Chapter 1 - One Shots

One Shot:

Night pressed thick and heavy over New Orleans. The streets had quieted, but inside the Abattoir, tension hummed like a storm waiting to break. The great hall flickered with weak firelight, casting long shadows against the stone walls.

The Mikaelsons stood together in that dim glow. Yet there was no comfort in their closeness tonight. No plan, no spell, no whispered hope could ease the weight they carried.

Hope had vanished more than a day ago.

Hayley paced near the fireplace, her boots brushing the old floorboards. Her hands trembled, and her voice was worn thin from rage and worry. "She's just a baby. She doesn't know how to be without me for this long. What if—"

"She's not gone forever," Freya interrupted quickly. Even so, there was doubt beneath her tone. She stood near the table, gripping an open grimoire with both hands. Its pages were smeared with fading runes. "Someone cloaked her, perfectly. That kind of spell isn't common."

Kol leaned lazily against a nearby pillar, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his anger. His arms crossed over his chest. "Then we're not looking at witches in the Quarter. This is someone old. Organized."

Rebekah's laugh was dry and bitter. "The Strix."

Elijah offered a slow nod, his voice calm but firm. "They've made no threats. No demands. But the timing fits. Marcel said some of their inner circle slipped into town unnoticed. It may not be a coincidence."

"We should've seen this coming," Hayley muttered. Her tone dropped lower, words edged with frustration. "We knew they were watching."

"But not her," Rebekah replied, her brows drawn. "No one was supposed to know about Hope. Not even them."

In the far corner, Klaus remained still. He hadn't spoken in some time. One hand rested on the fireplace mantle, while his gaze stayed locked on the floor. Though silent, his mind worked through every possibility, every enemy, every angle.

At last, his voice broke the silence. It was quiet, but lined with steel. "If The Strix took her, they won't keep her alive for long. Not if they think she can be used."

No one answered. The silence that followed settled deep, heavier than before.

Then, the front doors creaked open.

All heads turned in unison.

A single figure entered the hall. He was tall and elderly, his posture upright and movements deliberate. His black coat flowed behind him like a shadow, trimmed with faint silver embroidery that shimmered in the firelight. His gloves were smooth and spotless. His shoes struck the stone floor with sharp, echoing steps. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his expression, though calm, carried a gravity that made them all still.

He did not speak.

He did not bow.

He simply walked forward until he stood at the center of the great hall. There he stopped and waited, letting the silence stretch, while every member of the Mikaelson family and Hayley turned to face him.

The silence lingered for a moment longer, thick and uneasy, until Kol took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. "Right. Anyone want to explain why a stranger just waltzed into our home like we left the bloody door open for guests?"

Still, the old man said nothing.

Rebekah glanced at Elijah. "He's not speaking. Does anyone recognize him?"

"No," Elijah replied, voice low, watching the man carefully. "But he's not panicked. He knew we'd be here."

Hayley stood straighter and called out, sharp and direct. "Who are you? What do you want?"

There was no answer.

The old man merely stood where he was, hands clasped behind his back, eyes moving slowly across the room, observing each of them without urgency. His face betrayed nothing. Calm, collected, and utterly unbothered by the tension in the air.

Klaus's getting irritated.

He took a step forward, slow but deliberate, stopping just a few paces from the stranger. "I don't know who you think you are," he growled, eyes blazing, "but this is not the place to test your luck. If you were anything more than human, the wards would've kept you out. So unless you enjoy trespassing and being ignored in the final seconds of your life, I suggest you speak."

The man still didn't look at him.

Instead, he slowly moved his head left and right, eyes scanning the compound as though Klaus hadn't spoken at all. That silence—calculated and cool—felt more like insult than fear.

Klaus bared his teeth, rage bubbling to the surface. "Enough."

He raised his hand, power already curling at his fingertips, ready to tear the stranger apart. But just before he struck, the old man spoke.

"Good," he said, softly. His voice was smooth and low, almost pleasant in tone, yet there was no warmth in it. "There are people here."

He finally turned his eyes toward Klaus, his expression composed, utterly unreadable.

"Which one of you," the old man continued, now louder, "has a missing child?"

