The living room of the Mikaelson mansion lay quiet in the early evening light.
Shadows stretched across the polished floor, cast by the setting sun through half-drawn curtains.
The fireplace stood cold and empty, its ornate mantel adorned with artifacts from centuries past - reminders of a family that had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations.
Elijah Mikaelson sat alone in a leather armchair, his posture impeccable despite the hour.
A half-empty glass of amber liquid rested on the side table beside him, untouched for the past twenty minutes.
His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm on the armrest - the only outward sign of his inner contemplation.
The past week had been... remarkable.
His siblings, all awakened from their daggered slumber, under one roof without bloodshed.
Rebekah, her bitterness tempered by newfound hope.
Kol, his chaotic energy channeled into research rather than destruction.
Even Finn, the eternal moral compass, engaged in family discussions rather than only despising their state of existence.
And Niklaus. His volatile, paranoid brother seemed almost... at peace.
All because of one boy.
His thoughts turned to Marcel, as they often did when observing Klaus with Lucien.
He remembered his own genuine fondness for the boy, his attempts to guide him. And he remembered Klaus's jealousy, the subtle barbs, the escalating tension.
His own painful decision to withdraw, to act with calculated coldness, all to redirect Klaus's focus.
He would not repeat that mistake.
The soft click of the door interrupted his thoughts. Kol strolled in, a crystal tumbler of dark liquid in hand, his eyes bright with their perpetual mischief.
"Well, well," Kol drawled, dropping onto the facing couch with theatrical grace, "if it isn't my favorite big brother, looking utterly devoid of joy." He took a deliberate sip from his glass. "One would think the peace and harmony of family life was actively draining your immortal soul."
Elijah's lips curved into a small, tired smile. "Kol. Your observations, as always, are both astute and entirely unwelcome."
"Just checking on the old man," Kol replied, feigning innocence. "Wouldn't want you to turn into a statue before the next family crisis. We need your brooding gravitas, after all."
"The household is... stable. For now," Elijah said, his gaze drifting back to the window where darkness had begun to fall.
"Indeed," Kol agreed, twirling his glass between elegant fingers. "Remarkably so. All thanks to our newest, pint-sized addition. Though he doesn't seem to appreciate his role as the great unifier. Still gives Niklaus that 'I'm plotting your demise' look every time he's called 'son.'"
Elijah's attention sharpened. Kol, for all his recklessness and hedonism, possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of the arcane, gleaned from centuries of dabbling in dark magic and consorting with witches across continents.
"Kol," Elijah began, his voice dropping slightly, "I have been observing Lucien."
"Hard not to," Kol interrupted with a dismissive wave. "The boy's a walking enigma. One minute he's a terrified child, the next he's wielding power that makes Niklaus look like an excited puppy. And Katerina's utterly smitten. It's truly a sight to behold."
"I speak of his other aspects," Elijah pressed, ignoring the jibe. "His troubled sleep. The way he deflects, the... performance of normalcy. And the mark on his palm. Niklaus spoke of it at dinner, implying it was the source of his... 'incapability of peace.' I sense a profound evil from it, Kol. Something ancient and malevolent."
Kol's playful demeanor subtly shifted. His eyes, usually dancing with mischief, became sharp, focused. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Ah, the mark," Kol murmured, a hint of genuine interest in his voice. "Yes, I know that one. Or rather, the type. It's the branding of Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror. You've found that much, I presume?"
Elijah nodded. "Indeed. But the nature of the curse, its persistence, and Niklaus's comments... they suggest something far beyond a simple curse from a minor deity."
Kol's lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. "You're right. It is." He glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before continuing in a lower voice.
"I've heard whispers, from old witch covens in the Andes, from certain ancient gods whose names even I hesitate to speak aloud. Whispers of a collective. They call themselves 'The Godhand.'"
Elijah's posture stiffened. "The Godhand?"
"A handful of gods from different pantheons," Kol explained, his voice low. "No one knows their true identities, they keep themselves cloaked in shadows. But they learned something profound. They learned to harness the human soul."
