the legacy of A Past Life

Ethan stopped before the iron gates of the Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted, his heterochromatic eyes—one sharp green, the other icy blue—fixed on the building that rose like a castle against the twilight-tinged sky. He ripped off his headphones, the silence of the night swallowing up the heavy music—sharp guitars and thundering drums—replaced by the roar of the wind through the trees and the fierce pounding of blood in his veins. "This is it…" he murmured, his husky voice tearing through the air, his serious face carved into an iron mask that rarely broke into a smile.

The phone vibrated in the pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled it out with a grunt, his eyes narrowing as he saw Tory's messages: "Where are you, Ethan?" "Text me now!" "Come home!" Missed calls filled the screen, but anger exploded in his chest like thunder. "Enough of this shit," he muttered, turning the phone off with a sharp gesture and putting it away. Tory had always tried to stifle what he was: the strength that shattered doors, the rage that burned like wildfire, something beyond human. "Nothing good comes from this side," she said, her eyes hard and filled with fear. But Ethan needed to know—what magic pulsed through his veins, what difference made him, and where was Clark, the father who had disappeared because of this world she feared.

He followed two schoolboys, backpacks with the Salvatore School crest swinging as they laughed about "monsters" and "vampires." He stuck his headphones back in, the music roaring like an internal thunder, and walked after them, his boots crunching through dry leaves on the trail with a sound that echoed like war drums. The name "Salvatore School" lit a fighting fire in his chest, an echo of the dreams that haunted him—an old school shrouded in fog, a black-haired man standing at the gate: Clark, his eyes shining with a silent call.

The boys disappeared into the school grounds, their voices drowned out by the distance. Ethan stood before the gate, his hands on the cold iron, the music pulsing with his heart. He pushed against the metal, the creak cutting through the air like an ancient scream, and as he stepped through, heat surged through his veins, a low hum echoing in his bones, as if the earth recognized him. He froze, his eyes widening for a moment before narrowing with determination. It wasn't just anger or strength—it was something that made sense. Ever since he was a child, he'd dreamed of being a wizard, like the wizards in Harry Potter that Chloe read to him. Wands, spells, a hidden world—that was how he explained the air vibrating around him, the glass that flew off the table without touching it. Could this school be Hogwarts? The thought was almost absurd, but true, a whisper he'd always carried.

He crossed the threshold, his backpack weighing heavily on his shoulders, the music propelling him inside. The stone castle stood imposingly, towers like sentinels of a lost kingdom, windows glowing with dancing lights. A sharp crack made him stop—wood breaking. She turned her head and saw a tree to the left sway, leaves cascading down as if something invisible had hit it. "What the hell is that?" he muttered, his fists clenching instinctively as the fighting flame flared. Before I could think further, three figures emerged from the main building, moving urgently.

a few moments ago...

Hope Mikaelson had felt it for the first time since Ethan had set foot in Mystic Falls, a formidable energy unsettling her. In Alaric's office, she stood by the window, arms crossed, as Alaric explained the Salvatore Boarding School to Landon Kirby, pointing to an ancient rune-engraved knife on the table. The conversation died when she turned her head, her blue eyes widening subtly. "He's here," she said, her voice steady as distant thunder. Alaric frowned, standing up. "Who's here?" he asked, but Hope was already leaving, footsteps echoing, followed by him and Landon, who stumbled over his chair as he followed them.

Moments later, the three of them stood before Ethan, just a few feet from the gate. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl in the middle of them—she emerged as a vision that seemed to defy the twilight itself. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves, like an autumn river catching the last rays of light, the strands dancing in the wind with a subtle sheen that suggested something almost supernatural. Her blue eyes, deep and sharp as blades of ice, carried an intensity that pierced the soul, but also a warm flame, a reflection of power and emotion that seemed to burn beneath the surface. Her fair skin, lightly sprinkled with discreet freckles on her cheekbones, contrasted with the strength of her posture—small but imposing, as if the very space around her bowed to her presence. She wore a dark coat over a simple blouse in earthy tones, the sleeves slightly rolled up to reveal delicate wrists adorned with a thin leather bracelet. Shit. She was too beautiful, a beauty that transcended the physical, as if she carried a force that enveloped him. Her energy was vast, an ocean hiding storms that he wanted to navigate.

Landon, a slighter presence but marked by a restless curiosity, stood a step behind. His dark brown hair, curly and slightly messy, fell over his forehead, framing green eyes that shone with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. He wore a worn gray jacket and jeans that looked like they'd seen many days on the road, his lean body exuding nervous energy. "He's not a student, is he?" he asked Alaric, receiving a curt nod in response.

to her right was Alaric, an imposing figure who bore the marks of past battles. His face was hardened by time, with deep lines etched across his forehead and around his brown eyes, which shone with a mixture of authority and weariness. His short, light brown hair, slightly gray at the temples, betrayed his years of struggle and responsibility, while his thin, well-trimmed beard gave him the air of someone who did not give up easily. He wore a dark leather jacket over a simple shirt, his body still strong and muscular, but with the posture of someone carrying more than just physical weight. "Who are you, boy, and what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice deep and authoritative.

