and would be of no use. But he was instructed to live, and learn and when the time comes and he is reunited with the one that gave him new life and purpose, he could be the right hand he could trust.
That was 105's ago. Since that day he has spent time exploring the word. Ah, the world, so vast, so mutable. I remember the nights of my first transformation—1492, the year when blood became my sustenance and darkness, my only refuge. A strange year to awaken as an eternal wanderer, a being out of time, for that was the year the Old World dared to reach across unknown seas. Columbus sailed into the western horizon, marking the start of a new age. Nations seethed with possibility, the scent of fresh conquest thick in the air. And I, reborn as a creature of night, became a shadow in a world stretching out to consume lands and lives.
I roamed Europe, tracing cities as they grew, changed, shrank—like breathing beings, expanding in fits and sighs. Streets once lined with cobblestone became choked with mud and filth as populations swelled. Every corner held a story of progress or decay, sometimes both. London, for instance—a city wreathed in fog and grime, where disease rode through the alleys like a plague-bearing ghost. I remember watching as people lit fires on every corner, smoke and herbs wafting, all in a futile attempt to ward off the sickness. They didn't know the taste of eternity like I did; they hadn't yet learned that no flame could purge the pestilence woven into their own blood and bones.
There was a beauty, too—brief, flickering as a candlelight in the dark. The Renaissance spread its roots through Florence and Rome, filling those cities with feverish life, with ideas, with men and women who breathed art and philosophy. I was but a spectator, a silent watcher, as painters like da Vinci and Botticelli created visions of human perfection, the splendor of life captured in oil and canvas. Yet I could never quite touch that vision, for no matter how finely they painted the human form, I could only view it as something distant, something I'd already lost.
I watched as religion carved deep rifts in the hearts of men, transforming faith into a battlefield. The Protestant Reformation turned Europe into a continent divided by blood and belief, Martin Luther's voice a spark setting nations aflame. I stood in the shadows, watching priests and monks cry out, both the devout and the skeptical. And how the flames rose! The Inquisition hunted heretics, the zealous hunted witches, and everywhere I went, I heard the cries of those who clung desperately to life in a world that seemed determined to strip it away.
Then came the Spanish fury. I drifted through the Low Countries, watching armies march, cities burn, and entire towns crumble under the weight of a merciless empire. Every generation promised hope, and every generation fell prey to cruelty. I stood in Antwerp, veiled in shadows as Spanish soldiers painted the streets red. Such horror is a terrible thing to witness once—imagine watching it over and over, with the world changing but the violence remains.
Sebastien eyes twitched as he heard several footsteps enter his home. With a sigh he got up from his chair, leaving the book open, so the ink on the page could dry. He entered his sitting room where he entertained guests. Dark velvet drapes conceal the tall windows, allowing no hint of sunlight to penetrate. A worn but luxurious divan and a few leather armchairs surround a cold hearth. On a nearby table sits a goblet of thick, blackened silver, studded with rubies. Its surface bears faint etchings of ancient runes, a relic from a time and place even he barely remembers.
Three people sat in the room waiting for him. One was a dark-skinned woman, who looked to be in her early 30s with bouncy short-cut black hair, emerald green eyes, and pouty lips. She wore an enticing lavender dress that accentuated her curves with an added corset to increase the allure of her figure. The outfit was topped off by black high heels.
Next to her was a light-skinned young lady with blonde hair and red eyes wearing a short black dress that hid little skin, she wore bright red lip gloss. The final person was a tall man caucasian about 6'4. He was well-built and wore a suit. He had blue eyes and black hair.
The man seeing Sebastien arrive was the first to stand up as he was about to bow Sebastien raised his hand to stop him.
"What is it Dominic? I was in the middle of something," he said as he went to the cabinet and retrieved some wine. Dominic waited until he finished pouring a glass before he cleared his throat and answered the question.
"Trouble sir. Rouge vampires broke the treaty we made with the Cresent Wolf Pack," he said with his head slightly lowered.
"Hmmm"
Sebastien made a sound but said nothing as he glanced towards the red-eyed young lady. Understanding what that gaze meant she stepped forward. " It's an up-and-coming coven of vampires led by a husband and wife duo. Shauna and Edmond Tureq. They're both over 300 years old but less than 350. The coven has approximately 45 vampires in it two dozen are newborns freshly turned. They call themselves The Blood Sires.
"Your information-gathering abilities have come far since you joined us Seras"
Sebastien said as he swirled the wine before taking a sip and sighing in satisfaction. "Do they know who manages the supernatural communities in this part of Europe? Do they know who keeps the peace among the various races" As he spoke his eyes began to glow. His violet pupils radiating with potency." Do they know who we are?"
Both Seras and Domic had smile manic smiles as their true faces showed, showing their excitement and their status as vampires.
