Chapter 15: A Toast to the Damned
The stars shimmered over Mystic Falls that night with unnatural clarity—shining brighter than suited the mood carried by the four of them.
Behind them, the Salvatore mansion still echoed faintly with the remnants of the last party. Fading laughter from a distant memory. The others had either gone to sleep or retreated to their own corners of this fractured world. But these four… hadn't left.
They sat outside the mansion, near the edge of the land that stretched toward the forest, where the hills sloped down and the lights faded, leaving their shadows long behind them—as if their heavy pasts still weighed down upon the grass.
A small fire danced inside a stone pit. Bottles were scattered on the table that gathered them—mostly bourbon, and some much older, brought by Klaus from the depths where Originals kept their secrets.
Alexander leaned back in the wooden chair, the flickering flames casting deep lines of fatigue across his face.
"You know…" he murmured, "I never imagined I'd sit and drink with a man who tried to devour my soul, a brother who forgot I existed, and another… who probably tried to kill me once."
Damon raised his bottle in a sarcastic salute.
"You're not wrong."
Stefan sipped his drink quietly.
"Harsh."
Klaus chuckled softly.
"And yet, here we are. Bound by shared madness."
"Or collective trauma," Alexander said dryly.
"Two sides of the same coin," Klaus replied nonchalantly.
A silence fell between them—heavy, but not hostile.
Damon was the first to break it.
"Ever wonder what life would've been like if all this supernatural crap never happened? No vampires, no witches, no curses?"
Alexander tilted his head slightly, thoughtful.
"I used to wonder… but not anymore. That world wouldn't have had room for people like us."
"I'd probably still be drunk," Damon said.
"And I… I'd probably be dead," Stefan whispered.
Klaus smiled confidently.
"And I would've likely been a king of something. But sometimes I wonder… would we have actually been happy?"
"No," Alexander said firmly. "Happiness wasn't what we were made for. Not in this life."
Stefan looked at him and asked quietly:
"Do you believe in redemption?"
Alexander stared into the dancing flames.
"I believe in moments. You can't erase what's been. But you can make one right choice… maybe two. That's all we get."
Klaus exhaled through his nose.
"You sound like Elijah."
Alexander responded, staring into the embers:
"No. I sound like someone who's tired of being angry."
Damon raised his bottle and clinked it against Alexander's.
"That's a good start."
Another silence passed, then Klaus leaned forward, firelight glinting in his eyes.
"I like you, Alexander… because you don't whine. You rage, and you break, but you don't beg."
Alexander gave a bitter smile.
"I've begged before… just to the wrong people."
Stefan finished his glass and poured himself another.
"Do you hate us?"
Alexander looked at him for a long moment, his eyes carrying unspoken weight.
"I wanted to. I tried. But hating you would mean I no longer cared… and I still do."
Stefan's jaw tightened. Damon looked away.
Klaus took a sip from his glass.
"There we go… the curse is gone, but the pain remains."
Alexander leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Do you still care, Stefan? Or did you come back only because of guilt?"
Stefan answered without hesitation:
"I came back because you're my brother. And because I never stopped searching for what I lost."
"Even if that thing has become… something you no longer recognize?" Alexander asked softly.
Stefan nodded.
"Especially then."
Damon raised his hand.
"Okay, before this turns into a full-on group therapy session… Klaus, you owe us a story."
Klaus raised an intrigued eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Alexander leaned forward suddenly, eyes sharp, issuing a challenge.
"The worst thing you've ever done."
Klaus smiled slowly.
"You'll need to be more specific."
"No tricks. One story. One moment," Alexander said in a low tone.
Klaus stared into the flames, and for the first time, his expression wavered slightly.
"There was a village… centuries ago. I burned it to the ground. Not out of need. Not even for revenge. Just… because I was angry. And because I could."
No one spoke. There was no need. They understood.
Damon finally broke the silence:
"Alright, alright. One time I made a guy believe he was a cat for a whole week. Drove his family insane. Does that count?"
Alexander chuckled lightly.
"Why?"
"I was bored."
Even Klaus laughed at that.
Stefan raised his head to the sky.
"Sometimes I wonder… does the universe keep us around because we're entertaining? Or because we're punishment for sins we didn't commit?"
