1720 — The New World
The year was 1720.
After centuries in the shadows—
We stepped into something new.
New Orleans
Young.
Hungry.
Rotting beneath its own ambition.
To mortals—
Opportunity.
To us—
Destiny.
The Boy
We found him in the square.
No older than ten.
Dragged through dirt like he was nothing.
Whips cracked.
Laughter followed.
But he didn't cry.
Didn't beg.
He stared at them—
Defiant.
Even broken.
Aurora moved first.
"They torment a child," she said, voice low with fury.
I didn't answer.
I acted.
The soldiers never saw it coming.
A blur.
A breath.
Then silence.
Bodies hit the ground.
Blood soaked into the earth.
And when it was done—
He stood there.
Still trembling.
Still staring at me.
Unafraid.
Good.
A Nameless Bastard
Aurora knelt.
"What is your name?"
The boy hesitated.
"…I don't have one."
That—
That hit something deeper than I expected.
"My father is a noble," he continued quietly.
"My mother was a slave."
A pause.
"He said I was a mistake."
Aurora's jaw tightened.
I stepped forward.
Knelt in front of him.
"I know what that feels like," I said quietly.
His eyes met mine.
Really met them.
"You are not nothing."
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"And from this moment on… you are mine."
A beat.
"You need a name."
And I gave him one.
"Marcellus."
The word settled.
"Little warrior."
His lips trembled.
"…Marcellus…"
I smirked faintly.
"Marcel."
And just like that—
He became someone.
The Father
That night—
I found him.
Comfortable.
Drinking.
Unaware.
"You presume much," the man said.
"I came for a conversation."
I didn't sit.
I stood over him.
"The boy."
His expression twisted.
"That thing? A mistake I should have drowned."
Silence.
Then—
Violence.
I was across the room before he could blink.
Hand around his throat.
"You gave him nothing," I said, voice low.
"No name. No protection. No worth."
He scoffed.
"You're a noble. You understand."
That word—
Ignited something in me.
"No," I said coldly.
"I don't."
And then—
I dragged him.
The Reckoning
The courtyard was waiting.
My family stood watching.
Marcel stepped forward.
"…My father."
The man spat.
"You are filth."
I handed Marcel the whip.
"Then prove him wrong."
His hands shook.
But he didn't drop it.
The first strike echoed.
Then another.
And another.
Pain.
Release.
Justice.
Until finally—
He stopped.
"…Am I like him?"
I knelt in front of him.
"No."
A beat.
"You chose to fight."
That made all the difference.
I turned—
And ended the man.
Clean.
Final.
Done.
Freedom
The next morning—
I returned.
Not for gold.
For people.
They gathered slowly.
Afraid.
"You are free," I told them.
The word didn't land at first.
So I said it again.
"You are not slaves."
A pause.
"Leave… or stay."
"But if you stay—"
"You are paid."
"You are protected."
"You are ours."
Some ran.
Others stayed.
Good.
Loyalty built on choice…
Lasts longer.
Wealth
The safe was easy.
Metal bent.
Locks broke.
Inside—
A fortune.
Gold.
Deeds.
Power.
I brought it back.
And dropped it at Elijah's feet.
Coins spilled across the floor.
"Add it to the collection."
He glanced down.
"…We are wealthy beyond reason."
Kol laughed.
"And we've only just arrived."
Rebekah smiled faintly.
"Peace was never an option, was it?"
Aurora stood beside Marcel.
Hand resting gently on his shoulder.
"Not peace," she said softly.
"A kingdom."
The Beginning
I looked down at him.
Marcel.
Not broken.
Not forgotten.
Mine.
"Yes," I said quietly.
"We build."
And in that moment—
New Orleans stopped being a city.
And became—
Ours.