Chapter 1: Immortal children
Summary:
This chapter follows Cassandra's interaction with the immortal children.
Chapter Text
Immortal Children
1230, Volterra, Italy.
The fresh evening wind swept across the golden fields surrounding the small stone house where Cassandra and Lorenzo lived, far from the bustling streets of Volterra and the looming shadows of the Volturi Castle. The calm that blanketed the scene was deceptive; within it, storms raged that few mortals could comprehend. Lorenzo, the immortal child under her care, tossed a leather ball across the yard, his laughter ringing carefree, while Cassandra watched from the doorway, a faint smile playing on her lips. Caring for him was more than a responsibility—it was one of the few joys she truly cherished, a test of her will as a member of the Volturi guard. Each day, she reminded herself that her dedication was not only a duty but a reflection of the control and patience expected of her.
As the sun sank toward the horizon, the gold of the fields deepened into shadow. Lorenzo, with his boundless energy and effortless laughter, reminded Cassandra of someone she could never forget: Amari. Her mind drifted back to that turbulent time, when she had been in charge of another immortal child. Amari had been impossible to manage. Despite his sweetness, his tantrums could shatter walls, and every attempt to teach him control had failed. Cassandra and Alec had formed a deep bond with him, giving him the love and discipline he needed, but after two months, the situation became unbearable.
“Cassandra, love… you must be firm with your punishments towards Amari.” Alec had whispered then, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “He feels everything deeply, and he needs guidance… or he will destroy himself.”
The masters, after lengthy deliberations, had decreed that Amari must be put down. She closed her eyes, recalling the day Aro had delivered the verdict. The grief of losing Amari still haunted her—the image of that seven-year-old child who would never grow etched painfully in her memory. She had wept silently while Alec maintained his composure, though she knew they both suffered deeply. To someone as close to an immortal child as she had been, the sensation of loss was like losing a beloved family member.
Years later, it was Demetri who brought Lorenzo to her. One night, after a long expedition, he arrived carrying the ten-year-old boy in his arms. Lorenzo was Italian, his dark eyes heavy with fear and sorrow. Cassandra approached cautiously, trying to earn his trust.
“He’s… difficult,” Demetri warned softly. “The woman who turned him… she didn’t care for consequences. She just wanted him transformed. The Volturi want us to watch him, see how he adjusts, and decide if his age made him… suitable. But you, Cassandra—you’re to care for him.”
Cassandra knelt, letting Lorenzo see her calm face. “I won’t hurt you,” she said gently. “I promise. I will help you, but you must let me.”
From that moment, a bond grew between Cassandra and Lorenzo. His energy, sometimes volatile, reminded her of her own human brother. Though he could be unpredictable, his tenderness melted her defenses. But there was a shadow in him, something dark and raw: jealousy. Unlike any other immortal child she had known, Lorenzo’s envy of Alec was palpable. Whenever Alec and Cassandra were together, Lorenzo’s gaze seethed with restrained fury.
Slowly, the child in her arms began to trust her, and over time, a bond grew. His energy, sometimes volatile, reminded her of her own human brother. Though he could be unpredictable, his tenderness melted her defenses. But there was a shadow in him, something dark and raw: jealousy. Unlike any other immortal child she had known, Lorenzo’s envy of Alec was palpable. Whenever Alec and Cassandra were together, Lorenzo’s gaze seethed with restrained fury.
“Why do you always go with him?” he asked one afternoon, small fists clenched. “Why can’t you stay with me instead?”
“Because Alec it's my husband, sweet child. And, we want to share some… private times alone, apart from the duties.” Cassandra replied softly, trying to hide the ache in her chest. “I'll come to you later, but sometimes grown-ups need to be on their own.”
He looked away, frustration shadowing his features, and she understood that the complexity of their relationship was testing them both.
One night, after a calm day, Cassandra left Lorenzo in another guard’s care and went hunting with Alec—a rare reprieve for them both. But Lorenzo could not bear their absence. Rage and jealousy coiled within him, driving him to follow silently. In a moonlit clearing, he struck against the couple.
“Cassandra!” Alec’s sharp command rang out, but it was too late. Lorenzo lunged, his strength uncontrolled, driven by an emotion she had never seen in a child before. Cassandra stumbled back, her instincts kicking in, trying to reason with him. Alec, on the other hand, he wanted to make his wife stop with his words to calm the little demon.
“Why won’t you stay with me?!” he shouted, his voice trembling with fury.
“Lorenzo, stop! You don’t understand—” she pleaded, but the words fell on deaf ears. His attack was wild, a storm of emotion and power she could scarcely contain.
"Don't be reasonable with him, Cass!" Alec said in Greek to prevent the boy from knowing his movements, as he moved in to knock him down. "Just stall him while I..."
But then Jane appeared from nowhere, her presence sudden and inevitable. In moments, it was over. Lorenzo’s body collapsed. His head was detached from his body in a matter of seconds. Jane later explained that she had a hunch about the boy, and as soon as Cassandra left him, she went to pay him a visit, only to find the guard dead and the mansion where they lived empty. Cassandra stood in stunned silence, staring at the child she had come to love. First Amari, now Lorenzo. It felt as if fate had conspired to make her lose every immortal child who touched her life.
