The brief confrontation between Victor and Ethan Cross didn't remain confined to the training yard for long. In a society like that of the Valentine vampires, where reputation and power were more valuable than gold, any distortion in the hierarchy echoed with unsettling speed.
What began as an "accident" during training transformed, within hours, into whispers in the marble corridors, veiled comments in the inner halls, and wary glances cast whenever Victor's name was mentioned.
The news that the "cursed one" had mutilated four promising young men spread like wildfire.
And inevitably, it reached her ears.
Before being known only as "the mother of failure," she had been something entirely different. A legendary warrior, a commander on the front lines of Clan Valentine, bearer of the title of Crimson General.
Her name was spoken with respect among veterans; her presence on the battlefield meant almost certain victory. She was independent, strategic, ruthless against external enemies, and absolutely loyal to the Royal Family. For centuries, she built a solid reputation, earned with blood and discipline.
Until she had a son.
And that son delivered the worst performance recorded in the clan's entire documented history.
The contrast was cruel. The invincible general gave birth to the only heir incapable of manifesting power. In a culture where strength defined value, this was not treated as a biological accident, but as a moral failing.
The respect she had accumulated over centuries began to silently crumble. First came the subtle exclusions from strategic meetings.
Then, the formal removal from central decisions. Finally, the veiled exile justified as "the need to preserve internal stability." Officially, she was never directly accused. Unofficially, they whispered that she had brought a curse upon House Valentine.
And she accepted it.
Not because she was weak.
Not because she agreed.
But because she never desired power above all else. She was a millennia-old vampire who had faced wars, massacres, and political intrigue—and yet, only one desire remained intact throughout the centuries: to have a child. To raise him. To protect him. Even if it cost her position. Even if it cost her prestige. Even if it cost her own strength.
And it did.
At the end of Victor's previous life, when their world had already crumbled, she was the one who kept him breathing for much longer than any doctor believed possible.
Day after day, she offered her own blood. Transferred vitality.
She weakened her own vampiric core to compensate for the failure in his. Each night drained a little more from the legendary warrior until only an exhausted mother remained, supporting her son on the brink of death.
She could have preserved her own strength.
She could have let fate take its course.
But she chose not to.
Because, above general, strategist, or noblewoman, she was a mother.
And for her, that was always more important than any title.
However… none of that exists anymore.
The timeline where she slowly withered, where she lost authority, vitality, and finally her own son, was erased the instant Victor opened his eyes again in that blood-soaked courtyard. The future in which she sacrificed herself to utter exhaustion ceased to be inevitable.
Now, in the restored present, she is still General Crimson. She still possesses her intact strength. She still carries the silent respect of those who fought by her side.
She doesn't know that, in another reality, she died inside long before her body gave way.
She doesn't know that she wept over her own son's corpse.
She doesn't know that she has lost everything.
"Hahaha! What wonderful news!" she exclaimed, her clear, vibrant laughter filling the hall as if someone had announced a military victory. Her eyes gleamed with genuine satisfaction as she heard the rumor circulating through the corridors: Victor had defended himself. Not only that—he had won.
Ahead of her, the maid responsible for bringing the information did not share the same enthusiasm. With dark circles under her eyes and a tired expression, clearly not paid on time for weeks, she huffed nervously. "Madam, this is serious! He messed with the—"
"Shut up." The interruption was soft.
Cold.
Absolute.
The air seemed to stiffen.
The maid's heart pounded violently, beating against her ribs as if she wanted to flee first. Her instincts screamed in primal alert. Run. Lower her head. Don't breathe too loudly. There was something about that woman that didn't need to raise its voice to remind her what it was—a veteran predator who had already traversed battlefields where vampires died like insects under enchanted blades.
The maid fell silent immediately.
She, on the other hand, merely sighed contentedly, as if nothing had happened, and turned her attention to the open window beside the small tea table where she sat. It was a beautiful day. Clear sky. A light breeze moved the light curtains. The tranquility of the scene contrasted almost ironically with the chaos spreading across the training grounds.
