Morning sunlight slipped quietly through the narrow gap in the curtains, spilling across the room in soft shades of gold.
Alaric Stone jolted awake.
His breath came fast and uneven, his heart pounding violently against his ribs as though it had been chasing him out of something dark and relentless. For a moment, he did not move. His body remained tense, his mind caught between fragments of memory and something that felt too real to be dismissed as a dream.
He pushed himself upright abruptly, staring at his hands.
They were steady.
Unscarred.
Younger.
His fingers flexed slowly, as if testing whether they truly belonged to him. The last thing he remembered was blood. Rain. The unbearable weight of her body in his arms.
He looked around.
The desk by the window was cluttered with familiar textbooks. The shelves were lined with notes and old files he had long since outgrown. The alarm clock blinked quietly beside his bed, its soft digital glow grounding him in something unmistakably ordinary.
This was his room.
His room in Westbridge.
A place he had not seen in years.
Alaric swung his legs off the bed and stood, his movements unsteady at first. He crossed the room slowly, as if afraid the space would dissolve if he moved too quickly. When he reached the mirror, he stopped.
The boy staring back at him was both unfamiliar and deeply known.
Sharp brows. Clear skin. Shoulders not yet shaped by years of training. Eyes that had not yet been dulled by regret and loss.
He lifted a hand and touched his own reflection, his fingers hovering just above the glass.
"…So I really came back," he whispered, his voice low and almost disbelieving.
The sound of his phone vibrating broke through the silence.
Alaric turned and picked it up from the bedside table. The screen lit up beneath his fingers, displaying the date with quiet indifference.
Ten years ago.
The day Anya had told him to stay away from her.
His grip tightened slightly around the phone before he lowered it.
He closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, forcing the storm inside him to settle.
In this life, he would not hurt her.
In this life, he would protect her.
No matter what it took.
*****
At school, everything unfolded exactly as he remembered.
The corridor was filled with the usual noise of students moving between classes, sunlight filtering through the open sides and casting long shadows across the tiled floor. Beneath the shaded section of the walkway, Anya stood with her schoolbag slung over one shoulder, her posture calm but attentive.
A boy from another class stood in front of her, clearly nervous.
Alaric stopped a short distance away.
In his previous life, he had not hesitated. He had stormed forward, anger blinding him, fists ready before words even formed.
This time, he forced himself to remain still.
He listened.
"Thank you," Anya said gently, her voice steady and kind, "but I don't want to date anybody right now. I just want to focus on my studies."
The boy blinked, caught off guard by her straightforwardness. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed but unwilling to retreat just yet.
"Is it because you're busy?" he asked quickly. "We don't have to rush anything. We could just get coffee sometimes. I can wait."
Anya shook her head softly. "It's not about being busy. I just don't have those feelings."
The boy frowned slightly, as if trying to make sense of something that did not quite fit his expectations.
"…Is it because of Alaric?" he asked after a pause. "You're always with him. Everyone thinks—"
Anya cut him off gently before he could finish. "No. It's not like that."
He looked unconvinced. "Then what are you to him?"
"We've been together since we were kids," she answered honestly. "We're childhood friends."
The words struck Alaric with quiet force.
In his past life, they had fueled his anger.
Now, they only made his chest tighten.
Before the boy could press further, Alaric stepped forward.
"Anya," he called, his tone calm and steady, "do you want to eat together?"
She turned toward him, clearly surprised.
For a brief moment, something like guilt flickered across her face, but it faded quickly as she nodded.
"Okay."
She walked toward him, and with each step, Alaric felt something inside his chest loosen and ache at the same time.
You're alive.
The memory of her lying still in the rain clashed violently with the sight of her now, warm and real and standing right in front of him.
Anya noticed the softness in his expression and felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest. This version of Alaric felt different. He was quieter, gentler, closer to the boy she remembered before everything had changed.
"What do you feel like eating?" he asked.
