TVD: The Siphoner

The air around Aiken grew thick with intent. From his secret drawer, he withdrew a small vial of clear, purple liquid — vervain — and another, darker one that shimmered with a dull blue: concentrated wolfsbane.

He uncorked both vials and, with precise control, let the liquids mingle as he poured them directly onto the pendant. As the first drops touched the obsidian surface, a subtle hiss echoed, like breath drawn through ancient stone. The obsidian drank it in greedily, glowing faintly from within as the mixture seeped into its very core.

The change was instant.

The spiral pendant trembled once, then began to morph, the smooth black surface warping and stretching. The obsidian coil twisted like a living thing, curling tighter, scales rising along its length as the shape solidified — no longer a simple spiral, but a coiled serpent, its head distinct and predatory, eyes narrowed in eternal vigilance.

Then the silver responded.

It surged, stretching and flowing over the obsidian like living mercury, coating the serpentine body in a gleaming shell. But as it bonded with the obsidian, the silver darkened — not into shadow, but into something deeper, a blackened sheen that caught the light and held it like oil on water. Intricate runes briefly flared along the serpent's body, pulsing in a soft violet rhythm — then vanished, as though absorbed into the metal.

Aiken reached out and wrapped his fingers around the pendant. It was still warm to the touch, thrumming faintly like a heartbeat.

The last of the magic he had stolen from Bonnie was gone — siphoned, drained, and poured into this. It had been worth it.

He hadn't expected anything like this.

Back at the Gemini Coven, he had often snuck into the archives, slipping past wards and curfews to read the old forbidden books — the ones that were off-limits to someone his age. In every account he'd read, enchanted objects were always simple augmentations: you infused an object with magic, and that was it. The shape remained unchanged unless you intentionally reshaped it with spellwork.

So why had this pendant transformed?

Was it because the magic he used was stolen?

He narrowed his eyes, curiosity biting at the edges of his thoughts. He needed more magic to test, to experiment — but for now, answers would have to wait.

This artifact had to be tried.

Aiken glanced down at the empty vial in his other hand — the last of his vervain. A soft sigh escaped him. No vervain for him tonight.

He had been taking vervain every day since his search began — since the hunter, his father figure, had vanished. He didn't know why, but something in his gut told him it hadn't been natural. It hadn't been normal. It had been supernatural.

And until he knew what took the hunter, he had kept himself prepared. He cultivated the vervain and wolfsbane in a secret room beneath his apartment, where a small window let in just enough sunlight to nurture them both. The wolfsbane he typically coated on his crossbow's arrows; the vervain he ingested daily.

He didn't trust the world, he never had — and now, he didn't even need to.

This new artifact pulsed in his hand like a promise.

Whatever had taken his father... whatever was out there in the dark...

Aiken was more prepared than ever.

...

The hum of fluorescent lights and the distant chirping of birds outside the window contrasted starkly with the tension that still lingered in Aiken's chest. The pendant rested cool and inert beneath his shirt now, hidden.

He sat in history class, one leg casually crossed over the other, pen idle between his fingers. Beside him, Bonnie kept glancing his way, her attraction poorly masked.

At the front of the room, Mr. Tanner — stern as ever, arms crossed — stood before a map pinned to the whiteboard.

"The Battle of Will-O-Creak," he announced, tapping the center of the map with a metal pointer, "took place right here, in Mystic Falls."

The class murmured slightly, mostly disinterested, save for a few scribbling notes. Tanner's voice cut through the air again.

"How many casualties were there in this battle?"

Mr. Tanner narrowed his eyes.

"Ms. Bennett?"

Bonnie blinked. "A lot?" she said, then winced. "I'm not too sure, but definitely a lot."

Aiken couldn't help it — the smallest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Mr. Tanner folded his arms. "Ms. Bennett, I suggest you follow the lesson more carefully instead of trying to spot imperfections"—he paused, voice dripping sarcasm—"on Mr. Hill's face."

"Didn't find any," Bonnie said smoothly, flashing a teasing smile at Aiken.

Aiken chuckled softly under his breath.

Mr. Tanner's eyes flicked to him. "Mr. Hill, since you're having such a delightful time, why don't you answer?"

The smile vanished from Aiken's face like mist. He spoke plainly, calmly:

"There were three hundred and forty-six victims."

A beat of silence followed. Mr. Tanner blinked.

He hadn't expected that.

He remembered the file he'd been handed just days ago. Aiken Hill — transferred from Sherwood High School. Ace student. Top marks in every subject. Exceptional athlete. High intellect. Strategic thinker. The kind of student who made other teachers swoon and principals brag.

But still — to know local history this well already? He had moved here only a month ago.

That was unexpected.

Bonnie turned her gaze back to Aiken, a new glint in her eye.

"Ms. Bennett," Mr. Tanner sighed sharply, recovering his voice. "Please — don't get distracted again."

A few soft chuckles rose from the students around them.

Bonnie just smiled, still watching Aiken, chin propped on her hand.

Mr. Tanner exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"God help me…"

To be continued...

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How was this chapter? Liked it?

The pendant has the same appearance as the Little Loach from Versatile Mage. I quite love the design, so I just decided to use that (I'll leave an image here). If you can help me find a name for the pendant, I'd appreciate it.