Chronicles of a vampire hybrid

THE STORM

"Did you hear that?" Prince Alaric whispered, his voice low but tense. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as he turned toward the thick wall of trees behind them.

The guard beside him raised a brow. "Hear what, Your Highness?"

"Voices..." Alaric replied. "Or maybe footsteps." He frowned. "I don’t know, Something’s wrong."

Dark clouds were rolling in quickly, covering the afternoon sun. The breeze that once carried the scent of pine now held something different, sharp, cold, and strange.

It was supposed to be a peaceful day. A royal hunting trip. A yearly tradition meant to show unity and strength. The royal family and chosen nobles had gathered to track wild boars in the King’s Forest. The palace priestess had declared the day blessed, a perfect time to seek fortune from the hunt. Not a drop of rain, she’d said.

But the sky disagreed.

Thunder cracked overhead. The wind whispered through the trees with an eerie force. The horses grew restless, stamping and whinnying. The guards formed a protective ring around the prince.

Alaric had separated from the main hunting party in pursuit of a large boar that had darted into the denser part of the woods. He’d taken five guards with him. Now only two remained.

"We need to head back," Alaric said firmly.

Before the guard could reply, an arrow whistled through the air, striking the man in the neck. He fell wordlessly.

Alaric’s eyes widened. "AMBUSH!"

The last guard spun with his blade drawn, but it was too late. Figures in red robes stepped from the trees, silent, swift. One slashed at the guard’s chest, another moved behind him. The man collapsed, without moving.

Alaric turned and ran.

His boots slipped on the rain-slick forest floor as he dodged branches and twisted roots. The trees loomed closer, the shadows deepening. Rain fell in heavy sheets, blurring his vision.

He didn’t stop.

The memory of the assassin’s blank mask, white and expressionless, burned in his mind.

He stumbled into a clearing, gasping for breath. And there it was, the edge of a cliff. A roaring river surged far below.

He turned. The assassins followed, calm and unhurried, like shadows in the storm. One raised a bow, arrow already nocked.

Alaric stepped back, his heel brushing the cliff’s edge. "Why?" he shouted. "Who sent you?"

No answer.

He dropped to his knees, his voice breaking. "Please… don’t."

The archer let the arrow fly.

It struck him in the chest.

He gasped.

And then, he fell.

The palace gates shook with urgency. Rain had reached the capital when a breathless messenger stumbled into the royal courtyard. He was soaked and trembling.

"The prince!" he cried. "There was an attack in the forest!"

The queen dropped her teacup. It shattered against the floor.

The king rose slowly, his face pale. "Get the high priestess. Now."

In the sacred chamber, the priestess knelt on a mat of lotus petals. Her robes shimmered with golden threads. Silver bells at her ankles chimed as she stood.

She walked barefoot into the royal chamber, solemn and composed. Her white hair was braided with tiny deer bones, her eyes shadowed with ash.

The king didn’t wait. "Tell me, what have the gods seen?"

She sank to her knees. "The winds have changed, Your Majesty."

"But you said it wouldn’t rain, You said today was blessed by the gods."

The priestess began to chant in an ancient tongue, used only in times of great crisis. The candle flames flickered, then went out, one by one. The room darkened. Her eyes turned milky white.

"The prince… he is gone, Your Majesty," she said in a low, chilling voice.

The queen let out a cry and collapsed.

The king stared in silence as tears welled in his eyes.

"Where is he now? Can you find his body?"

The priestess raised a trembling hand. "Beneath the cliff, at the edge of the hunting ground."

"Find him," the king ordered.

A group of royal guards was dispatched immediately.

Near the base of the cliffs, a man stirred.

His breath was ragged. Water filled his ears. His lungs burned. He sat up quickly, coughing.

His hand flew to his chest. There was no wound. No pain. Just stillness. Just a body that didn’t feel like his own.

He looked down, he wore silk embroidered with the royal crest.

"What in the world?" he murmured.

He scrambled to a nearby stream. The water reflected a face he didn’t recognize.

A young man. Refined features. Long lashes. Eyes filled with confusion.

He fell back in disbelief, breathing hard.

He remembered the pain. A drink. A kiss. Clara’s face, gentle and smiling… then the sting of betrayal.

She had poisoned him.

He had died.

Then why was he breathing?

Shouts echoed through the trees.

"My prince!"

Men in armor rushed toward him. They halted, then dropped to their knees.

"My prince… you’re alive. Thank the stars."

He blinked. "I… I’m not your prince."

The guards exchanged stunned looks.

He stood, and didn’t stumble. His body felt light. Swift. His mind, sharper than ever.

This was real.

He wasn’t Elias anymore.

He understood it quickly. Everything. Too quickly.

“Did I really wake up in someone else's body, and the prince at that? I thought this only happened in folktales,” he thought.

"We must return at once, my prince. The king will be overjoyed to see you alive."

“Maybe this is the perfect chance to get revenge on those who betrayed me,” he mused.

He nodded.

"Take me to the palace."

The palace gates creaked open.

The guards outside froze as the prince rode in, flanked by soldiers. Servants dropped baskets. Maids gasped. Nobles whispered.

A maid rushed to Lady Seraphina’s chambers, tears streaking her face.

"My lady! He’s alive! The prince lives!"

Seraphina dropped her embroidery.

"What?"

She ran. Her golden slippers echoed down the corridor. Her heart pounded wildly.

The prince had always been kind to her. Even after she was adopted, he never made her feel less.

The king sat in stunned silence.

Before him stood his son, pale, but alive.

"Alaric... my son..."

Elias stood tall, imitating royal grace. His gaze moved across the room, observant.

The queen burst into tears and embraced him.

He let her.

But his eyes were always watching.

Then Seraphina appeared.

Her breath hitched. "Brother?"

Elias turned.

Something stirred in his chest.

She was radiant, not fragile, but powerful, like sunlight after a storm.

She stepped closer. "It’s really you?"

She wrapped her arms around him. Her embrace was warm, real.

He stiffened.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

The room froze.

Everyone knew how close the prince had been to Seraphina. She was the last person he would forget.

Whispers filled the silence.

"Did he lose his memory?"