The plan was simple in its execution but meticulous in its details: Demetri was to track down the vampire behind the compelled human courier while keeping his movements entirely undetectable. The advantage of surprise was paramount. Whoever had orchestrated the scheme would not see the Volturi coming.
Demitri departed the castle under the cover of a quiet night. His senses were sharp, his focus singular. Tracking was his expertise, a gift that outmatched any across the vampire world. His ability allowed him to pinpoint not just physical proximity but the essence of a target—their presence lingering in the air, distinct as a fingerprint.
Edward's contribution had been invaluable. In just days, he had uncovered what others had missed for months. The man is in a league of his own, Demetri thought, his respect for Edward begrudging yet undeniable. The Volturi had always held Edward in high regard for his gifts, but this display of cunning and precision only served to reinforce why he was among their strongest members.
Demitri also felt a sliver of relief that Edward's findings hadn't implicated any of their guards. While the possibility of an internal betrayal had loomed large, it now seemed the treachery was external. Still, the mystery wasn't solved yet, and Demetri knew better than to relax his guard.
The trail led Demetri north, through ancient forests cloaked in mist and rural villages steeped in silence. As he moved, he allowed his senses to stretch further, tuning into the essence of his quarry. The human was long out of the picture; now, he was hunting something older, something sharper—a vampire whose lingering signature bore hints of cunning and audacity.
He concealed his movements skillfully, masking his approach even as he grew closer to the source. He knew his prey must remain ignorant of the Volturi's discovery. Once cornered, this vampire would have no time to regroup, no opportunity to bolster his defenses.
The trail eventually led him to an old, crumbling estate tucked deep in a forgotten countryside. Demetri observed from the treetops, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined the sprawling grounds below. It was decrepit, seemingly abandoned by human standards, but there was no mistaking it—this was where the vampire he hunted had taken refuge.
Demitri followed the trail through dense woods, past rugged terrain, and into a secluded valley where the scent of vampires hung heavy in the air. The old, crumbling manor that appeared before him was well-hidden, cloaked by the wilderness and shrouded in shadow. It was the perfect hideout for a coven that had no business being anywhere near Volterra.
Slowing his approach, Demitri masked his presence with practiced ease, careful not to disturb so much as a single leaf underfoot. He circled the property in complete silence, every step precise as he moved closer to the source of his hunt. From an advantageous position behind a cluster of trees, he scaled the tallest one, perching high enough to peer down into the broken windows of the manor. What he found inside confirmed his suspicions and more.
The coven inside was larger than expected—at least ten vampires, their forms ghostlike as they moved through the shadows of the decrepit estate. Despite the cobwebbed halls and peeling walls, the air thrummed with their activity. Candles flickered on warped furniture; their dim glow cast eerie patterns on the walls. This was no ragtag group of misfits. They moved with purpose, their postures defensive and ready for action.
Demitri's sharp eyes locked onto one of them: Alexandros. The exiled vampire was instantly recognizable, his distinctive silver hair catching the weak candlelight. Despite his centuries of banishment, Alexandros appeared composed, his face stoic as he stood among the others, commanding their attention. Yet something was wrong.
From Demitri's perspective, Alexandros was a name steeped in old betrayal and calculated arrogance. Once a promising addition to the Volturi guard, Alexandros had been a soldier of both strength and strategy, valued for his sharp mind and formidable combat skills. While he didn't possess a unique gift like many of the other guards, his sheer efficiency on the battlefield had earned him a respected place in their ranks.
But Alexandros always desired more—a craving for power that his position within the Volturi could never satisfy. He grew restless under Aro's rule, frustrated by the rigid hierarchy and the eternal deference expected. His charm began to waver, revealing an ambition that pushed against the boundaries of Volturi loyalty.
The breaking point came decades ago, during one of the Romanian coven's many futile attempts to rise from the ashes of their former glory. Alexandros, seeking opportunity in the chaos, made clandestine contact with remnants of the Romanian faction. He believed that aligning with them in secret could destabilize the Volturi, providing him with the freedom and authority he longed for. He provided them with limited information—not enough to compromise the Volturi entirely, but enough to give the Romanians a slight advantage in their skirmishes.