The room froze again. The calmness of his words contrasted sharply with their meaning. Cold. Detached. Like someone stating a fact rather than offering help.

Klaus was the first to react. His voice came low, thick with fury, the barely restrained violence in it setting the air on edge.

"You walk into my home, uninvited, and speak like that?" His eyes locked onto the old man, every inch of him radiating threat. "Where is my daughter—Hope?"

The old man didn't answer. He merely stared back at Klaus, his expression unchanged. Cold. Dispassionate. As if the hybrid before him was little more than an insect buzzing in his ear.

That look alone was enough to stoke Klaus's temper further.

"She's a child," Klaus growled through clenched teeth, his voice rising. "My child. And if you know something, you'll speak. Now."

Still, there was no response. The old man's gaze remained fixed, unwavering. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face.

The silence stretched unbearably. Then, at last, the old man spoke—his tone flat, indifferent.

"So her name is Hope."

The way he said it, without care or curiosity, struck something deep in Klaus. There was no recognition, no concern. Just detached observation.

Klaus's patience snapped.

In a blur of motion, too fast for human eyes to follow, he vanished from where he stood and reappeared directly in front of the old man. His hand shot out, aimed straight for the man's throat.

But before he could reach him—he stopped.

Mid-motion, Klaus's body locked in place. His arm hovered inches from the old man's neck, trembling in the air.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. He strained to move, but something held him there, frozen.

And then, impossibly—his arm fell.

It wasn't pushed. It wasn't torn. It simply dropped, cleanly severed at the shoulder, hitting the stone floor with a heavy, lifeless thud.

There had been no flash, no visible movement from the old man.

One moment Klaus's arm had been there—taut with fury.

The next, it was gone.

For a split second, the room was deathly still.

Then came the cries.

Rebekah stepped forward with a sharp gasp, her voice cracking. "Klaus!"

Freya's hands flew up, wanting to use magic, instinct taking over before her mind could catch up.

Kol stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief, unable to speak.

Even Elijah's composure wavered. His lips parted slightly, and he took a step forward without realizing it.

They had seen many things in their long lives. But never this.

The body of an Original—indestructible, ancient, unstoppable—had been cut. Effortlessly.

And the one responsible hadn't moved a single step.

Then came Klaus's scream.

Whatever force had held him in place suddenly released its grip. He collapsed to his knees with a guttural roar, clutching his mangled shoulder. Blood spilled freely, gushing down his side in thick, steady streams. The sound of it splashing against the stone floor echoed sharply in the chamber.

His eyes, wide with both pain and disbelief, searched the faces of his family—none of whom had an answer.

He didn't know what had just happened.

None of them did.

But in that moment, every soul in the Abattoir knew one thing beyond question.

This man was not a messenger.

He was something else entirely.

Something far more dangerous.

Immediately, the Mikaelsons sprang into action.

Elijah and Kol shot forward like twin bolts of lightning, aiming to strike the old man from both sides. Rebekah and Freya rushed to Klaus's side, trying to help him stand, while Hayley moved just as fast, placing herself between Klaus and the stranger, her body tense and ready to shift at the slightest threat.

But before any of them could follow through, the old man spoke again.

"Kneel."

His voice was calm, cold, and filled with such overwhelming power that the word alone seemed to shake the air around them.

In the next instant, an invisible force slammed down upon them. Their knees crashed to the floor, not from choice, but as if the world itself had turned against them. Even Hayley, mid-step, was driven down, her hands pressing to the floor as her legs gave out beneath her.

Kol grunted, rage flashing in his eyes. "What the bloody hell is this?"

Elijah fought the pressure with everything he had, muscles trembling, jaw clenched tight. "This isn't ordinary magic," he muttered. "It is something far stronger."

Hayley bared her teeth, the wolf beneath her skin clawing to break free. But no matter how fiercely she tried to shift, her body refused to respond. "I can't move," she growled. "It's like my bones are frozen."

Freya struggled just the same, unable to summon even a flicker of her magic. "He's suppressing everything. Our strength, our gifts. He's cutting them off."

Rebekah looked toward Klaus, her hands still reaching for him. "Klaus, are you—"

But he, too, remained on one knee, breathing heavily, unable to rise.

