Vampire Diaries Imagines

Came From The Ashes - Klaus Mikaelson

The night was cool, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and distant rain. The kind of night where the world felt untouched, eerily quiet beneath the glow of the moon. And yet, I wasn't alone.

I saw her before she saw me. A lone figure walking along the dirt road, bare feet sinking into the mud with every step. She moved slowly, as if she had nowhere to be, as if time no longer held meaning to her.

Her dress was torn, hanging off her frame in tatters. Strands of dark hair clung to her face, matted and tangled, and her skin-her once fair skin-was streaked with grime.

I frowned, my gaze sharpening.

At first glance, I had assumed the dirt on her face was just that-dirt. But the longer I looked, the more I realized it wasn't mere filth that clung to her. No, this was something far worse. Ash.

Her face was streaked with ash, save for the clean lines running down her cheeks. A trail of tears carved through the destruction that covered her.

I stepped forward, my movements deliberate, slow enough not to startle her. She didn't even react. Not when I approached. Not when I stopped directly in front of her. She merely lifted her gaze, her eyes empty in a way that made something stir inside me.

She looked... ruined.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice quieter than I had intended.

She blinked at me, as if processing the question was too great a task. Then, finally, she shook her head.

I didn't believe her. I let my eyes travel downward, taking in the scratches along her arms, the places where her dress had been ripped open by something-branches, hands, something worse.

I frowned, stepping closer. "What happened to you?"

She hesitated, her throat working as she swallowed hard. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "They burned it."

I stilled.

She wasn't looking at me anymore. Her gaze had drifted past me, unfocused, lost in a memory that had already hollowed her out.

"My home," she continued, her voice distant. "They burned it."

A slow, simmering anger coiled in my chest, but I didn't let it show. "Who did?"

She let out a shaky breath. "The bandits. They... they came in the night. My father tried to fight them off, but there were too many." Her eyes flickered to mine, just for a second, before dropping again. "They set fire to the house while we were still inside."

My jaw tightened.

I had seen horrors in my long life, had committed more than a few myself, but there was something particularly loathsome about men who would trap a family in their own home and set it ablaze.

"Your family?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

She gave a hollow, empty nod. "I was the only one who got out."

There it was. The loss, the unbearable weight pressing down on her like a vice. She had no one. Nothing.

And yet, here she was, walking aimlessly down a dirt road in the dead of night, because what else was there to do?

I took a breath, reaching out, gently tipping her chin up so she would look at me. "What is your name?"

She hesitated again, as if she had forgotten it.

Then, finally- "YN."

YN.

I let her name settle in my mind before speaking again.