[1288 B.C.]
[General Point of View]
On the edge of the rocky coastline of the ancient peninsula that, in centuries to come, would be named Sparta, stood a modest inn — weathered by time and the salty sea wind. Its faded red clay roof and worn stone walls betrayed the many winters it had endured, standing silently through the ages like a forgotten sentinel of a world still awakening.
Inside its shadowy halls, lit only by the faint light filtering through narrow, dusty windows, sat a lone figure — motionless at a weathered wooden table, as though he had merged with the dimness around him. There rested a young man of unusual beauty, whose mere presence seemed to suspend time itself. His hair, black as moonless nights, fell long over his shoulders, framing a serene, almost melancholic expression. His eyes, a piercing icy blue, stared into the void, lost in thoughts that seemed to belong to distant ages.
His skin, pale as untouched snow atop mountain peaks, seemed to glow with a light of its own — not one of warmth, but of mystery. Even at rest, his tall stature and sculpted frame — like those of the heroes of old — could not go unnoticed. He wore a black himation that rippled gently with the sea breeze slipping through invisible cracks in the stone. Subtle white embroidery traced the fabric like forgotten runes, giving him an air of somber nobility, an echo of greatness sealed in silence.
[Main Point of View]
It's been seven years since I awakened in this world. That may sound like a long time — and it is. Time moves faster than we realize, and I sense it will move even faster for me, condemned as I am to eternity. In that span, much has changed — including my appearance. I can't say whether I'm attractive; after all, beauty is defined by the time we live in. But at least I was lucky enough not to inherit my father's features. Let's be honest: he's far from the most handsome man in the world — though perhaps he resembled what people considered beautiful three thousand years ago.
In this time, I've lived through all sorts of experiences — some good, others not so much. One of the hardest parts of this new life has been becoming... solitary. Not in the sense of avoiding people entirely — I still speak with my family, especially my aunt — but only with them.
The reason is simple: I grew up too fast. And while that has its advantages, it stole something basic from me — friendship. When I tried to play with children my age, we weren't the same age anymore. My growth was so fast that I left everyone behind.
At first, it was almost funny: I outgrew my aunt, then Aro, and finally achieved a small victory over her. Every time I remember that day, I smile. Now that I'm taller than her, she's the one we call little Didyme.
But setting those happy memories aside, a heavy thought creeps in. I rise slowly, recalling a quote I once heard in my past life. I smile faintly and whisper:
"A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a lot of it is absolutely fatal."
That's been the story of my life since I was reborn into this world. I've had to lie to everyone — especially my father.
Nowadays, it's much easier to keep things from him. After all, he spends little time with me now due to the founding of the Volturi clan. I noticed the first signs about three years ago, when he came home with Marcus. Since then, Marcus has rarely left his side.
Thanks to my accelerated development, I've interacted more with my family and grown closer to Marcus. He seems like a good man — or at least the most reasonable among them. Our relationship has grown, just like the one with my father. Sometimes I even help with his affairs — but only with the ones I deem ethical. No killing innocents or doing anything I consider wrong. And it was because of one of these "favors" that I ended up in this inn. I call it "small," but truthfully, it's large compared to others in the region.
Based on the level of importance my father's been assigning to me lately, it seems I'll be accepted as a member of the most powerful clan that ever existed. And though I'm aware of the dangers, I'll admit it — I'm tempted to join the Volturi. After all, I am a vampire, and every vampire needs a clan. But I'm still unsure... Maybe I'll start my own.
If I did create my own clan, it would be more out of curiosity. I'd love to gather the greatest minds in human history. Imagine Oscar Wilde chatting with Plato. Or Salvador Dalí debating Picasso.
At the very least, it would be hilarious. And absolutely fascinating. As I drift through this thought of founding the most intellectually advanced clan in history, I walk silently around the inn, pace the hall a few times, and return to my seat. I lean back, letting my mind wander until something catches my attention.
I glance toward the door and see a tall man standing there, surprised. Two things stand out immediately: his ancient himation stained with human blood — judging by the smell — and his red eyes, exactly the same shade as my father's. This is the "problem" I came to deal with.
Realizing my long-awaited guest has finally arrived, I speak to him in Doric Greek:
"Good morning, my friend. You weren't home, so I figured it was appropriate to come in. Apologies for any mess I may have caused. Honestly, I didn't want it to go this way — but you left me no choice."