Across from them, the old man stood perfectly still. He had not moved a finger. No spell was cast aloud. No sigils drawn in the air. Only his voice, and the will behind it, had brought them all to the ground.

There was no fury in his eyes. No cruelty. Only power. Cold, silent, and absolute.

Then the old man opened his mouth again, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade.

"You low-tier undead," he said coldly, his eyes sweeping across the kneeling family.

A pause followed, heavy and deliberate, as if he were giving them a moment to feel the weight of his words.

"You dare rush at me with that pitiful strength?"

His tone never rose, yet every word struck like iron against stone. He took a slow step forward, his presence growing more suffocating with each breath.

"The so-called Originals. The first of your kind. Vampires born from dark sorcery."

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"Do not insult me."

His gaze lingered on Elijah and Kol, then drifted to Hayley, Freya, and Rebekah before finally settling on Klaus.

"Compared to what dwells in the deeper realms, your lineage is nothing but a whisper. You are children, pretending to be monsters."

The air around them seemed to grow colder, the walls of the room dimming, as if even the light itself dared not offend him.

The old man tilted his head slightly, as if disappointed. Then he spoke again, his voice now filled with quiet menace.

"It is time to educate you on what a true, pure-blooded vampire can do."

He did not raise a hand. He did not shift his stance. With his hands still calmly folded behind his back, he simply stood there.

But the world around him began to change.

Without warning, his shadow stirred. It slithered behind him like living ink, crawling across the ground in complete silence. Then it began to stretch, widening and thickening, until it spilled across the floor and crept up the walls of the Abattoir. In mere seconds, it had expanded to engulf half the compound.

The air grew heavier. The temperature dropped.

The Mikaelson family, along with Hayley, remained kneeling. Not by choice, not from loyalty or reverence, but from the crushing weight that held them there. They could not rise. Even the instinct to flee had vanished, swallowed by the presence before them.

They stared ahead as the ground was overtaken by a mass of shadow and blood-colored mist. It swirled like smoke yet moved with the purpose of something alive. It did not feel like sorcery. It felt like the world itself was being undone.

No one spoke. Even the act of breathing seemed like a defiance too great to risk.

Their eyes lifted once more to the figure at the center of it all.

But the man they had seen was gone.

In his place stood a silhouette shaped like a man, forged from pure shadow so dense that the light around it seemed to die. His form flickered at the edges, barely stable, as if reality struggled to contain him.

Only two things remained visible.

His eyes, glowing crimson with hints of molten orange, burned through the darkness like coals in a dying fire. And his smile, wide and gleaming, revealed rows of white fangs. It was not a grin of amusement or cruelty.

It was the smile of something ancient. A predator that had grown tired of pretending to be anything else.

Then, they heard the old man speak again.

His voice came low, more menacing than before, yet tinged now with a soft, unsettling giggle that echoed faintly across the compound. It was not a sound of joy. It was the sound of someone entertained by cruelty.

"You know," he said slowly, his tone almost casual, "at first, I only meant to find out who the parents of that child were. Deliver a message. Tell them to collect their daughter themselves."

He gave a small chuckle, hollow and cold.

"My master asked for that much. Nothing more."

His silhouette leaned slightly forward, though his hands still rested behind his back.

"If it were up to me," he continued, "I would not be so patient. I would have taken the child by the neck, flung her into some forgotten corner of this world, and let fate decide what came next."

His glowing eyes narrowed.

"But my master said I didn't even need to go that far. So I listened."

The surrounding shadows stirred once more, as if they fed off the malice in his voice.

"So I came. And here I find you."

His gaze swept slowly across the kneeling family—Elijah, Kol, Rebekah, Freya, Hayley, and finally Klaus.

"You cling to that title—Originals—as if it shields you," he said, his voice low with scorn. "But it means nothing to me."

He took a step forward. The shape of his silhouette glided more than walked, trailing darkness in its wake.

"I see no greatness. I see weakness."

Another pause followed, heavier this time.

"You are slow. Soft. Burdened by feelings and foolish pride."

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of disgust breaking the stillness.

"You kneel before me, not because of magic, but because your blood knows what I am."

