the legacy of A Past Life

Some time later...

Ethan walked through the halls of the Salvatore School, a strange feeling pulsing through him. After the basketball game and the call with his mother, Tory, the words about imprinting had been on his mind. Determined to understand, he sought out some of the werewolves at the school. First, he found Liam, a more experienced werewolf with visible scars on his arm, near the library. "Hey, Liam, have you ever heard of something called an imprint among werewolves?" he asked, his voice husky, trying to sound casual. Liam frowned, scratching his stubble. "Imprinting? No, man, I've never heard of it. What is it?" Ethan shrugged, a little disappointed, and tried another student, a younger werewolf named Jace. "Imprinting? I have no idea what you're talking about," Jace replied, laughing as if it were a joke. None of them did, and that made Ethan pause, doubt growing. Had his mother lied to him?

But then a memory hit him. His mother had always said that his father, Clark, was no ordinary werewolf. "He was different, Ethan," she repeated, her eyes distant. Perhaps the imprint was not something ordinary werewolves knew about. With that thought, he decided to seek answers from someone who might know more. He walked to the training yard, where he heard voices and the sound of spells being cast.

There, Alaric sparred with Hope, the two of them engaged in a light magic duel. Hope moved her hands gracefully, creating energy barriers that Alaric deflected with a mocking smile. "You're distracted today, Hope," he said, blocking a spell. "Is there something—or someone—occupying your mind? Maybe a certain newbie with colored eyes?" Hope blushed, shooting him a glare. "Stop it, Alaric," she snapped, but before he could continue, she hesitated. "It's nothing like that. I… I'm just thinking about some things I've heard." She avoided mentioning the imprint directly, keeping her thoughts to herself, still unsure of what she felt.

Alaric raised an eyebrow, but didn't press further. Hope opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted when Ethan appeared, his presence cutting through the air. He stepped closer to Hope, his husky voice breaking the moment. "Sorry to interrupt, but… Hope, can I ask you something?"

Hope nodded, her heart racing at the sight of him so close. "Sure," she replied, trying to maintain her composure. Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets, hesitant. "Yesterday, I heard in class that to activate the werewolf curse, you have to kill a human being. But I want to know what the transformation is like. For my research," he added, almost as an apology. Hope took a deep breath, feeling the weight of that heterochromatic gaze on her. "Well… the transformation is intense," she began, her voice soft but firm. "When the curse is activated, your body changes. Your bones lengthen, your skin becomes covered in fur, your teeth turn into fangs. Your eyes glow yellow, and you feel a strength you couldn't control before. But it comes with anger, pain… and a connection to the moon. After the first time, you can transform at will, but the first time is always the worst."

Ethan listened in silence, a warm feeling growing inside him as he processed the words. He frowned curiously. "What if I feel something different, but I never shifted?" he asked, almost to himself. Hope stared at him, her heart racing. She felt an inner tug, the same one she tried to lock away, but she didn't mention the imprint, keeping her suspicions to herself. "Maybe you're different," she murmured, avoiding his gaze. Alaric, watching the two of them, crossed his arms. "There's more to it than meets the eye, boys," he said, his voice firm. "We're going to need to figure out what you are, Ethan."

Hope started to back away, but Ethan stepped forward hesitantly. "Wait, Hope," he called, his voice low. She stopped, turning slowly to face him. "My mother said my father was a different kind of werewolf. Do you know anything about that?" he asked, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on her, filled with a mixture of hope and confusion.

Hope hesitated, her heart pounding. "I… I don't know much," she admitted, biting her lip. "My Aunt Freya told me he was special, a friend of my mother's. But he disappeared, as you know, when my brother Virgil and I were about to be born. No one knows what happened, only that he wasn't ordinary. Maybe… maybe what you feel comes from that." She paused, her eyes meeting his for a moment. "If he was different, maybe you are too. But I don't have all the answers. Yet."

Ethan nodded slowly, his mind reeling. "Thank you, Hope," he said, his voice thick with gratitude. "I… I just want to figure out who I am." Hope gave a half smile, but her chest tightened. His closeness, his words, rekindled the feelings she'd been trying to keep bottled up. "If you find out anything, let me know," she said, before turning away, struggling to maintain her composure as she walked away.

As Hope disappeared across the courtyard, a sudden memory struck Ethan like a bolt of lightning. His motorcycle. How could he have forgotten it? He had left it parked near the entrance to town, in a hidden corner off the road, when he arrived at the Salvatore School. It was his treasure, his companion on so many trips, and he was astonished that he had been so distracted as to forget about it. Without a second thought, he ran out of there, heart pounding, across the campus and down the path to where he had left it.

When he arrived, there it was—his black Harley, covered in a thin layer of street dust, but intact. Ethan ran his hand over the worn leather seat, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Still here, kiddo," he murmured, almost as if he were talking to an old friend. He brushed the dust off with the sleeve of his jacket, checked the gas tank, and without hesitation, he mounted the bike, starting the engine with a deep growl that echoed through the air. He decided to take a ride around Mystic Falls, needing to feel the wind on his face, that feeling of freedom that he loved so much. As he sped through the narrow streets of the town, the wind whipping against his face, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the adrenaline and freedom take over. It was incredible, as if the weight of the questions about Clark, about who he was, dissolved for an instant, carried away by the wind.

As he drove down the road, Ethan spotted a small diner with flashing neon lights on the front. His stomach growled, and he decided to stop. He dismounted his Harley and went inside, sitting on a stool at the counter. He ordered a strawberry milkshake—something he loved, though he never knew why—and a couple of burgers, savoring the creamy sweetness and juicy meat as he thought about life. He was so far away from Los Angeles, his home, nearly two thousand miles away in Virginia. He had never been this far away before, and it felt both freeing and strange. His mind wandered back to the years he had grown up with Tory, to the stories about Clark, and now, being here, in a place full of magic and werewolves and vampires, felt like a crazy dream.

He realized he needed new clothes—the ones he had brought were worn out from the trip. He decided to stop at a store after eating. As he paid the bill, he remembered something: the money Clark had left his mother was absurd. He was rich, he could buy whatever he wanted since he was a child, but he never spent a lot, always opting for the basics. With that thought, she drove to a clothing store in Mystic Falls. He bought some dark jeans, black leather jackets to replace the one he was wearing, white shirts to wear underneath the jackets, and some casual black shirts. As he tried on the pieces, his mind was spinning. Magic, werewolves, vampires… and possibly he was a combination of all these fairy tale things. It was crazy, but without a doubt, he didn't regret coming to this place at all.

His thoughts kept returning to her. Hope. A lump rose in his throat, almost like a pang, whenever he thought about her. How was he going to get close to her? He didn't want to seem like a fool, and that made him uneasy. He'd never been one to hit on girls—in fact, it had always been the opposite, with them coming on to him. As he'd always said, he'd never been interested in other girls, maybe because none of them had caught his attention as much as Hope. He remembered when he was twelve, kissing a few girls in a game of bottle with his friends in Los Angeles, but that was all—childish fun, nothing more. Now, here, with Hope, it was different. She was like a star, bright, almost untouchable, and it confused him. He felt strange, having just arrived in a new place and already so attached to a girl he barely knew. He let out a soft laugh, almost surprised at himself. "Look at me, trying to read a girl like she was a motorcycle manual," he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile. He put his groceries in his backpack, mounted his Harley, and sped back to school, the wind carrying a mix of excitement, uncertainty, and a hint of humor that was beginning to blossom inside him.