I saw one or two comments in the previous chapters mentioning that the timeline feels a bit different, and that there are some unnecessary or repetitive parts.
I'd like to say this again:
I'm an Arabic writer, and I'm translating my novel from Arabic to English using ChatGPT. I also asked it to help with minor editing and proofreading without changing the original context of the story.
That's why there might be some awkward or repetitive phrasing at times — and I apologize for that. But as I mentioned, I'm an Arabic writer.
I understand English, but I'm not able to write a full novel in it.
So I hope you can understand my situation, and thank you to everyone who read the chapters or even left a comment — it really means a lot.
Thank you all.
...
Chapter 9: Broken Bones and Unspoken Truths
Slowly, the sun rose over the sky of New Orleans, casting its long golden rays across the French Quarter. The storm that had torn through the previous night had finally receded, but its memory lingered in every shattered window, every scorched stone, and every bloodstain still marking the ground.
Inside the Mikaelson mansion, tension hung as thick as fog.
The Originals and the Salvatores stood around the long dining table—some leaning against the walls, others tending to their wounds, all cloaked in silence. At the center sat Klaus Mikaelson, pressing a blood-soaked cloth to his jaw, his arm still slowly healing after Alexander had broken it.
And on the opposite side stood Alexander.
His face still bore the marks of the fight, his eye slightly swollen, but his stance was upright, and his gaze burned with rare coldness. Despite his wounds, he hadn't allowed anyone to touch him. Not Damon, nor Stefan.
Klaus was the first to break the silence.
He said with a hoarse chuckle:
"Well... I must admit—you're full of surprises, Alexander Salvatore."
Alexander said nothing.
Klaus leaned forward, his tone tinged with something close to admiration:
"I haven't bled like this in over a century. Most people run from me. But you? You stood your ground. Fought me like a warrior I won't forget."
Rebekah raised an eyebrow:
"You almost got yourself killed."
Klaus smirked:
"Exactly."
Elijah sighed and said impatiently:
"Is that how you measure trust now, Niklaus? By the bruises others leave on your body?"
Damon interjected, waving his hand carelessly:
"He's always had a thing for violent friendships."
Stefan, ever composed, spoke calmly:
"We didn't come here to start a war. We came for help. Alexander's curse... it's eating away at him. And we believe the witch who cursed him may have descendants here."
Elijah nodded:
"Then we will help. But let it be clear—what happened last night cannot happen again. This city stands on a knife's edge."
Finally, Alexander spoke, his voice sharp as a blade:
"I didn't come here to make friends. I came for answers."
Klaus studied him, a faint smile playing on his lips.
He said:
"You remind me of someone I once considered family."
Alexander replied coldly:
"Don't compare me to you."
Klaus raised his hands in mock surrender:
"Understood. But you're a Salvatore... and there's more of me in you than in either of your brothers."
Damon muttered with a sigh:
"Great. Another version of him."
Stefan stepped forward, trying to maintain balance as always, and said:
"We're looking for information. The witch who cursed Alexander worked with our father—Giuseppe Salvatore—and with Katherine Pierce. She may have roots here, in New Orleans."
Rebekah spoke in a thoughtful voice:
"There was a witch... ancient. Powerful. Dangerous. She disappeared after the Mystic Falls fire, but whispers say her blood still runs through some veins. Elijah?"
Elijah nodded.
"Her name was Nadia. She vanished during the Great Fire, but her bloodline... they're good at hiding."
Alexander looked at Klaus, his tone firm:
"You know where they are, don't you?"
Klaus gave him a measured look:
"Maybe. Maybe not. But you'll need more than strength to convince them to help you."
Alexander responded coldly:
"I'll convince them... or rip the truth from their bones."
Silence fell.
Elijah looked at Stefan, who returned his gaze with a serious look:
"He's not bluffing."
Elijah said quietly:
"And I believe him."
Rebekah stepped forward and said:
"Then we help him. Because if he keeps going like this, he'll burn the Quarter down before he finds the truth."
Klaus stood up, groaning slightly, and stepped toward Alexander until they stood face to face. They stared at each other—like two warriors bearing the same scars.
