Alaric Thorne stepped into the dense forest of Eldergrove, his chestnut hair catching the faint silver light of the moon as it filtered through the canopy above. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the forest seemed to hum with a quiet, ancient energy. He moved with purpose, though he couldn’t quite explain what had drawn him here tonight. It was as if an invisible thread had wrapped itself around his heart, tugging him deeper into the woods with every step. He had always been drawn to the unknown, to the places where the veil between the past and present felt thinnest. Tonight, that pull was stronger than ever.


The forest grew darker as he ventured further, the trees towering like silent sentinels. Their gnarled branches twisted overhead, forming a lattice that obscured the sky. Yet, through the gaps in the foliage, the ruins of Eldercastle began to emerge. Gothic arches rose like skeletal fingers against the night, their jagged silhouettes cutting through the mist that clung to the ground. The ruins exuded a mystical aura, a magnetic force that seemed to beckon him closer. Alaric’s breath hitched as he approached, his boots crunching softly on the carpet of fallen leaves.

He paused at the entrance of the great hall, his hand resting on the cold, weathered stone of the archway. The moonlight filtered through the crumbling walls, casting elongated shadows that danced across the floor. The air was sweet with the scent of wild roses, their delicate fragrance mingling with the earthy dampness of ancient stone. It was a sensory tapestry that enveloped him, stirring something deep within his soul. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. What was it about this place that called to him so insistently?

Stepping inside, Alaric’s eyes scanned the vast, echoing space.


The great hall was a shadow of its former self, its grandeur now reduced to crumbling walls and broken columns. Yet, there was a haunting beauty to it, a sense of timelessness that made his breath catch. His footsteps echoed softly as he moved further in, the sound reverberating through the emptiness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone, that the ruins were alive in some way, watching him. Why am I here? he wondered, his internal dialogue a mix of anticipation and unease. What is it about this place that feels so… familiar?

Suddenly, a haunting voice echoed through the great hall, its ethereal melody weaving through the shadows. Alaric froze, his pulse quickening. The voice was soft yet resonant, carrying a melancholy that seemed to seep into his very bones. It was both beautiful and unsettling, a siren’s call that he couldn’t ignore. His curiosity piqued, he followed the sound, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor.

The ruins were a labyrinth, their corridors twisting and turning in ways that defied logic. Alaric moved cautiously, his eyes darting to the remnants of the castle’s former grandeur—faded tapestries, shattered stained glass, and intricate carvings worn smooth by time. The interplay of light and shadow created an otherworldly atmosphere, as if the ruins existed in a realm between dreams and reality. The voice grew louder as he ventured deeper, its melody guiding him like a beacon.

At last, he emerged into a moonlit courtyard, the night breeze rustling through his hair. The haunting voice was clearer now, its source unmistakable. Alaric’s gaze fell upon a figure standing amidst the overgrown vines and ancient stones. The man was tall and slender, his alabaster skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. His raven hair fell in loose waves, framing a face that was both striking and enigmatic. But it was his eyes that held Alaric captive—golden-emerald orbs that seemed to see straight through him, piercing and luminous.


For a moment, time seemed to still. The air between them crackled with an unspoken energy, a connection that defied explanation. Alaric’s brilliant blue eyes met Lysander’s, and in that charged silence, something shifted. It was as if the universe itself had conspired to bring them together, two lonely souls drawn to the same forgotten place. The recognition was instant, a spark that ignited something deep within them both.

Lysander was the first to break the silence. His voice a melodious murmur, carried both curiosity and yearning. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked, his words hanging in the air like a delicate thread.

Wishing the man who stood before didn’t feel what he was feeling, he stood nervously waiting for an answer hears his dead heart beat for the first time.

Alaric hesitated, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure what he felt, only that it was something he couldn’t ignore. “I don’t know what it is,” he admitted, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

There was a vulnerability there, a crack in the facade that mirrored his own. Alaric had always been confident, self-assured, but now he felt unmoored, adrift in a sea of unfamiliar emotions. What is it about him? he wondered, his heart aching with a yearning he couldn’t quite name.


The ruins were silent once more, the echoes of their conversation fading into the morning light. Yet, the impact of their meeting lingered, a promise of something more that neither dared to voice. Alaric rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on the courtyard where they had stood. The world felt different now, as if the encounter had shifted something fundamental within him.

As he made his way back through the forest, the weight of his solitude pressed heavily upon him. But for the first time in years, it was a weight he didn’t have to bear alone. The memory of Lysander’s voice, his eyes, his presence, stayed with him, a beacon of hope in the darkness. The journey ahead was uncertain, but Alaric knew one thing for certain: their paths would cross again. And when they did, he would be ready to face whatever lay ahead.