Chapter 2: Blood and Echoes
Once again, a heavy stillness settled over Mystic Falls. But Alexander knew better than to trust silence. In towns like this—steeped in a history soaked with betrayal and bathed in innocent blood—quiet was never real. It was a mask. A lie.
He sat atop the roof of an abandoned building overlooking the town square, one leg dangling loosely over a rusted ledge, the other stretched out before him. His eyes, sharp and calculating, followed Stefan's every step as he exited the Mystic Grill, walking alongside Elena Gilbert. She didn't matter to him—not truly. But her closeness to his brother sparked something inside him. Something within the curse... a coal suddenly catching fire in his chest.
That night in 1864, the flames had devoured everything he had. But the fire never died within him. It lived on—literally. The curse etched into his soul had given his body unnatural strength, power beyond mortal limits, and a pain that never left.
And the questions.
Endless, merciless questions.
---
Stefan had felt it since the early hours of the morning—a vague but insistent feeling of being watched. It wasn't Damon. No... This was older, closer, more intimate. Something that shouldn't be—but was.
He had seen Alexander's face the night before. There had been no words. No touch. And Stefan couldn't bring himself to speak, either.
He had buried that guilt deep within him for decades, yet now it was rising again, fresh as the flames on the night they had fled the burning church. He still remembered Alexander's screams, his face contorted in terror, while he ran… and ran.
He had run because he was afraid.
He had run because, in the quiet corners of his soul, he had believed Alexander was dead.
But… what if he wasn't?
What if someone had wanted them to believe he was?
---
At the edge of the forest, Alexander stood before the Salvatore family crypt, a rusted key in his hand. Moss had nearly erased the carved name on the gate: Salvatore.
He pushed open the iron door slowly; its creaking pierced the silence like a scream. Inside, the air was thick with dust and forgotten memories. He knelt before a cracked stone slab, letting his fingers rest on the faded engraving.
"Lillian, Giuseppe, Stefan, Damon... No mention of me."
He laughed—a bitter, dry sound.
Even here… his name had been erased.
Suddenly, something shifted in the shadows. A scent—familiar.
Damon.
"Spying on the dead now?" Damon's voice echoed through the crypt walls.
Alexander stood slowly and turned to face his brother.
"You came."
Damon leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're making noise. Hard to ignore."
"I'm not hiding anymore," Alexander replied quietly. "Not now."
A silence stretched between them.
"What's the real reason you're back?" Damon asked. "It's not just old family wounds. You're chasing something."
Alexander stepped closer, his eyes flickering with a low, determined fire. "I want to know who made you leave me. I want to understand why no one came for me. Someone tampered with your memories, erased me from your minds. I saw the rituals. I saw the traces. This wasn't a mistake… it was deliberate."
Damon's smirk faded. "You think someone cast a forgetting spell? That's—"
"Impossible?" Alexander interrupted, rage simmering in his voice. "You and I both know nothing is impossible in this town."
---
Elsewhere, Elena remained trapped in her thoughts since the night's visit to the cemetery. That man—Alexander—had looked at her like she was a ghost. It wasn't admiration, nor curiosity… just a cold gaze, as if she reminded him of something painful.
She turned to Bonnie and asked,
"Do you believe some people carry curses?"
Bonnie blinked. "What exactly do you mean?"
"I mean... something old. Something that makes them more than human... or less."
A shadow passed across Bonnie's face. "My grandma always said every family hides a darkness. The difference is, some never learn its name."
Elena turned away, her heart heavy. Something was wrong—something she could feel in the deepest part of her soul.
---
Back in the crypt, Damon studied his brother like he was seeing him for the first time.
At last, he said, "I didn't remember you. Not until I saw your face. Then... something sparked. Fire. Screaming. And… you."
Alexander's jaw clenched. "Someone did this to us."
"And you think the answer is here? In Mystic Falls?"
Alexander nodded. "The answer is always here."
Suddenly, he gasped and clutched his chest, his body jolting with pain. The curse was rebelling inside him. Visions flooded his mind—a woman in white, a circle of witches, blood soaking into tree roots.
Damon stepped forward. "Hey—"
"Don't touch me!" Alexander roared, shoving his brother back with supernatural force.
He panted, staring at his trembling hands. The markings under his skin flickered, then glowed crimson.
"Time's running out, Damon. I need to uncover the truth before this curse decides to end everything."
Damon nodded slowly. "Then we better start digging."
And in the shadows of the Salvatore crypt, the brothers stood on the edge of a truth long buried—one that would soon change everything.