Jane knelt beside her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “I will take care of him,” she said quietly. “You cannot do this alone, not when grief clouds your judgment.”
Days later, as they prepared the pyre to destroy the remnants of Lorenzo’s creator, Cassandra’s thoughts returned to her first trial with the Sasha clan. The first time she had witnessed an immortal child and understood the danger they posed. Vasili, the child Sasha had turned, had been just as enchanting as Lorenzo, yet his fate had been sealed immediately. Sasha’s desperate cries echoed in Cassandra’s mind, pleading for the life of her child. The rest of the clan mourned when Aro delivered his judgment, though Sasha herself was spared. It was the first time Cassandra had seen the fatal charm these children held over their creators.
Now, as flames consumed the pyre, Cassandra’s resolve hardened like steel. No more indulgence. No more children lost to careless creation. The masters had agreed: no vampire could turn a child younger than thirteen or fourteen. Lorenzo’s death was the final tragedy, and Cassandra would see to it that it never happened again.
The silence of the evening pressed down as the fire crackled, and in Cassandra’s eyes, a new determination blazed. Never again.
Chapter 2: Renata Gaffiero
Summary:
The Volturi receives a rumour about a family in Malta that has a vampire as their patron, which leads Aro and some of the guards to pays them a visit. During the visit, they discover a dark secret.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Renata Gaffiero
1267, Gozo, Malta.
The sea wind was sharp, carrying the faint scent of brine and fish as the black sail of the Volturi ship cut through the waves toward Gozo. Aro was not like Caius, he did not like to arrive wet and disheveled so he had decided to go by boat from Palermo to the island of Malta.
Aro stood at the bow, pale fingers gripping the railing, his eyes narrowing as the small island appeared: a cluster of stone houses, olive groves, and the looming silhouette of the Gaffiero Castle. Beside him, the members of his guard—Afton, Cassandra, Demetri, Phillippe—watched silently.
Cassandra had never been on a boat before, so everything was new. Her father was a shipwright, but due to his human blindness, he'd never been able to board a vessel. Beside her, Demetri was sure that, when he was human, he'd worked in something related to the sea because everything seemed so familiar it was chilling.
"Something is disturbing you, cara ragazza " Aro murmured, almost to herself alone, his voice low, melodic, yet edged with curiosity. “Tell me, maybe I can help you with it.
Cassandra’s eyes flickered to him. "And if the rumours aren't true, Master? Aren't we... exposing ourselves to the humans?"
"If they're not true, dear Cassandra, then we'll all have a grand feast," Aro crooned. “But, these kinds of rumours are rarely wrong,” Aro said, turning to look at her. “And yet sometimes, the truth is far stranger than rumour.”
Cassandra nodded, still not entirely convinced, but without wanting to contradict Master Aro. It was her first mission without Jane or Alec, and she wanted to make a good impression on her own.
The ship reached the shore, and a male creature awaited for them in the dock. He was tall, dark-haired and in his early forties. His presence was anxious, to say the least. As if he'd smelled them from miles away, the man with neatly tied brown hair was waiting for them. His eyes—too sharp, too knowing—tracked their approach like a hawk watching for prey. Behind him, a handful of Gaffiero family members lingered at the edge of the castle gate, silent and tense.
"He saw us from the lighthouse," Demetri murmured, catching the vampire's anxious thoughts. "He doesn't want trouble."
"They never do," Aro joked in Greek, and most of the guard stifled laughter.
He seemed to be trying not to get on the boat there. "Good morning, travellers!" the man exclaimed. "I hope your trip was pleasant." Lucca looked at them with a fake joy. “Welcome to Gozo!” Lucca said, voice calm, but with an undercurrent of steel. “You honour us with your presence, Aro.”
Aro inclined his head. "Lucca, I presume," He said. "Thank you for the welcome." Aro looked at the humans, also dressed in their finery, behind the man. "...and the rest of the Gaffiero." Aro smiled, and Cassandra knew Lucca's days were numbered.“We came to speak. We wish to understand your… situation here.”
Lucca gestured to the castle. “Then you shall see. I'm but simple custodian of my own blood, my family and traditions.” Lucca said. “We rarely let... outsiders near the island of Gozo."
Lucca invited the visitors to enter the castle a few kilometres from the dock. Many of the guards were waiting for Aro to signal and it would all be over, but he was somewhat curious about the whole situation and didn't hesitate to continue playing his part.
Inside, the castle was stark but well-kept: tapestries depicting maritime scenes, wooden beams polished by centuries, the faint aroma of sun-dried fish and wine. The Volturi were escorted to the great hall, where Lucca’s family awaited: his parents, a few siblings, and other relatives whose faces bore a mix of awe and fear.
Aro scanned the room slowly, observing the subtle hierarchies, the small gestures of respect toward Lucca. “You live apart from the islanders,” Aro noted. “You do not mingle with the community?”
Lucca’s lips tightened. “We trade. We provide goods. Tuna, tomatoes, olives… but our lives are ours. We do not involve ourselves in the lives of others beyond what is required.”
