Nero - Revenge never tasted better

Chapter 23: The Long-Lost Brother

My focus shifted as another figure graced the room, diverting my attention from Volka's confusing presence. He was tall, impeccably handsome, a striking figure that demanded attention. Though our encounter had been brief, I immediately recognized him—the enigmatic stranger with sun-kissed locks and an aura of intrigue that had captivated me since our chance meeting at Eric's birthday soiree.

A charming smile played upon his lips, mischief dancing in his eyes as he greeted me. "Well, well, Nero," he purred, his voice a seductive melody. "I must say, I'm glad to see that you're alive after all. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

His enigmatic allure and unabashed charm remained steadfast as he settled onto the couch, exuding a charisma that seemed to transcend earthly bounds, as if the world was his domain and he its rightful ruler.

However, his cryptic words only served to deepen my perplexity. What did he mean by "finally awakened"? And why did he derive pleasure from my bewilderment?

I took a step closer to him, my curiosity getting the better of me. "You?" I blurted out, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of the situation.

He chuckled softly, as though finding my state of confusion rather entertaining. "Indeed," he confirmed, a hint of amusement colouring his words. "It's me, Vladimir."

The name resonated within me, awakening dormant memories. Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

As I closed the distance between us, a torrent of questions flooding my mind, Vladimir's smirk blossomed into a mischievous grin. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" he said, his tone teasing. "I'm surprised you remember me after all this time."

But instead of providing clarity, his response only served to stoke the flames of confusion and frustration bubbling within me until they threatened to erupt. "What in the world are you doing here?" I demanded, my tone edged with impatience. "Can someone please enlighten me? Do you two have some sort of history? And why in the name of all things sane am I still breathing? I should have perished alongside Aiyden yesterday. What on earth happened?"

But rather than addressing my barrage of questions, he simply chuckled, his amusement evident in the glint of his eyes. "Ah, Nero," he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Always so eager for answers."

His avoidance only fuelled my frustration, igniting a tempest of anger within me. "I demand answers, Vladimir," I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Tell me what is going on, or so help me, I'll..."

Before I could finish my threat, Volka interjected from her perch now beside Vladimir, her demeanour composed and serene. They sat so closely, almost touching, giving off an air of intimacy between them. The subtle way she leaned toward him, her hand resting on his thigh, hinted at a connection beyond mere acquaintance. Were they a couple?

"Surely you remember, Nero," she said, her voice gentle yet firm.

It was less of a genuine question and more of a directive. She was commanding me to recollect. So, for a fleeting moment, I delved back into the recesses of my memory, grasping at the fragments of what had transpired when death had seemed but a breath away:

Lying there on the sodden earth, I sensed the encroaching darkness enveloping me, smothering my senses like a weighty cloak. Each sound, each sensation, distorted and distant, trapped in a liminal realm between worlds, teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

Amidst the faint echoes of life—the murmurs of voices, the gentle drumming of rain—I felt them as if from afar, faint and blurred. With every effort to retain consciousness, I grappled with the grim realization that time was slipping away.