Because someone had tried to erase Alexander Salvatore from existence.
But they had failed.
...
Alexander walked alongside the tree line near the old Wickery Cemetery, soaked to the bone, though the rain didn't bother him. The storm, strange as it was, soothed the curse within—like water smothering a flame. But the relief was never lasting… never complete.
There was only one path left.
If someone had cursed him, then someone must know why. And in Mystic Falls, the witches always knew more than they said.
---
In a quiet corner of the Mystic Grill, Bonnie Bennett sat alone, flipping through the pages of a worn paperback, pretending to read. But her mind was elsewhere.
She couldn't shake the memory of last night's dream—blazing fire, a shadowed face, and a voice calling her name.
She felt him before she saw him.
Alexander stepped inside, soaked through, his green eyes sharp, searching. When his gaze met hers, something stirred deep inside—not fear… but recognition.
"Bonnie Bennett?" he asked, stopping at her table.
She blinked. "Do we know each other?"
"No. But I knew your grandmother—Sheila. She helped me once... years ago."
Bonnie hesitated. "She's not here. She left town a while ago. Why look for her now?"
He pulled out a chair and sat. "Because the curse she tried to break is still tearing me apart. And you're the last Bennett left in Mystic Falls."
Bonnie stared at him. "A curse? What are you talking about?"
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "There's something old inside me. I was supposed to die a long time ago, but someone changed that. Your grandmother tried to help… but couldn't. Maybe you can."
Bonnie hesitated again, then nodded. "Come to my house tomorrow. Bring everything you know. And if you're lying… I'll know."
He rose. "I'm not lying. And thank you."
He walked out into the rain, and Bonnie watched him go, her heart pounding as if she'd just heard a prophecy in the form of a man.
---
The following night, Bonnie stood outside her grandmother's old house, an ancient book cradled in her arms. Symbols glowed on its pages, pulsing like a heartbeat in the candlelight.
She turned when the gate creaked.
Alexander was there.
"You came," she said.
"I keep my promises," he replied firmly.
She stepped aside. "Come in."
---
Meanwhile, Stefan paced the Salvatore house, nervous energy coiled beneath his skin. His open journal lay forgotten on the table. Damon watched him silently, a drink in hand, legs stretched along the arm of the couch.
"You're spiraling again," Damon said flatly.
"He wasn't supposed to be alive."
"But he is."
"We left him there, Damon."
Damon sighed. "No. We thought he died. There's a difference."
Stefan turned toward him, eyes wet with anger. "Don't you feel it? The power inside him?"
"I do. And I feel something worse—he doesn't care if we forgive him or not. He wants the truth. And I think he's willing to burn this town to the ground to get it."
---
In Bonnie's living room, the candles flickered as she turned the pages with care.
"Someone rewrote your name," she said, awe in her voice. "Literally. In the fabric of memory itself. This is deep magic… forbidden magic."
"Why?" Alexander whispered. "Why erase me?"
Bonnie hesitated. "Because you weren't supposed to survive."
A heavy silence fell. The wind howled against the windows.
"You were part of something ancient, Alexander," Bonnie murmured. "Older than Mystic Falls… older than vampires. A bloodline cursed. Witches' blood, defiled by betrayal."
He froze. "My mother..."
Bonnie nodded. "She wasn't human."
---
In the cemetery, Damon watched from the shadows as another figure moved between the graves—hooded, cloaked in black, face hidden.
A witch.
He followed her until she stopped.
"You should leave him be," she said without turning.
He stepped closer. "Why?"
"Because what lives inside him was never meant to survive."
She turned, her eyes glowing faint red.
"And if you let him reclaim everything… Mystic Falls will burn."
---
Back in Bonnie's house, Alexander clutched his chest with a gasp as pain erupted within him. The curse surged violently, dragging hallucinations with it—a bone altar, chanting voices, and a knife pressed to a child's throat… his throat.
Bonnie grabbed his arm to steady him. "They tried to sacrifice you. For power. Someone stopped the ritual—but the curse remained. Someone loved you enough to save you… but not enough to free you."
Alexander panted, trying to catch his breath. "Then I'll free myself."
Fire sparked in his veins—then roared.
Bonnie stepped back.
"Time is running out," she whispered.
"Yes," Alexander said, his green eyes dimly glowing. "And I've already wasted enough of it."
He turned and walked out, rain soaking his body, the fire within refusing to fade.
Tomorrow… he would return to the last place he remembered before the flames.
The place where the curse was born.
The night Mystic Falls burned with secrets—again.
---