Hi everyone,
I've been nurturing an idea for a fanfiction story for a while—allowing it to incubate, if you will—and it's finally coming together.
I wanted to reimagine some of the lore surrounding the Volturi. Like many of you, I've always felt that Stephenie Meyer left a wealth of untapped potential regarding their history and power. While the Volturi are undeniably imposing, there is so much more that makes them truly terrifying.
In my research on Volterra, I discovered the ancient Etruscan civilization that thrived centuries before Aro's supposed birth. So, I built built this story on a place that takes inspiration from their history and society.
Thank you for joining me on this journey - I hope you enjoy it!
The air beneath the Etruscan tombs hung heavy with damp and decay, clinging to the walls like the shadows themselves. Every breath tasted of rot, gathering like a thick film on their tongues. Aro led Didyme deeper into the labyrinth, his marble fingers trailing the rough-hewn walls, feeling the ancient symbols hum beneath his touch. His pale skin, cold and unyielding, absorbed the clammy chill as if it had always been a part of him.
Didyme glanced over her shoulder at the yawning darkness behind them.
Aro's voice cut through the silence, soft but deliberate. "Sister, we stand upon the threshold of a mystery even the ancients feared to speak of," he murmured, his voice reverberating off the damp stone. This place... it was whispered of when we were still mortal. The old men would tell us not to venture near these hills, lest the spirits of the damned drag us beneath the earth."
"And yet, brother, it was not fear that led you here today," she whispered, her voice tinged with a blend of curiosity and concern.. "Tell me true, Aro—what compels you to seek out such darkness? I know your ambitions, but this place…" She drew in a breath, her lips pulling into a subtle grimace."It reeks of death."
"This is no simple tomb, Didyme." Aro pressed his finger into the grooves of the symbols carved on the wall, the dust clinging to his marble skin. "The Etruscans believed this to be a gate—a passage to realms neither gods nor men dare venture. It is a place where traitors and murderers find neither rest nor salvation." The corner of his mouth twisted into a mocking smile. "Even immortality cannot protect us here."
Didyme gazed around at the impending ceiling, at the moss hanging limply, like dead bats. "The gods themselves have turned their eyes from this place," she murmured. Her aura dimmed slightly, the faint glow around her flickering like a candle in the wind. She took a step closer to Aro, her fingers brushing against his cold arm. "And what is it you hope to find here?" she asked, her voice quieter now. The cold around them seemed to press in tighter, as if the very walls were waiting.
"The abyss is more than a place of death," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "It judges those who come near it, Didyme. It has a power unlike anything we have ever seen." He turned to her, his expression calm but intense. "But it is your light that will unlock its secrets. The abyss cannot claim what is untouched by shadow. You were born to bring joy to the world, but here—here, you may bring dominion."
Didyme's posture faltered slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her cloak. Her gaze moved from Aro to the gaping void ahead of them. "You believe that my light, my gift, can bend this abyss to your will?" Her voice trembled, but there was a sharpness in her tone now. "Aro, you are playing with forces beyond even our understanding."
They reached the heart of the tomb, where the stone floor opened into a huge cavern. It was as if a giant had gouged through the stone, creating a chasm that seemed to devour light. Long stalactites stretched down towards the black reservoir like the teeth of a beast. Their jagged tips glinted in the hollow light, dripping slick, dark moisture. Each drop echoed like a mournful dirge. Stalagmites rose from the cavern floor, twisted and grotesque; their strain reflected the stench of agony in the air. Enveloped between them lay a pool of water, so thick no light could penetrate it. It looked like oil.
"You would risk everything for this?" Didyme's voice was soft but steady as she stepped closer to the edge. Her aura flickered again, dimming as though the abyss was siphoning her light, feeding on the warmth she radiated. "This place, this darkness... it will consume you, brother. Leave it buried, or it will bury us both."
Aro's fingers tightened around her wrist, though his voice remained calm. "You don't understand, Didyme. Your gift, your soul—it is the key. The abyss does not merely consume—it judges. And it will judge you differently." He took another step closer, his gaze fixed on the water. "We can bend even this darkness to our will. Not just as conquerors, but creators. With your light, we will ascend."
The ground beneath their feet trembled faintly. Didyme recoiled slightly, her expression tightening with disbelief.
"You speak of godhood, brother, but we are not gods. And I have no desire to command the abyss, nor shall I allow it to command you." She grasped his arm tighter, her nails scratching across his skin like stones over granite. "And what of your soul, Aro? Or have you forgotten you had one? If this place is as you say, then it will judge us both. The souls of the dead may rise to meet us here, and they will not care for your grand designs. I have no desire to command the abyss, nor shall I let it command you."
