The world came back in pieces — not all at once, but in slow, aching fragments.
Alexandrov lay still, his cheek pressed to the damp earth. It was cold, softer than he remembered, and smelled of wet leaves and old life. The silence he woke to was heavy, broken only by the faint rustle of wind through trees and the distant chirp of something living. For a moment, he didn't move. He simply breathed — in and out — letting the scent of moss and decay ground him in the present.
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking through the haze. Above him stretched a thick green canopy of branches, sunlight barely filtering through the mist and twisted leaves on the branches overhead. The forest looked ancient — like it had been waiting for him.
Everything felt different, somehow wrong… and right at the same time. His limbs ached with a stiffness he couldn't place. His skin, pale and cool, felt smooth but unfamiliar. When his fingers brushed across his face, he paused. There was something embedded in his skin — small, hard, and glinting faintly in the light.
Tiny diamonds. Dozens of them. Not decoration, but part of him now — fused to his flesh like forgotten memories turned physical. They pulsed faintly with a rhythm… his rhythm. His vampire heart, slow but steady, had started again.
He sat up with effort, muscles tight and reluctant. His body remembered how to move even if his mind hadn't fully caught up. Each breath he took brought back more: flashes of moonlit ballrooms, whispers behind velvet curtains, the cold satisfaction of power — and the loneliness that came with it.
A soft breeze carried something new to him — a scent. At first subtle, barely noticeable beneath the earthy musk of the forest, then stronger. Sweet. Floral. Lavender and fresh cherries.
His head turned instinctively. That scent… it tugged at him. Stirred something deep inside. Longing? Hunger? Memory? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he had to follow it.
He rose to his feet, slowly at first. His legs shook under his weight, but he adjusted quickly. He moved like a shadow, quiet and fluid, the forest recognizing him as one of its own.
Then he saw the stream.
Clear and quiet, it wound its way between river rocks and tree roots, sunlight catching the surface in a shimmer of silver. He knelt and scooped water into his hands, drinking deeply. The cold rush shocked him awake, washing away the last veil of sleep from his mind.
When he looked down at his reflection, he barely recognized himself.
A man stared back — strong and timeless, with eyes like stormy seas. High cheekbones. A sharp jaw. And those diamonds — small stars across his skin. Beautiful, haunting, and not entirely human. He didn't flinch. He simply stared, taking himself in as if meeting an old friend after too long apart.
Then… a whisper.
Not a sound. A feeling.
The scent of lavender and cherries hit him again, stronger now. It wasn't random. It was leading him.
He moved without thought, slipping deeper into the forest like a memory returning to the present. Every nerve in his body was alive. Every sense alert. The forest blurred around him — branches reaching, leaves shifting — and then he saw her.
She stood alone among the trees, lit by a break in the canopy that painted her in gold.
Her hair was the first thing he noticed. Blonde. Radiant. Flowing over her shoulders like sunlight in motion. Then her eyes — blue-green, piercing, wide with something he couldn't name. She didn't look surprised to see him. She looked… ready.
The scent wrapped around her, sweet and intoxicating, pulling him closer. Her posture was calm, but there was strength in the way she held herself. Her nails were manicured, the tiniest flash of modern elegance in this timeless place. The contrast struck him — this poised, luminous woman standing unafraid in a forest that had been silent for centuries.
He stopped, breath caught.
Their eyes locked.
In that instant, nothing else existed — not the trees, not the silence, not the centuries behind him. Only her. A presence. A feeling. A truth he hadn't been ready to face until now.
She was his.
His soulmate. His anchor.
The scent, the pull, the way she looked at him like she already knew him — it all pointed to the same impossible truth: they had known each other before. Somehow, across time. Across everything.
And now she was here.
Amalia.
He didn't say her name. He didn't have to.
He would find her again. He would keep her this time. Whatever it cost.
Their story — their real story — was just beginning.
She wasn't a dream. She wasn't a memory. She was real.
Alexandrov stood at the edge of the clearing, every instinct in him focused on her.
Sunlight slipped through a break in the trees and landed gently on her hair — a golden halo of soft waves that fell past her shoulders. It shimmered with every tiny shift in the breeze, glowing against the deep green of the forest around her. She looked like something out of a story — not fragile, but unreal in how perfectly she seemed to belong and yet not belong here.