"Summon the death dealers it's time to remind the people of Spain why we are in charge and why they all submitted to The Volturi," he said as his eyes finally stopped glowing.
Both Seras and Domic bowed. "Yes sir," before they left the room, exited the house, and left in different directions at super speed to pass on their leader's message.
Now it was just Sebastien and the dark-skinned woman. "I must say seeing the leader of the Volturi in his element is quite the sight," she said as he eyes appreciatively wonder his body. He was currently shirtless as he felt no need to wear more than pants in his own home. But what drew her attention the most were the tattoos on his body. She could feel the magic pulsing from them.
" Hmm, a Bennett witch how intriguing. You must be Seraysha's daughter seeing as you have her eyes and her allure. Tell me how is she doing? It's been a few decades since we last spoke."
He noticed how her eyes dropped a bit at his mention of her mother. "Ahhh, the passage of time then. And knowing her loyalty to the balance of nature she didn't use magic to extend her life. Stubborn to a flat yet loyal like the best of them. She will be missed" he said with a genuine tone that drew a smile to her face.
"My name is Anya, and yes my mother was Seraysha. She told me you owed her a favor and you're a man of your word."
Sebastien narrowed his eyes at her tone. Which indicated she was in some kind of trouble.
"That I am, as my sire guided me to be. Is the Benett Coven in danger?" he asked.
"Yes, and it relates to the matter of the Blood Sires. They kidnapped two of our youngest witches after I refused to create daylight rings for them as any vampire that wants a daylight ring has to gain permission from The Voltuti. They promised we'd suffer for our decision and...we did. Mia and Nia are both 16, twins with immense potential. They were grabbed during the town fair yesterday...we we found out it was too late. One of the newborns they tuned delivered a message. we have to create rings for every member of the Blood Sires and swear servitude to them or...or they'd crucify the girls. Please my mother said I could trust you, please save them."
She said with some hysteria in her voice. Sebastion got up and stood by the hearth.
"Did she tell you what I am?" he asked, his back now facing her. Anya calmed herself somewhat confused by the question but she answered anyway.
"Yes... you, well there is no name for what you are. A psychic turned vampire. The fact that vampires possess some psychic abilities caused your two natures to meld in a way never seen before. Psychics are rare and one has never been turned into a vampire before so you're the first. A new kind of vampire. She said your psychic abilities reached a level that outpaced other psychics and vampires alike. That no being save for perhaps and Original could meddle with your mind. You could manipulate the senses of others cause them excruciating pain without ever touching them and yet you never abuse your abilities. "
"Instead you created order among the supernatural communities of Spain. Other vampires choose to follow you, other supernatural beings choose to respect the rules of The Volturi since it created a system that worked and peace that has lasted five decades now"
Sebastien chuckled at her response. "Knowing that do you doubt our...no my ability to get those girls back unharmed?" he turned and asked with a somewhat serious tone.
Understanding dawned on Any. He had used his question to allow her to treasure herself in his capabilities and she was thankful for it. He has been so worried, but knowing that he's capable of experiencing the peace created by Th Volturi, and knowing that this was the means that led them. She knew that the trust his mother had in him was not misplaced.
He suddenly looked in the direction of the drapes."It's time" he said as he walked past her towards them and spread them. The moon now hung in the sky. He opened the window and glanced down.
Curios as to what he was looking at. Anya got up and walked towards him. She then stood beside him and looked down. The sight that greeted her drew a gasp.
Outside Sebastien's dwelling were a dozen vampires. They were done in a combination of leather and armor that converted them from head to toe. Except for three who had their faces exposed. These three were the captain and co-captains of the Death Dealers. The elite squad of The Volturi. They each had varying weapons from short and long swords to crossbows whips and daggers.
They stood in formation with their left hand crossing their chest and their other left fist resting above the right chest. They leaked killing intent without trying to show that were not new to the act of killing, in fact, they were quite adept at it.
Captain Amelia was a relatively tall woman with pale skin dark brown hair and electric yellow after becoming a vampire. She wore a suit of armor. The helmet she held in her hand had intricate knots and the letter V on both sides. Her weapon of choice was a bladed wipe secured to her right hip.
The Co-captains behind her were Heidi a gorgeous and statuesque woman with long, lustrous mahogany hair, amazingly long legs, and eyes were blood red. She also had a stunning smile and carried two daggers as her weapon of choice. She wore a combination of leather and iron armor.
And lastly Kahn a dark-skinned bald man with brown eyes. He is wearing full suit armor as well but no helmet. He was a well-built man standing at 6'2 with a great sword strapped to his back and a crossbow stepped to his left leg.
All the death stood silently awaiting his command. " Ladies...Gents...we had challengers to our dominion...Let's go kill them." he said with a somewhat savage smile on his face. One that his captain and co-captains reciprocated.
Tonight the city of Valencia would be reminded why The Volturi were the undisputed rulers of Spain.