Mystic Falls was a town cursed with secrets, and on this particular night, the air itself seemed to know it.
The fog rolled in thicker than usual—cloaking the cemetery in a velvet of silence. Even the crickets dared not sing. The old iron gate creaked as a shadow passed through, barely noticeable, but enough to make the hairs on Bonnie Bennett's neck rise. She turned, her breath caught in her throat, but there was nothing—just wind and memories.
Across town, at the Salvatore boarding house, Damon poured himself a glass of bourbon and paused. He didn't need to hear a sound to know someone was in Mystic Falls who shouldn't be. Something… old. His jaw clenched.
"Elena's gone for barely a week, and already trouble shows up at our doorstep," he muttered.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it with a smirk ready on his lips, but what he found made that smirk falter.
A young man—tall, lean, dressed in black from collar to boots. His hair was ink-dark, his skin pale, but what made Damon frown was the man's eyes: bright crimson, like freshly drawn blood.
"I'm looking for Stefan," the stranger said calmly. His voice was smooth, but there was something ancient tucked beneath it—like it had echoed through centuries.
Damon narrowed his eyes. "He's out. But I'll bite—who are you?"
The stranger smiled faintly. "Name's Steve. Let's just say I'm... part of the original mess your little town forgot."
Before Damon could react, Steve was gone—a blur of motion. Damon didn't hesitate. He sped after him, only to find nothing but silence outside. No footsteps, no scent.
Steve had vanished.
Meanwhile, Caroline Forbes was walking through the town square, clutching her phone, distracted by a message from Alaric. She didn't notice the man watching her from the rooftop.
Steve crouched, his red eyes scanning her like a wolf stalks its prey. He could smell the bloodline in her. Valerie's magic still clung faintly to her. Vampire... enhanced, but naïve.
He wouldn't strike—not yet. He wanted information first.
Mystic Falls had changed. He could sense the balance tipping. And the whispers he'd heard in the underground circles—about a girl born from darkness and daylight—intrigued him.
He smiled to himself. "You'll all remember me soon."
Later that night, Bonnie met Damon and Caroline in the Salvatore study.
"You said his name was Steve?" Bonnie asked, her tone serious.
"Yes. Blood-red eyes. Faster than any vampire I've seen—and that's saying something," Damon replied.
"I've never heard of him," Caroline added, flipping through one of Alaric's old journals.
Bonnie frowned. "I think I have."
They turned to her.
"When I was training with the Bennett grimoires, there were references to a vampire called 'Scarlet Fang'—a predator among predators. He didn't turn people—he hunted them, wiped out entire bloodlines to erase their magic."
Caroline's eyes widened. "And he's here?"
Damon downed his bourbon. "Of course he is. We can't go two weeks without another ancient vampire with a god complex."
Bonnie flipped through her own notes, pulling out a faded page. "Here. It says he vanished in 1532. Rumor was he made a deal with a witch so dark, her name was removed from all records. Immortality without limits. But the cost was... sanity."
Damon exhaled slowly. "Great. So we've got a mad vampire god roaming Mystic Falls."
Across the street, standing outside the Grill, Steve watched them from a rooftop.
He didn't need to be invited in. He owned this night.
A young man stepped out of the bar, tipsy and laughing. He bumped into Steve without noticing.
"Oh—sorry, man. Didn't see you th—"
Steve grabbed the man by the throat, lifted him effortlessly, and whispered, "Tell your ghosts the Scarlet Fang has returned."
With a flick, he slammed the man into the alley wall. Blood trickled down brick. Steve's eyes flared red as he bit down, feeding for the first time in centuries.
He savored it—every second.
And then, as the man fell, lifeless, Steve vanished into the fog.