“Come back,” she said, without looking back. “Slowly. Feel the ground. Learn where your body ends.” He followed her obediently.

But inside… But the astonishment didn’t pass.

He walked behind Elizabeth with deliberately short, almost exaggerated steps, like someone learning to walk again after an accident—or after discovering that the ground was now optional.

Each leaf under his feet seemed to react to the touch, each root conveyed too much information. It wasn’t just touch. It was reading. The world was… legible.

He hated it a little… And loved it too.

“Don’t speed up,” Elizabeth said without turning her face, noticing the subtle adjustment in his pace. “You’re still ‘escaping’ the ground.”

“I’m not trying,” Damon replied, tense. “My body just… does.”

“I know.”

She stopped suddenly.

Damon almost walked right past her, which would have been embarrassing, considering he was still trying not to walk through people like doors.

“So let’s settle this now,” Elizabeth said, turning to him. “Before you accidentally walk through the entire mansion and someone decides to write a song about it.”

“They’ve already ripped off a door. I think the song is in production.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Focus.”

Elizabeth took two steps back, creating space between them. The forest seemed to adjust again, as if curious.

“Control doesn’t begin with muscle,” she continued. “It begins with intention.”

“Intention not to destroy anything?”

“Intention to exist within one’s own body,” she corrected. “Young vampires confuse power with action. You don’t need to act. You need to contain.”

She stamped her foot.

The impact was soft.

Even so, Damon felt the vibration rise up his legs like a deep, controlled, precise pulse.

“Feel the weight,” she said. “Not yours. The world’s.”

Damon took a deep breath.

He tried to do what she said.

He tried to feel the ground not as something he could break, but as something that held him up.

It was… strange.

It was like trying to trust something after discovering you could walk through it if you wanted to.

“This is ridiculously difficult,” he murmured.

“Good,” Elizabeth replied. “If it were easy, you’d already be dead.”

She moved closer again.

“Now,” she said, stopping a meter from him, “take a step towards me. One. Normal.”

“Normal for whom?”

“For someone who intends to keep the walls standing.”

Damon nodded, more focused than he had ever been in his life.

He thought about the step.

He thought about the movement. He thought about the contact of his foot with the ground.

He thought about not bending space-time.

He took the step.

The world didn’t explode.

No trees fell.

No absurd air displacement.

He just… walked.

He reached her.

Damon blinked.

“I did it.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, satisfied.

“You managed not to die. It’s too early to celebrate.”

He let out a short, nervous laugh.

“You’re terrible at positive reinforcement.”

“I survived for centuries without it.”

She moved away again, sitting on a fallen log, clearly choosing something that would support her weight without protest.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said. “Something you’ll try to ignore until it’s too late.”

“Excellent introduction,” Damon commented, sitting carefully on the ground. “Go ahead.”

Elizabeth crossed her legs.

“Hunger.”

His body responded before his mind.

A sudden tightness in his stomach. Not pain. Not emptiness. Something more specific. Focused.

Damon grimaced.

“This isn’t psychological, is it?”

“No,” she replied calmly. “It’s physiological, energetic, and instinctive. Three layers, all inconvenient.”

She rested her elbows on her knees.

“Your hunger isn’t constant. It comes in waves. If you ignore it too much, your body starts looking for shortcuts.”

“Shortcuts like…?”

“Blood. Violence. Loss of control. Everything you promised not to do with doors.”

Damon sighed.

“Great. So besides being a structural problem, I’m a social risk.”

“You’ve always been a social risk,” Elizabeth commented. “Now it’s just… more literal.”

She became serious again.

“Damon, listen carefully. You can’t drink blood right now.”

“I know. You already warned me.”

“No. You understood, but you didn’t internalize it.”

She stood up.

“If you drink blood in your current state, three things can happen.”

She raised a finger.

“First: you lose control immediately and kill someone before you realize it.”

Another finger.

“Second: your body accepts too much energy, evolves too fast, and collapses. Implosion. Not pretty.”

Third finger.

“Third: the bond with me is forcibly completed.”

The air grew heavier.

“And that’s bad because…?” Damon asked cautiously.

Elizabeth stared at him. “Because I don’t know what you would become after this.”

Silence.

The forest seemed to listen.

“I don’t want to be responsible for creating something that even I can’t stop,” she finished.

Damon felt a shiver that had nothing to do with cold.

“So what do I do when this hunger… gets worse?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath.

“You learn to redirect.”

She moved closer to him again.

“Emotions,” she said. “Desire. Connection. Everything an incubus already knows how to manipulate. You’ll have to do this with yourself.”

“That sounds dangerously abstract.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But it works.”

She touched his chest with two fingers, exactly as before.

“Your core responds to will. Not to need.”

Damon closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the strange pulse beneath his skin.

“What if I fail?”

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate.

“Then I’ll intervene.”

He opened his eyes.

“You always say that as if it’s comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be,” she replied. “It’s meant to be honest.”

She stepped away again, clearly tired now. Not just physically—something deeper.

Damon stood up immediately.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, echoing her words from before. “You’ve gone too far a long time ago.”

Elizabeth watched him for a few seconds.

Then nodded.

“Fair enough.”

She started walking back along the path leading to the mansion.

“Tomorrow,” she continued, “we start with emotional containment. This is going to be… unpleasant.”

“More than ripping doors off?”

“Different. Doors don’t look back.”

Damon grimaced.

They walked in silence for a while.

“Elizabeth,” he said suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

She stopped.

She didn’t turn around immediately.

“Because I’ve seen what happens when someone like you is left alone,” she finally answered. “And because…” she hesitated, “I still believe that choices matter.”

She resumed walking.

Damon stared at her for a moment longer.

Then he followed her.

But something had changed.

It wasn’t just fear anymore.

Nor just astonishment.

It was the unsettling realization that this absurd power didn’t come with a manual… only with consequences.

And that, whether he liked it or not, Elizabeth wasn’t just his accidental creator.

She was his anchor.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep