Chapter 68: A Decade of Silence
Chapter 68: A Decade of Silence
Ten years had passed since the sky burned red with the fire of the abyss.
Ten years since Mystic Falls was drowned in flame and blood—before being saved by the sacrifice of a man who carried decades of pain in his heart… and one final promise.
The world moved on.
Towns were rebuilt. The sky returned to its clear blue. And people resumed their lives—quietly, and with gratitude.
But in the hearts of those who loved him, Alexander Salvatore remained eternal—unfading.
Stefan Salvatore sat on the porch of the restored Salvatore house, his fingers interlaced with Caroline's. Time hadn't touched their faces, but it lingered in their eyes. Calm, assured eyes—ones that could only be born from a heart that had healed from true wounds.
He often found his gaze drawn to the old rocking chair in the corner of the porch—Alexander's chair. The very spot he used to sit after long days, arms folded, a sardonic smile on his lips, listening to his brother ramble about honor and sacrifice.
Caroline gently squeezed Stefan's hand when she noticed him drifting into memory. She didn't need to ask. She knew.
As for Damon Salvatore, he still retained his sharp wit—his sarcasm, his charm, his spirit laced with mischief—but time had softened him, tamed his edge. He lived with Elena in a quiet home on the outskirts of town, far enough to enjoy peace, but close enough to walk the woods that once echoed with Alexander's laughter and pain.
He told stories—of their battles, their long midnight arguments, and the silences they shared. And in the stillest hours of night, he would step outside, gaze at the stars, and whisper with a husky voice:
"You should've stayed, brother… you deserved to stay."
Elena Gilbert had become a beloved doctor, replacing her grief with an unyielding strength. She saved lives every day, pouring her sorrow into a greater purpose. She always kept pictures of their strange, broken family—among them, a rare one where Alexander smiled beside his brothers. It was her favorite.
Caroline Forbes became a beacon of hope in Mystic Falls. She helped found a magic academy in Bonnie's name—a school that stood tall among the mountains, welcoming young witches from all corners of the world. She visited often, her heart always tethered to the best friend she lost… and to the brother they all owed their lives to.
Alaric Saltzman returned to teaching, though the sharp edges carved by years of hunting and survival never fully faded. Once a year, without fail, he visited the statue. A flower in one hand, and a flask in the other.
"To the most dangerous kid I ever knew," he would mutter, his voice breaking. "And the most loyal."
The Mikaelsons—Klaus, Elijah, and Rebekah—returned to their home, though they were never the same. Klaus painted a portrait of Alexander each year, never speaking of them. Elijah, once, said in passing, "There was honor in him… and a pain we will never understand." Rebekah cried at every visit to the academy, each memory of Bonnie and Alexander growing clearer in her heart as the years passed.
And then there were Sam and Dean Winchester.
Still knee-deep in the battlefield. And in the bunker, near weapons and spellbooks, there was a photo. Faded, but clear—five men, shoulder to shoulder. Vampires and hunters… brothers forged in fire.
Dean would pat the photo frame whenever the world grew too heavy.
"That damned vampire," he'd mutter. "Made me believe in something."
---
Later that night…
Mystic Falls Park stood still in the quiet moonlight. Trees whispered with the breeze, the sound of brittle leaves echoing softly under careful steps.
And at the heart of the park… a statue.
Alexander Salvatore.
Carved from obsidian and silver, tall, head held high, his gaze lifted to the sky. His right hand rested over his chest, the left at his side, slightly clenched… as if he might return to life at any moment.
The words engraved below were simple… but eternal:
"He bore the curse, chose the pain, and gave us peace."
Stefan, Damon, Caroline, Elena, and Alaric stood before it in silence.
No speeches. No flowers.
Just… silence.
A long moment, where grief met love, and melted into sacred stillness.
The wind shifted.
Somewhere between the trees, the leaves stirred as if someone had passed. A faint chill brushed their faces, followed by a quiet warmth… as though a spirit had smiled and passed by.
Damon looked up. "Still watching us… aren't you, brother?"
No answer.
Only… stars.
And stillness.
And the enduring memory of a man who once carried the world on his shoulders… and chose to leave it, so others could live.
Alexander Salvatore.
Gone… but never forgotten.
.
.
.
.
You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:
telegram:
miraclenarrator
tiktok:
miracle_narrator
instagram:
miracle_narrator