"Love the sinner, hate the sin" wasn't a motto Henrik could follow, for he was both. As a Tribrid, an abomination in the eyes of many, he embodied the very essence of contradiction. His existence was a paradox, a living testament to the blurred line...
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( 1390, Svíþjóð,"Sweden")
"Get back here, you little bastard!" the man's furious voice reverberated through the alley as he continued to chase after the young boy.
The boy quickened his pace, clutching the meager provisions-a bruised apple and a chunk of moldy bread-tighter to his chest. Fear etched across his face as he darted between debris and shadows.
"I'll teach you to steal from me!" the man shouted again, his voice laden with anger and frustration. But despite his efforts, Henrik managed to slip away, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleys.
Breathless and heart-pounding, Henrik finally found a moment of respite, hidden from view in a dim corner. Peering cautiously around, he confirmed that the man was nowhere in sight.
Relieved but still trembling, Henrik retraced his steps back to his secluded shack in the woods. With a mix of hunger and relief, he settled down to devour his meager meal of stale bread and the bruised apple, washing it down with water from the nearby stream.
Exhausted from the chase and the day's trials, Henrik closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him, if only for a short while
Henrik had endured seven years in this world. The early ones were bearable with his mother by his side, but then she fell victim to a village-wide sickness and passed away. Left orphaned, Henrik found himself unwanted and alone. No one extended a helping hand-after all, he was deemed an extra burden, labeled as a "bastard child" by those around him.
Now, transported into a distant past, Henrik navigated a world devoid of modern comforts and technologies. Survival meant relying on basic instincts and primitive resources. His days were a struggle for sustenance and safety, far removed from the familiarity of his previous life.
This life wasn't so different from the last. Henrik had no family to call his own. His father had disowned him for being gay, and his mother had tragically passed away while giving birth to him. The circumstances of his previous life had been just as challenging, if not more so, than his current existence.
For four years, Henrik survived by begging, evoking pity, and sometimes stealing. He discovered he was living in a world called "Vampire Diaries" when he realized his mother was a witch and he could siphon magic. He used this power sparingly, as the pendant his mother left him contained only a limited amount of magic.
"Finally got you, you little bastard," a man said, grabbing a fist full of Henrik's hair and abruptly waking him up. He tried to get himself out of the man's hand. He tried to fight him off but couldn't. " You won't get out of this one," the man said, dragging him around and beating on his body.
"You think you can steal from me and get away with it? You've been stealing from me for a while now," he growled, punctuating his words with punches and kicks, relentlessly abusing him.
Henrik winced with each blow, trying to shield himself from the onslaught. Pain radiated through his body as he curled up, attempting to protect his most vulnerable parts from the man's relentless assault. The words echoed in his mind-accusations of theft, though survival had driven him to desperate measures.
As the beating persisted, Henrik's thoughts raced. He knew he couldn't physically overpower the larger, more muscular man. Desperation surged through him, and in a moment of instinctive survival, he grasped his pendant and siphoned its magic. Warmth and euphoria flooded his veins, empowering him in ways he had never experienced.
"Stop!" Henrik yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying unexpected strength. The force of his plea translated into power, unleashing a surge of energy that blasted the man backward, slamming him against a nearby tree and rendering him unconscious.
Henrik collapsed to the ground, clutching his battered body as waves of pain washed over him. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.
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When Henrik unleashed that powerful blast of magic, it triggered alarms Dahlia had set in place. Sensing the surge of magic, Dahlia embarked on a journey that took her several days, following the trail to its source. Eventually, she found a young boy lying on the ground, visibly beaten and battered but miraculously alive.
A dangerous smirk played on Dahlia's lips as she sensed the lingering remnants of the magic that had been unleashed. With a flick of her magic, she gently lifted the boy and examined him, using her abilities to assess the extent of his injuries. She discovered a few broken bones and numerous bruises, evidence of the brutal attack he had endured.
As Dahlia leaned over the injured boy, she deftly administered a healing potion, pouring it into his mouth and observing as his wounds began to mend before her eyes. Satisfied with the progress, she used magic to ensure the boy's body complied with her commands.
A sly grin played across Dahlia's face as she departed, taking her newfound prize.
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Henrik groaned in pain, his voice strained. "Ah...ahh," he muttered, stirring slightly. His eyes were swollen and his vision blurry, but he could make out a blonde woman approaching him.
"Stay still," the woman advised gently, her voice soothing. "The more you move, the worse you'll feel." She wrung out a rag with cool water and placed it over Henrik's head. "You're running a fever."
Who are you?" Henrik asked weakly, struggling to focus.
The woman paused, her expression softening. "You may call me Freya, nephew," she replied calmly.
"What?" Henrik managed to utter before overwhelming pain consumed him, causing him to lose consciousness.
As Henrik drifted into darkness, Freya's gaze lingered on him with concern and curiosity. She carefully tended to his injuries, using magic to ease his discomfort and stabilize his condition.
"How's the boy?" Dhalia asked as she removed her cloak, her tone revealing a hint of concern.
Freya stood up and positioned herself protectively in front of Henrik. "He is doing fine, Dhalia. I will ensure his recovery," Freya replied firmly, her demeanor resolute.
Dhalia regarded Freya with a measured gaze, her expression inscrutable. "Very well," she conceded, her voice betraying neither approval nor objection. "But remember, he is not just any boy."
Freya nodded solemnly, acknowledging the gravity of Dahlia's words. "I understand," she replied, her tone unwavering.
With a final glance at Henrik, Dhalia turned and left the room,
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FYI...... THE REST OF THE STORY WON'T BE RELEASED FOR A WHILE!!!
