Alaric materialized on the balcony of his chambers, his form emerging from shadow and mist. The moment he stepped onto the cold stone, an ominous stillness wrapped around him like a vice.
The air carried a thick, metallic scent, a palpable weight of pain, and despair that suffocated his lungs. Blood, her blood.
His heart thundered. It was more than unsettling; it was a foreboding symphony that made his pulse thunder like war drums.
He hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground as if stepping further into the room would unravel him completely.
The blood in the air screamed her name, and his entire body tensed. The stillness of the room was louder than any scream.
He wanted to believe it was nothing—a figment of his heightened imagination—but the truth was undeniable. He couldn't hear her heartbeat.
What has happened?
His mind spiraled into chaos, the same question looping like a curse.
What has happened?
Alaric's chest heaved as fear clawed at his insides.
He wanted to hear her voice, to hear her call his name from the darkness, sweet and playful, as if nothing was amiss. But no such sound came.
The silence was deafening.
Her blood permeated the room, soaking into his senses like an accusation. His knees threatened to give way as guilt stormed his mind, a brutal, unforgiving tide that slammed into him.
Why did I leave her? His thoughts roared, a thousand voices of self-condemnation.
He bent slightly, clutching the doorframe of the balcony for support as his breath came in sharp, shallow bursts.
His chest ached, not from any physical ailment, but from the sheer weight of grief pressing down on him. He had left her—unguarded, vulnerable, in the dead of night.
For what? To play the hero?
To indulge in Lucius's pointless revelry? To feed.
He closed his eyes, but it only made the torment worse. He could see her smile in his mind's eye, so vivid it burned.
That smile had always been his sanctuary, his anchor in a world that thrived on chaos.
Now, it felt as though the very foundation of his existence was crumbling beneath him, like a grand castle built on sand, collapsing into a pit of despair.
The rage inside Alaric burned brighter than the fiercest inferno, scorching through his veins and consuming every rational thought.
His mind spiraled with dark promises, his vision clouded by fury.
Whoever had done this—whoever had spilled Salviana's blood, stolen her light, dared to touch what was his—they would pay.
No, pay wasn't strong enough a word. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth, strip away every ounce of their existence until even their memory was ash.
He would destroy them, and every member of their family.
Burn their generations.
Erase their bloodline.
His hands clenched into fists, trembling as his nails bit into his palms. He imagined the screams of his enemies, the terror in their eyes as he razed their homes to the ground.
Their blood would stain his hands, and he would welcome it. Nothing was too cruel, too extreme for the crime they had committed against him.
But then, like a cruel twist of fate, the fire of his anger flickered, dimmed, and was extinguished by the cold weight of reality.
What was the point of revenge? What was the point of anything if she was gone?
His fury dissolved into an abyss of defeat, and Alaric's legs gave out beneath him. He fell to his knees, his body trembling as grief wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud.
He could still feel the phantom warmth of her smile, hear the echoes of her laughter, but it was slipping away, leaving behind an unbearable emptiness.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking as he gazed at his hands on the floor beneath him.
The words felt hollow, useless, but they spilled from his lips like a confession to the gods he no longer believed in.
"I failed you, Salviana. Forgive me," he murmured, his voice raw and choked with emotion.
He bowed his head, his hands bracing the ground as if to steady himself against the crushing weight of his guilt.
But even as he begged for her forgiveness, he knew he could never forgive himself.
She was gone forever!
The thought of her gone—of her warm, soft laughter extinguished forever—was unbearable.
His heart shattered in his chest, the fragments tearing through him like jagged glass.
It was a pain that defied description, a tempest of emotion that left him gasping for air.
He dropped to his elbows, his palms pressing against the cold stone floor as the weight of his despair consumed him.
The room, the castle, the world itself seemed to tilt, and for a moment, he felt as if he were drowning in an ocean with no surface.
The air around him grew heavy, oppressive, as if even the universe was mourning with him.
Above him, the clouds churned, dark and furious, their anger manifesting in the low rumble of thunder.
The heavens themselves seemed to share his agony, their sorrow spilling over in fat, cold raindrops that began to pelt the balcony.
Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating his hunched form in stark, ghostly relief. His fingers clawed at the stone beneath him as he grappled with the suffocating weight of his failure.
It was a cruel irony—the most powerful vampire in the land, brought to his knees by the mere thought of losing the one thing that made his existence bearable.
"Salviana…" he whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. It was a prayer, a plea, a desperate attempt to summon her back.
But the silence persisted.
And then—just as despair threatened to consume him entirely—a sound broke through.
A heartbeat.
It was faint, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings against a storm, but it was there. The world seemed to pause, holding its breath alongside him.
His head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. The ache in his chest halted, suspended as if by some invisible hand. He strained his ears, his entire being focused on that one fragile rhythm.
Another sound followed—a whimper.
The moment he heard it, Alaric sprang to his feet. The sorrow, the guilt, the torment—all of it fell away, replaced by a singular, burning purpose. His body moved before his mind could catch up, and he rushed into the bedroom, his heart pounding as if it would shatter his ribs.
And then he saw her.
What lay before him stopped him dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in sheer horror.