"Humans," Elijah said, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "The most potent of souls."
"Precisely!" Kol snapped his fingers. "We, as former humans, understand this. Our souls, even in undeath, are infinite generators of power. But these other gods, born of belief, they don't have that innate potency. So, they found a way to take it. To forge a connection, a possession, with suitable human vessels."
"To constantly strengthen themselves," Elijah finished, the pieces clicking into place.
"Bingo!" Kol grinned, though there was a chilling edge to his enthusiasm. "Every few decades, or whenever the mood strikes them, they perform a grand sacrificial ritual. They use the accumulated soul energy, the excess, to prevent themselves from bursting from within, and transform it into an ascension. A higher form of existence."
"And the ritual?" Elijah prompted, his mind racing.
Kol's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Taken to another dimension. The sacrifices... tortured beyond belief. The more negativity, the more despair, the darker the emotions, the more potent the ritual. It fattens the soul, you see, for their feast."
Elijah's jaw tightened. A muscle twitched in his temple. His eyes, usually warm and perceptive, turned cold and dangerous.
This was not horror - he had witnessed too much in his millennium of existence for that - but a profound, controlled anger.
"You believe Lucien was one of these sacrifices," he stated, his voice unnervingly calm.
Kol merely shrugged, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "If he is... then he is one of the very few, perhaps the only one, to have ever escaped it alive.
But the nature of the curse, the mark of Tezcatlipoca, its constant draw to the negative, to 'fatten' the sacrifice for a later consumption...
Well, our little unifier is cursed, Elijah. For a life of never-ending suffering, pursued by the very forces that sought to consume him. Unless, of course," Kol paused, his eyes gleaming, "he kills the five gods who branded him."
The weight of Kol's words settled heavily in the room. Elijah looked away, his gaze falling once more upon the unlit fireplace.
The boy, "incapable of peace"... it all made a horrifying, logical sense now.
"Well," Kol said, rising with fluid grace, "that's enough heavy lifting for one evening. I believe I shall find something more... entertaining to occupy my time."
He paused at the doorway. "Oh, and Elijah? I wouldn't mention this to Niklaus just yet. We don't know if he knows the full story. You know how... possessive he gets about his toys."
With that, he was gone, leaving Elijah alone.
For several long minutes, Elijah remained motionless, processing the implications.
This boy, who had given them so much - who had freed Niklaus from a millennium of rage, restored Rebekah's hope, brought a semblance of peace to their fractured family - was condemned to a life of ceaseless torment.
A living sacrifice.
His gratitude, already profound, now intertwined with cold fury.
Not for himself, but for the debt they all owed.
The boy was family now, however formally, and such a violation could not stand.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulled him from his thoughts. Light, measured steps - Lucien's.
The boy appeared in the doorway, hesitating when he saw Elijah. "Sorry," he said, starting to back away. "I didn't know anyone was in here."
"No need to apologize," Elijah replied, his voice carefully modulated. "It's a common area."
Lucien nodded but remained in the doorway, clearly uncertain whether to enter or retreat.
Elijah observed him with new understanding - the careful way he held himself, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the watchful eyes that missed nothing.
A child carrying the weight of gods' malice.
"I was just leaving," Elijah said, rising from his chair with fluid grace. "The room is yours."
As he passed Lucien in the doorway, he noticed the boy's palm - the jaguar mark darker today, almost pulsing. Elijah paused, just for a moment.
"Lucien," he said quietly, "whatever burden you carry... remember that debts in this family are always repaid." He met the boy's eyes briefly. "Always."
Without waiting for a response, Elijah continued down the hallway, his steps measured and purposeful.
The boy's presence had given them peace. Now it was time to return the favor - in the only way the Mikaelsons truly understood.
-------------------------
The following morning found Elijah in the mansion's extensive library, surrounded by ancient texts.
Daylight filtered through tall windows, dust motes dancing in the golden beams.
He'd been there since before dawn, methodically working through volumes on Aztec deities, blood curses, and interdimensional travel.
