The morning air was crisp, with a faint mist hanging over the compound. The rhythmic sound of Ivar's push-ups filled the courtyard, the soft creak of wood and leather from the makeshift gym equipment adding to the quiet ambiance. Ivar's muscles flexed and rippled under the pale sunlight, his shirtless form a testament to years of brutal training and conditioning. His dark hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his sharp cheekbones, while his piercing blue eyes remained focused on the ground.
Rebekah, now a young woman with golden hair cascading down her shoulders, sat cross-legged on Ivar's broad back. Her light laughter echoed as she watched him with a playful smile. Despite her weight, Ivar moved effortlessly, his strength making the exercise seem more like a casual activity than a grueling workout. His breathing was controlled, steady, a sharp contrast to the intensity of his exertions.
"Ivar, I think I'm getting heavier," Rebekah teased, tilting her head and resting her chin on her palm. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced down at her brother.
"You've always been a feather," Ivar replied without missing a beat, his deep voice calm and even. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though his gaze remained fixed forward.
As he continued, Tatia appeared, her flowing dark hair catching the morning light as she walked through the courtyard. Her beauty was as striking as ever, her delicate features framed by soft waves of ebony. Her deep brown eyes landed on Ivar, and for a moment, she hesitated. The sight of him, powerful and focused, left her breathless, though she quickly masked her reaction with a neutral expression. She began to approach, her movements graceful but deliberate.
Rebekah's playful demeanor shifted immediately. Her smile vanished, replaced by a frown as her sharp blue eyes locked onto Tatia. "What are you doing here, Tatia?" Rebekah asked, her tone sharp and dripping with disdain. She sat up straighter on Ivar's back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Attention-seeking again? That's what you're best at."
Tatia stopped in her tracks, her calm facade cracking slightly at the hostility in Rebekah's voice. Her lips pressed together, and she glanced away briefly before meeting Rebekah's glare. "I'm not here for you, Rebekah," she said softly but firmly, her voice carrying a weight that cut through the tension. Her gaze shifted to Ivar, her expression softening. "I just wanted to talk to Ivar."
Ivar paused mid-push-up, lifting his head slightly to look at Tatia. His expression was unreadable at first, his sharp features shadowed by an underlying intensity. His blue eyes, so piercing and analytical, flicked over her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. What was she doing here?
As he looked at her, a strange thought crossed his mind. Her face—so familiar, so hauntingly identical to others he hadn't yet met but knew existed—stirred something deep within him. Tatia, like the doppelgangers Katherine and Elena he knew of from his past life's memories, bore the face of Amara. It was uncanny, almost unsettling. And he… he was the doppelganger of Silas, with subtle differences in his raven-black hair and ice-blue eyes.
"Rebekah," Ivar said at last, his voice low and steady, "enough." He shifted slightly, glancing over his shoulder at his sister with a look that was both firm and patient. Rebekah pouted but didn't argue, sliding off his back with an exaggerated huff. She stood with her arms still crossed, glaring at Tatia as if daring her to make another move.
Tatia took a step closer, her movements hesitant yet purposeful. Her dark eyes searched Ivar's face, her expression a mixture of hope and vulnerability. "Ivar," she began, her voice faltering slightly before she steadied it. "I know you're busy, but… I just wanted to see you."
Ivar rose to his feet in a fluid motion, his towering frame seeming even more imposing now. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his gaze never leaving hers. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or even a trace of exasperation—but his expression remained neutral.
"What do you want, Tatia?" he asked, his tone calm but distant.
Tatia's brows knit together, a shadow of frustration passing over her face. "Does it always have to be about wanting something?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with sadness. "Can't I just… care?"
Ivar studied her for a long moment, his piercing gaze seeming to strip away any pretense. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. "Caring," he said quietly, almost to himself. "It's a dangerous thing."
Rebekah, who had been standing silently by, scoffed and rolled her eyes. "See? Even he doesn't want your theatrics," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.
Ivar shot her a warning glance, and she reluctantly fell silent, though the scowl on her face remained.
Tatia took another step closer, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if she were trying to steady herself. "Ivar, I—" She stopped, her voice catching. Whatever words she had planned to say seemed to crumble under the weight of his gaze.
Ivar sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Tatia," he said, his tone softer now, though still tinged with weariness. "I don't have time for this."
The words stung, and Tatia's face fell, though she quickly masked her hurt with a faint smile. "Of course," she said quietly. She turned to leave, her movements graceful but subdued, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
Rebekah smirked, her arms still crossed. "Good riddance," she muttered under her breath.
Ivar didn't respond. His eyes followed Tatia as she walked away, a shadow of something unspoken flickering across his face. It wasn't regret—not quite—but perhaps a hint of understanding, or even pity. Whatever it was, it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. With a faint shake of his head, he turned back to his makeshift gym, the sound of Rebekah's teasing laughter following him as he resumed his exercises.