Page 54 of Hooked On Victor
The chamber around them was silent in the way only old, sealed places could be—every breath seemed too loud, every rustle of fabric a betrayal. The torch Nikolai held guttered and snapped, throwing long, flickering shadows against the steel walls lined with relics of a dead empire.
The parchment was brittle, the edges browned and flaking as if the years had tried to eat it away entirely. But the handwriting—elegant Cyrillic strokes, steady, unbroken—had survived. Written by a man who hadn’t yet known he would die nameless in a pit, his dynasty reduced to whispers and rumors.
Victor inhaled once, sharply. His breath trembled as he released it.
He began to read aloud, voice low but clear enough to reach every corner of the vault.
To my son, if he should ever rise again—
We were betrayed by many hands, but it is the silence that wounds deepest.
If you are reading this, then our blood endured beyond the fire. That means something. It must.
The truth was never only about crowns. It was about the men behind them. The alliances. The debts. The secrets.
If you find this vault, you will be tempted to reveal it all. Some will call it justice. Some revenge.
But let me speak plainly, as a father would to a child:
Do not seek restoration. Seek peace.
Protect the truth, but do not become it. The empire fell because we could not let go.
You must let go. Or it will consume you, too.
You are my blood, but the world is no longer ours. Let it be yours instead.
—N.
Victor’s voice cracked on the last line.
For a moment he didn’t move.
Just stood there, torchlight painting hard planes on his face, eyes glittering with unshed tears.
He folded the letter with careful, trembling fingers, like it was something alive that might bite if angered. The parchment crackled softly in the hush.
He placed it back in the black case.
Gently.
Reverently.
He let out a long, ragged breath and pressed both palms to the altar as if he needed its cold solidity to keep from collapsing.
Rose watched him from just behind, heart thudding painfully at the rawness of his silhouette—broad shoulders sagging under invisible weight, head bowed like a man being sentenced.
Nikolai watched too, his own expression unreadable. Shadows licked over the scar on his jaw, making it seem deeper.
Finally Victor’s voice came, so quiet Rose almost didn’t hear it over the pop of the torch.
“I should destroy it,” he whispered. “Torch the whole vault. End the legacy.”
Nikolai shifted slightly, the leather of his coat creaking.
“And what would that achieve?” he asked, voice even.
Victor’s fingers curled against the stone.