"I was already getting worried that he might have some serious illness," she commented casually, bringing the cup to her lips with impeccable elegance. "Seriously, that would be problematic." Her eyes softened for a brief moment. "But I wouldn't abandon him. Unlike certain mothers at Valentine's House."
There was disdain in that last sentence, though it wasn't directed at the maid.
She set the cup on the saucer and crossed her legs with aristocratic naturalness. "His blood has always been… peculiar," she continued thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the table. "But I never believed it was a flaw. Just a delay. A late awakening." Then she clapped her hands once, as if banishing any negative thoughts from the atmosphere.
"The important thing is that my beautiful son is alright." A proud smile spread across her lips. It wasn't a fragile smile. It was the smile of someone who never doubted. "Seriously, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I was really getting tired of hearing that my baby was 'the worst vampire in the world' because of some ridiculous notes and biased reports."
She leaned back in her chair, completely relaxed.
"They were always too quick to judge," she added lightly. "But I know my son."
Her eyes, once gentle, gained a deeper glint.
"And if he finally decided to react…" a small, dangerous smile formed at the corner of her mouth, "then someone probably deserved it."
The maid remained silent until she heard the knock at the door. "I'll be right back, Lady Serafall." She spoke and went to the door.
The maid crossed the hall with measured steps, still feeling the weight of the presence behind her. Each knock on the door echoed like a premonition.
She opened it.
On the other side was Victor.
His clothes were still stained with blood. Large traces of dried blood all over his clothes. His hair was disheveled. His eyes… different. More steady. Deeper. More… intimidating.
"I would like to see my mother," he said simply. Without arrogance. Without hesitation.
The maid swallowed hard, opened the door wider, and inclined her head slightly. "Come in."
Victor crossed the threshold with firm steps.
The sound of the door closing echoed through the hall.
Serafall didn't turn around immediately. She still held her teacup between her fingers, observing the garden through the open window. The breeze gently moved the curtains, and any observer would swear she was oblivious to the presence behind her.
But the very instant Victor crossed the hall, she felt it. Something had changed; she didn't know why, but her son's aura had drastically altered, as if… he were over fifty years old…
Even so, she didn't turn around. She continued looking outside, feigning indifference—perhaps even slight irritation with the news that had circulated. A silent charade.
When, in fact, it was the complete opposite.
For Victor, however, that image was devastating.
"M-Mom…" His voice barely came out.
She was there, without that lifeless face of the woman who had watched his last moments… completely well and alive. Intact and radiant!
As beautiful as he remembered… not just in appearance, but in presence. Strong. Whole. Proud. That woman who, in another timeline, sacrificed every fragment of herself for him. She who gave up her own power, her own reputation, her own vitality… just to prolong the life of a condemned son.
She who chose to wither away beside him… Who died inside long before her body gave way… And now—She was perfect.
Serafall finally began to turn around, slowly and deliberately, as always. "I heard you defended yourself—" She didn't finish.
Victor was already standing before her… and in the next instant, he enveloped her in a hug. Strong and impulsive… that even sounded desperate. The impact made her take half a step back, genuine surprise piercing her normally impenetrable expression.
"S-son? Out of nowhere you…?" She began, but the sentence lost its force.
Because she felt it. His heart pounded against her chest as if trying to escape. Fast. Out of rhythm. It wasn't combat adrenaline.
It was something deeper... Victor's fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the fabric of her clothes, as if afraid that if he let go, she would disappear.
'Really…' he thought, his eyes closing tightly. Small tears escaped, silently, wetting her shoulder. 'I really went back in time.'
Her scent was the same… The warmth was the same… Her heart was still beating.
And, for the first time since opening his eyes in that blood-soaked courtyard, Victor allowed the tension accumulated in two lives to subside for a moment.
He wasn't just embracing his mother… He was embracing the proof that there was still something he could save… 'Yes… that's it…'
He didn't let go, he just continued polishing his own will into a rough diamond… 'I have to change the future… But despite awakening, I'm still weak… Just like before…' He thought for a moment…
'Be the strongest… that woman said that… so it means I can be the strongest because of my lineage, right? I will… I will protect this second chance!!!'