Most accounts were frustratingly vague - mentions of Tezcatlipoca demanding sacrifice, warnings about the consequences of defying divine will. Nothing specific about marks that bled continuously or attracted negativity.
He closed another ancient tome, adding it to the growing stack of unhelpful references. This wasn't merely academic curiosity.
The boy's mark was clearly causing him pain, and its constant bleeding seemed to be worsening. Understanding it was the first step toward potentially addressing it.
The door opened, and Elijah looked up to find Klaus watching him with undisguised amusement.
"Three nights in the archives, brother?" Klaus observed, leaning against a bookshelf. "One might almost think you cared about the boy's condition."
Elijah closed the book before him. "I'm concerned about anything that might disrupt this household. The mark is clearly significant."
"Mmm," Klaus hummed noncommittally, examining the titles Elijah had gathered. "And have your researches yielded anything useful?"
"Unfortunately, no. The specific nature of his curse appears unique." Elijah straightened the stack of books. "Perhaps you might share what you know? You've been uncharacteristically reticent about the boy's background."
Klaus's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps I'm simply enjoying watching you piece it together yourself."
"This isn't a game, Niklaus," Elijah said, his tone sharpening slightly. "The boy is clearly suffering."
"Ah," Klaus's smile widened. "So you do care."
"I care about the stability of this family," Elijah corrected. "Something you claimed to want as well."
The brothers stared at each other for a long moment before Klaus relented slightly.
"The mark is a curse from five ancient gods," he explained, his tone casual despite the weight of his words. "It draws monsters to the boy like a beacon. The more creatures he killed the more powerful ones it attracts."
"And there's no way to remove it?"
Klaus's expression darkened. "Only by killing the gods who placed it. Or by the boy's death."
Elijah absorbed this information silently.
Klaus pushed himself away from the bookshelf. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised my son a training session this morning. Don't want to keep him waiting."
As Klaus left, Elijah remained motionless, his mind working through the implications.
Five gods.
Ones ever-growing in strength.
A curse that could only be broken by their deaths.
The enormity of the task was staggering.
From the terrace, Elijah observed as Klaus guided Lucien through a series of combat forms. His brother's hands adjusted the boy's stance with surprising gentleness.
"Better," Klaus approved. "You're learning quickly."
Even from this distance, Elijah could see Lucien's subtle flinch at the praise, his focus deliberately fixed on the technical aspects of the training rather than the relationship Klaus was attempting to establish.
What struck him wasn't the lesson itself - Klaus had trained others before - but the patience his brother displayed.
Klaus had never been patient.
Not with Marcel, not with his siblings, certainly not with his enemies.
Yet here he was, demonstrating the same move repeatedly without a hint of frustration, offering corrections with unusual gentleness.
When Klaus was called away briefly by a servant, Elijah watched as Lucien's posture subtly changed.
The boy glanced around to ensure he was unobserved - Elijah himself seeing this used his abilities, to activate his stealth, hiding all of himself... compeltely - then executed the same move again - this time with flawless precision and considerably more power than he'd shown Klaus.
Interesting.
The boy was deliberately concealing the full extent of his abilities, even in training sessions supposedly designed to help him.
A prudent approach, Elijah had to admit. In a household of predators, revealing one's true capabilities was rarely wise.
As Klaus returned, Lucien immediately reverted to his previous level of performance - competent but not exceptional.
The boy was playing a long game, revealing only what was necessary while maintaining his own secrets. A strategy Elijah himself had employed countless times throughout the centuries.
Perhaps they were more alike than he had initially realized.
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That evening, the family gathered for dinner in the grand dining room.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the long mahogany table, reflecting off fine china and silver.
Servants moved silently, bringing course after course of exquisitely prepared food - a performance of normalcy that fooled no one.
Elijah observed the tableau before him with new eyes.
Klaus at the head of the table, commanding attention.
Rebekah beside him, her usual cynicism tempered by a newfound lightness.
Kol and Finn opposite each other, their mutual distrust momentarily set aside.