He leaned forward more.

"You have spent centuries squabbling in family feuds. Mourning lost lovers. Clinging to kingdoms built on sentiment."

He straightened once more, the glow of his eyes dimming slightly, as though even the act of acknowledging them had become tiresome.

"Now, I've had enough of you all," he said, his tone flat and final. "I'm done talking."

Then, without warning, the crimson shadows that blanketed half the compound began to stir. From their depths, eyes began to open—one after another, countless and unblinking.

Gasps broke from the Mikaelsons and Hayley as the grotesque sight unfolded before them. Dozens, no, hundreds of glowing eyes glared out from the walls, the ground, even the very air. Each one stared directly at them.

Terror gripped their bodies. The kneeling figures could do nothing but watch as the shadows came alive.

"You see them now," the old man said, his voice calm and cruel. "Each one, a creature I've slain, absorbed and twisted into something new. They live inside me now, bound to my will."

He paused, almost as if savoring their fear.

"You cannot see their full forms, but don't worry. After I'm finished with you all, you'll meet them up close."

As he spoke, the silhouette of his humanoid form began to shift. The shape rippled and bent, and from the shadowed ground near them, a wide row of jagged teeth burst into view. The teeth were massive, unnatural, and gleaming. The sound of tearing shadow accompanied it, like the world itself was splitting open.

A fresh wave of dread surged through the Mikaelsons. The teeth were not alone.

The crimson shadows beneath them began to rise, creeping like a tide over their legs. It was slow and deliberate, wrapping around their ankles, their knees, inch by inch, as if savoring the moment before the end.

They struggled. Their muscles tensed. Their will screamed at their bodies to move, to rise, to flee. But it was useless. Whatever power had pinned them down still held them fast.

Then came the sound, a deep, echoing breath, like a chasm inhaling.

Their eyes snapped forward, and what they saw stole what little strength remained.

Before them, no, above them, loomed a vast, gaping maw. A mouth formed entirely of writhing darkness, lined with rows of sharp, gleaming white fangs. It opened wider with each passing second, as if preparing to consume the world.

And it was descending towards them.

Freya's heart pounded. Her fingers trembled against the cold stone beneath her knees.

"There must be something," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "A ward. A sigil. Anything…"

She reached for the magic inside her, for the thrum that had always answered her call. But nothing came. Just silence. Sealed. Stripped from her.

She clenched her teeth, eyes darting wildly across the rising crimson. "Why now? Why like this?"

Kol tried to move, his hand twitching at his side, but his body refused. He hissed between his teeth, though it wasn't pain that escaped—it was panic.

"What the hell is that thing…" he muttered. His voice cracked.

Beside him, Rebekah was shaking. Her gaze locked on the teeth, her lips parted, breath short and uneven.

"It's not supposed to end like this," she said. "We've survived for a thousand years. Wars. Betrayals. Mikael."

Elijah's eyes narrowed, but even his usual composure had begun to fracture. His mouth opened, then closed again, as if the words he wanted would not come. There were no strategies left, no honor to hold onto. Just the cold truth settling in his bones.

Klaus didn't speak.

He couldn't.

His vision was unfocused, locked on the endless rows of teeth above him. The pain where his arm had been severed—it was gone now. Not healed. Just… meaningless. As though fear had devoured even the pain.

Some part of him wanted to roar. To rage. To tear and fight and not go quietly.

But his voice, the one that had cursed kings and commanded armies, would not rise.

It was Hayley who whispered first.

"Hope…"

Her voice was faint, trembling.

She didn't look up. Her eyes were on the ground now, fixed on nothing, as the shadows crawled up her sides.

"I hope she's safe. Far from this. Please… just let her be safe."

No one answered her.

Not because they didn't want to.

Because they couldn't.

Because at that moment, every one of them knew—this was not an enemy they could outmatch.

This was the end.

And it had come wearing a smile full of teeth.

Just as the massive, fanged mouth loomed above them, something shifted.

It stopped mid-descent, hovering as if caught in hesitation. A tremor ran through the air, subtle at first, then stronger. The shadows around the compound stirred, flickered, and then, all at once, began to retreat.

