"Ethan... I need to know," Hope's voice cracked, a strained edge of desperation in the stillness that surrounded them in the moonlit square. Her blue eyes, still watery from the emotional rollercoaster of the night before and their recent encounter, locked onto his, searching for something beyond the words he offered, something that would explain the overwhelming connection that left her feeling grounded, questioning her very reality.
He stared at her, genuine confusion on his face as he gently helped her up from the cold ground of the square. "Know what, Hope?" Ethan asked, his husky voice carrying a vulnerability that mirrored her own, an openness she hadn't expected but that drew her even closer to the mystery he represented.
"Everything," she breathed deeply, the cool night air rushing into her lungs like a necessary shock to steady her resolve. "Everything you said just now… about us, about… Lucifer." She hesitated, the name like poison on her lips, unreal. "There is a way, an ancient magic I can use if I have consent. I can see into someone's memories, feel what they felt… as if I were there. It's similar to what vampires do with dreams, but… deeper. Real." Her fingers trembled slightly as she gestured, the vulnerability in her request almost palpable, the need to understand overriding her fear of the unknown. "Can I see, Ethan? If you'll let me? I need to understand what's happening to me… with all of this."
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the distant sound of a car passing on the adjacent street. Ethan looked away for a moment, his heterochromatic eyes—one an icy blue as intense as his mother Tory's, the other a forest green, a lost echo of Clark's—losing themselves in the shadows of the dark square. He thought of everything that had been stolen, of his mother's silent grief, of the loneliness that had accompanied him for so long, of the uncertain journey that had brought him here. But then he looked at her again, and the determination in his gaze was unwavering, a raw vulnerability exposed in the dim moonlight, a silent invitation. "I remember hearing something like that," he murmured, a sad, resigned half-smile curving his lips. "I have nothing to hide from you, Hope. I never have. In fact… I want you to see it. See it all. What we were… what we went through together… before he … before that happened." There was an urgency in his voice, a desperate desire for her to know, for her to remember, for the gap between them to finally be filled.
Her heart thumping wildly against her ribs, so loudly she feared he might hear it, Hope lifted a trembling hand. Her fingers brushed the warm skin of his face, the stubble of his beard scratching lightly, and the instant the contact settled, the world around her dissolved. It wasn't a smooth transition; it was like being sucked into a violent vortex, a whirlwind of sensations and colors and sounds that weren't hers but that resonated in her soul with a shocking, painful familiarity. It was like diving into a deep ocean of memories that belonged to him but that somehow inexplicably felt like missing fragments of herself, like pieces of a forgotten puzzle.
First, the arrival. The oppressive darkness of the Los Angeles garage, the thick smell of oil and old dust. She felt his harsh determination, almost palpable, the crushing weight of her father's absence. She saw through his eyes the Harley-Davidson covered in a dusty sheet, not just a motorcycle but a sacred totem, a relic of Clark. She felt the shiver run down his spine as he touched the cool leather, the almost mystical sensation that his father's spirit was there, trapped in the gleaming machine. He relived the lonely, arduous journey, the motorcycle roaring like a beast along deserted roads under starry skies, guided by a scribbled map and prophetic dreams of an ancient stone school that called to him. Arriving in Mystic Falls, the heavy air of the city, the strange vibe that made his instincts buzz, the doubt etched on his serious face as he muttered to nothing: "What is this place?"
And then, her. The sight of her emerging from the twilight of the Salvatore School, a vibrant contrast against the gray stones. Through his eyes, Hope saw herself with a disconcerting clarity like never before. The red hair that he saw as an "autumn river" bathed in the last light, the blue eyes that were like "blades of ice" but held a "warm flame beneath," the pale skin dotted with subtle freckles that he noticed immediately. He saw the contrast he perceived between her small frame and the grandeur she exuded, the vast, oceanic energy that enveloped him, pulling him irresistibly toward her. Shit. She was too beautiful. The raw intensity of his attraction was like a punch to Hope's gut, overwhelming and undeniable. She felt his focus narrow on her, the outside world disappearing as he saw her for the first time. Her. Only her.