"For your grotesque actions and primitive behavior, I'm here to revoke your right to life."
Hearing my old catchphrase, he stares at me as if I'd just told a joke. Then, his expression shifts, and with a threatening glare, he shouts:
"You bastard! How dare you invade my home?! I'll tear you apart, break every bone in your body, and torture you to death, you wretched human!"
I can't help but smile. It happens often. Because of my eye color and scent, many vampires mistake me for a human.
He growls, baring his fangs as if trying to frighten me, then charges with absurd — clearly inhuman — speed. His fist clenched, he prepares to strike me directly.
I remain seated. I don't even flinch. Just as he's inches from my face, a massive wall of ice erupts from the ground, so tall it pierces the ceiling and destroys much of the inn.
Looking toward the frozen wall, I say:
"Sorry for destroying your home, but look on the bright side: your end will mirror that of your house. A poetic end — dying alongside what you built."
[General Point of View]
The old house that once stood in the field was now nothing but rubble. The ice wall — like a massive stalactite — had split the structure in two, compromising its entire foundation. Within seconds, everything began to collapse.
It was tragic. Compared to other homes of its time, the inn had been quite beautiful.
The man Morpheus faced was stunned as he stared at the wall that had risen before him. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming — which, ironically, was impossible for a vampire.
The wall had appeared so quickly that, from his perspective, one second he was about to punch Morpheus, and in the next, his fist was buried in solid ice.
Morpheus, meanwhile, calmly crossed his legs. It was a signature gesture among those who knew him. It even had a nickname: "the prelude to the end."
The moment he made that gesture, the vampire's fate was sealed. The ice began to spread over the trapped arm, as if it were alive. First, it covered the limb, then gradually spread across the body like a virus, leaving only the head exposed — as if to prolong the torment.
The vampire struggled with all his might to break the ice. He managed to shatter parts of it, but the ice regenerated — as if it had a will of its own.
As the vampire fought for his life, Morpheus looked around. The chair he had been sitting in no longer felt comfortable. He raised his right hand to the armrest, and upon touching it, the ice began to spread, transforming it into an imperial-style throne. Satisfied, he said:
"Much better. More comfortable... and much more elegant."
While Morpheus admired his new creation, the other vampire continued to struggle. But in time, he realized there was no way to win. The ice's speed of regeneration far outmatched his destructive strength.
Then came fear — real fear. Since his transformation, he had never felt it. He had always been the one to inspire fear — never the one to feel it.
What I'm about to do isn't out of cruelty.I take no pleasure in killing. I'm not like some other vampires I've met—those who revel in bloodshed, who tear limbs apart just to feed their sadism.
No. With me, it's different.Every life I take leaves a mark. Even when they deserve it. Even when they're already lost in darkness. I remember every face. Every name. Like now.
"Dion, that's your name, isn't it?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
He stops struggling for a moment and stares at me, breathless—as if vampires still needed air. His eyes, once blazing with fury, are now filled with sheer desperation. He knows there's no way out. Still, he answers, his voice trembling:
"How… how do you know my name?"
"I know more than you think," I reply, rising slowly to my feet.Behind me, the ice throne glistens under the sunlight slipping through the cracks of the ruined inn.
"You have a daughter, don't you? A little girl. Six years old. Her name is Lyka."
His eyes widen. I try not to let it affect me—but it's impossible not to feel something, seeing a monster remember that he was once, or perhaps still is, a father.
"For her sake, your death will be quick."
I extend my hand, and the ice engulfs him entirely.No scream. No sound. Just absolute silence.
I close my eyes for a moment and think of her. Of Lyka.I've already made arrangements—she'll be taken somewhere safe, where she can grow with dignity, far from the shadow of the father she'll never know existed.
When I open my eyes again, the ice crystal that holds Dion begins to glow. Within seconds, it shatters into a thousand shimmering fragments, vanishing into the wind—leaving no trace behind.
It's a fitting end for someone who chose the wrong path…but still left something good behind.
I glance toward the horizon, where the sun has just begun to set.It's time to head back.
To be continued...
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[N/A] If you've read this far, thank you! And since I'm terrible at handling compliments, please, insult me instead!