His hair is much longer here, and plaited in braids that are tied down his bare, marred back. Deep gashes are all over his body, and it seems to be taking all his strength to even stay conscious.

I’m sprinting to his side before I even realize what I’m doing, stumbling over the dead, but no one sees me. My hand touches his skin, but there’s no reaction from him, as tears fill up in my eyes.

An ache fills up in my already heavy chest, the two working against me in unison.

Turning to glare at Idun, my blood starts boiling in my veins, and my hands shake with the rage I’m barely containing.

I watch as Arion licks blood off his fingers, smiling with a drizzle of it running down his lips.

She gestures to the bodies, calling out something again.

Glancing around me, taking in the sheer volume of bodies, I’m guessing this was a bad bloodline massacre. The omega wolves have talked a lot about these. The gruesome picture they painted is very vividly displayed here.

“One bad bloodline can turn thousands in days, and all bad bloods have to die, before the world is left in ruins,” I murmur, remembering Tiara’s exact words.

Ingrid is a bad bloodline. This is why she hides in the walls and never comes into contact with humans.

One scratch.

That’s all it takes.

Arion picks up a violin, and smiles as he starts playing an upbeat melody, while dancing over some of the dead wolves, laughing as though he’s enjoying himself.

He’s dressed in thin, black armor that moves too freely for what has to have been a really long time ago.

Damien is dressed in the exact same armor, helmet haphazardly cast aside, as he puffs something in a pipe, seemingly unconcerned with anything going on around him.

His eyes are flat, lifeless, and devoid of any sort of emotion at all, as he glances into a mirror. His hair is short along the sides, with a long ponytail in the back. It’s weirdly a good look for him.

Not exactly the sort of thing one focuses on in a moment like this, but the Damien I know just sort of married me. I think. My head’s a bit scattered.

Just then, Vance emerges, and my heartbeat kicks in my chest, because I very abruptly remember this is all their past, and I’m not here to pick through it. I’m here to set him free.

It’s not until this very moment, when I glance down to ensure I’m in my un-sexy underwear, that…I realize I’m not in my underwear at all. This is not how I was supposed to be dressed.

“Why the fuck do I look like I raided Shera’s closet?” I demand to a bunch of memories who can’t hear me, while staring in horror at the tight leather outfit I’m in.

No wonder I feel sluggish. This thing is so damn constricting that it’s ridiculous. And it’s a jumpsuit! I think that’s what they’re called.

I hurriedly check to ensure that there’s no embarrassing—

Oh fuck my life. I have a camel toe problem. I have a leather jumpsuit camel toe problem.

I’m not the sort of girl who can rock the toe with confidence.

This just got mortifying.

Quickly, I start unzipping it, only to realize, I’m not wearing any underwear.

“Damien Morpheous, I’m going to knee you in the balls when I get out of here!” I tell the memory of Damien, who doesn’t even glance my way.

He leans over, searching a dead man’s pockets, and pulls out a few coins he shoves in his own pocket. Then he stands, and starts going from body to body, absently searching them all for money, presumably.

I shake my head from the distraction, moving my eyes back to Vance, as he goes to step in front of Emit, clearly taking a stand against Idun.

These are dead wolves, meaning this was Emit’s problem that clearly got out of hand. His eyes are so defeated, and his jaw wobbles with fury and heartbreak.

He hates killing his wolves. Thousands are dead all around him.

I find myself desperately wishing I could console him retroactively.

That old song enters my mind, because I’m too distracted by all the dead things to remember what the hell I’m supposed to actually be doing.

“The tea leaves warned of blood and death,” I sing into the air when my mind starts feeling overwhelmed.

Just before I start to sing the next lyric, the world around me wavers, and I stagger into a new setting.

For just a brief glance, I catch sight of a woman, seeing her speaking to the air as if someone is there. There’s a cup with tea leaves, as though someone’s been reading them.

I don’t know the pattern, the art, or the practice, but it’s clear what it represents. This is the start of the song.

Seconds before the image wavers again, I spot Vance, spying on the woman from behind a tree, with Damien right behind him.

Suddenly, the scene shifts, and I’m once more surrounded by bodies. The abruptness of it damn near steals my breath. What breaths I do catch sends bile to the back of my mouth, because of the overpowering medley of stenches this one is putting off.

My eyes widen when I see throngs of people fighting with swords against wolves and various other creatures.

I can’t tell who is on what side, because it’s utter chaos. I’m not even sure if they’re aware of whom they’re supposed to be fighting.

Jerking my head away from a spray of blood, my gaze lands on Vance, as he and Arion war with each other.

The image wavers, and suddenly we’re on another battlefield, only this time, Vance is fighting at Arion’s side against Emit and Damien.

Fangs are bared. Eyes are wild. Rage is fierce.

This is different from the half-hearted bouts of combat I’ve witnessed.

This is real.

What I’ve witnessed is mild anger and a few tantrums by comparison.

Emit spins, biting down on Arion’s arm, sending the vampire to the ground.

Vance bats down Damien’s sword, knocks him to the ground, and manages to slam his foot into Emit’s side hard enough to knock him away. Arion struggles to his feet, just as the image wavers yet again.

Over and over, I end up on one bloodstained battlefield after another, watching them war with each other over corpses. In some, Arion is dancing with glee, laughing as he enjoys every moment. In others, he struggles. In fact, it’s the same with all of them, as though their power ebbs and strengthens in any given frame.

Vance is the only one who stays consistently strong, but it’s a lot of effort coming from him each and every time, sometimes straining more than others.

After seeing too many fields and forests full of corpses, tears start filling up in my eyes, and that weight on my chest grows to be unbearable. I can’t take it any longer.

“Four gypsy first-borns breathed the last breath,” I sing, hoping it works.

This time when the image wavers, we’re suddenly in a brightly lit meadow full of wildflowers. The air smells so clean and fresh—a stark contrast from the death and decay.

I breathe in so deeply that it physically hurts. I’ve never missed clean air so much in all my life. Even smoggy air was better than that.

Turning, my newly found breath freezes in my lungs when I spot four familiar people walking toward a woman. At least I think it’s a woman, since the figure is clad in an odd, almost Egyptian style dress full of gold dangly things.

There’s a veil connecting to a headpiece that leaves very little visible on her face—her eyes, the bridge of her nose, and a peek of her forehead. The headpiece is made of the same silky material as the dress, keeping every piece of her hair hidden.