Alexander said quietly:
"I don't care about the reason… I'm just grateful I'm still here."
The fire crackled louder, as if it too were listening.
Klaus raised his glass.
"A toast to the damned."
Alexander lifted his own:
"A toast to the broken."
Damon smirked:
"A toast to those who should've stayed dead."
Stefan added softly:
"And to those who didn't."
Then they drank.
And for the first time in a long while… they didn't feel like monsters.
They felt… like brothers.
...
The morning after that firelit night passed with a heavy stillness… like an uneasy peace.
Sunlight crept softly through the tall windows of the Salvatore mansion, touching the suspended dust particles in the air, as if illuminating memories themselves. The scent of coffee still lingered in the kitchen—faint, like remnants of an unfinished dream.
Alexander stood at the sink, shirtless, staring out the window toward the forest… toward the land where he had almost died, and nearly destroyed everything.
He was not a man of peace. He wasn't made for silence.
But today… was silent.
Too silent.
A soft creak came from the front door as it opened. Damon walked in with his usual stride, wearing sunglasses, holding two blood bags and a cup of coffee.
"You look like you're waiting for something to fall apart any second."
Alexander didn't turn.
"Aren't we always?"
Damon tossed one of the blood bags to Stefan, who was just coming down the stairs.
"Good news? No one died last night."
"So far," Stefan said, catching the bag with one hand.
Alexander finally turned.
"Where's Bonnie?"
Stefan replied:
"Still working on the spells. She said she needs a few more hours to finish them. The curse is broken, but the fragments of the soul—what's left of it—still need to be fully drawn back into him, either through a spell or… another way."
Alexander asked sharply:
"And if that doesn't happen?"
The answer came from the doorway, where Bonnie appeared with Caroline behind her:
"Then the cracks will remain. You'll keep losing pieces of yourself, leaking into this world. And eventually… you'll vanish again."
Alexander locked eyes with her and said with steady defiance:
"Then let's make sure that doesn't happen."
Caroline stepped up behind Stefan and hugged him gently.
"I can't believe you convinced the town to throw a party for a man they don't even know."
Stefan smiled slyly.
"They'll know him soon enough."
Damon muttered, looking up at the ceiling:
"Great. Another Salvatore for the fan club."
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry, Damon. You're still their favorite… at least as the resident sociopath."
Before Damon could reply, a knock echoed through the front door.
No one moved at first.
Then Alexander stepped forward with steady steps and opened it.
Standing there was a woman in her mid-thirties, dark-eyed, with a quiet but commanding presence. Her mere presence made everyone inside the house unconsciously tense.
She spoke in a calm voice that carried the echo of power:
"My name is Evelyn. I'm the cousin of the witch whose blood you recently took."
The mood instantly shifted.
Evelyn continued quickly, reading the tension in their eyes:
"I'm not here to fight. But I am here to claim a debt."
Alexander didn't blink as he replied:
"Is that a threat?"
She answered coldly:
"It's a statement of fact. You broke something sacred when your war claimed one of our souls. When a bloodline is erased, the earth trembles beneath us."
Klaus entered from the side hallway, face like stone.
"Is that a warning, darling?"
Evelyn smiled softly, something strange in it.
"No. It's a prophecy."
Alexander stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and stood firmly before her.
"What do you want?"
Evelyn studied him for a moment, then said:
"I want you to understand that your curse may be broken… but its consequences are not over."
He stared at her silently.
Evelyn murmured words barely audible—and as they reached him, Alexander's breath hitched.
A flash of memory…
Rising flames…
A child's scream…
A figure cloaked in red.
Alexander growled, his voice more like a roar:
"You know something."
Evelyn stepped closer and whispered:
"You haven't seen the worst of what they did to you yet, Alexander… but it's coming.
And when it does… just remember: not all demons wear the faces of monsters."
Then she turned and walked away, heading toward the forest, as if she belonged to it… as if she was made of it.
Alexander stood alone before the door for a long moment.
Behind him, the others waited—his brothers, his friends, those who now called themselves his "allies."
But inside him… something had shifted again. Something deeper.
And darker.
The war may have stopped.
But it wasn't over.
And it wouldn't be… anytime soon.
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