The teeth vanished first, collapsing inward as if swallowed by the darkness itself. The eyes scattered across the compound blinked rapidly, then shut one by one. The tendrils coiled back from their limbs. Even the great mouth above them quivered before collapsing inward, folding into the mass of shadow that twisted and shrank.

In a matter of seconds, the monstrous form was gone.

The darkness pulled in tight, shrinking until it reformed the shape of the old man. He stood where he had before, tall and composed, no longer a silhouette of horror but once again dressed in the same dark coat, hands calmly clasped behind his back. Only his eyes, faintly glowing, hinted at what he truly was.

He glanced over the kneeling figures with detached indifference.

"You all are lucky bastards," he said in a cold, flat tone.

He stepped forward, his boots making the faintest sound against the stone.

"Now. Stand up. We need to go."

No one moved right away.

It wasn't disbelief that held them this time, but the lingering weight of terror. Their minds tried to catch up with what had just happened.

Then, slowly, they realized the invisible force pinning them to the ground had vanished. The grip that had bound their knees and crushed their will was gone.

Freya inhaled sharply. Her palms pressed against the floor, then she rose shakily to her feet, her eyes still wide with unease. She could feel no magic returning to her, but at least her limbs obeyed again.

Elijah followed suit. He stood in silence, his jaw tight and his posture tense, his gaze never leaving the old man. His usual calm demeanor was strained.

Kol got up next, letting out a short, unsteady breath as he ran a hand through his hair. His lips moved as if trying to form a joke, but none came.

Rebekah hesitated before pushing herself up. Her hands trembled slightly. Her eyes darted to the corners of the compound, half-expecting the crimson eyes to return.

Hayley stood slowly, wiping at her brow. Her heart still raced, and her thoughts remained locked on one thing — her daughter. Even now, her mind whispered Hope's name, like a prayer in the dark.

Klaus was the last to rise.

He did so in silence, his body trembling under the effort. His remaining hand pressed to the torn fabric over his shoulder, where blood still seeped. The pain was dull now, swallowed by the fear that had come before. His gaze locked on the old man, but he said nothing.

None of them understood why they were still alive.

But they were standing again.

And the figure before them, however human he now appeared, had already proven himself to be something far beyond them.

The silence lingered, heavy and uncertain, until the old man finally spoke.

"Can the parents of the child step forward," he said. His voice was calm, but it carried weight, measured and unyielding, like a command draped in civility.

No one moved at first. The stillness stretched thin between them.

Then, slowly, Hayley glanced toward Klaus. Her eyes met his, searching for some unspoken agreement. She took a steady breath and stepped forward.

Klaus followed a moment later, slower and stiffer. The pain in his shoulder had returned, sharp and unrelenting. His hand pressed harder against the torn fabric, blood still seeping through his fingers. A grimace flickered across his face, but he said nothing.

They stopped when they stood a few steps before the old man.

The old man regarded them in silence, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he simply looked, with no judgment and no anger. Just observation.

Then, he spoke again.

"Let's go."

Hayley and Klaus paused, exchanging a glance before turning to look behind them, toward Elijah, Kol, Rebekah, and Freya.

The old man noticed this and shook his head.

"All of you can come," he said, waving a hand as if it were obvious. "Let's go now. I don't like keeping my Master waiting."

The Mikaelsons hesitated. None of them liked being ordered around, especially by someone or something they couldn't understand. But they also knew Klaus. If he was going, into danger or into the unknown, they would follow. That was their vow. Always and forever.

The old man sighed, clearly eager to get this over without further delay. But just as he prepared to act, his gaze returned to Klaus and lingered.

"You look like a mess," he said bluntly.

Klaus narrowed his eyes. 'And whose fault is that?' he thought bitterly, though he said nothing aloud.

Using his hand, the old man snapped his fingers.

A jolt rushed through Klaus's body. He stiffened, his breath catching, then he felt it. A strange sensation, like warmth moving through his veins. Then, where his arm had been severed, something stirred.

In the space of a heartbeat, his arm regrew, flesh, muscle, and bone mending before their eyes until it was whole once more. He flexed his fingers slowly. No pain. No stiffness.

