Elias stood just beyond the sterile, brightly lit room, separated by a wall of one-way glass. His reflection stared back at him, distorted and ghostly against the glass's surface. Inside, the black coffin rested on a raised platform at the center, its glossy exterior shimmering under the harsh white lights that buzzed overhead. The room looked clinical, as if designed for observation, stripping away any trace of reverence or peace. Outside, Elias shifted his weight, his arms crossed tightly, the hum of fluorescent lights behind the glass doing little to break the oppressive silence.
Beside Elias, the witch moved slowly, her dark robes whispering over the stone floor. Her gaze flickered to the enchanted mirror she conjured before them, revealing Alaric sitting on the edge of a bed in another room. The chains wound tightly around his arms shimmered under the soft light, leading to the iron binder clamped snugly around his neck. His long, pale hair cascaded over his shoulders and down the bed's side, wild and seductive in its disarray.
Alaric's face betrayed no emotion as he stared directly at Elias through the mirror, his calm gaze as sharp as a dagger. It was as if he knew Elias was watching him—*waiting for him*. The intensity of the albino beauty's gaze sent an unsettling thrill through Elias, igniting a dark curiosity. Alaric looked less like a prisoner and more like a fallen angel who had chosen to be bound.
"You see it, don't you?" the witch whispered, her voice like silk unraveling in the dark.
Elias didn't respond immediately, his eyes still locked on Alaric's flawless features. Alaric's indifference held a strange allure, a silent invitation that twisted something deep inside Elias.
"I want in," Elias muttered, his voice low.
The witch smiled knowingly. "I thought you might."
Elias finally tore his gaze from the mirror. "They're powerful together. If we pit them against each other, we lose the chance to control what they could become."
The witch nodded, her expression sharp with ambition. "Exactly. Why destroy them when we can use them?The vampire ,Alaric has chosen will prove to be formidable if trained properly. And Alaric... well." She gestured toward the mirror. "Look at him."
Elias glanced back at the reflection, taking in the way Alaric sat motionless, his chains slack yet suggestive of hidden strength. The iron around his neck seemed more like an accessory than a restraint. Alaric looked beautiful—too perfect, too dangerous. *He knows I'm here,* Elias thought with a shiver.
"What's the plan?" Elias asked, dragging his attention away from the mirror.
The witch's smile deepened, her eyes glimmering beneath her hood. "We align their strengths,Alaric has bound the vampire to him so the man must be strong .We saw the two victims of his and his hunger can break anyone. Alaric's healing is limitless. Together, they're unstoppable."
"And we control them?" Elias arched an eyebrow.
"We guide them," the witch corrected, her voice laced with cunning. "Let them think they're in charge. We offer them the world—and in return, they do what we need."
Elias gave a low chuckle. "Immortal weapons on a leash."
The witch tilted her head thoughtfully. "Not a leash. Just... careful direction. The vampire's hunger can be turned outward—toward the enemies we choose. And Alaric's pride will make him believe it's his decision to lead."
"And if they try to turn on us?" Elias asked, though the excitement in his voice betrayed him.
"They won't," the witch said smoothly. "Not if they think they need each other. And not if we stay one step ahead."
Elias glanced back at the mirror, feeling the pull of Alaric's gaze even through the enchanted glass. Alaric didn't move, didn't blink. But there was something in those pale, unfeeling eyes—something that made Elias want to step closer, to see what lay beneath that serene exterior.
"What about Eric?" Elias asked, still staring at Alaric.
"He's restless in the coffin," the witch replied. "When he wakes, he'll be hungry—and loyal to the first person who feeds him."
Elias smirked. "We'll make sure that's Alaric."
The witch nodded, satisfied. "Once Eric bonds to him with help from me, they'll be ours to direct. They'll tear through anyone we set in their path—and believe they're doing it for themselves."
Elias leaned closer to the mirror, tracing the edge of the glass with his fingertips. "Alaric won't trust easily. He's too controlled."
"That's the beauty of it," the witch whispered. "Eric will be the crack in that control. Alaric won't resist the pull for long. He'll tell himself he's in charge—until it's too late."
Elias's smile grew darker. "And by then, they'll be too far gone to stop."
The witch reached out and tapped the mirror, sending another pulse of dark magic through the room. The image shifted, revealing Eric stirring inside the coffin. His pale hand twitched against the black satin lining, his breathing slow and shallow—like a predator waking from a long slumber.
"When Eric wakes, we put the pieces together," the witch murmured.
Elias gave one last glance at Alaric through the mirror. The albino beauty still hadn't moved, but his presence loomed like a shadow, waiting to consume the light.
"He's too perfect," Elias muttered, more to himself than the witch.
"Perfection cracks," the witch whispered. "All it takes is the right hand."
Elias stepped back from the mirror, his pulse quickening with anticipation. "Let's make sure they see us as their only way forward."
The witch turned toward the shadows, her robes trailing behind her like smoke. "Come. We need to prepare."
Elias followed her into the darkness, but not before casting one final glance at the mirror. Alaric's pale, predatory gaze was still locked on him, unblinking and unmoving. Elias felt the weight of that look settle over him like a promise—one that sent a thrill through his veins.
Behind him, the silence deepened. The only sounds were the faint rustling of chains from Alaric's room and the soft hum of magic lingering in the air—like the quiet before a storm.