"Sweet and sour ribs," she replied with a small grin. "Your favorite."
He smiled faintly and reached out, patting her head lightly.
She froze.
He had not done that in a long time. Not since his temper had begun to change, not since the distance between them had quietly grown.
As they walked side by side, whispers followed them through the corridor.
"He looks even better today."
"Doesn't he seem different?"
"I kind of want to confess to him…"
Anya heard every word.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her bag.
We've grown up.
The thought came uninvited and unwelcome.
One day, he will like someone else.
The realization settled heavily in her chest.
"What's wrong?" Alaric asked, his voice softer now, more attentive.
She shook her head lightly. "You're just… different today."
He let out a quiet chuckle. "Do you like me better this way, or the version that gets angry all the time?"
"You're just you," she replied. "There's nothing to choose."
His smile faded slightly at that. "You don't hate me?"
Anya stopped walking.
"Why would I hate you?" she asked, her voice quiet but sincere. "I always thought your temper and the fights… were because of me."
Alaric froze where he stood.
The words settled into him slowly, breaking something open inside his chest.
So she had never hated him.
She had only blamed herself.
"Anya," he said, his voice steady but carrying a depth she had not heard before, "I'm really glad you told me that."
He met her eyes, his gaze unwavering.
"I promise you," he continued, "from today on, I won't lose my temper or fight unnecessarily anymore."
Her breath caught at the certainty in his tone.
"You don't have to change for me," she said softly.
"I want to," he replied without hesitation.
They stood there for a moment, neither moving.
Anya felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest, gentle but clear, as if something inside her was beginning to awaken again.
****
After school, Alaric walked home with Anya just as they always had, side by side along the familiar path that had been part of their lives for years.
Yet today felt unmistakably different.
Anya kept her gaze lowered, fixed on the pavement as if the cracks in the ground required her full attention. She was acutely aware of how close he was, of the steady rhythm of his footsteps beside hers. Every step made her heart beat faster, louder, as though it might betray everything she was trying so hard to hide. Her cheeks burned with a warmth that refused to fade no matter how many times she told herself to calm down.
She did not understand what was happening to her.
Alaric had always been Alaric. Loud, impatient, quick to anger, always stepping in front of her whenever something felt even slightly wrong. He had been overwhelming, unpredictable, and yet familiar in a way that had never made her feel self-conscious.
But today, he was different.
He walked at her pace instead of ahead of her. His voice, when he spoke, was softer, steadier. He listened instead of interrupting. He did not glare at passing strangers or react to every small irritation. There was a quiet control in him now, something grounded and deliberate.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
Walking beside him, Anya became painfully aware of things she had never noticed before. At some point she had missed, he had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his presence heavier in a way that made her feel smaller, more aware of her own movements. He no longer felt like just the boy who had always been at her side.
He felt like someone she could not look at too directly.
The realization startled her.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she kept her head down, hoping he would not notice the way her breathing had changed, the way her heart refused to settle.
Then Alaric stopped.
The sudden halt broke the rhythm of their steps, and Anya almost walked into him before catching herself. Startled, she looked up.
Their eyes met.
The world seemed to pause for a brief, suspended moment.
Anya felt the heat rush to her face instantly. Her breath caught, and she became painfully aware of how close he was, close enough that she could see every detail of his face, the familiar features now sharpened with age and something quieter, more controlled beneath the surface.
Alaric noticed the change in her immediately.
The flush across her cheeks. The way her gaze flickered, unsure and almost shy in a way he had never seen before.
Without thinking, he lifted his hand and reached toward her, his fingers brushing lightly near her temple as if checking whether she was unwell. His touch was gentle, careful, and unhurried. He gave her a small smile, not teasing or playful, but warm in a way that felt new.
Anya's heart stumbled so hard it almost hurt.
The closeness, the softness in his expression, the unfamiliar calm in him all came together at once, overwhelming her completely.