His eyes were drawn to her face, though it was still partially hidden by shadows. What little he could see — the curve of her cheek, the shape of her lips, the flicker of emotion in her gaze — struck him with a force he hadn't felt in lifetimes.
And then there was the scent.
Lavender and fresh cherries.
It wrapped around her like an invisible veil, drifting through the air to him with each passing breeze. Sweet, calming, vibrant — it stirred him in ways he couldn't fully explain. It wasn't just pleasant; it felt personal. Familiar. As if this was a scent he had known in another life, one that whispered of warmth, joy, and deep connection. A scent that called him home.
He stepped closer, slow and silent, drawn like a moth to flame.
The rest of her began to take form as the light shifted. Her eyes — blue-green, clear and deep like the sea under moonlight — met his. Even from this distance, he could feel it. The connection. The recognition. There was something behind those eyes. Something ancient. Something that knew him.
Her skin caught the light next, glowing soft and smooth beneath the dappled sun. He could see now the gentle angles of her face, the way her lips curved naturally, even at rest, as if they were used to smiling. There was elegance in every line, every feature — not perfection, but something real and magnetic.
She stood near a crystal-clear stream, her posture relaxed but alert, like someone used to being aware of her surroundings. She wasn't afraid of the forest. She belonged here, just as much as he somehow did. The dress she wore — light and simple, floral patterned yellow like morning sky — fluttered faintly just above her knees, the fabric dancing in rhythm with the wind. It clung softly to her figure, understated and beautiful, like everything about her.
Her movements were fluid, instinctual, the kind that come from comfort with one's own body. There was strength in her stillness. Confidence without arrogance. It was the kind of presence that made everything else feel quieter — like even the forest was pausing just to watch her.
The tiny gleam from her hands caught his eye — French-manicured nails, clean and precise. A small detail, yes, but in a place like this, it stood out. It spoke of a life outside the forest. A modern life. But she wore that detail like armor — deliberate, proud, even in the wilderness. She was both cultivated and untamed. And that contradiction? It fascinated him.
Alexandrov didn't breathe.
He didn't need to, not really. But in this moment, it wasn't about breath — it was about being. And being near her was like waking up all over again, but this time with his heart fully open.
As he moved a step closer, the scent thickened — the cherries sweeter, the lavender deeper. It hit him like an ache, not painful, but longing. A part of him remembered this. Her. The scent. The soul of her.
He studied her hands, the way she held them loose at her sides, not fidgeting. Her arms were relaxed, her spine straight. She wasn't looking for him. But he felt, somehow, that she knew he was there.
More than that — she was waiting.
The forest around them seemed to still. Even the birds quieted. There was a tension now, but not fear. Something holy. A moment stretched across centuries, suspended in the air between two souls who had been searching for each other in every lifetime.
He couldn't stop staring.
Her dress moved again, catching a glint of light that painted her like something godly. Her hair lifted gently in the breeze, revealing the line of her collarbone, delicate and strong. His gaze drifted down the line of her figure, not in hunger, but in awe — like studying art, something carefully crafted, something meaningful.
Everything about her was telling a story — and every word of it was pulling him deeper.
He felt her presence like gravity. As if he had spent eternity adrift and now the universe was saying, There. That's where you belong.
A strange pressure filled his chest. Not pain, not panic. Just... fullness. He was feeling again — really feeling. Something new, something ancient.
And when their eyes finally met again — fully, clearly, no shadows in the way — he knew.
This was her.
This was Amalia.
The woman whose soul had echoed through his for centuries. The one he had longed for without even remembering her name. The one who belonged to him, and he to her, not through possession, but through something deeper. Something inevitable.
The scent wrapped tighter. The air between them crackled. His vampire heart beat — harder now — like it knew exactly what was happening, and it had waited a thousand years to beat like this again.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
They didn't need to.
This was the moment. The first moment of many. The reunion. The reawakening.
And Alexandrov knew — no matter what this world threw at them next — he would find her again. And again. Across time, across death, across everything.
Because love like this doesn't die.
It just waits.