the legacy of A Past Life

The day dawned with a gray sky over the Salvatore School, the low clouds promising rain, the air heavy with the damp smell of earth and pine. Ethan Nichols woke up with an energy he hadn't felt in weeks, his heart beating a little faster than normal. The small room in the boys' dorm felt almost suffocating, with the smell of old wood and fresh paint permeating the walls, a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of Los Angeles he had left behind. He stood, feeling a familiar hollowness in his chest, a reminder that he still carried unanswered questions about the father he had never known.

A firm knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. Alaric Saltzman walked in, holding a paper with Ethan's class schedule.

"Good morning, kid," Alaric said, his husky voice carrying a note of authority but also a hint of fatherly warmth that Ethan hadn't expected. "Here's your schedule: Supernatural History with Dorian, Combat Techniques with Emma, ​​Basic Alchemy with Rafael, and Supernatural Strategy with me. It's going to be a busy day."

He handed over the paper, and Ethan took it, his heterochromatic eyes—one green, one blue—studying the words with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

— I'll survive... or at least try — Ethan replied, a touch of humor in his husky voice, trying to ease the tension he felt.

Alaric gave a half smile, but his eyes narrowed for a moment, as if something was worrying him.

"You know, I found an old file on someone who might be connected to your history at school," he said, almost casually, but with a weight that made Ethan look up. "Someone who went to school here… until something took them away. Maybe you'll find some answers here, kid. But take it slow."

The words were vague, but they lit a flame of hope in Ethan's chest, and he just nodded, feeling that this journey might finally bring something to his mother.

In his first class, Supernatural History, Ethan sat in the back of the room, trying not to draw attention to himself, but he couldn't. Dorian Williams, the professor, was a dark-skinned man with large glasses, with a passion for supernatural bloodlines that spilled over into every word.

"Can someone tell me what differentiates a natural hybrid from an artificially created one?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room.

When no one responded, Ethan raised his hand hesitantly.

— A natural hybrid is born with mixed traits, like a werewolf-witch, while an artificial one is created by magic or transformation, like Klaus Mikaelson's hybrids — he answered, his almost photographic memory — an inheritance he didn't know where it came from — bringing details he had once read in a book in Los Angeles.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, impressed.

— Very good, Ethan. And what happens when a hybrid doesn't fit the normal rules?

The question caught Ethan off guard, and he hesitated, feeling a weight he couldn't explain.

—They become unpredictable… different—he said, avoiding personal details, his voice firm but uncertain.

The room fell silent, and Dorian adjusted his glasses, puzzled.

"Interesting. Let's talk about this later, Nichols," he said, jotting something down in his notebook.

Ethan felt a slight heat rise to his face, wondering what those words meant to him.

Rafael Waithe's Basic Alchemy class was less theoretical and more practical. Rafael, a tall, intense-looking werewolf, asked the students to solve alchemical equations to create a basic tracking elixir. Ethan solved the equation in minutes, his mind working quickly, and handed Rafael the vial of elixir with a gleam of pride in his eyes. Rafael tested the liquid, which glowed a perfect shade of gold, and whistled.

— You're fast, Nichols. And strong, from what I hear. But you've never transformed, right? — Rafael asked.

Ethan shook his head, and Rafael continued:

— You're too strong for a werewolf who's never activated the curse. Maybe you're something new... something we haven't seen here yet.

The words echoed in Ethan's mind, rekindling the doubt he had tried to ignore: who—or what—he really was?

In the Combat Techniques class, Ethan was finally able to release some of the energy that was consuming him. Emma Tig, the counselor and instructor, asked the students to pair up for a mock fight. Ethan was joined by Kaleb, a tall, confident vampire, and Penelope, a brown-haired witch with a knowing smile.

— Let's see if the newbie can handle it! — Kaleb taunted, running at vampire speed to hit Ethan.

But Ethan, using his unique combination of boxing, muay thai and capoeira, dodged with a graceful spin and dropped Kaleb with a precise kick, landing with a smile.

For a moment, the anger he'd carried since Los Angeles—that fury that had him breaking down doors and training to exhaustion—threatened to surface, hot and familiar, but he took a deep breath, stepping back and raising his hands.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to hurt anyone," he said, his hoarse voice filled with surprise at himself.

