The vampire was drifting.
Sleep pulled at him like a tide, heavy and slow, his body too worn down to resist. Every breath hurt. Every movement echoed with pain. But then—he heard it.
Footsteps. Soft. Measured. Getting closer.
His senses stirred, instinct clawing to the surface. He forced his eyes open—barely—and sat up slowly, wincing as his muscles protested. He didn't want to seem weak, not more than he already was.
He sat straighter, adjusting himself carefully to avoid reopening wounds. And then he saw them. Two men.
One in a grey shirt, the other in black. Neither carried weapons in their hands, but there was something even more unsettling in that—a calmness that didn't need them.
They moved with quiet purpose, unlocking each cell one by one, drawing nearer to his. The vampire blinked, his voice cracking from dryness.
"Who... is it?"It came out barely audible, more breath than sound.
But neither of the men answered.They just kept walking—silent, focused, unreadable. And suddenly, the silence in the dungeon felt heavier than before.
The two men stopped just outside his cell. For a moment, neither moved. The vampire's pulse quickened. He could feel it in his throat, his wrists, in every wound that hadn't healed. Something was different.
The man in grey reached for the lock—no hesitation, just silence.
Click.
The barrier dropped. The magic thinned in the air, just enough for the vampire to feel something else beneath it—a presence he hadn't noticed before. Familiar. Heavy.
The man in black stepped forward. No armor. No weapon. Just rolled sleeves, bare hands… and a gaze that made the vampire forget to breathe.
He knew that presence. He didn't know how. But he knew. His mouth was dry, but he forced the words out.
"Are you here to kill me?"
No answer.
The man in grey moved slightly, lowering himself just out of reach, studying him like a medic—not a soldier. The vampire flinched back, but the chains gave him nowhere to go.
And then, finally, the man in black—Lycaon—spoke. His voice was deep. Grounded. Calm. But beneath it, there was something else. Something like… conflict.
"You're awake."
The vampire's eyes locked on his.
That voice. That energy. That magic still faintly pulsing in his chest.
"You—" his voice cracked, but he tried again."It was you. You were the one who… spared me."
Lycaon didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared at him, jaw tight.
Then, quietly: "You asked for water."
The vampire nodded slowly, unsure. "Will you give it to me?"
Lycaon looked over his shoulder. The man in grey didn't react. He turned back, stepped forward—slow, deliberate—and reached for a small flask at his belt.
No enchantments. No poison. Just water. He knelt down, still out of arm's reach, and set the flask on the floor between them.
"Drink it. Slowly."
The vampire's fingers trembled as he reached for it. He didn't know if it was exhaustion, confusion, or the weight of the gaze fixed on him. But he couldn't stop looking at Lycaon.
Not because he feared him because something in him remembered him.
Even if the face was different. Even if the world had changed.
Lycaon's eyes narrowed, voice cold but controlled.
"So… how do you know my name?"His gaze sharpened."And spare me the vague answers—'because I'm the Alpha heir' or 'everyone knows you.' You said it too naturally. Too… personally. Like someone who'd known me long before stepping into this clan."
The vampire froze.
Caught off guard, the words slipped from him. He hadn't expected the question so soon. He hadn't expected Lycaon to notice—but of course he did.
The truth perched on his tongue like a dangerous flame: Because you were someone from my memories. From before this life. Before this world changed.
But he couldn't say that.Not here. Not now.
So instead, he offered the only version of the truth that wouldn't get him executed:
"I was told about you since I was young," he said softly."Your stories. The legend of the Alpha born to end the war. The one meant to bring peace to this cursed land."
His voice faltered—not from lying, but from exhaustion.
It wasn't a complete lie.But it wasn't the whole truth either.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Lycaon's.
The Alpha's presence was overwhelming now—a storm barely leashed. His aura filled the dungeon like a physical force, pressing down on every soul within reach.
One of the guards grunted, staggering back under the weight of it.
Another dropped to one knee, struggling to breathe.
And the vampire—already weakened, barely sitting upright—felt like the ground itself was trying to swallow him.
His limbs trembled.His breath hitched.His vision dimmed at the edges.
But Lycaon didn't move.He was crouched, watching. Waiting. Still coiled in suspicion, like a predator trying to decide if its prey was dangerous.
The vampire's instincts screamed. He had to calm him—ground him—before his power crushed the others, or himself.
Without thinking, the vampire reached out.
His hand trembled as he laid it gently on Lycaon's.
Warm. Solid. Real.
For a split second, the weight in the room shifted.
And through the haze, the vampire whispered—not as a prisoner, not as a threat—but as someone who remembered something ancient, fragile, and buried beneath centuries of war.
"You've always been like this... even then."
"What did you just… say?"Lycaon's voice cut through the space like a blade. He yanked his hand back, as if burned by the vampire's touch.
The vampire flinched, the sudden absence of warmth almost more jarring than the Alpha's voice. But it was Lycaon's expression that hit harder—shock, tangled with something colder.
Disbelief. Suspicion. Rage.
Lycaon took a step back. His eyes never left the vampire, but now his body was tense, coiled with restraint. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
Even then. Two words. But they echoed. Even then?
Even when? Where? How?
Lycaon's thoughts spun in a storm—none of it making sense. It didn't matter how much pain this creature was in. Didn't matter how human his voice sounded. The way he looked at Lycaon—it was too knowing. Too familiar.
Too wrong. He took another step back, his voice lower now, laced with warning.
"Who are you?"
There was no warmth in the question. No curiosity. Only the sharp edge of a threat barely kept in check. Lycaon's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was resisting the urge to shift. Power simmered beneath his skin.
Untrustworthy bastards, he thought. They were always good at this, weaving half-truths into sympathy. Playing weakness like a card.But not this time. Not with him.
The vampire opened his mouth, struggling to speak, the silver in his veins still burning like wildfire.
"I… I don't know," he whispered honestly, voice frayed with exhaustion and something dangerously close to grief."But I know you. Or I did. Once."
His head dropped, breath shaking.
"Before everything."