The crumbling stone walls of the Le Rouge estate groaned as the mountain wind howled through the shutters. Time hadn't been kind to the manor. But it still stood—stubborn as the bloodline that build it.
Matteo stood in the heart of it. The hearth was cold, but his hands sparked with red-glowing magic as he traced symbols into the air. His dark curls were longer now, streaked with silver, and his eyes—those stormy blue-grey eyes—held centuries of weight.
He paused, fingers twitching slightly before they fell to his side. On the floor in front of him, magical energy curled in a slow spiral, showing him an image. A face.
Damon.
His son.
Older now. Stronger. And surrounded by magic that pulsed like a siren call.
A whisper of a smile ghosted Matteo's lips.
"You've grown beautifully, figilo mio," he murmured in old Italian.
Castelmezzano, 1800s
She'd been only fourteen when he saw her first—Lillian Carlton, an American girl sent to stay with distant family in Basilicata. Wild curls, freckled nose, sharp tongue. Matteo had been older—seventeen—and far too jaded for his age.
But she lit up everything.
They had fallen into each other like summer rain—fast, messy, inevitable.
By the time she was sixteen and he nineteen, they had already whispered promises under the moonlight in the hills, and soon after... Damon was born.
Matteo remembered the way she had cried holding their son for the first time. The joy. The fear. The magic in Damon's infant aura already curling like embers around him.
But the danger came quickly.
Something had begun to stir—a hunter of Le Rouge blood, drawn by Damon's latent power. Matteo had no choice.
"I need to go," he told Lily the night he disappeared. Her face crumpled. "You're leaving me alone with him?"
"I'm leaving so you're not hunted because of me."
"Then what the hell was the point of any of this, Matteo?"
He couldn't answer. So he left.
Years later
From the shadows of Castelmazzano, and later Mystic fall, America. Matteo watched.
He watched as Lily married a horrible man names Giuseppe Salvatore. Watched her spirit dim. Watched her have another child and named him Stefan, the name Matteo wanted for there second child. Watched Damon grow into a fierce and wounded boy with his mother's fire and Matteo's eyes.
He watched when Damon turned.
When he killed.
When he tried not to care, and failed.
Matteo couldn't reach him—not yet. Even though it killed him. The thing that hunted their line still lingered in the dark. It wanted Damon. And Damon wasn't ready.
Present-Castelmezzano
The house groaned again as Matteo took a breath.
"Sangue chiama sangue," he whispered. Blood calls to blood.
He knelt before the glowing image of Damon, drawing a sharp sigil in the air. His power pulsed once—twice—and the energy arced across the room, showing him the place.
Mystic Falls.
Matteo stood, the light fading behind his eyes, replaced by resolve.
"It's time."
He reached for the cloak on the chair beside him—red lined with gold swirls, old Le Rouge tradition—and disappeared into the Italian dawn.
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Their Raven
FanfictionDamon has spent a century as a vampire, believing that his immortal life began when he was turned but when long-buried memories resurface, he discovers a shocking truth before he became a vampire he was a witch, a powerful one. As a child, Damon wie...