He realized, with a shock, that the anger wasn't as overwhelming as it had been before. It was changing—and he didn't know if it was because of school, or Hope, or something he didn't yet understand.

Kaleb stood up, laughing and clapping Ethan on the shoulder.

— You're a machine, man! But relax, it's okay.

Penelope, who had been watching with an analytical gaze, smiled sideways.

"You're good, Nichols. You'll fit right in here," she said.

Ethan felt a warmth in his chest, a feeling that maybe, for the first time, he could actually belong somewhere.

At recess, the Salvatore School playground was vibrant, the sound of distant laughter mingling with the rustling of leaves in a cold wind that heralded rain. Ethan saw Hope sitting alone at a wooden table, its rough surface marked with the initials engraved by students from years past. Hope's auburn hair gleamed in the weak sunlight, and she was leafing through a book, her long fingers tracing the pages with a delicacy that belied the strength he knew she possessed. Something pulled him toward her, a need he couldn't explain. He approached with a lighter step, trying not to seem intrusive, and cleared his throat.

"Hey, Hope, can I sit here?" he asked, his husky voice carrying a calm, friendly tone.

Hope looked up in surprise, but a slight smile softened her reserved expression.

"Hi, Ethan, sure, sit down," she replied, closing the book with an almost reluctant movement and indicating the space next to her.

Ethan sat down, feeling the cool wood under his hands, and smiled back, feeling the atmosphere lighten a little.

"How are you feeling at school?" Hope asked, tilting her head slightly, her blue eyes showing genuine curiosity.

"Well, I think I'm getting by," Ethan replied, scratching the back of his neck with a shy smile. "Classes are intense, but I'm enjoying them. Combat is my thing, and I even landed a kick today that knocked Kaleb down. Other than that, I'm still trying to figure out this place… and who I am here. But it's better than Los Angeles, for sure."

Hope nodded, her smile widening for a moment before giving way to a comfortable pause. Ethan, taking advantage of the moment, decided to keep the conversation light, his heterochromatic eyes shining with curiosity.

"Hey, tell me something," he said, leaning forward a little. "How does this witch thing work around here? Like, can they do any spell, or are there limits?"

Hope laughed softly, a rare sound that broke the tension in her shoulders.

"It depends," she replied, relaxing a little. "Witches need energy, usually taken from nature or enchanted objects. There are limits, yes… powerful spells require sacrifice or preparation, and not everyone can do advanced magic. I myself have broken some rules trying to learn quickly."

Ethan raised his eyebrows, impressed.

— Really? What about werewolves? I heard they only transform during the full moon. Is that true? — he asked, genuinely interested.

"More or less," Hope explained, drumming her fingers on the table. "The full moon forces the transformation, but some werewolves learn to control it over time. It depends on the lineage and training. Here at the school, we try to help with that, but it's not easy at first."

Ethan nodded, absorbing the information with a smile.

— That's fascinating. I think I'm going to need some extra lessons so I don't get lost in all this — he joked, scratching the back of his neck again.

Hope smiled back, a slight twinkle in her eyes, and the silence that followed was comfortable, as if they were both starting to get used to each other.

Suddenly, Hope looked up, her tribrid senses picking up on something Ethan hadn't. She felt a presence approaching quickly, the heavy, urgent footsteps echoing across the courtyard, as if someone were running on a critical mission. Before she could alert Ethan, a shadow fell across the table. Ethan and Hope looked up to see Alaric Saltzman approaching, his face set in a serious expression that contrasted with the relaxed tone of the playground. He was holding his cell phone in his hand, his eyes fixed on Hope, his jaw tense and his shoulders rigid, as if he were carrying the weight of a secret that couldn't wait.

"Hope, I need to talk to you. Alone. In my office," he said, his voice low but firm, filled with an urgency that made Ethan's stomach tighten.

Hope frowned in surprise, but nodded, slowly standing up from the table. She looked at Ethan, offering a small wave with her hand.

"Bye, Ethan. See you later," she said, her voice soft but heavy with something he didn't understand.

With that, she followed Alaric, the two of them disappearing towards the main school building, where the principal's office was located.