Return and Reunited

  The fishing boat rolled gently over the Mediterranean as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in orange and pink. Below deck, the weary crew worked with a mix of fatigue and fading hope. Their recent hauls had been meager, and they needed one good catch to break even.

  When the final net thudded onto the deck, the crew held their breath. But as they sorted through the writhing mass, disappointment settled over them—most of the fish were far too small. They began tossing the undersized ones back when Maurio suddenly jerked his hand away in pain. Antonio turned toward him, worry thick in his voice, but Maurio only stared at the pile of fish, stunned.

  Curiosity drew the others closer as Maurio pushed aside a few fish, revealing the gleaming tip of a pristine sword. Beneath it lay a partially covered body. The figure’s clothes were shredded, hanging from him like rags, and the sword protruded from his chest, pinning him in a grotesque pose. Maurio hesitated, fear prickling his skin, yet he leaned in and turned the body over.

  The man’s skin was ashen and cracked, his eyes sunken, his clothes soaked as if he’d been submerged for days. As Maurio examined him, a drop of blood from a cut on his finger fell onto the corpse’s face. The body twitched. The crew recoiled in terror.

  “Maurio, what did you do?” Antonio shouted.

  The figure groaned, his blue eyes flickering open like jewels against his pallid skin. He rolled off the table, hitting the floor with a heavy thud before violently retching seawater and blood. As he convulsed, the sword shifted deeper. Acting on instinct, Maurio grabbed the hilt and pulled it free. The man gasped, his body shuddering as color slowly returned to his skin and his frame filled out with fragile, returning life. Finally, he lifted his head, blinking at the world around him.

  “Thank you,” the figure croaked, his voice dry and ancient, as though unused for centuries.

  “You’re welcome,” Maurio stammered, still shaking. “Excuse me, sir… but what are you?” His fear drew the attention of the rest of the crew, who stood frozen and wide?eyed. The figure scanned the unfamiliar boat around him.

  “I’ll answer that if you answer my questions first,” he said, his voice gaining strength. Maurio nodded quickly.

  “Where are we?”

  “The Mediterranean Sea,” Maurio replied. “On a fishing boat.”

  “A boat? This contraption?” The figure frowned, genuinely confused.

  “It’s old—been in the family for generations,” Maurio said, equally puzzled.

  “What year is it?” the figure pressed.

  Maurio hesitated, then answered, “2023.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “What… how…?” His confusion twisted into sudden rage. In a blur, he lunged, seizing Maurio by the throat and lifting him toward the edge of the boat. Maurio choked, terror flooding him—until the figure’s strength abruptly failed. His legs buckled, and both men collapsed to the deck. Maurio scrambled away, shouting, “Devil! You’re the devil!”

  The crew recoiled as the nearly naked figure raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. But it can’t be 2023. That would mean I’ve been down there for over four hundred years.”

  “Four hundred years? You are the devil!” Antonio cried.

  “I’m not the devil,” the man said, frustration tightening his features. “I’m something worse. My name is Arius. I’m a Vampyre.”

  Fear rippled through the crew.

  “Relax,” Arius said. “I’m not going to kill you. I need to get to shore. I have to find someone.”

  The captain stepped forward, wary. “And we’re just supposed to trust you?”

  “I don’t want to harm you,” Arius replied. “I just need your help.”

  Maurio swallowed hard. “We can help…but only if you tell us what happened to you.”

  Arius paused, haunted memories flickering behind his eyes.

  “It’s a long story,” Arius said, “one I’d rather leave buried. Right now, I need to focus on the present.”

  The crew exchanged uneasy glances, whispering among themselves. Help a creature of myth? Or keep their distance from something they barely understood? As they debated, Arius stood silently, weakened but imposing. Hunger gnawed at him—centuries without feeding—and every heartbeat on that deck tempted him.

  “The authorities have been informed,” the captain announced. Arius glanced at his shredded clothes, smirked faintly, and let the last scraps fall away.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” he admitted, “but I do know I need new clothes.” Maurio, eager to escape his presence, rushed below deck and returned with a bundle. Arius accepted it with a nod and turned away to dress. The oversized shirt and black jeans hung loosely on his thin frame, a reminder of how starved he truly was. When he faced the crew again, they stared at him with a mixture of awe and dread.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The captain retreated to the wheel, mind racing, while the others kept their eyes fixed on Arius. The tension lingered for the entire two?hour journey back to shore.

  As Riomaggiore came into view, Arius felt a strange wonder. The colorful buildings, the sleek boats, the hum of a world centuries beyond his own—it was overwhelming. But the moment they neared the dock, armed police appeared, weapons drawn.

