Seraphine walked alongside Elda, her maid, chatting lightly about the new kitchen herbs being planted.
Just as she turned the corner near the stables, her steps halted.
A man stood near the forge, adjusting thick leather gloves as he inspected the tools arranged before him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. Sweat clung to his sharp jawline, and his blacksmith's apron was already marked with ash and soot. Despite the rough work, he held a natural charisma—his aura drawing eyes without trying.
Seraphine's heart skipped. "Carlos?"
The man turned.
His eyes softened immediately. "Seraphine."
Without a second thought, she rushed across the courtyard, her smile blooming like sunlight after a storm.
"Carlos!" she called again, arms flinging around his neck in a joyful embrace. "You're here!"
Carlos caught her easily, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. He chuckled. "Still as impulsive as ever."
"I can't believe this!" she said, pulling back just enough to look into his face, her hands resting on his shoulders. "What are you doing here?"
Carlos gave her a boyish grin. "Hired as the estate's blacksmith. Guess fate brought me here again."
"That's amazing!" she beamed. "I was beginning to think I wouldn't have anyone from my old life to talk to here. You don't know how happy this makes me."
"I think I have an idea," he said, his smile softer now, eyes lingering on her a beat longer than necessary.
From the second-floor study, behind an arched window framed in velvet drapes, Alaric stood silently. He had opened the window just moments before for a breath of air, only to find his attention stolen by the scene unfolding below.
His golden eyes narrowed.
There Seraphine stood—radiant, laughing freely, more animated than he had seen her in days. And the man she embraced? Carlos as Victor.
Alaric's hand slowly curled into a fist on the windowsill.
Her expression... that smile—warm, open, tender—it wasn't one she gave to just anyone.
He watched as she leaned closer, talking fast, gesturing with excitement. The familiarity between them was unmistakable. She was at ease with him. The way she looked at him—it twisted something deep inside Alaric.
Jealousy.
A quiet, burning ache started in his chest and spread. He had no right to feel this way. Not yet. Not when she was only just starting to remember who she truly was. But he couldn't stop the surge of possessiveness that clawed at him.
His jaw tightened.
Carlos. or I may say Victor.
His eyes stayed locked on the pair below, not missing the way Carlos's gaze lingered on her as if she were a prize long lost.
Seraphine's laughter floated up to him, light as petals.
Alaric turned from the window, his face grim, golden eyes dark with thought.
So... the once Victor had returned.
But this time, he would not let history repeat itself.
The moon loomed high above Ravenshade Estate, inside Seraphine's chamber, peace was nowhere to be found.
She tossed in her sleep, breath catching, her hands gripping the sheets like lifelines. Her face was pale, sweat beading on her forehead.
And then—
A scream.
Piercing. Desperate. Echoing through the stone halls like a cry from another life.
Alaric jolted from his study, his senses sharpened instantly. His feet flew across the corridor, his heart pounding—not with fear, but with recognition.
He burst into her room, candlelight flickering wildly from the sudden gust.
"Seraphine!"
She sat upright, gasping, eyes wide with terror. Her nightdress clung to her sweat-soaked skin, and her long hair stuck to her face. Her lips trembled as she breathed out his name.
Her eyes...
Red.
Glowing faintly. Not entirely human. Not entirely her own.
She was shaking—body, voice, and soul.
Alaric was at her side in seconds, kneeling by the bed. "Seraphine, I'm here. You're safe now."
"Don't... don't leave me," she whispered, voice broken and childlike, reaching out to him.
"I won't," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her, guiding her trembling form into his chest. "I'm here. I swear."
Her fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to this world.
He pressed a hand to her back and gently kissed the top of her head, whispering calming words only she could hear. Slowly, the tremors eased. Her breathing steadied. And at last, her eyes fluttered closed.
But he stayed. Watching her. Protecting her. Because something had changed.
She was awakening.
Outside the door, hidden in shadow—
Carlos stood still.
He had heard the scream. The sound of Seraphine's suffering pierced him deeper than any blade could.
He clenched his fists, his jaw locked tight. Every word exchanged between her and Alaric, every sound of comfort, stung. He could almost see it—her eyes red, her soul cracking open. The seal weakening.
She was awakening.
The fire lit in his chest grew wild and consuming.
Without a word, he turned from the door and stormed into the night.
The forest swallowed him in seconds. The air was thick with silence, until the snapping of a twig under his boot was followed by a sudden roar.
He struck, mercilessly, bringing down a deer in a blur of primal movement devouring it. Blood splattered his shirt, and his breathing heaved—his eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight.
But the rage didn't subside.
His mind screamed with questions.
Why is she awakening?
Where was the innocent human girl he used to watch over at the Delacroix estate? Where was Celestine's shy companion, the sweet soul he'd sworn to protect from afar?
Now she glowed like her.
Now she trembled like her.
Now she clung to Alaric like Karena once did.
Carlos dropped to his knees beside the deer's body, blood painting the leaves. He stared into the dark trees, lost in the storm within.
His voice was a whisper to the wind:
"This is your fault… Brother."
Seraphine's chamber grew dim as heavy curtains shielded the morning sun. A chilling silence filled the air, broken only by her soft whimpers and the rustle of soaked linens. Her skin burned with fever, yet her hands were cold. Sweat drenched her nightgown, her breath labored and uneven. The awakening had begun.
Alaric sat by her side, unmoving for hours. His normally commanding presence was subdued, his face etched with concern and fear he refused to show. He held a damp cloth to her forehead, changing it every few minutes. Even when servants knocked to bring food or update him on estate matters, he ignored them.
He had only one priority now—her.
Elda hovered nearby, wringing her hands. "Her fever hasn't broken," she whispered, barely able to contain the worry in her voice. "She's burning, Your Grace."
"I know," Alaric murmured, eyes never leaving Seraphine.
Elda left.
"She's awakening," he said quietly. "The blood within her—Vellaria's blood—is rising."
Seraphine stirred, her lips parting to whisper names no one recognized. A few times, she reached out into the air, calling out to people from a past life. A mother. A brother. A name—Carlos.
Alaric's hands clenched.