Aro’s gaze lingered on Lucca. “And you are… a protector?” he asked softly.
Lucca’s jaw stiffened. “Yes, I protect them from the outside world, because it is my duty.”
Demetri, leaning slightly toward Cassandra, whispered in Greek: “There’s something… off about him. His thoughts revolve around... how to prevent us from murdering his family and offering them up on a silver platter.”
Cassandra only nodded, her instincts already pricking, sensing an undercurrent beneath Lucca’s words that wasn’t just pride—it was concealment, a shadow moving quietly behind the veneer of civility.
For the next few hours, they toured the castle and its immediate surroundings. The Gaffieros lived modestly, their interactions with the islanders limited to commerce. Yet beneath the surface, the Volturi could sense the tension, the unspoken fears, the quiet obedience of the family members. Aro’s curiosity was piqued. He could feel it in the air: there was more here than a family merely guarding their traditions.
By nightfall, Aro leaned back to the guards and said: “We will remain here for two days and, in that time, the Gaffieros will show us their lives… and we will see what truths you hide.”
Lucca’s jaw was rigid. He knew that sooner or later this would happen, so if everything went according to plan, it might just be a warning and it would all be over soon.
Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls. Cassandra had decided to go for a walk. The island reminded her of home, that blurry life of which she remembered almost nothing. The wind seemed desperate, anxious as if copying the attitudes of the island's residents at that moment.
The first light of dawn spilled over the hills of Gozo, painting the castle walls in muted gold. Aro asked to have interviews with the humans. Lucca, somewhat compelled, agreed and began calling his relatives, one by one, to share their thoughts with the vampire.
Lucca guided them to a small, stone-floored chamber, the air cool and still. Demetri was the one who asked him about his origin as an immortal, while they waited for the humans to arrive in the room.
“I was made… many decades ago,” he began, his voice carrying the weight of memory. “A vampire—she—took me from the life I knew. From that day, I swore to protect my own. To shield them from the world, from dangers both human and otherwise.”
Aro listened, fingers steepled, eyes gleaming. “And your family? They accept this life?”
Lucca’s jaw tightened. “They do. They must. I care for them. They are my responsibility.”
Demetri, ever observant, leaned closer to Cassandra and speaking in Greek again, said: “Alisa, again.” he whispered, Cassandra raised an eyebrow and Demetri explained. “She is a vampire who has converted several of our kind”
Cassandra nodded subtly, her senses flaring. “Really?”
“Yes, it´s not the first time I caught her face in some of us” Demetri explained.
Then, the first human relative appeared: Carlo. A man in his seventies, accompanied by his wife, Maria, and his youngest son, Romeo. The eldest son was Lucca himself. The men spoke of flowers and colors of Lucca, Aro turned to Lucca’s mother. “And you, madam? How is life with him?”
She hesitated, her hands clasped tightly. “He… he provides us.” She said. “He keeps us safe. We do as he says. He is… our… our protector.” Her voice faltered.
The words were soft, almost a whisper, but Aro caught the meaning immediately. She was afraid. Many more relatives passed through that room, all raving about Lucca and her thousand and one ways to save the clan. Some considered Lucca a patron, a saintly figure. Others, particularly the women, trembled under his presence.
Aro then proceeded to separate the guards and speak to the humans separately. Cassandra and Chelsea spoke to the women in particular. Lucca’s eldest cousin spoke next, her voice strained.
“Lucca told us that... female creatures were not common, that they were not... worthy of eternal life." She said, looking at the womans as some kind of goddess. “He is… strict. He punishes those who step out of line. But he does not harm the innocent—only those who would betray the family.”
Chelsea, sitting quietly to the side, observed each movement. “Punishment… or control?” she asked, voice calm, laced with scrutiny. “There is a difference, and it is worth noting.”
Fatima’s lips twitched, almost trying not to speak. “Control is necessary” she said, scared. “At least, that's what our Lucca says. He says that without it, chaos reigns.”
“I do what must be done to keep my family whole.” Lucca's voice came from behind the women. "They'll be able to understand, clearly."
“This is a private meeting, sir.” Cassandra told him.
“No. This is my castle, kelba ”
Fatima brought her hands to her mouth, surprised by what both women, Chelsea and Cassandra, assumed had offended her. The tension in the room thickened. Cassandra’s eyes scanned the man again, and then turned their attention to the woman in front of them, Fatima, who trembled at the sight of her cousin. Cassandra, seeing the subtle marks of submission, the quick glances of fear, the stiff posture that spoke of long-standing obedience, knew the man was a cruel bastard. She caught sight of one of the younger women, her hands trembling as she looked at him, eyes darting toward Lucca as if expecting punishment at any second.
Afton’s whisper cut through the silence when he entered the room. "Do you need assistance, ladies?" Afton, Cassandra, and Chelsea exchanged glances.
Cassandra shook her head, but Lucca proceeded to speak:
"The women are done here," he said.
"The women aren't done here," Chelsea said curtly. "We're just getting started." Chelsea smiled at her, charmingly. Chelsea looked at Afton knowingly and knew he was prepared to jump Lucca's throat if necessary. "Actually, I think we'll need you and Lucca to give us more time. Fatima here has told us some very interesting things, dear."
