Whispers of the Forgotten

Lucian took a slow step forward, his boots crunching against the overgrown gravel path leading to the decaying estate. The pendant in his hand seemed heavier now, as if reacting to the place before him.

The mansion loomed in the moonlight, its grand architecture reduced to ruin by time and neglect. The once-proud entrance doors were slightly ajar, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. A sharp gust of wind rattled the rusted iron gate behind them, sending an eerie creak into the night.

Viktor stood beside him, arms crossed, golden eyes scanning the area with caution. "This place reeks of old magic," he murmured.

Lucian frowned. "Magic?"

Viktor nodded. "Not just any magic. Blood magic. It lingers in places like this."

Lucian's grip tightened around the pendant. He wasn't sure if it was the wind or something else, but he swore he heard a whisper—a faint, almost familiar voice calling from beyond the door.

He exhaled, steadying himself. "Only one way to find out."

With that, he pushed the heavy doors open.

The air inside was stale, thick with dust and the scent of decay. Moonlight filtered through the shattered windows, casting long shadows against the cracked marble floor. Cobwebs hung from the grand chandelier above, its once-golden frame now tarnished and dull.

Lucian's eyes roamed over the space, his chest tightening. He didn't remember this place, and yet, something deep inside him knew it.

Viktor moved ahead, his boots making no sound. "Be careful," he muttered. "This place has secrets."

Lucian followed, stepping over broken furniture and faded portraits that lay scattered across the floor. Some were ripped, others burned—destroyed in a fit of rage or desperation.

Then he saw it.

A grand staircase at the heart of the mansion, leading up into the darkness. And at its base… a painting.

Lucian hesitated, then knelt down. The painting was old, its frame cracked, but the image was still visible beneath the layer of dust. It showed a noble family standing before the estate. A man with sharp features. A woman with kind eyes. And between them… a boy.

Lucian's breath caught in his throat. The boy's face was familiar.

Too familiar.

He reached out, wiping away the dust with trembling fingers. His heart pounded as realization struck.

It's me.

The revelation sent a shock through his body. This wasn't just any estate.

This was his home.

Viktor knelt beside him, his gaze locked on the painting. "So, it's true."

Lucian swallowed hard. "I don't remember any of this."

Viktor studied the image, then gestured toward the woman in the painting. "She looks like you."

Lucian's eyes lingered on her face. Her gentle features, the warmth in her expression. Something inside him stirred, like a memory just out of reach.

"Who was she?" he whispered.

Selene's voice echoed in his mind. A noblewoman… tied to your bloodline.

Lucian clenched his jaw. He had spent so long trying to forget the past, only to find out it had been hiding from him all along.

Viktor stood. "If this was your home, there must be more." He glanced toward the grand staircase. "You ready?"

Lucian exhaled sharply. "I have to be."

With that, they ascended into the unknown.

Lucian's boots barely made a sound as he followed Viktor up the grand staircase. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the weight of forgotten history. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, as if the mansion itself was alive, watching them.

At the top of the stairs, a long hallway stretched into darkness. The faded red carpet was torn in places, exposing the rotting wood beneath. Old portraits lined the walls, their subjects staring down with hollow eyes. Some frames were cracked, others slashed as if someone had tried to erase the people from existence.

Lucian's pulse quickened as his gaze fell on one painting still intact. A woman stood alone in a moonlit garden, dressed in a deep red gown. Her silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her violet eyes held a sorrowful intensity.

The resemblance was undeniable.

"Her again," Lucian whispered.

Viktor stepped beside him, studying the portrait. "Your mother, perhaps."

Lucian's fingers traced the edge of the frame. A dull ache formed in his chest. He wanted to remember her. To recall her voice, her scent—anything. But his past remained an empty void.

A sudden thud echoed through the hallway.

Both men snapped to attention.

The sound had come from behind one of the doors ahead.

Viktor moved first, his steps calculated, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Lucian followed, his senses sharpening. The air was charged now, the silence no longer empty but expectant.

Viktor stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. Unlike the others, this one was untouched by time—no dust, no rot. It was as if someone had been here recently.

Lucian swallowed hard. "Something's behind there."

Viktor gave a small nod before gripping the handle and pushing the door open.

The room beyond was dimly lit by moonlight streaming through tall, arched windows. Unlike the rest of the mansion, it was pristine. The furniture, though antique, was undisturbed. A large bookshelf covered the far wall, filled with ancient tomes. A velvet chair sat beside a fireplace, where embers still smoldered.

Someone had been here.

Lucian stepped inside cautiously, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze landed on a large wooden desk in the center, papers neatly arranged atop it.

He approached, fingers brushing over the parchment. Some were letters, others journal entries. His eyes skimmed the words—mentions of bloodlines, prophecy, and… his name.

Then, he saw it.

An envelope sealed with red wax. His breath caught as he read the name written in elegant script.

Lucian.

His hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The ink had barely faded.

My dearest son,

If you are reading this, then fate has led you back to where it all began. There are things you must know, truths that have been kept from you for too long.

You are not just any vampire. You are the last of a forgotten bloodline. A legacy that many have tried to erase. And there are those who will stop at nothing to ensure that you never uncover the truth.

But you must.

You must remember who you are.

Lucian's heart pounded. The letter ended abruptly, as if the writer had been interrupted.

He clenched his jaw. "This was meant for me."

Viktor stepped closer, reading over his shoulder. "Looks like someone didn't want you to find it." He glanced around. "And whoever was here might still be close."

A sudden creak from the doorway sent a chill down Lucian's spine.

Both men turned sharply.

A figure stood just beyond the threshold, shrouded in darkness.

Lucian tensed. The air crackled with unseen energy. Whoever they were, they had been expecting him.

Then, a voice—smooth, familiar, and laced with danger.

"I was wondering when you'd return."

To be continued…