Present Day – Mystic Falls Woods, Midnight

The night was drenched in fog and stillness, save for the raw sound of something breaking.

Klaus had only meant to pass through. A quiet return. Maybe see Caroline — not to rekindle, but to remind. He had unfinished conversations. Unspoken things left to die in small towns like this.

But Mystic Falls had its own way of clawing open old wounds.

He didn't expect to find Stefan Salvatore in the woods.

And certainly not like this.

Stefan was on his knees in the dirt, fists caked with blood and soil.

He punched the ground again and again, chest heaving, breath ragged, like he could dig his way out of the grief clawing at his ribs.

"She chose him," Stefan growled, voice raw. "She chose him."

The words were torn from his throat like they were barbed.

There was a cry, sharp and ragged — not just heartbreak, but fury. Despair dressed in teeth.

"She always does."

He struck the ground again, splitting open skin and stone alike, his knuckles bloodied from the effort. His body trembled with rage, shoulders hunched like he was folding inward — or bracing to be hit.

"I gave up everything... I was everything."

His voice cracked.

"I would've bled for her. I did. And she—"

He couldn't finish it.

He dropped forward, palms digging into the mud, his breath a snarl, a sob, a broken sound not meant for another soul to hear.

But someone did.

Klaus watched from the trees. Unmoving. Unblinking. And not entirely breathing.

Something bitter twisted in his chest.

He remembered another century. Another breakdown. Different city.

Same boy.

He stepped out of the shadows.

"You always did enjoy a good pity party."

Stefan froze.

His head whipped around, eyes bloodshot and wide, veins dancing beneath the skin. His breath stuttered in his chest.

"...Klaus?"

The name tumbled from his lips on instinct, muscle memory and disbelief crashing in his mouth.

Klaus's gaze was cool. Detached.

"Surprised to see me?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," Klaus said, stepping closer. "Though I suppose screaming into the dirt is your latest form of therapy."

Stefan stood slowly.

The rain had turned to mist, clinging to his shirt, slicking his skin. He looked feral. Grieving. Haunted.

"Leave. Now."

Klaus smirked. "And miss the noble Stefan Salvatore unraveling like cheap thread? I wouldn't dream of it."

Stefan's jaw clenched.

"You think this is funny?"

"I think it's tragic," Klaus said, voice calm but cruel. "You've become a walking cliché. The brooding ex-lover, rejected, bleeding in the woods. Honestly, it's almost poetic."

"I said leave."

"Or what?" Klaus stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "You'll cry harder?"

Stefan snapped.

He lunged.

His fist cracked against Klaus's jaw with a brutal, satisfying sound. Klaus stumbled half a step, the corner of his mouth already darkening with blood.

He smiled.

"There he is."

And then the storm broke.

They collided like fire and fury, throwing punches and slamming into trees, their strength echoing through the woods like thunder. They didn't hold back. Not even a little.

Stefan slammed Klaus into a tree with a roar. Klaus retaliated with a sharp elbow to his ribs, then lifted Stefan and slammed him to the ground.

Mud. Blood. Teeth. Anger.

They fought like men who had done this before — and only one of them knew they had.

"You think you know pain?" Klaus hissed, landing a punch. "You don't even remember half of yours."

"Shut up!" Stefan grabbed him by the coat and flung him into the bark so hard the trunk cracked.

"You think this is about Elena?" Klaus sneered, spitting blood. "This is about you. It's always about you. Broken, brilliant Stefan who thinks love will save him. How quaint."

Stefan punched him again. And again.

"You don't know me."

"Oh, I do," Klaus growled. "I've seen you. I've seen every version of you, from the noble idiot to the monster. I've seen the ripper, and believe me—"

He slammed his forearm against Stefan's throat.

"—he wasn't weak like this."

That stopped Stefan.

He shoved Klaus off, stumbling back, chest rising and falling like he'd just taken a hit to the soul.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

Klaus's voice dropped to a blade-edge.

"The ripper I knew didn't cry over women who never deserved him. He didn't fall to pieces because someone chose his brother."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do." Klaus was smiling, but there was no joy. Only something colder. "He was a storm. Vicious. Brilliant. Alive. And you? You're a shadow. A ghost clinging to someone else's heartbeat."

Stefan lunged again, but this time Klaus was ready.

They tumbled into the mud, grappling like wolves, primal and breathless. Stefan pinned Klaus down, hands to his throat, snarling.

"What do you know about me?"

Klaus stared up at him.

His eyes flickered — rage and something deeper swimming beneath.

"I know what you look like when you lose everything," he said, voice low. "I know the sound you make when the world leaves you behind. And I know you don't remember because I made damn sure of it."

The silence cut like a knife.

"What?" Stefan breathed.

Klaus didn't answer.

Just watched him. Like he was looking at someone who used to be real.

Stefan's hands loosened. Just for a second.

Klaus flipped them.

Now he was on top, holding Stefan down, their faces inches apart, breath mingling in the cold air.

"You think I showed up here to trade insults?" he said, voice a razor. "You're standing in the same place you bled in before. Screaming the same things. Breaking in the same way. The only difference is—" He leaned in closer. "—you forgot who was there to pick up the pieces."

Stefan's throat worked, but no sound came out.

Klaus didn't wait.

He let go. Stood. Brushed himself off like Stefan was nothing more than dirt on his boots.

"You always beg for love like it owes you something. Pathetic."

"Fuck you," Stefan hissed, still on the ground, trembling.

"You already did," Klaus whispered. "You just don't remember that either."

The words sent a bolt through Stefan's spine.

But before he could respond—

"Klaus?! Stefan?!"

Caroline's voice cleaved through the woods like a whip.

They froze.

Seconds later, she emerged — soaked, breathless, furious.

"What the hell is going on?"

Klaus turned first, his face a picture of bruised elegance, blood at the edge of his mouth.

"Just a friendly reunion," he said dryly.

Stefan didn't speak. Couldn't.

His throat was still closing around words that didn't make sense.

Caroline stepped between them, wild with disbelief.

"You two are unbelievable," she snapped. "You're fighting like this is dogs and there's no one left to bury the bodies."

Klaus chuckled. "Well, someone has to make the drama interesting."

She ignored him. Her eyes darted to Stefan — pale, trembling, fists clenched.

"Stefan..." she softened. "What's wrong?"

"I don't..." He shook his head. "I don't know."

Caroline turned back to Klaus.

"Why are you here?"

"I heard you missed me," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Spare me." Her voice was tired now.

"Klaus..." she said again, this time more pleading.

"Go."

He hesitated.

Just a breath.

And then he turned to Stefan one last time.

Their eyes locked.

Klaus's voice was softer than she could hear.

"You'll remember eventually."

Then he was gone.

The woods were quiet again.

But Stefan wasn't.

He stood frozen.

The fight still thundered in his blood. The words Klaus said scraped behind his ribs.

"I know what you sound like when you think no one hears."

He hadn't told anyone those things. Not even Damon.

Not even Caroline.

"What did he mean by that?" Caroline asked, touching his arm.

"I don't know," Stefan said.

But his voice was thin.

And something inside him whispered it wasn't entirely true.

End of Chapter Three