Afton silently pressed the man, standing beside him and making him leave the room. As he left, Chelsea took Cassandra's hand. "Go to Aro and tell him what happened. Take precautions. Don't let him get in the way."
Cassandra nodded. Her mind whirred. A protector, yes—but one who demanded obedience not merely out of duty, but through fear. There was something darker, something unspoken.
Aro, upon being notified of the altercation, knew it was time to act. Lucca was interrogated again, but this time not only by him, but by Demetri, who intended to immerse himself fully in his thoughts, but something was limiting him. Aro assumed it was his own inexperience, but Afton, also there, mentioned that the man might be blocking him with a shield.
"Is that true, dear Lucca? Are you a shield?"
"No, sir," the man assured.
As the day wore on, the rest of the guard observed the family in their routines. The Gaffieros were methodical, precise, almost ritualistic in their trades: hauling barrels of salted tuna from the docks, tending to tomato fields, exchanging goods with the few islanders they dealt with. Every action was supervised by Lucca, every misstep corrected with a stern glance or sharp word.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassandra lingered near the courtyard. A young cousin of Lucca’s, barely sixteen, avoided his gaze entirely, her small hands clutching the hem of her dress. Cassandra approached carefully.
“You… fear him too, right?” she said softly.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded, barely whispering. “He… he can… he can make you… disappear.”
Cassandra’s chest tightened. That was no metaphor. She felt it instinctively—the quiet, latent threat beneath Lucca’s watchful gaze. Not all family members revered him; some lived in constant terror, and it was deliberate.
Across the courtyard, Aro’s voice called, smooth and commanding. “We will end this soon, dear Cassandra. Why don't you check out the rest of the island? Look for something... unusual.”
At the rest of the day, Aro watched how Lucca moved among his family like a wraith, correcting missteps, demanding precision, yet never raising his voice beyond a controlled edge. Every gesture, every glance carried authority—sometimes protective, often terrifying. Cassandra followed silently, noting the subtle tremors in the hands of the younger women, the nervous avoidance of eye contact, the stiff postures of those who feared him.
Aro wandered the docks with Lucca, inspecting the salt-cured tuna being loaded onto carts bound for Valletta. “Your methods are… precise,” Aro remarked, scanning the organized chaos. “The islanders respect you? Or they fear you?”
Lucca’s eyes flicked toward the small cluster of fishermen waiting nearby. “They trade with us because they must. We provide quality, and they need what we produce. Beyond that… they are of no concern.”
At night, Cassandra and Demetri moved through the outskirts of the island, their eyes sharp, senses stretched to their limits. Something about Lucca did not sit right with them—an unseen tension, a hidden weight in the air whenever he was near.
Demetri’s brow furrowed. “There’s something he’s not telling us. Something… dangerous,” he murmured, his gaze scanning the hills beyond the Gaffiero estate.
Cassandra’s instincts prickled. “It’s not just him. It’s his family too, the way they move, how they look at him. There’s fear… but not all of it is from intimidation. Something else lingers.”
They followed a faint trail, a worn path leading toward the edge of the island. There, partially hidden by gnarled olive trees and low stone walls, stood a small, dilapidated shack. Its roof sagged, the wood weathered and gray, and an almost tangible aura of resistance seemed to radiate from it. Cassandra slowed, sensing something unnatural.
She stepped closer, but every attempt to reach the door was subtly thwarted. The air seemed to thicken, pressure pushing against her, a force keeping her from crossing the threshold. She paused, frustrated and curious.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered. “Why can’t I reach it?”
Demetri’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a barrier. Someone inside doesn’t want to be found—or is protecting themselves. Just like that man's mind. It's the same feeling… it´s a subtle pattern. The push, the pull. It’s intentional.” He said gladly, almost having an epiphany out loud. "Someone is blocking me."
They both returned to Aro. Cassandra and Demetri explained the inability to enter the shack, just as the possibility to enter Lucca´s mind.
Aro’s eyes gleamed. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Do not give up. There is something within that is worth the effort. And you, Cassandra, will be the one to discover it. Persist. Learn what hides behind this resistance.”
Now, Cassandra’s mind churned. There was no doubt about it now: something—or someone—resided in that shack, a presence that Lucca either feared or wished to conceal. She felt a tightening in her chest, a mixture of dread and curiosity.
As the sun dipped low behind the horizon, painting the olive groves in blood-orange light, Cassandra resolved to confront the mystery. She would return to the shack, no matter what force tried to keep her away.
Demetri, standing silently by her side, whispered, “Be careful. Whoever—or whatever—is inside… it’s powerful. And frightened. That combination is… unpredictable.”
Cassandra’s jaw tightened. “Then it’s exactly why I must go.”
And so, with the shadows stretching long across Gozo, the first threads of the hidden horror that Lucca had kept buried began to unravel. Cassandra could feel it—the shack was more than wood and stone. It was a cage. A prison. And the prisoner within was waiting to be found.