The first words. The tension in the air was almost palpable, Alaric and Landon's presence creating an eerie backdrop. She heard Alaric's mumble, "How many kids does this guy have?" She felt the way his eyes, even as he answered Alaric, returned magnetically to her, unable to look away. His outstretched hand, firm, a grip that hid a nervousness that she could now feel as if it were her own. And the touch… oh, the initial touch. Reliving that first contact, feeling again that electric current, the spark of mutual recognition that they had both felt but not understood… Hot tears began to burn in Hope's eyes, running silently down her face as she floated through those recovered memories. The sharp pain of forgetting mixed with the wonder of rediscovery. It was so real, so visceral… how could she have forgotten that ? The gap inside her, that persistent emptiness that haunted her, began to be filled by echoes of lost feelings, making a painful and, at the same time, incredibly beautiful sense.
The act of kindness. The scene in Alaric's office materialized. Landon, cornered, staring blankly, unable to be compelled by MG, the grim fate of the "transition basement" looming over him. And Ethan, the enigmatic newcomer, stepping in without hesitation. The distinct sound of hundred-dollar bills being counted in her mind, five thousand dollars handed to Landon with disconcerting ease. "Money is no object to me," he had said with that crooked smile that hid so much, a gleam in his eyes she had not been able to decipher at the time. "Let's call it my good deed for the day." Hope felt again, through his memory, the wave of surprise and admiration that had washed over her at that moment, an unexpected warmth that she had not understood but now recognized as the beginning of something. There , she realized with a painful tightness in her chest, watching the scene unfold through his eyes, that was when the admiration began to transform. That spark of unexpected kindness, of unpretentious generosity in the midst of that supernatural chaos... was the first real trigger, the first crack in the armor she kept around her heart.
The change. She saw the Ethan of the beginning—the iron mask of almost impenetrable seriousness, the constant scowl, the pent-up anger simmering beneath the surface like a volcano ready to explode. The way he had initially resisted being just a "student," the untamed fighting fire in his eyes. And then, slowly, she witnessed the subtle transformation that she herself had unknowingly catalyzed. The glimpse of his frustration as he tried to levitate the pencil, melting away as her hand guided his, their shared surprise as it trembled and floated for an instant. The tense, charged moment in the hallway when he had held her steady, their bodies pressed together, the interrupted near-kiss that had left them both gasping. The tentative smiles that had gradually become more frequent when they were together, the dry teasing, the way he seemed to relax, to let his guard down only with her. It was like watching a world mirrored, a reflection painfully familiar and yet shocking in her forgotten reality. The Ethan she had been getting to know over the past few days was just a fragment, a shadow of the man he had once been with her , for her.
The call. The memory shifted again, transporting her to the school practice field in the afternoon sun. Ethan, leaning casually against the wall, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Tory's voice, his mother, sounding crystal clear in his mind, talking about Clark, about his complicated past, about bonds and wolves. And then the word that made Hope's world stop and spin and fall into place in a terrible and wonderful way. Imprint . Hope felt the word vibrate through Ethan's memory with the force of silent thunder, echoing in her own forgotten soul. A shiver ran down her spine, cold and hot at the same time, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu . That word…she had heard it before. Not just in the call she had eavesdropped on with her heightened werewolf hearing, but in her own fragmented and confused dreams, a meaningless echo that now took on a luminous and terribly personal form.
She felt Ethan's own confusion and intense curiosity as he listened to his mother explain—the ancient legend of the rare werewolves, the unbreakable soul connection that transcended time and space, the way the wolf recognized its destiny in another person, a force of nature impossible to deny. She heard Tory speak of Clark with a mixture of hurt and affection, about how he was a "degenerate," dating many women, even having a daughter with Samantha, Tory's friend and rival at the time, but that when he saw her, Tory, something irrevocable changed inside him. The Imprint. The way he felt her presence even from miles away, how her smile was the only thing that calmed the beast within, how he affectionately called her "hothead" and "tigress." She heard Tory say it was an eternal bond, like finding the missing piece in your heart, a love written in the stars. Hope reached out mentally to the Ethan of her memory, feeling the pulse of that ancient concept through him, understanding finally blossoming like a rare flower amidst her own haze of lost feelings. This was it. The overwhelming intensity she felt for him, the almost supernatural attraction, the inexplicable sense of belonging and protection that both frightened and enchanted her… it had a name. Imprint . And it was real. Surprise and curiosity exploded within her, momentarily overshadowing the searing pain of loss as she stood there, immersed in Ethan's stolen past, finally beginning to understand the invisible, cosmic force that bound them together through any barrier, even the oblivion imposed by the cruel hands of the devil himself. The tears that still flowed now had a name, a reason, a shared origin in that bond that not even the primordial evil could completely erase.
