Chapter 45: An Unexpected Visit
It was a lazy afternoon at the Salvatore house—the kind of rare stillness that makes you uneasy, like the calm before a storm… a storm that never comes.
Alexander sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room, flipping through an old spellbook Bonnie had lent him. His brows were furrowed as he read, mumbling under his breath as he tried to pronounce the ancient Latin correctly, as if each word might awaken a dormant magic.
Stefan was lounging on the couch, holding a glass of bourbon, reading a worn-out novel he had read at least five times before. Meanwhile, Damon had claimed the side chair, lazily flipping through TV channels, his other hand holding a half-full glass.
Silence… Comfortable, uninterrupted, and rare.
Until—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
They all froze.
Stefan sighed and stood up slowly. "If this is another supernatural threat, I swear I'm going to start screaming."
Alexander didn't lift his eyes from the book. "Please let it be pizza. Just pizza."
Damon shouted without moving, "If it's Elena wanting one of those long emotional talks, tell her I'm meditating."
Stefan reached the door and opened it.
Standing there was Alaric Saltzman.
He looked ordinary—jeans, a leather jacket, and worn-out shoes—but his eyes told a different story. Something heavy… burdened with secrets.
"Ric?" Stefan said in surprise. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."
Alaric muttered, "Yeah, I get that a lot these days. Mind if I come in?"
Stefan stepped aside, gesturing toward the living room. Damon immediately perked up at the sound.
"Ric!" he said with a wide grin. "Look who suddenly remembered we're still alive."
Alexander looked up as Alaric entered, greeting him with a silent nod of respect.
Alaric returned the gesture and said, "Heard you came back from the dead… again."
Alexander answered calmly, "Long story."
"All stories are," Alaric replied, taking a seat across from them. "I wasn't planning on bothering you. Thought you deserved some peace after everything… but—something happened."
Damon groaned. "Why can't someone just show up one day and say, 'Let's grab a drink'? Why is it always 'something happened'?"
Stefan said dryly, "Because Mystic Falls is cursed."
Alaric gave a humorless chuckle. "You're not wrong."
He pulled something from his jacket—an old, faded photograph. He placed it on the table in front of them. It was a picture of a man none of them recognized. Dark hair, sharp eyes, and clothes from the 19th century.
"Who is this?" Alexander asked in a low voice.
"His name is Elias Maro. A hunter from the old world. Practiced a strange kind of magic. Disappeared in 1909. Everyone thought he was dead… until a few days ago, when a journal was found with his name written in blood. And Bonnie felt something… a magical disturbance she couldn't explain."
Damon leaned forward and stared at the photo. "Great. Another ancient lunatic."
"He's not just a lunatic," Alaric said. "He was part of a group that believed in purging 'tainted bloodlines'—vampires, hybrids, even witches. Very old. Very extreme."
Alexander frowned. "Why now? Why is he surfacing again after all these years?"
Alaric hesitated for a moment, then said, "Because the journal mentions you."
Alexander froze.
"My name?" he asked quietly.
Alaric nodded. "Not explicitly—but there's a description. 'The cursed son of Giuseppe Salvatore. A creature born of fire and blood. The failed final heir.'"
Damon stood slowly, all traces of sarcasm gone from his face. "Tell me you're joking."
"I wish I were," Alaric replied. "I don't know what he wants, or if he's even still alive. But whatever's coming… it's tied to your family. The curse. And to Alexander."
The room fell into a heavy silence, like dust suspended in air.
Finally, Alexander stood and walked to the window, gazing at the setting sun.
"It seems peace was only a temporary pause," he said, voice lost in thought.
Stefan rose as well. "If this man wants to dig up the past… he's going to regret it."
Damon finished his drink and stood. "Well. Looks like we're back in business."
The three brothers stood together in the quiet living room, but this time the silence wasn't from peace… it was from preparation.
Alexander turned to them, his voice cold and steady as a blade. "If someone wants to finish what our bastard father started…"
Damon gave a dark smile and said, "Let's finish them first."
Alaric exhaled quietly and placed the journal in front of them.
The journal lay open on the Salvatore living room table, its yellowed, cracked pages bearing witness to the years gone by. The ink had bled into the paper in places, as if time itself had tried to erase the horrors written between the lines. But the name Elias Maro remained, etched in bold, dark ink at the top margin like an unshakable stain—heavy, unsettling, unyielding.
Alexander sat closest to the journal, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning every line with care. Damon leaned over his shoulder, pretending to be indifferent, though curiosity sparkled in his eyes. Stefan stood by the bar, arms crossed, watching his brothers more than the book.
After a long pause, Damon said, "What is this? This isn't just a vampire hunter's log. There's something else here."
Alexander replied without looking up, "These are confessions… a record of everything Elias did to people like me. Like us."
Alaric stood across the room, flipping through photocopies of old maps and documents. "Elias Maro wasn't just a hunter. He was a specialist. He didn't just kill—he experimented, tortured, dismantled immortality piece by piece, to study the magic in the blood."
Stefan asked slowly, "And this… is connected to Giuseppe?"
Alexander nodded. "Yes. Apparently, Giuseppe Salvatore funded Elias for years."
He turned the page, revealing a drawing of a man restrained by strange symbols, blood dripping from a fresh wound in his chest. Beside the image, rough Latin words were written: To remove the soul from a cursed body, the pain must be sacred.
Damon swallowed hard. "What the hell does that mean?"
Alexander sighed. "It means Elias Maro might be the one behind my curse… maybe he created it."
Silence returned. The house seemed to breathe with them, its walls bearing the weight of unveiled secrets.
Alaric stepped forward and pointed to a section at the bottom of the page. "This entry is dated just days before the first recorded appearance of your curse, Alexander. It talks about 'a subject for full suffering' and 'an agreement with the patron'—your father."
Stefan's voice lowered, trembling slightly. "He handed you over to this man."
Alexander didn't react. He closed the journal with quiet finality. "Yes...
To be honest, I don't know. I don't remember anything. But from the pictures, the evidence, and the drawings here...
I think the answer is yes."
Damon straightened up. "So what now? Do we start tracking him? He's probably been dead for ages."
Alaric shook his head. "That's the thing. I don't think he's dead. I think he's still alive… or something close to it. There are old reports in hunter networks—tales of a man who doesn't die. More shadow than flesh. They call him The Hollow Wanderer."
Stefan asked nervously, "And you think he's Maro?"
Alaric said with a mix of confidence and doubt, "I think Elias Maro didn't just curse you—he found a way to curse himself too. Or to tie his existence to something. I don't know exactly yet. But I do know this—he's coming. I think he was waiting for Alexander to become whole again."
Alexander stood, tucking the journal under his arm. "Then we find him first."
Damon cracked his neck slowly, his tone sharper than usual. "If this guy had a hand in your curse… then I say we return the favor. Piece by piece."
Stefan nodded. "We'll need help. This isn't a Mikaelson. Not just a witch. This is something older… and worse."
Alexander turned toward the door, the journal in his arms like a weapon. "Then let's get ready… for war."
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