The night was thick, a velvet darkness pressed against the island, carrying the brine of the sea and the faint, rotting smell of old wood. Cassandra approached the shack again, her every step measured, her senses alert. This time, she felt no hesitation—only the faint push of resistance, like invisible hands attempting to repel her.
She exhaled, centering herself. “I will not be stopped,” she whispered, and pressed forward. Slowly, painstakingly, the invisible barrier yielded beneath her persistence, allowing her hand to graze the warped wooden door. With a soft creak, it opened.
Inside, the air was damp and cold. Shadows clung to the walls, and a faint, almost metallic scent of blood mingled with the odor of decay. Cassandra’s eyes adjusted, catching the shape of a young woman curled in the corner, trembling violently. Her clothes were tattered, hanging in strips, revealing the marks of abuse—bruises, bites, scratches.
The girl, another vampire, flinched, recoiling from Cassandra. Fear radiated from her in palpable waves, yet there was something more—an aura of power, subtle but unmistakable. Cassandra sensed it instantly: this was no ordinary human.
“I… I’m not here to hurt you,” Cassandra said softly, crouching a few feet away. Her voice carried calm authority. “I’m here to help.”
The girl’s wide eyes, dark and terrified, darted toward the door, then back at Cassandra. Slowly, tentatively, Cassandra extended her hand. A silent understanding passed between them. Step by careful step, the girl allowed her to guide her out of the shack.
Demetri, who had been observing from a safe distance, stepped forward. His voice was low, reverent. “She is powerful… and frightened. A vampire. Her aura—she is bound to him, against her will.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened as she examined the girl more closely. The realization struck like a knife: the girl was Lucca’s second-degree niece, transformed without consent, trapped for years. The signs of violence on her body confirmed Demetri’s intuition.
“She… she’s been imprisoned” Cassandra whispered, voice tight with anger.
“And abused. He chose her to be his… wife?” Demetri’s eyes darkened. “Against her will. Every moment she lived under his control was a prison. Fear, isolation… his dominance over her life is total.” He was absorbing every one of the young, frightened girl's miserable thoughts. "Did he ask you to block my power? Last night?" Demetri asked.
The girl nodded. Cassandra knelt beside the girl, gently brushing back her disheveled hair.
“My name is Cassandra. You’re safe now. We won’t let him hurt you anymore.” She assured her.
The girl’s lips trembled, words failing her. But her eyes, dark and wide, finally flickered with a spark of hope. Slowly, a shaky nod confirmed her understanding.
“Renata.” She muttered.
Outside, the night air pressed against them, salty and sharp. Cassandra sensed the lingering threat of Lucca, the invisible chains he tried to extend even beyond the shack. But she also felt something else: the girl’s will, faint but alive, fighting back despite the years of abuse.
Demetri’s whisper cut through the tense silence. "She's an animal," Demetri said. "He subdued her even though she was human."
Cassandra nodded, her resolve hardening. "Aro will make his head roll."
"NO!" the girl exclaimed. "He'll kill my family, we'll lose God's grace."
The first step had been taken. Renata—the girl of terror and hidden power—was free, if only temporarily, from the shack that had been her cage for so long. The girl might have left the house, but her mind was a separate prison.
"He's not a god," Cassandra explained. "You have power equal to his."
The night deepened over Gozo, but inside the castle, the atmosphere was tense, electric, like a storm ready to break. Cassandra and Demetri brought Renata to a secure room, away from prying eyes. She sat on the cold stone floor, shivering, barely able to speak, but the surrounding aura pulsed with fear and suppressed power.
Aro entered silently, his eyes locking on Renata immediately. “Give me your hand, dear one. I promised no harm will be done to you” he assured her, his tone calm but heavy with authority. “Tell me what binds you here.”
Renata’s eyes flickered to Cassandra, then to Demetri, and finally to Aro. Her hand rose and finally touch his. Aro began to see the truth through his gift. A chill ran down Aro’s spine, though his face remained unreadable. Cassandra stepped closer, her own fury simmering beneath her calm exterior. “He used fear… control… to dominate you. To claim what was not his to take.”
Demetri’s voice was low but precise. “And his family… they witnessed this? Or were they too afraid to intervene?”
Renata shook her head. “They… they obey him. Some… they feared him too much. Some… they tried to help in small ways… but he punished any defiance.”
Aro’s eyes narrowed, his fingers steepled together. “Lucca,” he said, his voice soft but carrying a lethal edge, “come.”
The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Lucca appeared, composed as always, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked smoothly, masking the flicker of concern that betrayed him.
Aro’s gaze bore into him, cold and piercing. “Your ward, your niece… the girl you claim to protect. Tell me, Lucca, what should your punishment be? Should we let young Renata decide, since you've made her life a living hell? Tell me, with honesty, what you have done.”
Lucca’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing, but he forced a calm smile. “She is… merely a wayward relative. A mistake, perhaps. I meant no harm—she is a girl who strayed, and I could not abandon her.”
Aro’s lips curled slightly. “A mistake? You call years of isolation, abuse, and forced submission a ‘mistake’ ?”
Demetri stepped closer, his eyes piercing Lucca’s mind. “Do not lie. I have seen her thoughts. Her memories. Every scream, every attempt to resist. You chose her. Against her will. And you have kept her in fear.”
