The fire raged on, licking at the bones of the mansion, consuming everything in its wake. Aura stood at the center of it all, his back to the inferno. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of the power now coursing through him—wild, untamed, and far beyond his control. His senses were overloaded, the world spinning as he struggled to stay grounded.
The ancient blood, too much for him to bear, surged in his veins, its twisted power blurring the edges of reality. His mind felt like it was tearing itself apart, each thought splintering and fragmenting. His body felt like a cage, a prison of flesh that held nothing but chaos.
*What have I done?*
His heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow. His vision swirled, the smoke from the fire making everything seem distant, unreal. The mansion—his legacy—was being destroyed. But more than that, it felt as though something deep within him was being torn asunder. As though the bloodline itself was clawing at him, pulling him into something darker. Something older.
He reached up to his head, his hands shaking. His mind was clouded, distant, and he felt the edges of his very identity slipping away.
“Who am I?” His voice cracked as he whispered to the empty room.
Suddenly, the world around him shifted.
---
A burst of light. A vision.
He was standing in a grand hall, tall and regal, surrounded by towering pillars of stone. The air was thick with an ancient presence, the very walls echoing with whispers of a forgotten time. The floor beneath his feet was smooth, cold marble, reflecting the faintest flicker of firelight. His hand extended toward the grand double doors, his breath shallow, his pulse racing.
A figure emerged before him, tall and dignified, their eyes glinting like the stars themselves. Their presence was overwhelming—powerful, ancient, and yet... *familiar.*
The figure spoke, but their voice was not one he recognized. It was his voice, yet it wasn’t.
“You are mine, Aurelius von Carstein,” the figure said, its voice dripping with an unspoken command. “The blood runs in your veins. It always has. You will never escape it.”
He gasped, stepping back, confusion flooding him.
*Who... who are you?* he thought, his mind struggling to connect the dots, but no answer came. Only the overwhelming feeling of blood, of legacy, of power that he could not remember claiming.
---
The vision shattered, and Aura fell to his knees, gasping for air. His hands gripped the cold floor beneath him, his eyes wide with panic. He could still feel the traces of the vision—those ancient eyes, that powerful voice—but the details eluded him. They were slipping through his fingers, like sand, impossible to hold onto.
“No,” he whispered desperately. “No, I *know* you. I know this... I know *me*.” But no matter how hard he searched, the memories refused to surface.
The fire crackled in the distance, and he was pulled back into the present. His breath was ragged, his vision blurred, but it felt... distant. The ruins of the mansion, the remnants of his legacy, seemed like a world far away. His identity—his bloodline—was slipping from him, and all that remained was the feeling of something left undone.
Another vision.
---
A blood-soaked battlefield, lit only by the eerie glow of a blood-red moon. The smell of death was thick in the air. And there, in the midst of the carnage, stood a figure. A young man, his face twisted in rage and sorrow, his eyes burning with fury. He was holding a dagger, dripping with blood, his clothes torn, his body covered in scars.
The figure turned toward him, and for a moment, their eyes locked.
“*This is your fate,*” the figure whispered, their voice hollow, as though spoken from the depths of the earth.
The vision faded, and Aura blinked rapidly, his head spinning.
Fate? Was that... him?
He pressed his hands against his temples, trying to force the vision into clarity, but it faded as quickly as it had come.
*Who was that?* he wondered, his mind grasping at the fleeting image, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t even remember the weight of the dagger in his hand, couldn’t remember why he had been standing there, drenched in blood.
---
He stood up shakily, his mind a storm of confusion. The memories—the visions—were fragments, pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He was lost. He couldn’t remember his name, his history, the very things that had made him *who he was*.
And yet, those visions... those haunting glimpses of something ancient and powerful, something that *belonged to him*—they kept calling to him. The bloodline, the legacy, the empire that had once been his—he felt the weight of it all, but he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t remember the face of the family he had killed. The mansion that had once been his.
The world around him seemed to warp and distort, the edges of reality flickering like the flames that consumed everything he had known. He had no answers, only questions that went unanswered.
Suddenly, a voice pierced through his thoughts—soft, almost like a whisper on the wind.
“Aurelius…”
He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice. He knew that voice.
But from where?
He turned, but there was no one there.
---
As the world around him began to fade, the visions—fragments of a life he could no longer remember—flashed before his eyes. The bloodline. The empire. The mansion. Faces he couldn’t place. Faces that meant everything, and yet nothing.
The flame of his past flickered and dimmed, and with it, the man he had once been was lost to the fire. Only the fragments remained—the visions that tormented him, pieces of a history he could no longer hold onto. The last vestiges of a legacy that burned with him.
He was nothing now. Nothing but a lost soul in the ruins of a forgotten dynasty.
---
**End of Chapter 9.**
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YOU ARE READING
Aurelius Von Carstein.
Fantasyhi ^_^!! im just dumping my ocs lore here. i have no writing experience whatsoever.. and this one is about some emo vampire boy! wow! best thing is, its already finished in my notes so all i have to do is just paste em here. its only 10 chapters tho...