When Aro discovered Alexandros's treachery, it was only through painstaking investigation. Demitri recalled how Alexandros had underestimated the Volturi's tight web of informants and their sheer patience. Aro had called Alexandros forward, feigning ignorance, only to have the truth of his betrayal revealed in the most public, humiliating way.
The sentence was clear: death. Yet, when the time came, Aro hesitated—not out of mercy, but practicality. Alexandros's knowledge of their operations was dangerous, but his death would permanently sever a potential resource for future use. Instead, Aro chose exile, stripping Alexandros of any privilege or influence. He was cast out from Volterra with a single command: to never return.
For decades after, Alexandros disappeared into obscurity, wandering Europe without direction or purpose. Demitri had tracked him a few times, not as an assignment but out of curiosity. He seemed to drift from coven to coven, never staying long, his reputation stut now, here he was, hiding among a new group of rebels.
Demitri couldn't shake the feeling that Alexandros might not be working alone—or worse, that he wasn't the one pulling the strings. The possibility nagged at him relentlessly. Alexandros had always been brash and ambitious, but not reckless enough to openly challenge the Volturi without calculated backing. This time, he seemed more like a pawn in a grander, unseen game.
It was almost pitiable for a vampire who had once walked Volterra's halls as a valued warrior to have fallen this far. But Demitri knew better than to let nostalgia or pity dull his edge. Alexandros's bitter resentment toward the Volturi was an unhealed wound, festering with time. If someone had offered him the chance at revenge—someone with the right incentive or a dangerous ability—it would have been all too easy for Alexandros to accept.
The might be a vampire with manipulative gift in his coven. Demitri couldn't confirm it yet but he was certainly tracking the vampire, but was led to this group. A power like that could turn the most disciplined of individuals into tools of destruction, twisting loyalty and choice until they were unrecognizable.
Still, doubt lingered. Alexandros was not without cunning. Could he, in fact, be the mastermind and simply leveraging such a gifted ally? Or was he now little more than a puppet dancing to the strings of someone more dangerous?
Demitri lingered in the silence, his instincts sharp. While Alexandros seemed to command respect, there was no evidence—no lingering emotional signature—that he possessed the power to compel others. Demitri knew Alexandros well enough from his time in Volterra before the exile. His abilities were physical, brutish even, but manipulation? No.
As Demitri continued to observe, the interaction within the coven revealed tension simmering beneath the surface. Whispers of discontent reached his ears as he leaned closer, their voices low but sharp. They spoke in fragments of secrecy, alliances, and patience wearing thin. The vampires exchanged loaded glances, and one among them—a cloaked figure Demitri didn't recognize—stood apart from the rest, their hood obscuring their face entirely.
It was this figure that intrigued Demitri the most. Unlike the others, this vampire's presence was unsettling, their essence nearly impossible to read. Each time Demitri focused on them, their presence blurred, as if cloaked in an unnatural veil. It was an anomaly—one that sent a ripple of unease through Demitri, whose gift thrived on clarity.
Though he couldn't yet pinpoint the vampire's ability, Demitri suspected they were the one capable of compelling humans. This figure seemed detached from the rest, observing with an almost otherworldly calm as if orchestrating a game only they knew the rules to.
Demitri's instincts screamed at him to stay hidden, to not make himself known. There were too many unknowns, and a single wrong move could unravel the delicate balance they needed to maintain for a successful strike. Silently, he retreated from his perch, descending into the shadows as the coven continued their subtle machinations inside the manor.
The trail back to Volterra was swift and calculated, his thoughts buzzing with every detail he had gathered. Alexandros, though exiled and likely harboring resentment against the Volturi, was not the mastermind. The cloaked figure, however, was a greater threat than even he had anticipated. The Volturi couldn't afford to hesitate any longer.
As he neared the castle gates, Demitri's mind was already running through battle strategies. He would present his findings to Aro immediately. The Volturi needed to move—swift and without warning. Whoever this cloaked manipulator was, they had dared to challenge the Volturi, and their audacity would be their undoing.
I love Demitri, I think his gift is so underrated. Let me know what you think...