Cassandra moved beside Aro, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Renata told us the truth. You are not a guardian. You are a jailer. And you have no right to decide her fate.”
Lucca’s hands clenched, but his voice remained smooth, calculated. “She… she was mine to guide. She will understand one day. I only acted in her best interest.”
"You should be executed," Chelsea objected. "Jane should be here, torturing him."
Aro tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly and, watching the guard begin to approach Lucca dangerously, he called their attention.
"My dears, my dears," he murmured. "Let's remember to act decently."
Renata, still trembling, took a small step forward, her eyes meeting Lucca’s. The first sparks of defiance flickered in her gaze, though faint, yet unmistakable.
Lucca tried to approach Aro, to reason with him, but an uncontrollable force literally threw him against the wall. Aro, now entranced by young Renata's power, decided what he would do.
For years, Caius, Marcus, and he had theorized that, due to a vampire's upbringing and creator, they could attain incredibly powerful powers. It had happened with Marcus, it had happened with Aro, and it had happened with the twins, Jane and Alec. So, to test his theory, he decided it would be best to leave that island before any member of his guard kicked Lucca's head off. Something they wouldn't be punished for, clearly. He wanted to do that too, but they all had to look at the bigger picture.
Aro’s expression softened slightly, a rare trace of compassion appearing. “We will not destroy your family, Lucca. But she—” his gaze shifted to Renata, “—will come with us. Her power, her will… it cannot be left in your control.”
Aro looked at Chelsea, and she nodded. "Only if you want to, of course, dear Renata."
Renata, now the protagonist of the moment, dropped to her knees on the floor.
"Please." She pleaded. "I will do as you wish, my lord. Just force Lucca not to harm my family, my father and mother."
Lucca’s lips parted, a flicker of panic passing over his features, quickly suppressed. “You cannot… you cannot leave, Renata.”
Renata squeezed her eyes shut. Cassandra, behind Lucca, had to restrain herself from throwing herself at her.
"You are forbidden to harm the parents of our beloved Renata, Lucca Gaffiero," Aro said. Cassandra now took her cloak and quickly wrapped it around her.
"Thank you," the girl whispered, covering her tattered clothes with the pearly gray guard's cloak.
Lucca remained frozen, his control slipping as the Volturi silently dictated the terms. For the first time in decades, the cage he had built around Renata—and around himself—was cracking.
The next day, as the guard and Aro climbed back onto the boat, Renata took one last look at her home. Before leaving, she had had the chance to see her parents for the last time; Lucca hadn't let her eyes slip out of her sight since she'd converted her. They both looked older. Renata wondered how long it would be until they were underground, naturally.
Renata’s gaze met Lucca’s one last time. Fear had faded, replaced by quiet resolve. She turned, walking with Cassandra and Demetri towards her new future awaited. Every step was lighter than the last, every movement a reclamation of her own will.
As the sails caught the morning wind and the ship lifted off from Gozo, Renata looked back at the castle, at the island, at the man who had imprisoned her. A part of her still trembled at the memories, but another part surged with newfound strength. She was alive. She was free.
Notes:
Keba - whore
Cara Ragazza - dear girl
Chapter 3: Children of the Moon
Summary:
Caius takes part of the guard on an expedition to Africa to hunt Children of the Moon.
Chapter Text
Children of the Moon
1400, Nyungwe, Ruanda.
It was unlike any other expedition Cassandra had known. Never before had Caius himself taken the lead into the wilderness—he was a ruler, a judge, a commander, not a hunter who dirtied his cloak among tangled roots and damp earth. The very fact of his presence turned the journey into something sharper, more severe; each step carried the weight of instruction and judgment.
Around them, the Nyungwe jungle pressed in like a living wall. Massive trees rose in endless columns, their trunks wrapped in vines thick as rope, their crowns shutting out even the moonlight. The air was wet and heavy, filled with the scent of moss, wild orchids, and the slow rot of fallen leaves. Water dripped constantly, from branch to branch, as if the forest itself exhaled in rhythm.
The jungle was alive, and yet—unnaturally still. Cassandra noticed it first: the animals kept their distance. Monkeys screeched far away but never dared approach, birds took sudden flight before the guard passed under them, and even insects seemed to veer aside, as though the very scent of their party carried death. It was as though the forest recognized what walked among it.
Caius moved at the front, his white cloak cutting like a shard of bone against the green-black labyrinth. His steps were measured, each one silent yet commanding. He had not chosen this group by accident: Felix, brute strength embodied; Demetri, whose senses could unravel any trail; Jane, the merciless flame in a child’s form; Afton, steady and loyal as a shadow; and Cassandra, the youngest, still raw yet unnervingly perceptive. They followed like specters behind their master, each footfall barely indenting the sodden ground, silence clinging to them even as the jungle thundered with unseen life.
Predators recognized predators. No creature of the jungle dared to draw near them. The deer, the monkeys, even the serpents that should have crossed their path kept far away, their instincts warning them that death walked here in human shape. Yet the smaller pests—the swarms of gnats and the slow, whining clouds of mosquitoes—still hovered at the edges, circling in futile persistence. They could not pierce marble flesh, but they lingered in maddening clouds, tracing the outlines of faces and cloaks as if testing their patience.