Elias smiled to himself. *Let's see how long perfection lasts when we set them loose on the world.*
_______
Elias pushed the heavy door open, and the iron hinges groaned in protest. The dim light from the hallway bled into the room, illuminating a figure sitting on the edge of the bed. **Alaric**.
He was exactly as he had been in the mirror—calm, composed, his long white hair falling like silk over his shoulders, framing a face that was both ethereal and unsettling. The pale grey of his irises shimmered in the darkness, cold and unfeeling . His posture was relaxed, almost careless, with his hands draped loosely on his knees. The chains binding his wrists glinted, but they hung slack—suggesting he could fight if he wanted to. He just didn't care to.
He wore the plain, institutional white clothes they had forced on him—a loose top marked with a faint number across the chest. The shirt hung open at the collar, lazily unfastened, slipping off his shoulder just enough to reveal smooth skin and the sharp curve of his collarbone. His chest, barely covered, rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, like the rhythm itself was a silent taunt.
Elias stepped into the room, the air thick with tension, as if every breath carried the weight of something unsaid.
Alaric's gaze flickered up, and the smallest smile curled on his lips.
It was a smile that stopped Elias dead in his tracks.
It wasn't forced or hurried—it unfurled slowly, like a secret blooming under moonlight, too beautiful to be trusted. The expression was charming but dangerous, making Elias's heart stutter. It wasn't just a smile. It was an invitation wrapped in a warning, like a predator playing with its prey just to see how long it would squirm.
"Hello, Elias," Alaric said softly, his voice a lazy drawl, smooth as honey laced with venom. "I wondered how long it would take for you to stop watching and come inside."
Elias blinked, thrown off by the unexpected greeting. The witch had warned him about Alaric's ability to get inside people's heads. Now he understood. It wasn't just his beauty that was disarming—it was the way he owned every moment, as if the world were a chessboard, and he saw every move before anyone else.
"You're exactly what I thought you'd be," Alaric murmured, tilting his head with a kind of amused detachment, his chains rattling softly as he adjusted his position.
Elias swallowed hard, though he kept his expression neutral. "Comfortable?" he asked, trying to keep the upper hand in the conversation.
Alaric gave a slow, deliberate shrug, his pale hair sliding off his shoulder like liquid silver. "As comfortable as one can be in chains." He shifted slightly, letting the light catch the intricate iron collar locked around his throat. It looked heavy, yet Alaric wore it with such grace it seemed more like jewelry than a prison.
Elias's eyes traced the curve of Alaric's collarbone and the way his chest rose and fell in steady breaths, as if he had all the time in the world.
"You don't seem bothered," Elias said, narrowing his eyes.
Alaric chuckled—a low, dangerous sound that sent a ripple of unease down Elias's spine. "Why would I be?" His voice remained soft, but there was an edge to it—a quiet threat hidden beneath the pleasant tone. "Chains are only a problem if you think they mean something."
He leaned back slightly, giving Elias a slow, measuring glance. "And you don't really think they mean anything... do you, Elias?"
The way he said his name—like it was something Alaric had tasted before and enjoyed—. Elias took another step forward, unwilling to be intimidated, but the closer he got, the more he realized just how dangerous this creature really was. Not because of the strength beneath his chains, but because of the power in his presence.
Alaric smiled again—this time wider, revealing perfect white teeth, sharp at the edges but still beautiful enough to disarm. "You look like a man with questions," he said softly, tilting his head like a curious animal. "Ask one. I'm feeling generous today."
Elias clenched his jaw, refusing to fall for the easy charm, but it was hard to ignore the pull Alaric had. It wasn't just his beauty—it was the way he seemed to take up space without moving, as if the room was his, even in captivity.
"Why aren't you afraid?" Elias finally asked, his voice low, trying to match the calmness in Alaric's tone.
Alaric gave a small, almost pitying smile, as if the question amused him. "Afraid of what?You mortals?"
"Of what's going to happen next," Elias said, watching closely for any sign of fear or hesitation.
Alaric's pale grey eyes flickered with something dangerous—something far too old to be called fear. "What makes you think I haven't already planned for it?"
Elias frowned, unsettled by the ease with which Alaric spoke. There was no bluff in his words, no false bravado. It was as if he knew something Elias didn't—and was perfectly content to keep it to himself.
"You think you're in control," Elias said, more to himself than to Alaric.
Alaric laughed softly, the sound warm but utterly devoid of kindness. "Oh, Elias." He leaned forward slightly, his chains clinking against the bedframe. "Control is such a delicate thing. One wrong move, and it slips through your fingers like sand."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt heavy—charged with unspoken truths and hidden intentions.
Then, without warning, Alaric smiled again—a slow, wicked grin that sent a chill through Elias's veins. "The question, Elias, isn't whether I think I'm in control."
He leaned back against the bedpost, settling into a relaxed sprawl. "The question is... how long until you realize you're not?"
Elias's heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He could feel the ground shifting beneath him, as if the game they were playing had already begun—and he was a step behind.
"You talk a lot for someone in chains," Elias muttered, his voice tight with frustration.
Alaric's smile never wavered. "Chains are just accessories, Elias. You should know that by now."
The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made Elias's pulse quicken. For the first time, he wondered if they had made a mistake.
A dangerous beauty, bound but far from broken. Alaric wasn't a prisoner. He was a weapon waiting for the right moment to strike.
And Elias had just walked straight into the lion's den.