The night had barely lifted when Carlos Mendez stood atop the stone balcony of the western tower, wind rustling through his coat, eyes fixed on the valley that lay beyond the dark forest. The Wardens of Ravenshade—mages, spellsmiths, and runebinders—stood behind him, cloaks fluttering, staffs in hand, waiting for his word.
He held a map in one hand, etched with glowing runic ink, a blueprint of the ancient fortress' magical veins.
"Wards must be layered like a beast's hide," Carlos began, voice steady, loud enough to reach every warden present. "Not just around the perimeter, but within every wall, beneath every stone. Malrik will not pierce our home again."
The wardens nodded, silent and swift in their agreement.
With a sharp wave of his hand, Carlos activated a power etched into the floor. The ground beneath them pulsed, and veins of blue wardlight lit up across the manor—marking the starting point of the defensive power.
One by one, the wardens began their work, carving, chanting, pouring ancient power into the bones of Ravenshade. Arcane fire flickered in the air, and protective glyphs danced on every surface.
Carlos moved from tower to courtyard, then to the underground sanctum, supervising each barrier with meticulous care. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his eyes never lost focus. This was not just a fortress—it was a home. And he would guard it with everything he had.
Hours passed, and when the moon crept above the horizon again, the last of the glyphs glowed like stars upon the walls.
Finally, Carlos sat by the old hearth in the west wing, exhaustion pressing into his bones. He closed his eyes for a moment of silence—until he heard soft footsteps.
When he looked up, he found Caelum standing at the doorway, dressed in a simple tunic, his silver hair tousled, his eyes glowing softly in the firelight.
"Caelum?" Carlos straightened.
The boy walked forward slowly, then stopped a few paces away. "I saw you working all day," he said quietly. "You never stopped."
Carlos chuckled tiredly. "Your father would have done the same."
"I know but.," Caelum whispered.
Carlos blinked.
Caelum's hands trembled slightly as he took another step closer. "When I was born… you were the first to hold me."
Carlos's breath caught.
"You were the one who rocked me when I cried," Caelum continued, his voice steadying with each word. "The one who taught me how to walk, how to speak, how to use my powers without hurting myself. When Father was in his deep sleep… it was you who kept me safe."
Carlos tried to speak, but the lump in his throat made it hard.
"I know I have a father now," Caelum said softly, "but I also have you. You've always been my second father, even when I didn't know what that meant."
Tears shimmered in Caelum's eyes, but they didn't fall.
"I just… wanted to say thank you."
Carlos rose from his seat, emotion surging in his chest. He crossed the room and pulled Caelum into a tight embrace, holding him like he had when the boy was just a baby wrapped in blankets.
"I would do it all again," Carlos whispered, voice shaking. "You were never a burden. You are family. My blood or not—you are mine, Caelum."
Caelum hugged him back fiercely, burying his face into Carlos's shoulder.
They stayed like that for a long while—two souls bound not by blood, but by unwavering love, trust, and time. A guardian and the boy he raised. A second father… and a son.
Outside the window, the final layer of the wards sealed with a gentle hum, casting a protective glow over the entire manor.
Ravenshade had never felt more like home.
Outside the warded hall, Alaric Vaelthorne wandered the corridors in solitude, needing air, but more than that—needing silence.
His feet, almost out of instinct, led him toward the west wing—the side of the manor where Carlos often found refuge when the world grew heavy.
And as he neared the wide arch that opened into the old hearth chamber, voices reached his ears—soft, clear, and achingly familiar.
Alaric paused in the shadows, concealed by the stone pillar just outside the firelit chamber.
> "You were the first to hold me…"
"You are always my second father…"
"Thank you, Carlos…"
The words drifted to him like wind-borne petals, gentle but powerful enough to pierce the ancient vampire's heart.
Alaric closed his eyes.
He could picture it perfectly—little Caelum in Carlos's arms, reaching for his hand, laughing in his presence, running through the halls under Carlos's watchful gaze. He imagined the lullabies Carlos must've hummed, the sleepless nights he endured, the battles fought in silence to protect a boy who was never his, yet always his responsibility.
Alaric's hands clenched at his sides.
Not out of jealousy—but guilt. Pain. Gratitude.
He had missed it all—his son's first steps, his first words, his tears and triumphs. While he lay buried in cursed slumber, Carlos had been the father Caelum needed.
And Caelum had noticed.
Alaric opened his eyes again, peering into the chamber just enough to see Carlos embracing his son—his son. Caelum held him tightly, like a boy clinging to a protector who'd never failed him. And Carlos, for all his stubborn pride, looked shattered in the most tender way.
Alaric's throat ached. His chest tightened.
> You stayed when I could not…
You protected them when I was lost…
He turned silently, stepping away before they noticed. His footsteps were careful, deliberate, each echo swallowed by the wards humming softly along the walls.
As he reached the open balcony overlooking the moonlit valley, a small smile curved his lips.
> "You always had a heart, brother…" he murmured to the wind, "even when you didn't remember it."
It was no coincidence that Carlos carried Victor's soul. Though reborn, something deep within him remained—the fierce loyalty, the protective fire, the heart that once beat beside Alaric's in life and death.
And now, he entrusted his son's future to the same soul.
> "I trust you," Alaric whispered, voice almost lost to the night. "I trust you with him."
The wind answered with a quiet gust, brushing his hair back like a memory's hand.
He would forever carry regret for the time lost. But knowing that Caelum had someone like Carlos, someone who stood unwavering like a fortress, made it bearable.
Alaric looked back toward the corridor, heart swelling—not just with love for his son, but with enduring gratitude for the man who'd guarded the boy's heart until he could return.
He was no longer alone in protecting his family.
He never had been.