Felix, broad-shouldered and unyielding, brushed a hand through the air with a growl of irritation, his mutter low and sharp. Cassandra’s lips curved almost into a smile. The image struck her as ironic: Felix, who moved like living stone, who could break a man’s spine as easily as snapping a twig, undone not by enemy or beast but by winged insects.
Once, in a quieter hour of their long travels, she and Demetri had spoken of him—of the possibility that Felix’s gait, his way of carrying himself into a fight, could only belong to one raised in the arena. A gladiator, they guessed, though Felix himself had never spoken of it. Cassandra suspected the past he carried was not one he chose to share.
Now Demetri caught her fleeting smile and nudged her shoulder, a silent companion’s jest. The bond between them had grown over years of shared hunts, not romantic but kin-like, the laughter of siblings who rarely dared to laugh aloud.
Caius ignored the quiet exchange between Demetri and Cassandra as though it were beneath his notice. He walked with his chin slightly raised, pale eyes sweeping the shadows, not to seek danger, but to remind them all that he alone defined what danger meant. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate, each syllable cutting through the dense air like a blade.
“Young ones,” he said, and though his words were directed at Demetri and Cassandra, his gaze lingered on the entire company with a thinly veiled disdain, as though all of them—even Felix with his brute strength, even Jane with her dreaded gift—were still untested children in his eyes. His tone carried no warmth, no camaraderie, only the sharp edge of command.
“You must understand what we hunt,” he continued, pausing to let the weight of silence press against them. His mouth curled almost imperceptibly, as though the very idea of having to explain such things offended him. “This is no mere animal. Not some beast driven by hunger alone. These creatures are the truest enemies of our kind—” his eyes, cold and contemptuous, flicked briefly toward Demetri and Cassandra, the youngest and most impressionable, “—the Children of the Moon.”
The words dripped with disdain, less like a teacher instructing his pupils and more like a sovereign condemning fools who had yet to grasp the depth of the threat.
Demetri’s eyes sharpened, always eager for knowledge, though beneath that hunger stirred something else. His gift caught the faint vibrations of thought from those around him, and from Caius he sensed the cold edge of disdain. The elder did not see him or Cassandra as seasoned members of the guard, despite their years of service, but as untested, still lacking the severity and weight he demanded. The judgment clung to them both like a shadow.
It unsettled Demetri enough to spark a question he kept locked in silence: if these Children of the Moon truly were as formidable as Caius claimed, would they have minds that wove threads for him to follow? Or would their thoughts be wild and broken, beyond his reach?
Beside him, Cassandra tilted her head, her curls catching the faint moonlight. She, too, felt the weight of Caius’s words press into her chest—not as instruction, but as a reminder that in his eyes, she remained raw and unproven.
“They share our immortality,” Caius continued. “They mostly eat the flesh of their victims, but also drink their blood, as we do. But they are abominations—half man, half beast, cursed to shift beneath the pull of the moon. Seven centuries ago, in the Sahara, I met one alone. I thought it a wild dog at first, until it rose upon its hind legs and tore through stone as if it were paper. Its claws raked my chest. I killed it, but not without cost.”
He let the silence fall. Cassandra thought she glimpsed, for a flicker of a moment, the memory of that scar—how, long ago, Caius’s arm had once been torn from his body, a wound so deep that even immortality had not erased the memory etched into his flesh.
“They cannot be tolerated,” Caius finished, his voice iron. “If they live, we die. That is the balance.”
Jane walked with an air of delicate pride, her gaze flicking toward Cassandra more often than anyone else’s. To Cassandra, Jane had always been a constant presence—friend, confidante, even a sister of sorts through her bond with Alec. And yet, no matter how familiar their relationship felt, Jane observed her with a careful distance, as though ready to intervene at the slightest misstep.
Cassandra suspected the reason. Jane had created her; she bore the responsibility for Cassandra’s actions before the masters. Every choice Cassandra made, every reckless impulse, was potentially Jane’s burden to answer for. And so the vigilance was unrelenting, though not unkind. Cassandra understood that she was treated better than most of the guard, those whom Jane barely deigned to speak to—Demetri and she, at least, received her attention, even if laced with caution.
“Do not grow sentimental, Cassandra,” Jane said quietly, as though reading her thoughts yet again. “These creatures would rip you apart before you could blink.”
Cassandra lowered her head in false agreement. Inside, her mind rebelled. Were they truly so different? Vampires slaughtered, burned, conquered—was that not the same hunger, the same merciless drive? But she kept those thoughts locked away, where Jane—and Aro, and perhaps even Caius—could not reach them. She wondered, with a quiet ache, when Jane would ever stop watching her so closely, and yet part of her knew she would never truly be free of that gaze.
Demetri leaned closer, whispering just for her “Do you think there are others? Creatures neither vampire nor wolf?” His tone carried not fear, but fascination.
Cassandra let herself smirk. “If there are,” she said softly, “perhaps we’ll find them first.”
