Chapter 94: Run

According to the records, the memories of the Children of the Moon were passed down through their bloodline. Although they reproduced slowly, this unique inheritance kept the internal structure of their race remarkably stable. Traditions survived from one generation to the next almost perfectly, and every werewolf's place in society was determined before they were even born.

Their race possessed an exceptionally rigid sense of hierarchy and an almost absolute loyalty to their own kind.

Because memories were inherited through blood, vengeance was inherited as well.

If someone murdered a direct blood relative, a parent, grandparent, great-grandparent, or any ancestor within the family line, a newborn werewolf who had never once met the deceased would still know exactly how they had died. More often than not, once the young werewolf reached adulthood, their violent and bloodthirsty instincts would drive them to gather the entire pack and seek revenge.

Before she realized it, Sophie had become completely absorbed in what she was reading.

Knowledge of the occult had always been one of the subjects she had barely touched in her previous life, and now she found herself eagerly filling in those gaps. The bizarre yet fascinating information created the strangest illusion, making her feel as though she were attending Hogwarts, cramming for final exams by reviewing a textbook on Magical Creatures.

Carefully and faithfully, Sophie copied every location listed in the records where traces of the werewolves had once been found. She didn't dare alter even a single word, fearful that the slightest mistake might have consequences she couldn't imagine.

Most of the case files ended with a short annotation written by Caius himself, declaring that every werewolf in the region had already been exterminated. After reading several reports, Sophie quickly recognized the pattern. The moment she spotted Caius' bold, forceful signature, she knew the story contained within that file had reached its conclusion.

To make enemies of an entire race of werewolves... and survive to write the ending himself.

Sophie couldn't help admiring him inwardly.

Caius really is something of a miracle.

Ancient books inevitably accumulated dust and the remains of long-dead bookworms. After finishing several files, Sophie picked them up one by one, carefully gripping both ends of each spine before gently shaking them to remove the debris.

Dust floated lazily through the candlelit air.

The brittle husks of dead insects drifted alongside it, suspended like tiny ghosts wandering the room.

Through that hazy curtain of dust, Marcus suddenly stared straight at Sophie. His usually lifeless eyes were filled with overwhelming nostalgia and grief, startling her so badly that she immediately stopped shaking the books.

"I'm sorry... did I disturb you, Master Marcus?"

"It's nothing." Marcus lightly waved a hand. "I simply lost myself for a moment. I thought I saw a young woman who had just washed an embroidered handkerchief decorated with daffodils. She spread it open and gently shook it, smoothing away every wrinkle."

The picture Marcus painted was so vivid that Sophie instinctively imagined the scene. She had no idea what the young woman looked like. But in Marcus' memories, she must have been breathtakingly beautiful.

Marcus fell silent after only a few sentences, sinking once more into his endless melancholy and reflection. As a result, Sophie's own imagination came to an abrupt halt.

Unable to suppress her curiosity, and sensing that Marcus himself didn't truly dislike remembering the woman, she cautiously gathered her courage and asked, "Whose handkerchief was it?"

Marcus let out a quiet chuckle. "I thought you were going to ask who the young woman was." The love filling his eyes had already revealed her identity long before he spoke. She could only have been his wife.

The love of vampires was astonishingly profound. Even after three thousand years of storms, snow, and endless passing seasons, it had not faded by even the smallest fraction. Nor had the agony of losing the one they loved.

"The handkerchief," Marcus murmured softly, "actually belonged to me. The young woman washing it was named Didyme. She was also my." He lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. "My Didyme."

Back then, after washing the bloodstained handkerchief, Didyme had looked up at Marcus. Just once. That single glance had lasted a lifetime. He had fallen hopelessly in love. And he had never escaped it again.

Marcus slowly lifted his eyes and studied Sophie's face before saying quietly, "The two of you look nothing alike. Aro, on the other hand, resembles her very much. The resemblance between brother and sister, although naturally not as identical as Jane and Alec."

After Didyme died, Aro had desperately stopped Marcus from following her into death. He invoked family duty, his position as Didyme's brother, and Marcus' own lingering sense of responsibility. If Marcus had died as well, only Aro and Caius would have remained to lead the Volturi. The balance of power would have collapsed, and the entire family would inevitably have fallen into ruin. Aro simply couldn't allow that to happen.

"I'm very sorry." Sophie found herself completely at a loss for words. She regretted asking the question in the first place. This wasn't the first time such curiosity had led her somewhere painful. She always regretted asking afterward, yet somehow, when the opportunity appeared again, she couldn't stop herself from wanting to know. She had never learned the proper words to comfort someone speaking about their deepest grief. At moments like this, all she could offer was an apology.

No wonder Marcus always carries such overwhelming melancholy around him, she thought quietly. It turns out, it is the sorrow of a widower.

Only two case files remained unfinished on the table. Seeing Marcus disappear once again into his memories, Sophie quickly lowered her head and immersed herself in her work.

Some time later, Marcus finally emerged from his reverie. Without warning, he spoke. "You are fortunate, Sophie."

She looked up in confusion. "Fortunate how?"

"Love came too slowly." Marcus spoke almost as though he were reciting a riddle. "It allowed you to escape its chains. Run, run as quickly as you can. Don't let fate catch you. Right now, you still have room to choose another path."

Marcus spoke at an unhurried pace. Sophie waited for several moments, making sure he had truly finished before she finally nodded. "All right." "I'll run faster."

Sophie only half understood Marcus' advice. It sounded strangely poetic, as though hidden beneath those few simple words lay a truth she was still too young to comprehend. Even so, his warning perfectly aligned with the decision she had already made.

Her escape tonight had been interrupted and trapped within this room. But at least she had stepped outside that endless cycle of repetition and forgotten memories, if only for a little while.

"Thank you very much, Master Marcus." This time, Sophie meant every single word.