Chapter Text
Sarah Alder stood on the balcony adjacent to her office, a drink in her hand, and immersed herself in the breathtaking sunset. The sky ignited with hues of orange, red, and purple. When she commissioned the construction of Fort Salem almost three centuries ago, she insisted that the architects include this exclusive balcony—the sole one on the entire base. Sarah recognized the vulnerability of balconies in a military training facility, but she remained resolute.
This war college was erected on the very ground where she discovered her first coven, burned alive at the hands of the Camarilla. From this balcony, Sarah had a perfect view of the precise clearing in the forest. It was there that she meticulously and tenderly removed the charred bodies of her sisters from the wooden stakes—a task that, with the aid of magic, could have been completed within an hour, but took her four days. They deserved better, and Sarah firmly believed it was her responsibility, emotionally and physically draining as it was, to care for them. She buried them together in a mass grave, so that they may remain united.
Above the burial site, she planted an alder tree and sang the most mournful melody that ever escaped her lips. Sarah sang and sang, oblivious to the passage of time. Days must have passed, for she ceased only when exhaustion finally overcame her. She awoke later, her mouth tainted with blood and her voice stolen, with a towering shade casting its shadow over her.
The world's largest alder tree, towering at 150 feet—nearly twice the size of a typical alder—presented an awe-inspiring spectacle, even from a distance.
The famous alder tree of Fort Salem was renowned throughout the campus. However, people attributed its significance not to the witches interred beneath it, but rather, they believed it symbolized Sarah's power and self-absorption. Admittedly, it was an alder tree. Sarah couldn't fault their reasoning; she never shared the tree's true meaning with a single soul. She didn't choose an alder tree due to her own name but because when an alder tree is felled, its pale wood turns red, evoking the impression of bleeding—a representation of her sisters' blood now coursing through that tree.
Sarah took a sip of bourbon, observing the magnificent display of colors bestowed upon them by the goddess of the sunset. Suddenly, a gust of wind materialized out of nowhere, causing the alder tree in the distance to sway and giving the illusion that it danced beneath the sunlit sky.
A rare smile graced Sarah's lips as she raised her glass in a silent toast to her sisters, contemplating their reunion in the future.
"Until we meet again," she murmured before downing her drink in a single gulp. She turned and entered her office, only to be interrupted by a knock just as she reached her desk.
Sarah glanced at the clock, frowning at the time—9:00 PM. Her throat tightened, on the verge of casting a simple detection spell, when she felt a faint flutter in her chest, an unmistakable sign of who awaited her beyond the door. Sighing, she extended her hand and poured herself another glass, recognizing that it would be necessary.
"Enter."
The door hesitated slightly before the doorknob finally turned. Tally Craven emerged, revealing a glimpse of a pale leg in cadet-issued flip-flops, sleep shorts, and a snug gray t-shirt.
Sarah's chest fluttered upon seeing her, but she swiftly concealed the emotion behind a sip of bourbon. Isadora had assured her that the most recent potion would alleviate the lingering connection from their time together as biddies. However, that was almost two days ago, and although the connection had diminished, it had gradually been regaining its former strength.
Suppressing her emotions, Sarah lowered her glass, ignoring the now constant fluttering throughout her body, and gestured for Tally to take a seat in one of the armchairs surrounding the fireplace. Sarah settled into the other chair, waiting for Tally to comply before resuming her commanding tone.
"What brings you here, Craven?" Sarah's voice exuded unwavering authority, fully embodying the persona of a general, a guise she seldom shed.
Tally flinched in response to the tone but kept her gaze fixed on the dancing flames. Her brown eyes reflected the play of firelight across the room.
For a fleeting moment, Sarah allowed herself to truly appreciate the sight of the captivating cadet with fire in her eyes. Tally Craven was stunning—a remarkable vision. Sarah granted herself two whole seconds to savor the sight before fortifying her emotional defenses once again.
"That," Tally whispered, barely audible, her eyes still locked on the fire. "You can help me with that."
"That?" Sarah queried, disliking the sensation of confusion, a rarity for her in the past century or so. With her age, she possessed the resilience to endure much, learn much, and contemplate much, rendering her rarely caught off guard. She prided herself on staying two steps ahead of everyone else.
Tally turned her head, meeting Sarah's gaze directly.
"What were you thinking just five seconds ago?"
Once again, Sarah found herself taken aback, but she refused to reveal it. "I was contemplating many things, Craven. A general must."
Tally emitted a hollow laugh, a sharp sound contrasting her typically pleasant and cheery voice.
"Of course, you would say that," Tally whispered, shaking her head while still fixated on the fire.
Sarah leaned back in her chair, taking another swig of bourbon. Relishing the burning sensation in her throat, she spoke once more.
"It's late, Craven. If you desire to know my thoughts, you will discover that they belong exclusively to me." Rising to her feet and ignoring the now agonizing sensation in her chest, Sarah motioned toward the door.
"Until we meet again," Tally murmured, barely audible.
Sarah froze at the words, her head snapping down to the cadet. Panic and a flicker of anger surged through her, causing her limbs to stiffen.
"What did you just say?" Sarah inquired, unable to suppress the hiss accompanying each syllable.
Tally turned her head, locking her gaze with Sarah's, unflinching, and repeated her words.
"Until we meet again," Tally uttered slowly, rising and compelling Sarah to stand at her full height, leveling the ground between them.
Although Sarah still stood three inches taller than Tally, her presence no longer seemed as intimidating when they faced each other.
Sarah opened her mouth, her lips curling into a snarl. Her most private, deepest thoughts had somehow been violated. She felt exposed, another emotion she believed she had grown impervious to—yet here she was, once again grappling with an unfamiliar surge of vulnerability coursing through her.
"You thought your morning meeting's coffee was cold," Tally began, her voice confident and resolute. "You devised four imperceptible methods to eliminate Petra Bellweather after dinner." She smiled at that, a slight blush gracing her cheeks. "And just a moment ago, you thought I looked stunning."
Sarah couldn't help but flinch and step back from Tally, retreating from the vulnerability.
"How?" Sarah gasped, her disbelief palpable. "How?!"
Tally shook her head, shrugging her shoulders in frustration. "Do you think I want to be in your head? I haven't slept in 36 hours! I can feel you! I can hear you! You're everywhere!"
Tears welled up in Tally's eyes as she moved closer to Sarah, bridging the distance between them.
"Please, General," Tally pleaded. "Please make it stop."
Suddenly, Tally's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed. Acting swiftly, faster than she thought possible after enduring one of the greatest shocks of her life, Sarah caught Tally Craven in her arms before she hit the ground.
Cradling the young cadet tenderly, Sarah quickly checked for a pulse and found it immediately. She breathed a sigh of relief, gazing down at the unconscious woman in shock before reaching out through farspeech to Isadora. Returning her gaze to Tally, fear coursed freely through Sarah's veins.
Shaking her head as she looked down at the woman, Sarah uttered, "Who are you, Tally Craven?"