Chapter Text
Scott flew through the air. His agile body cutting through the filled air. The farther he traveled the more snow-covered trees and hill tops.
He shifted back as he went to land on a small overhand on the side of the mountain.
Scott's feet hit the icy floor with a click. If he was any heavier, he would have fallen over the ice-covered stones.
He felt a gust of cold air rush over him, even with the lack of warmth running through him he couldn't help but shiver. He wrapped his arms around him as he stumbled in.
He entered through the cave walls, walking over the snow that had piled up at the entrance. It seemed as if it never melted. His charm must still be working then. The small flame of pride in his chest got washed over with the anxiety of being here.
He promised to himself to never return…
He never was good with promises.
He walked through the cave. Grateful for his eyes, more advanced than they were when he was human, he can see in the dark so much better. The lanterns on the wall long dried up of oil. No spark could light some of these, others though had potential…
He entered the main room, table in the center, actual wood flooring and golden support beams, portraits on the wall covered by a thick coating of dust. The stone edgework eroded, the detail lost to time. Cobwebs crowded the corners and the air felt thick, even some of the gold oxidized.
Scott stopped just to observe, he never thought he would come back here. He shoved a hand through his pockets for a match box, a small golden matchbox with some motif he had forgotten the meaning of, it was some swirls around a blue stone. He opened it and fetched out a match.
He struck the match and lit one of the taller lamps in the room that still had some oil in them. He made a mental note for it if he ever came back. He started rummaging through the cabinets and shelves, passing through dust ridden cobwebs and damp paper. Everything was exactly where he left it. The show of his past panic evident in the messily thrown together papers barely bound together, chucked away to corners. He silently cursed himself on destroying them. He held his breath the more he went through. He had so many books, just not the one he needed. So many memories taunting him. He wanted to fly away out of his own skin; he bit his lip to regain himself.
He started to give up once his fingers grew sore. Till he looked over and saw an askew floorboard, he crawled over to it, reaching under the dresser and pulling. He had to readjust his grip on the plank. Using his nails to get between the grain. He slowly lost hope that it was anything, just deer licked hardwood in a musty cave. He clawed at the floor, anxiety growing with every second. The air is actively suffocating him. He pushed himself farther to the floor to look at the plank teasing him with its stubbornness.
Then it gave loose. Scott's heart dropped as he felt it shift. He pulled it out, tossing it aside. The plank crashed with other junk on the floors. Something definitely broke.
He reached into the small compartment and found a large bound book. The title small and handwritten, red “The Goldsmith Family”
He pulled it out, and upon laying eyes on it Scott cried
Tears fell down his cheeks.
His voice did not dare speak, afraid of breaking himself apart further.
He curled over. Holding himself further. The cold teasing him
Was he shaking due to his pathetic display of emotions or the cold? He was saying the latter of the two for his dignity.
He physically felt like his being was shattering around him. Chipping and cracking. He was worn and old.
He had no clue what he was crying about. He didn't feel sad, he felt empty. He felt done, at the end of his rope. He felt like he didn't have anything to give yet here he was, crying over a book.
What vampire cries over parchment, let alone an elder vampire. This was against his entire being, he was darting himself up.
He pulled himself together, held himself up. He grabbed at his sleeve and ran them over his damp cheeks, he sighed, grabbing the tomb and tossed it onto the table. He pulled himself back onto his feet, and kept moving
He may have found the records, but he still has yet to find the true reason he came here. He continued farther into the cavern. The finished rooms ended leaving just chiseled stone, the steps eroded down, he held a hand against the wall as he worked his way through the stone corridors, the further in he went the colder it got. The draft stopped leaving still stagnant air.
He felt the pressure build up in his lungs as he wandered through the maze, just wanting to hurry up and get back to the castle.
He pushed on the wall, and it moved.
Bingo, Scott smiled to himself, putting more of his body weight into the stone to shift it aside, revealing a tight corridor.
He always had a flair for the dramatics; hidden room was a must apparently. He followed the narrow passage to a spiral staircase, circling the room down to the base. All around framing an ice spike. It looked like a portal of sorts, the spiral traveling downwards in such a way that it seemed hypnotic.
He was relieved the spikes seemed to be in good shape. Reaching the bottom, he was able to clearly see an object suspended in the ice. The ice itself was clear, so clear one could mistake it as glass, but the temperature was one that could break fingers off by simply making contact. A small purple hued crystal floated, encapsulated inside. No matter the impulse to shatter the ice and grasp the crystal in his hands he let it be. Holding his hands together to resist the temptation the demon residing gives.
When he saw it was in place he let out a sigh of relief, shaking his head as he took a moment to himself. He gave a small prayer as he walked around the crystal. Inspecting it all he could, looking for any miniscule differences. And nothing changed. It confused him, what was aero so worried about?
He made a quick haste back out. Attempting to leave the cavern before sunrise to get back to the castle before drift retired to sleep and pearl or Cleo starts asking questions. His feet fell hard on the steps as he pulled himself along. The journey up felt even longer than the descent. The cold wrapped itself around his body and was pulling him down, his lounges felt heavy and his heart felt slow. He was almost sure he could see things moving around him. Though looking back, he saw nothing.
Click
He shivered but felt the cold slowly give up its hold over him the farther up he ascended. He walked through the doorways to the main room, using the wall to stabilize himself up. Body feeling too weak for who he was, hate buried in his gut.
book still on the table where he left it. Still and waiting.
Scott sighed, picking it up, and dusting it off. He ran his hands over the binding, the cover, even the texture of the paper. He was relieved to be holding it once more. Taking a moment to just stare. Look at it and realize that this was indeed real, not another dream.
Creek
Scott turned around. To see nothing, he must have been imagining something. He turned around once more to pick up the book and hold it himself. Keep it safe in his hold.
He went to walk out of the cave. Taking no time for doubt.