The others stared, stunned again. But after everything they had seen since this old man arrived, they no longer questioned what was possible. It was just one more incomprehensible act in a series of impossibilities.

On the ground, the severed limb, now useless, burst into flame. In seconds, it was reduced to ash.

"Now that that's settled," the old man said, clapping his hands once, "let's go."

Before anyone could respond, their vision darkened all at once, swift and absolute, as if the world itself had blinked out of existence.

Inside the Abattoir, not a single soul remained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While the Mikaelson group was being transported toward an unknown place, the old man responsible for their passage did not go unnoticed by the world.

Though his presence remained cloaked from most eyes, the moment he revealed even a glimpse of his power, something shifted. It was subtle, barely more than a ripple, yet it moved outward like a tremor across realms. Those attuned to the arcane were the first to sense it; a sharp tingle ran through their awareness, setting them on edge. For others, it came as a sudden pressure in the air, heavy and strange, as if some otherworldly force had brushed against the mortal plane. In that instant, the balance began to tilt, however slightly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Valley, Georgia.

In this quiet corner of the world, hidden deep within the woods, stood a high-security facility. The land was fenced with tall concrete walls, reinforced by layers of surveillance and patrolling soldiers. No signs marked its purpose. To the outside world, it was little more than a restricted military zone.

At the heart of this facility lay a vast pit—unnatural in its appearance and origin. Thick, tar-like sludge coated the bottom, swirling slowly as if alive. For years, it had been dormant. No movement, no sound, not even a tremor. The researchers called it stable. The guards had long since grown used to its eerie presence.

But today, that silence broke.

It began with a hum. Low and quiet at first, barely audible beneath the wind, but steady—vibrating through the soles of their boots. The men posted closest to the pit froze, eyes darting toward the shifting blackness below.

The goop rippled unnaturally, as though disturbed by something beneath its surface. For one breathless minute, the sound continued. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The pit fell silent once more.

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

Without delay, the commanding officer stepped back from the railing and reached for his radio. His voice came low but firm. "This is Outpost Delta. We've had a disturbance. The pit… responded to something. Requesting immediate analysis and instructions."

The call traveled quickly through secure channels. Within minutes, higher-ups at Triad Industries were informed. Something had stirred the pit—and they had no idea what.

But somewhere deep below the surface, something ancient had felt the ripple too. And it had begun to wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peace.

The Bright World was a realm spoken of in reverent tones, believed to be the final destination of the deceased. Here, the souls of the departed found rest, untouched by the weight of memory or the burdens of the living world. Vast fields stretched endlessly under skies of soft light, where no shadow lingered and no sorrow remained. Gentle rivers wound through the land like silver threads, and time itself seemed to drift, slow and forgiving.

For countless ages, this realm remained still and undisturbed. No storms passed through its sky, no cry of anguish echoed through its hills. The residents, once people of many lands and lives, now moved quietly in their peace. Nothing ever changed. That was the way of the Bright World.

But on this day, something unfamiliar stirred.

A sound, sharp and sudden, rang across the realm. It was not like anything the souls had ever known—high and thin, like the distant crack of glass breaking under unseen pressure. It passed overhead and echoed far, unsettling in its clarity. For a moment, everything stopped.

The sky above, so constant and serene, changed before their eyes. A jagged rift opened across it, tearing through the light like a wound. It lasted only a breath. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the tear vanished, sealing itself as though it had never been.

Stillness returned, but the realm no longer felt the same.

The residents looked to the skies in silence. They did not speak, for words were no longer needed among them, but a feeling spread like a cold breeze through their midst. They had never seen such a thing. No soul could recall the sky ever breaking. Whatever had caused it had come from beyond this place.

Though no explanation came, many believed it to be a sign—perhaps even a warning. In a realm where nothing ever changed, such a moment could not be ignored.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Limbo.

This realm existed between life and death, where time felt suspended and the sky remained trapped in perpetual twilight. The sun neither rose nor set, but lingered just beyond the horizon, casting everything in dull, shadowed hues. A soft gray light touched the landscape, washing it in somber tones. The air was thick, filled with the weight of things left unsaid. Unfinished lives, broken promises, and fading memories drifted like mist through the stillness.

