The smoke woke you first.

You coughed violently, sitting up in your bed, eyes stinging. The room was dark—except for the orange glow flickering beneath the door. Heat. Cracking wood. The air was thick, choking.

“Stefan?” you called, barely able to breathe. “Damon?”

No answer.

You scrambled out of bed, bare feet hitting the warm floorboards. When you opened your door, a wave of thick smoke poured in. You screamed, stepping back. The hallway was engulfed—flames dancing along the ceiling, licking the walls.

You were alone.

Terrified.

You tried to run, but the hallway was already collapsing. The crack of breaking beams above made you flinch. You backed into your room again, coughing, gasping. You didn’t know what to do. You were only six. The fire roared louder now, like a monster eating the house alive.

“Damon!” you cried again, tears mixing with the soot on your face.

And then—you saw him.

Through the smoke, a shadow burst through the flames. Coughing, shouting your name. “There you are!” Damon stumbled into the room, eyes wild with panic. He ripped a blanket from your bed, wrapped it around you, and scooped you up in one motion.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you—I’ve got you,” he kept repeating, over and over.

Flames licked the doorway as he carried you out, shielding your face against his chest. Stefan met him halfway down the stairs, shouting over the roar. “This way!”

All around you, your home burned. Paintings blackened, the grand piano cracked with heat, and the chandeliers crashed to the floor like dying stars. But Damon never let go. Not once.

When you burst out into the night air, you gasped like it was your first breath. You were shaking, barely able to open your eyes. Damon collapsed to his knees, holding you tightly, soot-streaked and trembling.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice breaking.

And that night, as the Salvatore house burned to the ground behind you, you clung to your brother—and to life.