The abyss stirred beneath them, the black water rippling as if something deep below was awakening. Her light flickered more violently now, as though the abyss itself was testing her, tasting her fear. But she stood her ground, her hand slipping from Aro's grasp.
Aro's voice lowered to a whisper, his eyes fixed on the cavern before them. "I was never one to heed warnings, Didyme. This is no myth, no fable from frightened men."
In Aro's mind, the Abyss was a puzzle—one he was uniquely equipped to solve. But the final piece lay with Didyme, her gift.
He took another step forward, closer to the abyss, his ambition burning through his desiccated veins.
Suddenly, the stone began to crumble beneath their feet. Aro pulled Didyme against the cavern wall as bits of stone fell into the black waters. It was so thick and viscous that its surface remained still; as if forming a wave would be too cumbersome.
Aro straightened as his eyes peered through the cavern. A narrow path was nestled into the cavern's wall, trailing down towards the water. It was treacherous and slick with moisture, the edge facing the abyss naked and crumbling. His eyes gleamed with feverish intensity as he stared into the black void.
The faint hum of the abyss grew louder as they descended the stairs. It resonated through the cavern like a distant, mournful wail. The path beneath them wound deeper, more treacherous, the stone withered with age and neglect. The black water stretched before them like a waiting predator, rippling faintly in anticipation; a fox creeping through the vineyard.
Eventually, they reached the bottom.
Aro stood at the precipice, his eyes locked on the pulsing vein. His fingers tightened around Didyme's wrist, not out of fear, but out of calculation.
Didyme hesitated, the cold gnawing at her more acutely now—as if the very air was sucking the warmth from her soul. But her instinct to protect her brother was stronger than the sense of dread coiling within her.
Aro's face contracted into a grin, the tendons in his neck tightening.
Didyme stood beside him, her light flickered again, struggling against the pull of the void. Didyme stared into the blackness, her unease growing. The abyss felt wrong, as if the air itself resisted her presence, pushing back against the light of her aura. She didn't speak, but Aro could feel her uncertainty. For the first time, doubt crept into her heart.
"You speak of control, but this place is not about power," she said, her voice low and wavering. "It is about what we lose by trying to control what should remain untouched." She took a step back, her aura dimming further as the weight of the abyss pressed down on her. "This is not power, Aro—it is emptiness."
Without warning, the abyss began to stir, heaving itself towards them.
Pale shapes began to rise beneath; white streaks that gradually became sharper as they approached the water's surface. They wore human forms, though there was no sign of humanity within them. Their faces were gaunt, skin sagging from the crevices of their gouged cheekbones. It clung to the bone like wet paper. With their presence came a feeling of suffocation; the air around them thickened with the weight of their suffering. Their eyes, hollow and white, were locked onto Aro.
Their skeletal fingers stretching toward him with cold, unrelenting hunger.
Aro staggered, his balance faltering as the ground beneath him crumbled. The souls surged upward, their bony hands wrapping around his legs, pulling him closer to the edge.
The souls did not speak, but their voice bled into his mind like poison from a snake. Images of their deaths flashed through his mind: his red eyes penetrating through their membrane; the tug in their veins as he leached the blood from their veins.
His calm facade cracked, his eyes wide with terror as he realized the abyss had not been waiting for Didyme—it had been waiting for him.
They clung to him now, their deaths pressing into him like stones in a mill as they ground his soul to dust.
Didyme lunged forward, her arms wrapping around his waist. Her light flared one last time, burning fiercely as she fought against the pull of the abyss. But as her aura brightened, the souls recoiled—not from the warmth of her light, but from the fear that now poisoned it.
Her aura fought against the cold, pressing back against hunger. But as she saw the terror in her brother's eyes—a weight settled in her chest, a heaviness that had nothing to do with the air—for in her strong, calculating brother's eyes was terror.
Icy tendrils of fear crept up her spine, and the souls shifted their attention to her like moths to a flame.
Betrayal began rooting itself within her. It atrophied the luster on her soul. Wet fingers brushed her skin, relishing in the sweetness of her despair.
Aro heard their relish at tasting something sweeter than his bitter vengeance—the vulnerable luster of her soul. As the flavor dissolved onto their skin, their gnawing hunger becoming more pronounced. They lusted for her despair. He'd been momentarily forgotten.
In a moment of pure instinct, Aro flung himself towards the ledge of the stone, and flung Didyme toward the abyss.