Klaus asked, eyes glinting with mischief:
"Ever thought of staying in New Orleans?"
Alexander tilted his head and replied sarcastically:
"Ever thought of shutting up?"
Klaus burst into laughter, a genuine laugh from deep within:
"You're just my type, bastard."
And for the first time... Alexander smiled.
It wasn't wide, nor warm. But it was real.
Damon smiled too and said:
"God help us all."
Stefan stepped forward and said softly:
"We rest now, and at night... we start the hunt. Together."
The three brothers stood, shoulder to shoulder.
At least... for now.
And above their heads, the sun bled gold over the rooftops—casting long shadows of what was to come.
---
Night fell over New Orleans like a silver curtain wrapping the city, painting it with shadows and whispers only those who walk in darkness could hear. After a day of rest and a truce laced with tension, it was time to begin the search.
They split into three teams, each heading in a different direction.
Rebekah Mikaelson walked alongside Stefan Salvatore through the corridors of the old French Market, where the air was thick with the scent of spices, smoke, and ancient magic. The witches here weren't just cunning—they held secrets buried deep in their blood, and a danger not to be underestimated. Rebekah knew some of them by name, and others... by fear alone.
She said as she passed a stall wafting sharp floral scents:
"Here we are again, alone. Like the old days."
Stefan glanced at her with a faint smile:
"Let's not get sentimental. Last time we were alone... you stabbed me."
She laughed softly and said:
"And you totally deserved it."
They moved through the crowd like ghosts, eyes scanning faces, ears catching whispers—any sign that could link the past to the present, in any form.
Elsewhere in the city, Damon Salvatore walked silently beside Elijah Mikaelson, in a quieter, darker neighborhood—where forgotten homes stood like exhumed graves left abandoned, and the fog crept along the ground as if to conceal what shouldn't be seen.
Damon spoke in a low voice, looking around:
"You sure this is the place?"
Elijah nodded.
"These streets are under the spell of a hidden coven. They live in the ruins, casting enchantments to protect their bloodlines. If Nadia left descendants, they may be under this kind of protection."
Damon looked at him skeptically:
"And what's your angle in all this? Family honor?"
Elijah pressed his lips slightly, answering quietly:
"Maybe... redemption. For all of us."
They kept walking, each carrying a different weight, but their silence was shared, as if their pain spoke without words.
Far from them, in the darkest, most desolate corner of the French Quarter, Klaus Mikaelson walked alongside Alexander.
A strange sight—two monsters from a betrayed world, walking together in silence.
They didn't speak for a while, their footsteps echoing like old bells in a neighborhood of abandoned churches.
Klaus finally broke the silence, his voice low:
"Do you remember the first time you killed someone?"
Alexander didn't even blink. He answered coldly:
"I was twelve."
Klaus glanced at him sideways:
"Was the curse on you then?"
"No. Just... angry."
Klaus chuckled softly, a trace of admiration in his voice:
"I like you, Alexander. You don't waste time pretending to be good."
Alexander responded with an icy tone:
"I'm not. I just do what must be done."
They reached an old apothecary, its walls decaying and its herbs rotting. The magic here was old—older than most vampires alive. Klaus turned to him, voice lowering further:
"The witch you're after—her blood may protect her. If you want to be free... you'll have to break that shield."
Alexander narrowed his eyes, scanning the area:
"What do you mean?"
Klaus stepped closer and said with serious tone:
"I mean, to break free... you might have to kill someone completely innocent. Are you ready for that?"
Alexander didn't hesitate, his voice firm:
"I've lost everything. What's one more sin?"
Their eyes met—two killers who knew darkness well. Solid. Unwavering.
And in that moment, Klaus Mikaelson realized the truth: this boy wasn't dangerous just because of the curse, or because of Ash, but because he had already become what others feared.
A weapon.
Klaus smiled, slowly, wickedly.
"Good. Let's go find your witch."
And throughout the city, the three teams searched with the same fire, the same urgency.
And when the clock struck midnight, the wind shifted—carrying the scent of blood... and a power that warned of danger.
The hunt had truly begun.
---