The journey unfolded before her like an achingly intimate movie. She watched Ethan search for answers about the Imprint with other werewolves at school, his frustration as he realized it was something connected to his father's different lineage. She felt his vulnerability as he asked her about the transformation, the pain and the control. She relived the moment he got his Harley back, the relief and connection with that object that connected him to his father. She accompanied him on his solo journey—the stop at the diner, the strawberry milkshake (a taste she recognized as familiar, without knowing why), the purchase of new clothes with the abundant money Clark had left her, his reflections on how she confused him, how he had never been interested in other girls in that way.
She saw the confrontation with the dragon woman , his first kill, the silent activation of the werewolf curse. She felt the weight of it through him, the strange mix of strength and guilt. She was there when she comforted him, sharing her own pain, not knowing he carried a similar pain. She relived his nightmare of the colossal, green-eyed beast, the harbinger of his own transformation. She felt his anger and confusion as he woke, the shocking discovery of his new powers—the speed, the strength, the accelerated metabolism that had him devouring ten hamburgers.
The day of community service. She saw through his eyes the incident with Lizzie and the milkshake, felt his protective anger as he watched the girl being humiliated. His restrained but immense strength as he lifted the bully as if he were a feather. She saw her taunting him on the field later, the calculated stretch to get him going, and felt his amused frustration, the desire burning beneath his skin as he watched her.
The kiss under the tree. Their conversation, his apology, their mutual confession that they couldn't stop thinking about each other. And then the kiss. Hope felt the electricity again, the heat, the feeling that the universe had fallen into place when their lips touched. The depth of that moment, stolen and now reclaimed.
Movie night. The growing intimacy in her room, the comfort of being together, holding each other, the fine line between affection and the overwhelming desire he felt. Her vulnerability in asking him to stay.
The separation. Her plea for time, her fear of the intensity. His pain in agreeing, his silent promise to wait. The week of torture for both of them—him drowning himself in training to forget her, her feeling abandoned and confused. Her conversation with Josie, the growing realization that something was wrong. His decision to leave to find his father, feeling she was distracting him from his original purpose. Their painful goodbye in the courtyard, his promise to return, his refusal to take her with him.
Three weeks of fruitless searching. The dusty roads, the dead ends, the growing frustration. The calls to Tory, her warning about losing Hope. The return to Mystic Falls. The encounter with Elena and Damon, the revelation about Caroline Forbes and Clark's past.
The return to school. The sight of her dancing with Landon, the raw, primal jealousy that overcame him. The conversation with Alaric about Caroline. Lizzie's plan to bring them together at the Miss Mystic Falls dance. The borrowed suit, the clumsy waltz steps. The descent of the stairs, the silent recognition that they were the perfect match. The dance, the twins' fight, her tears when she heard about Klaus, the comfort he offered, wiping her tears under everyone's gaze. Her victory. The reunion in her room, the kiss filled with longing and reconciliation.
And then, the call. The phone vibrating in the early hours of the morning. The unfamiliar voice with the German accent. The mention of her father. The immediate decision to go, even though Landon was missing. The quick goodbye to her in the parking lot, the promise to be careful, the quick but meaningful kiss.
The Shed. The most recent and darkest memory came flooding back. The smell of rust and mildew. The impeccably dressed man, sitting like a king amidst the decay, red wine swirling in his glass. Lucifer Morningstar. Hope felt the air thin in Ethan's memories, the unearthly chill that emanated from him. She heard the story of Clark/Gabriel, the divine creation, the experiment. She felt Ethan's shock and anger at learning the truth about his father. And then, the brutal revelation: Lucifer's revenge against God, using Ethan as his pawn. The sentence that made her freeze: "…I erased your existence… Your mother, your sister, your friends, and your beloved Hope, they all forgot about you."