The spirits scrambled towards her with urgent necessity. Didyme gasped, her eyes wide with shock as the souls seized her, suffocating her in waves of terror. Her light flickered violently, struggling to flare one last time, The water hissed and snapped around her, blurring her movements as they pulled her down into the black depths. The aura of bliss that had once made her adored by all now twisted into a silent scream of betrayal.
Aro's eyes were wide as he watched her sink into the abyss, feeling her light extinguishing with one final flicker. The abyss quieted, its hunger sated, and the faintest ripple disturbed the surface of the black water.
Aro stood motionless at the edge of the abyss, his breath shallow and uneven. The silence was suffocating, clinging to him like a second skin. His crimson eyes were wide, fixed on the black, rippling surface where Didyme had vanished. He hadn't moved. His hands were still outstretched, trembling faintly, as though the weight of his betrayal lingered on his fingertips.
The dark surface reflected nothing but the oppressive blackness around him, yet in his mind, her last, shocked expression burned with an intensity he could not shake. A cold sensation creeping up his spine, as if the fingers of the abyss still clutched at him, dragging him down with her.
In the silence that followed, Aro's heart, long hardened by ambition, felt the faintest stirrings of something unfamiliar—guilt.
The air around him thickened, becoming heavy and oppressive, pressing in on him from all sides. It was as though the cavern itself was alive, the very stone breathing beneath his feet. A low, guttural sound rumbled through the tomb, vibrating up from the depths of the chasm—a sound that wasn't just physical, but something deeper, something primal. The abyss was stirring.
Aro took a step back, his chest tightening as the sound grew louder. His gaze flickered across the black surface of the water, watching as faint ripples spread outward, each one growing in size. The dark water swirled, twisting and pulling at the edges of the chasm, tendrils of shadow reaching out like fingers. And in the distance, from the depths of the abyss, pale shapes began to rise once more—souls, their hollow, accusing eyes locking onto him.
His feet moved before his mind could catch up. Aro turned, his cloak billowing around him as he sprinted toward the tunnel. The tomb's passageways twisted and turned, each step deeper into the network of Etruscan burial chambers. He could still hear the abyss behind him, that low, sickening hum growing louder, reverberating through the stone. The sound crawled up his spine, its weight crushing, inescapable.
The shadows stretched, twisting and writhing, like fingers curling toward him—as if trying to throw him back into the abyss.
But his thoughts were sharp, his instincts honed by centuries of survival and deception. He would not fall victim to this place. Not like Didyme.
Didyme.
The image of her pale face contorted in betrayal as the abyss claimed her seared through his calcified heart.
Didyme's death would haunt him, but it would also serve him. It would become his shield. He would weave her fate into a tragedy so devastating, so deeply rooted in sorrow, that no one—not even Marcus—would dare to question its authenticity. He would even mourn her himself, with such profound grief that his deception would be perfect.
And then, as he forced his feet to move faster, the feeling shifted—relief, morbid and bitter, washed over him. The abyss had swallowed her as it had countless souls before her. With her light extinguished, Marcus' precarious affections would be snuffed out as well. No more whispered rebellions, no more quiet defiance. Only his command remained.
By the time Aro reached the fortress of Volterra, his pace had slowed. He entered the grand stone hall with a purposeful stride, his cloak trailing behind him in shadowy folds. The guards barely glanced at him, though a few of the younger ones murmured about his disheveled state. But inside, Aro's movements were deliberate, his hands trembling only slightly as he entered the ancient archives.
He would erase every record, every trace that the abyss had existed. The tomb would be sealed so thoroughly that no one could ever stumble upon its depths. No one would know what had become of Didyme.
Scrolls and tablets were pulled from their shelves and thrown into the hearth. Flames licked at the edges of ancient parchment, curling the words into ash. Aro watched as centuries of knowledge were consumed. No evidence of the Etruscan Veins remained but the faint scent of burning ink and the hollow emptiness of the vault.
With shaking legs, Aro moved toward the bookshelves. Somewhere, in the sea of dust and fading ink, there had to be a name—a creature, a forgotten force—something capable of sealing what even he could not.
Grasping at the dark tendrils of lore, he searched feverishly, flipping through brittle pages. The discarded volumes thudded behind him like a dying heartbeat.
He needed to seal the tomb so deeply, so perfectly, that no one—not even the most desperate—could stumble upon its cursed depths. The abyss would remain hidden, forgotten, unless one sought it with a soul so shattered that oblivion felt like a gift.