  Arius stepped off the boat and was immediately confronted. The officers barked rapid Italian, their guns rising higher when a breeze revealed the sword at his side.

  “Hands on your head! Kneel!”

  “I refuse,” Arius said calmly. “Don’t shoot me. It won’t end well.”

  They shouted again, fear spreading through the crowd. Arius sighed, locking eyes with the lead officer.

  “I’m hungry,” he warned softly, “and you’re starting to look like a snack.”

  As Arius spoke, his eyes flashed red, a primal hunger stirring after centuries without feeding. The lead officer stepped back in fear, but before anyone could fire, several blacked?out vehicles screeched to a halt. Figures in black tactical gear poured out, their presence instantly commanding. A woman at the front barked orders for the officers to stand down, flashing a badge that silenced all objections.

  When she reached Arius, recognition struck him. Hikari—Joseph’s third?generation Next?Gen. He remembered her from Japan in the early 1200s, young and spirited then, hardened now.

  “It really is you,” she breathed.

  “Of course it’s me… if I’m who you think I think you mean,” Arius replied, trying for humor despite the storm inside him. Hikari laughed, easing the tension.

  He searched her face, memories flooding back. “What’s going on? The last thing I remember was being on my ship when the Archangels…” His voice faltered. “Freya—please tell me Freya is alive.”

  He grabbed Hikari’s shoulders. Her team reacted instantly, but she ordered them down with a single sharp command.

  “Yes, she’s alive,” Hikari said firmly. “She’s being notified right now. She never stopped believing you’d return.”

  Arius sagged with relief, tears burning his eyes. “She lived…”

  “When can I see her?”

  “If you come with us, we’ll get you on a plane to England. One of the other Next?Gens is already heading to Ireland to tell her.”

  Arius blinked. “What’s a plane?”

  Hikari laughed again. “Oh, you have a lot to learn.”

  “Freya can help,” he murmured, imagining their reunion.

  “Oh right—your Vampyre blood bond,” Hikari said. “You’ll understand everything once you see her.”

  Arius stared at her, waiting for the rest.

  “Yeah, but what’s this plane thing?” Arius asked.

  “A plane is a machine that flies—fast travel, long distances,” Hikari explained. Arius stared at her, baffled, then gestured for her to lead on. The drive was mostly silent. When he did ask questions, Hikari answered patiently, and each time he fell quiet again, lost in centuries of disorientation.

  “I’ve gotta ask,” Hikari said at last. “What was it like… being desiccated that long?”

  Arius considered. “Hard to explain. My mind was awake, but my body wasn’t. Like watching my life from outside myself. I felt things, but didn’t feel them. If that makes sense.”

  “Sounds like hell.”

  “I’ve been to Hell,” he said dryly. “This was worse. Except the smell—Hell stinks.” Hikari snorted, and for the first time in ages, Arius felt warmth flicker inside him.

  An hour later, they reached the runway. Arius stepped out, staring up at the massive aircraft. His new shirt and jeans hung loosely on his starved frame.

  “This thing flies? It looks too heavy to even roll,” he muttered.

  “It flies beautifully when I’m piloting,” Hikari teased.

  “If you say so, love.”

  They boarded with several operatives. After twenty minutes of prep, the plane began to move. Arius sat rigid, eyes glued to the window. When the aircraft lifted off, he whipped around to Hikari, astonished.

  “Fuck me—it flies.”

  “Told you,” she laughed.

  Arius turned back to the window, watching the world shrink beneath them. Clouds glowed in the setting sun, the earth stretching endlessly below. For nearly two hours he remained transfixed, marveling at a world that had advanced without him—and at the possibility that soon, he would see Freya again.

  The plane touched down on a secluded runway outside London, far from public eyes. At the end of the tarmac, a convoy of black vehicles waited. Arius immediately recognized the Guardians—and at their front, Adam. His father’s expression was unreadable, but the moment Arius stepped out, the operatives gasped. To them, he was a myth made flesh.

  Arius walked straight to Adam. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Adam’s composure shattered. Tears filled his eyes as he pulled Arius into a tight embrace. Arius froze, then returned it, centuries of distance collapsing in an instant. When they finally separated, Adam wiped his face, laughing shakily.

  “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  “I can’t believe how old you got,” Arius teased, nudging him.

  Adam snorted. “Salt water must’ve ruined your eyesight. I look fantastic. You, however, look like shit.”

  “Four hundred years underwater will do that. Great for the skin, though.”