Ethan's pain was like a physical knife in Hope's chest. She felt his impotent fury, the punch thrown at the divine who didn't even flinch. He felt the crushing impact of Lucifer's flick, Ethan's body flying, passing through the wall like paper. The dust, the pain, the humiliation. And the disappearance of the shed, the mocking laughter echoing in his mind. She felt his promise of revenge, whispered into the void, a thread of pure hatred amidst the despair.
Hope abruptly removed her hand from Ethan's face, gasping as if she had emerged from deep, turbulent waters. Tears streamed freely down her face, but now they were not just tears of sadness for the forgotten loss; they were tears of overwhelming empathy for his pain, for the cosmic injustice that had befallen him, and most of all, for the shocking, undeniable truth that now pulsed in her blood. She had seen him there, in the square, so real, bearing the weight of an existential erasure, and now she understood. She understood the lost gaze that had haunted her, the enigmatic words that seemed to come from another time, the visceral connection that transcended logic. He was no monster from Malivore. He was the victim of a divine and infernal game. And he loved her. Even though she had erased his memory by the Devil himself, the Imprint, the indelible connection between their souls, had brought him back to her, like a stubborn compass pointing to true north. The universe, in fact, was conspiring to unite them.
A sob escaped Hope's lips, a raw, broken sound in the stillness of the square. The penny had dropped with the force of a meteor. The pieces fit together—the feeling of emptiness, the shattered dreams of the word "Imprint," the inexplicable attraction to this stranger with mismatched eyes, the way he looked at her as if he'd known her forever. It all made sense now, a painful but liberating sense.
"Ethan..." she whispered, his name a balm and a wound at the same time.
And then she moved. Not with hesitation, but with desperate urgency, a strength born of the fear of losing him again, now that she had truly found him. She threw herself at him, wrapping him in a hug so tight it seemed to steal the breath from them both. Her arms circled his strong neck, her fingers burying themselves in his soft hair, her face pressed against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and earth and something that was uniquely him . She held him with all the strength she had, as if she could fuse them together right then and there, as if she could stop any force in the universe from tearing them apart again. "No," she sobbed into the fabric of his shirt, the words muffled but filled with fierce conviction. "You're not leaving again. Not ever. I won't let you."
Ethan stiffened for a moment, taken aback by the intensity of her embrace, the raw surrender in her voice. But then a deep sigh escaped him, a sound that carried weeks, months, perhaps a lifetime of loneliness and pent-up longing. His own arms wrapped around her, strong and secure, pulling her even closer, crushing her against him with desperate tenderness. He buried his face in her hair, the scent of lavender and her filling his senses, anchoring him to this rediscovered reality. A smile, genuine and bright, finally broke the shadow on his face.
"I'm not going anywhere, Hope," he murmured against her hair, his husky voice vibrating with emotion. "I came back for you. Even though I didn't know if you'd remember... I had to try." He held her tighter, feeling her body tremble slightly against his. "I missed you every damn second."
Hope lifted her tear-streaked face, her blue eyes meeting his—the green and blue shining with an intensity that mirrored her own. "I felt yours, too," she confessed, her voice cracking. "Even without knowing who you were…I felt like there was something missing. A hole in my chest that nothing could fill." She touched his face with her fingertips, tracing the line of his jaw. "It was you. All along, it was you."
He smiled, a smile that reached his eyes, momentarily erasing the pain of the past. "It's always been you, Kitten.
In that moment, as they embraced under the starry sky of Mystic Falls, Hope felt as if the world, once gray and meaningless, had exploded into vibrant colors again. The gap in her chest was filled with an overwhelming warmth, the feeling of being complete, whole, for the first time since Malivore had erased her. The weight she carried on her shoulders, the loneliness of being a stranger in her own life, dissolved in his embrace. There, in Ethan's arms, she was not the forgotten Tribrid, she was not the aimless orphan. She was Hope. And she had been found. The universe could have conspired against them, the Devil could have tried to separate them, but in that embrace, in that reunion of souls, they were proof that some bonds are simply unbreakable.