Katherine beside Lucien, her hand occasionally brushing his arm in a gesture that was both possessive and protective.
And Lucien himself, at Klaus's right hand - the position of honor.
The boy maintained his careful facade, responding to questions with just enough detail to satisfy without revealing anything meaningful. His smile never quite reached his eyes.
"So, Lucien," Rebekah said during a lull in conversation, "Nik tells me you've been practicing your abilities. Any new developments?"
Lucien shrugged, his fork pushing food around his plate. "Nothing special. Just the basics."
"Oh, come now," Klaus pressed, "you're being modest. Your progress has been remarkable."
"Just following instructions," Lucien replied, his tone carefully neutral.
"I've been meaning to ask," Kol interjected, his eyes glinting with mischief, "that rather impressive display with the lightning - is that something you could teach? Or is it unique to your particular... talents?"
Lucien's gaze flicked to Kol, wariness evident. "It's not really something that can be taught. It's just... something I can do."
"Fascinating," Kol murmured, his expression suggesting he found the boy's reticence more interesting than any answer might have been.
The conversation shifted to other topics, but Elijah continued to observe Lucien throughout the meal.
The boy's careful deflections, his measured responses, his subtle monitoring of everyone at the table - all signs of someone who had been trained as well as learned the hard way that vulnerability was dangerous.
After dinner, as the family dispersed, Elijah noticed Lucien slip away quietly, heading toward the eastern wing of the mansion.
Without conscious decision, Elijah followed, maintaining a discreet distance.
The boy made his way to one of the smaller libraries, a space rarely used by the family. He closed the door behind him, but Elijah could still through the door - one of his own unique abilities within the family, not much truly capable of hiding from his sight.
Lucien moved to a window seat, settling with his back against the wall, knees drawn up.
For a long moment, he simply sat there, his carefully maintained facade slowly crumbling now that he believed himself alone.
The exhaustion was evident in the slump of his shoulders, the way his head rested against the window.
His left hand lay palm-up on his knee, the jaguar mark visibly bleeding now, dark droplets falling onto the cushion below.
Elijah watched as Lucien closed his eyes, his breathing becoming measured and deep. The bleeding from the mark slowed, then stopped entirely. The boy's expression smoothed, tension draining from his features.
He noted that when he first arrived the bleeding didn't harm the boy, but it seems that over time, it had began taking its toll. Weakening and tiring Lucien. Like any normal bleeding would.
This, he also realized, was how Lucien coped - finding moments of solitude to drop the performance, to manage the curse through whatever means he had discovered.
A brief respite from the constant vigilance required in a house of monsters.
Elijah withdrew silently, his decision made. He would not intrude on this private moment, this small island of peace in the boy's turbulent existence. But neither would he forget what he had witnessed.
------------------------
Dawn found Elijah on the eastern balcony, watching the sun rise over the ocean.
These quiet moments had been his ritual for centuries - a brief pause before the day's complexities began.
Movement on the beach below caught his attention.
Lucien walked alone along the shoreline, far enough from the house to believe himself unobserved.
The boy moved slowly, shoulders slumped in exhaustion or defeat - a stark contrast to the careful composure he maintained around the family.
As Elijah watched, Lucien stopped and stared out at the horizon.
Then, in a sudden burst of emotion, he thrust his hand forward. A massive wave rose from the calm sea, towering thirty feet before crashing back with explosive force.
Another gesture sent water spiraling upward in a perfect column. Another created a whirlpool that spun violently before dissipating.
Each demonstration of power grew more impressive than the last - abilities far beyond what the boy had ever revealed in Klaus's training sessions.
This was raw power being vented.
After a moment, Lucien composed himself, the careful mask sliding back into place as he turned toward the house.
Elijah stepped back from the balcony, ensuring he wouldn't be seen.
He supposes that he will have to find out how to kill these... 'gods.'
In a permanent manner.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
Do tell me how you found it.
I wanted to focus on Elijah for once since he is one of my favorites.
I hope Lucien didn't come off as 'emo' but well, it is what it is with him right now.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)