  Their laughter eased the tension as Adam slung an arm around him. “Come on. You need a shower. And we have a lot to discuss.”

  “Where’s Freya?” Arius asked, urgency returning.

  “She’s on her way to the compound. Alejandra went to tell her personally.”

  “Why not fly me straight there? Hikari told me about the base.”

  “We wanted time with you first,” Adam said. “It’s not every day an Ancient walks in.”

  They climbed into the car—Adam opposite him, Joseph and Mary in front, Eve roaring off on her motorcycle. The Guardians peppered Arius with questions, and he shared what fragments he could remember: the battle, the Archangels, the long darkness.

  “What’s going on here anyway?” he finally asked.

  Adam’s expression darkened. “Two days ago, a group of Primordials wiped out one of our teams.”

  Arius’s lip curled. Even as one of their kind, he despised them.

  “Primordials,” Arius hissed, the word burning on his tongue.

  Adam continued grimly. “We traced their entry point, sent a drone down… and found Dalareyes being revived. We were too late.”

  Arius’s eyes flashed red. Rage surged through him at the name. He had been the one to drive a Demornium blade through Dalareyes’s chest—desiccating him just as Arius himself had been. The memory clawed at him.

  “For a material supposedly capable of killing even our kind,” Arius said slowly, “the fact that it failed to kill either of us is… troubling.”

  Adam frowned. “What are you saying?”

  Arius met his gaze. “Why aren’t we dead? These weapons are meant to be lethal. They aren’t. We need to know why.”

  Adam absorbed this, jaw tightening. “Then we move fast. If the Primordials are active again, we can’t afford uncertainty.”

  Arius nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I can’t recall ever being injured by a Demornium blade—until four hundred years ago.”

  Adam looked up, thinking hard. “I don’t think any of us have. Has anyone ever been cut by one?”

  Joseph spoke from the front seat. “Considering how rare the materials are—only you and Dalareyes ever had Demornium weapons. And only Uriel ever wielded Angelite.”

  “And she destroyed all remaining Angelite afterward,” Adam added. “Didn’t want anyone else using it.”

  “There were rumors of a second blade,” Joseph said, “but nothing confirmed.”

  Arius nodded. “The fight at the gates of Hell was the first time I’d seen another Demornium weapon. Dalareyes never landed a blow before I put him down.”

  “Then how do we even know the material is lethal?” Joseph asked.

  Adam sighed. “We don’t. Not truly. Until we confirm it, we stay cautious. Uriel still has her blade—and Dalareyes is loose.”

  Arius leaned forward. “Where was he revived?”

  “We don’t know,” Adam admitted. “We destroyed the tunnel, but we couldn’t pinpoint the cavern.”

  Adam turned to him. “You killed him. Any idea where they took his body?”

  Arius shook his head. “No. After the battle… I never saw where they dragged him. I thought he was dead.”

  “Thought so,” Adam muttered. “Until they surface again, we’re blind.” He stared out the window, frustration etched across his face. Arius felt the same gnawing irritation.

  “What about Brunhilda? If she’s still alive,” Arius asked.

  Adam blinked. “The sorceress? Yeah—she runs a coven in the Alps. Why?”

  Arius grimaced. Sorcery had always unsettled him, but Brunhilda might be their best lead. Sorceresses—humans empowered by Demon or Angel blood—were unpredictable, but powerful.

  “She’s the one who started the rumour about the weapons,” Arius said.

  “Would she even help us? She’s never liked the Guardians,” Adam replied.

  “She’ll listen to me,” Arius said. “She knows I distrust most sorcery, but she also knows I trust her when it benefits her. I just need to make this benefit her.”

  “And how exactly?” Mary asked from the front.

  “With my charm,” Arius said with a grin. “Though… the last time I saw her was around 700 AD. Her interests may have changed.”

  Silence settled over the car as they drove. Arius watched the world blur past—familiar yet alien after centuries away. When they finally reached the estate, he stared in disbelief.

  “This place is huge. How did you get it?”

  “We saved money,” Adam said proudly. “And once the governments finally listened to us, things got easier.”

  Arius laughed as they stepped out. “I suppose living this long has its perks.”

  Inside, the house blended ancient elegance with modern design. Sunlit rooms, sweeping windows, manicured gardens—it felt safe, almost like home. Yet beneath the comfort, tension simmered.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Adam said, guiding him deeper into the house. “Then we’ll talk next steps.”

  Arius nodded, knowing the calm wouldn’t last. Whatever came next, the storm was already gathering.