Third Person Pov:
"Burn the devil! Burn him alive!"
The chant tore through the night like the roar of a thousand wolves. Flames captured the air, spitting embers that painted the sky in shades of fury and ash. Lucien could smell the hate, thick, choking, heavier than the iron chains biting into his wrists. They had dragged him through the pack grounds, through the mud and blood of those who once bowed to him. Children threw stones. Elders spat his name like poison and sour wine.
"Monster," someone hissed.
"Traitor," another sneered.
A boot slammed into his ribs. Another into his face.
He didn't fight back. Not this time. The Alpha of the North, the one they used to kneel for, now knelt in the dirt, broken, bound, and silent. Above him, the pyre crackled a monument built from the ruins of his home. His family's banners hung shredded among the logs. The scent of smoke and burnt flesh lingered, his people, his kin, his blood.
And somewhere beyond the flames, he saw her: Vivian, pale and trembling, the Alpha's daughter, the one he'd once been promised. Her eyes glistened, not with pity, but disgust. And behind her, in the shadow of the crowd, a figure covered in red.
He recognized her instantly, from the way her lips curved, the way her eyes burned through him like she was drinking in his agony. She moved closer, unseen by the mob of vicious people waiting for his demise.
Her voice filtered through the noise, soft, low, dangerous.
"Sleep, my Alpha."
He felt it before he understood it, a pulse of red light behind his eyes, a weight pressing down on his mind. The world began to spin. The flames blurred. The screams folded into silence. His last sight was the fire rising toward him and Scarlet's smile as everything turned black.
By the time he woke up, he was no longer in chains. But found himself in the ruins of the place he had been sentenced to death, the place he was called home. Smoke coiled through the night like a serpent, whispering against the broken walls of the Alpha's fortress. The air was filled with the scent of burning fur and blood the death of a kingdom that once ruled fearlessly.
Lucien stumbled across the courtyard, eyes glowing red beneath streaks of ash. His strength was fading, his body already half-devoured by the curse that ran through his veins. The banners of his pack burned above him, black wolves turning to flame. Beneath them, the last of his warriors fell. His child's cradle lay in ruins. His mate's ring was crushed into the dirt.
And from the smoke, a woman's laughter echoed soft, melodic, cruel.
"You thought power would save you, my love?"
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. He knew it, she was the same one whom had put him to sleep at the peak of his journey to darkness.
"You drank forbidden blood to save one life and condemned a hundred for it." She cackled, the sound of her nails scraping the metal surface of the bars that once held his pack flags. "I gave you a choice, but you let your pride consume you."
Lucien roared, tears streaking his bloodstained face. His claws scraped stone, his body trembling."Show yourself, coward!"
"You made your choice," the voice purred. "Now live with it." She snapped her fingers and suddenly, images began to float around him.
He fell to his knees, surrounded by the bodies of his people. And then came the screams, with one most pronounced: His lover's voice. When he turned, the pyre was already ablaze. The heroes, self-proclaimed saviors stood around it, their eyes full of fury and a bit of fear. His lover's gaze found his across the fire, full of sorrow, not a hint fear.
"Lucien…" He called out in strained whisper. The flames swallowed the name, and dried the tears that followed suit.
He saw it all again, every terrible moment. His lover screaming, his family burning, his friends turning their backs. The crowd shouting, hating him, throwing stones, mocking him. It played over and over in his mind, like he was trapped in the memory. He tried to turn away, but he couldn't.
Her voice was cold, vile. "See it all. Remember it all."
Lucien's scream tore through the sky, shaking the moon heaven and earth. Blood dripped from his lips, and he raised his eyes to the storm above. "If there's a god who hears monsters," he rasped, "then let me live again. Let me undo this. Let me burn the world before it burns me."
Immediately, lightning split the sky. The clouds suddenly seemed full, threatening to fall. The sound of thunder followed suit, accompanied by a woman's sigh, beautiful and venomous. "So be it." The voice whispered.
And darkness took him.
When he opened his eyes again, the smoke was gone. The fire gone. The blood, without traces.
He was in his bed. Younger. Whole. Breathing. Sunlight streamed through the open window, bright and golden, carrying the distant sound of morning bells. The same bells that had rung the day his life began to fall apart in what seemed like yesterday.
Lucien stumbled to his mirror. His reflection was unscarred, eyes bright. But beneath his wrist glimmered a black crescent moon, the mark of the curse. He remembered it as sharp as he remembered his death, or what was supposed to be his death.
He whispered to the empty room:
"I'm alive… or, is this what life after death looks like?"
The air felt wrong. Too free. Too quiet. He moved to the window, pushing it open. Outside, the manor stretched wide and endless. The forest was green again. The sky was covered with morning mist. No ruins. No graves. His eyes fell on the calendar clock on the far wall. The brass frame glowed faintly in the light, the small engraving beneath it sharp and obvious. Year 1703.
He froze!
Ten years before the fall.
Ten years before Elias died.
Ten years before the world called him a monster.
A laugh escaped his throat, rough and broken, as he caught his reflection in the mirror beside the bed. His face was younger. No scars. No red glow in his eyes. Just him, before everything went wrong.
The realization came to him, this wasn't after death. This was before.
Lucien gripped the edge of the desk, the wood spluttered beneath his hands. "I'm back," he whispered. The words sounded foreign. Unreal. But the pain that followed wasn't. It rolled through him like a dreadful memory clawing its way out of his chest.
Elias burning.
His family screaming.
And Vivian… Vivian, his betrothed. He couldn't remember what it was she had done. How could the mother of his child be involved in his death? He wondered.
His memory had been clouded, trying to piece together everything that was about to befall him, but the one thing he was sure of was Scarlet's voice. The sound of her viciousness piercing through his eardrums, loud and vengeful.
Lucien slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a smear of blood. It didn't matter how. Not yet. Only that he had a chance, one chance to make them all pay. He stared at his reflection again. Same eyes. Same rage.
But this time, he wouldn't be the one on my knees.
Not again.
Without giving it much thought, he stumbled out of his room, in search of his lover. Wondering what his fate was, hoping it was much better than his. Outside, voices drifted from the courtyard, servants bustling, guards training, laughter echoing in the air.
And among them, a familiar laugh.
Warm. Innocent. Filled with so much purity that the world didn't deserve. It was his lover's.
Lucien froze. Slowly, he moved toward the balcony and saw him standing in sunlight, alive, smiling as if none of it had happened. Their eyes met. For an instant, he saw something flicker in his lover's gaze, fear, recognition, and something deeper. Then he looked away, as if nothing had changed.
He began to wonder if his lover had been given the same second chance he had, or if he was still living his normal life, with no memory of the future. If it was the latter, then Elias' reaction would make perfect sense.
After all, they hadn't come together until after the death of his child, and after Vivian had ended their union.
Whatever the case was, Lucien was thankful for one thing: Elias was alive. It didn't matter if Elias remembered their relationship, what mattered was his lover was alive.
Lucien's pulse thundered. His lips curved into a bitter, trembling smile.
"You're alive…" he whispered.
"Then the gods have made their mistake."