She took a step back instinctively.
"Anya, are you alright?" Alaric asked, concerned, slipping into his voice as he lowered his hand slightly.
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, her voice just a little too rushed.
Before he could say anything else, she turned and continued walking, her pace noticeably faster now, as if distance could steady the storm inside her.
Behind her, Alaric remained where he was for a moment, his hand still half-raised in the air.
The faint warmth of her skin lingered against his fingertips, even though the contact had been brief. Slowly, he lowered his hand, his brows drawing together as confusion settled in.
Had he made her uncomfortable?
The thought did not sit well with him.
A tight feeling formed in his chest, unfamiliar and unsettling. In the past, he would not have stopped to consider something like this. He would have acted first, reacted on instinct, rarely questioning whether his actions affected others.
But Anya had always been different.
She was the one person he never wanted to hurt, even unintentionally.
Watching her walk ahead of him, her steps just a little too quick, Alaric realized something he had never fully understood before.
The way she reacted to him mattered.
And the possibility that he had made her uneasy weighed on him far more than anything else.
****
That night, Alaric could not sleep.
He lay awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling while the quiet of the house pressed in around him. The familiar sounds that usually brought comfort felt distant, almost hollow. His body was tired from the day, but his mind refused to rest. Thoughts circled relentlessly, sharp and unforgiving, each one dragging him back into memories he could not escape.
This was his second chance.
He could not afford to waste it.
He turned onto his side, his hand tightening against the sheets as if grounding himself. The past did not come to him in fragments or blurred impressions. It came clearly, painfully, as if it had only just happened.
In his previous life, everything had fallen apart because of him.
He had been reckless with his temper, allowing anger to dictate his actions. Every time he lost control, he had pushed Anya further away without realizing it, until the distance between them became something he could no longer bridge. When she finally asked him to leave her alone, he had thought it was temporary, something he could fix later.
He had been wrong.
He had mistaken possessiveness for protection and believed that standing in front of her meant he was keeping her safe. He had never stopped to consider whether she wanted that kind of protection, whether his actions made her feel suffocated instead of secure.
Then came the decision that changed everything.
He had sealed the bond.
He had convinced himself it was necessary, that distance would protect them both, that leaving Westbridge was the right choice. So he turned his back on everything familiar and returned to Central City.
There, he found his Beta, his Gamma, and the structure of the life he was meant to lead. He trained, strengthened himself, and stepped steadily toward his future as Alpha. He built power, influence, and control.
And while he was building his world, Anya's had quietly fallen apart.
The thought tightened painfully around his chest.
She had been fine when he left.
But she had suffered afterward.
She had been left alone in a home that was never safe, with a father who should have protected her but instead became the source of her pain. She had endured things he never saw and never stopped, all while he was elsewhere convincing himself he was doing the right thing.
His hand tightened further against the sheets.
He should have been there.
He should have known.
And then there was Sebastian.
Alaric's jaw hardened as the name surfaced in his thoughts. In his previous life, Sebastian had been the mistake that cost him everything. A threat he had noticed too late, underestimated, and failed to eliminate when he had the chance.
Sebastian had taken Anya from him.
That memory alone was enough to send a cold, controlled fury through his veins.
This time, things would be different.
He would not wait for danger to reveal itself.
He would not hesitate when it mattered.
He would not allow Sebastian to come anywhere near her.
Alaric pushed himself upright and sat at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly. His breathing slowed, becoming steady and controlled as his thoughts sharpened into something clear and deliberate.
This life would not follow the same path.
He would not repeat the same mistakes.
He would control his temper instead of letting it control him. He would stay by her side instead of convincing himself distance was protection. He would see the dangers before they formed and eliminate them before they had the chance to reach her.
He would protect her properly.
Not with force.
Not with pride.
But with understanding and restraint.
In the silence of the room, with the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, Alaric made his vow with quiet certainty.
He would not lose her again.
No matter what it took.