Chapter 69: The Return of Shadows
Chapter 69: The Return of Shadows
The wind was soft that morning.
The leaves lazily danced in the air, swaying with the silver moonlight that filtered through the branches of the Mystic Falls park trees. In the heart of it all, the statue of Alexander Salvatore stood tall—majestic, proud, and eternal, undeterred by the passage of time.
Stefan, Damon, Caroline, Elena, Alaric, and a few others stood before the statue in solemn silence. This had become a sacred annual moment—on this day each year, they gathered to remember him. Not just as a brother, or a friend, or a savior, but as a man who had willingly given everything… so they could live.
No one had ever missed this remembrance.
And as they stood in reverence, Damon crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly, speaking softly while looking at the statue with eyes that were both calm and cynical at the same time:
"You know... he would've hated this statue."
Stefan chuckled, glancing from his brother to the statue. "Yeah, he would've knocked it over himself."
Alaric took a sip from his flask and muttered, "And yet... he deserves it."
The laughter slowly faded, and silence once again crept in—quiet, contemplative.
They all stood, gazing at the statue, before turning to leave, resuming their paths.
But in that moment... the wind changed.
An unusual breeze swept around their heels. It wasn't cold, nor harsh—it was different. As though the air itself had shifted, as if something new… or perhaps old… had arrived.
Everyone turned toward the base of the statue.
And from behind it, slowly emerged a small boy, no older than ten.
His hair was as dark as the night, slightly wavy at the edges, and his eyes were a shade of green so intense, they seemed to glow faintly even in the broad daylight, carrying a gleam unlike that of a child's eyes. It wasn't merely intelligence or innate strength…
It was ancientness.
His smile was gentle… knowing.
Caroline blinked in surprise and stepped cautiously toward him, speaking softly:
"Hello, little one. Are you lost? Where are your parents?"
The boy tilted his head slightly and stared at her without uttering a word, silent and calm.
Elena knelt to his level and spoke kindly:
"It's alright, dear. We can help you. Do you live around here?"
But he didn't answer.
His eyes moved between them—his gaze lingering on each face, but pausing slightly longer on Stefan and Damon, staring at them more than the others.
Damon furrowed his brow, a strange tightening in his chest. He spoke in a hoarse voice:
"What's your name, little one?"
No response.
Alaric took a step closer, attempting to reassure him:
"There's no need to be afraid. We can help you find your family."
But the silence remained, unbroken.
The child slowly lifted his gaze toward the Alexander statue.
And in a fleeting moment, a flash of light passed through his green eyes—it wasn't malice, nor anger…
It was… quiet irony.
The boy sighed deeply, as if exhaling a long-held breath, then mumbled words that were unclear.
Then… with a voice that was anything but a child's—neither in tone, nor rhythm—he finally spoke:
"It took me ten years… to return."
Everyone froze in place.
The boy looked at them with a mischievous grin—a mixture of playfulness and darkness, of wit and danger.
"And you, fools… you built me a statue?"
He shook his head and added:
"Really?"
Silence. Complete silence, stunned, breathless.
Stefan's eyes widened.
Caroline gasped and placed her hand over her mouth.
Damon stepped back a step, his lips parting, his breath caught in his chest.
The child's smile widened more—and in his eyes danced sparks of mischief and shadows.
And from the depth of the air… the wind began to whisper once more…
He had returned.
Alexander had returned.
.
.
.
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