The days of travel stretched on, from crescent moon toward near fullness, the jungle around them thickening into an almost impenetrable green. Broken branches jutted at odd angles, higher than any man’s reach; deep gouges scored the trunks of trees; the musky scent of blood and raw flesh carried faintly on the damp wind.
Demetri moved with a predator’s patience, crouched low, reading the faintest murmur in the air. Normally, he could reach into the minds around him, tracing the strands of thought that betrayed the intentions of those nearby. But the Children of the Moon were different. Their thoughts, unlike humans or vampires, did not weave into neat threads. They were wild, fractured, and mostly inaccessible. He could not “read” them, not in the way he could a human or even another vampire. Instead, he learned to sense their presence as a ripple in the world, a barely audible hum of awareness—subtle vibrations of intent and movement, almost like hunting prey by the whisper of its heartbeat rather than its scent. He traced that hum with the same precision he would a human mind, following it through the undergrowth, across mud and leaf, through night and heat.
Cassandra followed beside him, her senses heightened in ways the others could not fully understand. She had no gift like Demetri’s, no glimpse into the thoughts of others. But she could hear the snap of a twig, smell the faint metallic tang of blood, feel the tremor of the forest underfoot. Every branch that bent, every distant rustle, was amplified in her perception. Her abilities were ordinary among vampires, but sharper, more acute—enough to make her a partner in the hunt, able to interpret and anticipate where the beast might have passed.
Felix, impatient, often wanted to charge ahead, but Caius restrained him with a single, icy glance. Afton remained quiet, his loyalty unquestioned, though Cassandra sometimes wondered what thoughts hid behind his stillness.
Each day, the tension of the hunt thickened, wrapping around the group like the dense vines of Nyungwe itself. Caius drove them deeper, through shadowed hollows and towering groves, until the canopy devoured even starlight.
On the seventeenth night, Demetri froze, crouching low, hand pressed to the loamy earth.
“He’s close,” he murmured, tracing the vibrations in the air, each tremor of the creature’s intent sharpened in his mind like a blade.
Cassandra bent beside him, listening to the forest with acute patience. She could hear the beast’s movements—small shifts in leaves, the brush of its massive limbs against undergrowth, the subtle drag of claws—but the rhythm was alien, not like any animal she had tracked before. She watched Demetri move, following the hum he sensed, and matched her steps to his, silent, precise.
Caius’s eyes gleamed in the shadows. “Tonight, then.”
The words carried a finality that drew the forest closer around them, as if the jungle itself held its breath in anticipation.
When the moon rose full, the forest erupted with a howl that shook Cassandra to her core. From the shadows, the beast emerged—a towering figure, posture half-man, half-beast, muscles coiled and glistening, fingers tipped with blackened claws that dug into the earth with every step. Its eyes burned with feral hunger, unbridled and raw, reflecting a cunning intelligence beneath its savagery.
Felix lunged first, teeth gritted, arms swinging with the force of a battering ram. The impact struck the creature like a battering ram against stone, sending a spray of sweat and blood into the air. Caius followed, blade flashing in arcs that gleamed with the reflected moonlight, each strike precise, aimed at vulnerable joints and thickened sinew. The creature lashed out, claws tearing through Felix’s shoulder, rending muscle, leaving crimson threads glistening in the pale light. Felix roared in pain, but grinned even through it, ripping into the beast’s flank with a brutal thrust that opened dark furrows of raw, quivering flesh.
Cassandra and Demetri circled, silent and alert. She could hear the wet snap of bones under crushing strikes, the tearing of sinew, the ragged breaths of both predator and hunter. Demetri followed the vibrations of the beast’s intent, anticipating movements that none of them could fully predict.
Caius’s blade found the creature’s neck again and again, hacking with measured precision, each stroke severing tissue and bone with a sickening finality. Limbs flailed wildly, dripping blood, as Felix tore at them with brute force. The forest itself seemed to recoil from the carnage; the smell of iron and burning flesh clung to the thick night air.
“Observe,” Caius commanded, his voice sharp as flint. “See how limbs regrow if left unburned. Only fire ends them.”
Jane stepped forward then, her eyes cold and remorseless. With a subtle flick of her hand, flames leapt across the mangled remains, snaking along shredded muscle and severed limbs. The beast’s scream was piercing, shrill, almost human, echoing through the dense trees as its body convulsed violently. The fire consumed it, melting what bones had been broken and searing the flesh that would have reformed otherwise.
At last, the head was severed by Caius’s final, brutal strike, swinging with the power of centuries behind him. Felix’s hands tore the remaining limbs apart, and Jane’s flames finished the destruction, leaving only smoldering ashes that hissed in the night.
Demetri watched, fascinated by the precision and raw power, while Cassandra’s stomach churned with unease. The beast had been magnificent, terrifying, and yet utterly annihilated.
Caius stood among the remnants, cloak immaculate, eyes cold and distant.
“Remember this,” he said, voice like steel against the quiet jungle. “Mercy to such creatures is treason to your own kind.”
Cassandra lowered her gaze, shame and sorrow warring within her. And yet, in the shadows of her mind, she whispered a thought she dared not speak aloud: if such creatures exist, perhaps they deserve to live—just as we do.