Ethan ripped off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck. His face hardened, his fists unclenching just enough to not seem threatening, but the fighting fire sparked in his eyes, fixed on Hope. "Ethan," he said, his husky voice cutting through the air, straying to Alaric for a moment. "I'm looking for someone. Clark. My dad."

Alaric crossed his arms in thought. "Clark? Clark Filecia?" he asked, stirring up old memories. Hope froze, the name echoing in her mind—Virgil's father.

"Exactly," Ethan said, his eyes still on Hope. "My father," Ethan repeated, "I need to find him, and I'm looking for answers."

"Your father?" Alaric raised an eyebrow. "How many kids does this guy have? Hold on, I need to make a call." He walked away, dialing on his cell phone, the name "Caroline" escaping in a mumble.

Hope stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Ethan. "Clark Filecia is your father?" she asked, her voice thick with curiosity.

"Yes," he replied, with a slight nod. "It seems I've come to the right place." Since you know him, 

"What's your name?" she asked, a small smile softening the intensity.

"Ethan Nichols," he repeated again, extending his hand, the gesture firm.

"Hope Mikaelson," she replied, squeezing her briefly, a strange warmth passing between them.

Landon tried to break the tension. "So, are you lost or do you know what you're looking for?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck. Ethan glared at him, the sharp gaze making him flinch. "Okay, never mind," Landon muttered.

Hope tilted her head. "You didn't come by chance, did you? I sensed you before I crossed this gate. How did you find this place?"

Ethan frowned. "Dreams," he said, his voice low. "I see him—Clark—around here in this place. I knew I had to come." He took a step forward, challenging her. "I'm not leaving without answers."

Hope nodded, as if she understood. A sharp sound cut through the air—Alaric's phone falling as he walked back, his face tense. "Damn," he grumbled, picking up the phone. "You're lucky I didn't send you away, kid. Clark's not a name you forget easily."

"So you know where he is?" Ethan stepped forward, the fighting flame sparking, but Hope held up her hand.

"Calm down," she said, firm but not hostile. "I need to understand you first." She took another step. "Excuse me, I need to confirm something," she said, touching his face with light fingers.

Ethan froze, his heart racing, a shiver running down his spine as she closed her eyes, sinking into his energy. He saw flashes—fire, shadows, the gate—as if she were inside his head and soul. She opened her eyes, pulling her hand back, puzzled. "He wasn't sent," she told Alaric. "He's strong, like Virgil…but different, a storm without direction." She looked at Ethan, her eyes flashing. "You've felt this before, haven't you?"

Broken doors, distant voices, objects moving on their own, dreams of that place. As he thought about it, his phone vibrated—Tory, his mother being ignored again. "I'm not normal," he said, his voice deep, his eyes locked on hers. "I hear things from far away, I move things without meaning to, I dream about my father and also about things I've never seen. I need to know what I am. And where my father is."

Alaric turned back, sizing him up. "If you want answers, you're going to have to earn your chance," he said sharply. "This school is for those who seek what it is…and survive to find it."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "I didn't come here to play student. If you know something, tell me now."

Alaric took a step closer. "I don't know where Clark is, we've been looking for him, believe me, your father was very special to a lot of people around here. More than you can imagine, but you're here now, and you want to find out who you really are, don't you? So stay here for now…

Ethan looked at him for a bit and thought about it, he came here to learn who he was, to learn you have to study so even if he hates it it's necessary" He nodded to Alaric.

Alaric put his phone away, his hard gaze softening for a moment. "Come with me, kid," he said, nodding to Ethan and Landon. "You too, Landon. Let's talk inside." He turned toward the castle, his steps steady, and Ethan hesitated. His eyes fell on Hope, who nodded subtly, as if encouraging him.

The three of them crossed the lawn, the wind calming at their backs. In Alaric's office, the warm light from the lamps contrasted with the rune knife on the desk. Alaric sat in the chair, gesturing for Ethan and Landon to settle in. "Do you want to know what's going on, Ethan?" he began, his voice deep but less cutting. "This school isn't an ordinary place. It was made for people like you—people who don't fit in out there, who carry things they don't understand. Witches, vampires, werewolves… and others who don't yet have names."

Ethan crossed his arms, a fighting fire flaring in his eyes. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Everything," Alaric said, leaning forward. "You talked about dreams, about messing with things without meaning to. That's no coincidence. This place is a refuge, but it's also a training ground. Here, we find out what you are—and teach you how to control it before it becomes a problem for you or others."

Landon, sitting next to him, nodded, still absorbing what he had heard minutes before. "This is crazy, man. I just got here and I don't understand anything."

Ethan looked around the room—old, but renovated, with an air of nobility that weighed heavily on the space. He stared at Alaric, the tension in the air palpable, but the promise of answers made him hesitate. He looked at Landon, then out the window, where the castle seemed to pulse with secrets. The fighting flame still burned, but now intertwined with a new fire—Hope's energy, the echo of a destiny pulling him inward. the voices from outside echoing into the room intrigued him....