Along the river that wound through this silent land, a single figure moved with purpose. The ferryman.

It stood tall and skeletal, its frame formed from jagged bones that creaked with each subtle movement. A tattered mantle, worn and weathered by countless years, draped over its shoulders and concealed most of its body. In one hand, it held a long, rusted scythe. In the other, a lantern glowed with an eerie blue light, casting shifting reflections across the dark waters below.

The ferryman's boat glided steadily across the river, cutting through the still surface without sound. A lone soul sat in the vessel, silent and motionless, awaiting the end of their journey. Whether they were bound for the Bright World or for true peace, none could say until the final crossing was done.

Then, without warning, the boat lurched. A sudden force struck it from beneath, rocking it violently to one side. The calm river heaved as though something massive had moved through its depths. But just as quickly as the disturbance came, it vanished. The waters grew still once more, as if nothing had happened.

The ferryman made no sound. It did not speak or pause. Only its eyes, hollow and glowing faintly from within the skull, flared with cold light. Yet it continued rowing without hesitation. Its purpose had not changed. It would deliver the soul to its destination, regardless of what had occurred.

Still, deep within its ancient awareness, the ferryman understood.

What had happened was not normal. Not in Limbo.

Something had stirred. A presence, a force. And even though the boat moved onward as before, the realm itself no longer felt the same.

The old stillness had been broken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the Mikaelsons' side, everything had gone black the moment they were swallowed by the darkness. But just as quickly as it came, the void vanished. In the blink of an eye, their vision returned.

They found themselves standing in a new place, yet the old man who brought them here was still in front of them, just as before—calm, composed, and silent.

Behind him stood a house, more like a large wooden bungalow. Its walls were painted in shades of black and white, simple yet elegant, blending with the quiet surroundings. The structure gave off no sense of threat, only mystery.

As the Mikaelsons slowly shifted their gaze away from the figure in front of them, they began to look around. Their heads turned cautiously, taking in the unfamiliar world that now surrounded them.

It was night—but unlike any night they had known. The sky was vast and clear, with not a single cloud in sight. Above them stretched a breathtaking tapestry of stars, swirling galaxies, and glimmering lights in countless colors. The heavens felt deeper here, wider, as if space itself had drawn closer to the ground.

They soon realized they were standing within a fenced yard that belonged to the house. Beyond the fence, a forest surrounded the property on all sides. The trees were enormous, towering high than most of the buildings they had seen on Earth. Their trunks were wide, bark rough and ancient, and the leaves shimmered faintly under the starlight. These were not trees from any known land—they were older, wilder, almost otherworldly in scale and presence.

None of them had ever seen anything like it.

This place, wherever it was, felt disconnected from time and space. It was not part of any realm they had known—and yet, it was real. The air was cool, silent except for the soft rustling of leaves far above.

Their eyes finally stopped wandering when they heard the old man's voice. It pulled their attention back in front of them.

"The only ones allowed inside are the parents of the child," he said calmly, his tone leaving no room for debate. "I don't want your family causing any more disturbance to my master."

Klaus and Hayley exchanged a quick glance. Without speaking, they both turned slightly and nodded toward the rest of their family, signaling that it was all right. The others understood. There was no longer a sense of danger in the air. Whatever the old man had shown them before, it was gone now. The killing intent they had felt earlier had vanished completely.

Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and Freya remained outside. They chose to stay near the house and began slowly looking around the area, curious about the strange place they had been brought to.

As Klaus and Hayley stepped forward, following the old man's lead, he suddenly came to a stop. Without turning his body, he looked over his shoulder at the others still standing behind.

"It's fine to explore," he said, "but do not go beyond the fence. If you leave the boundary, you will be killed."

His words were direct and cold, but not threatening—more like a warning than a threat.

After that, the old man turned again and continued walking toward the house. Klaus and Hayley followed close behind, silent as they approached the wooden steps that led to the front door.

The strange forest around them swayed gently in the breeze, and the stars above continued to shine without a sound.

Something about this place felt old, untouched, and far from anything the Mikaelsons had ever known.

Inside the house, Klaus and Hayley followed the old man down a narrow corridor. The walls were lined with dark wooden panels, polished smooth but aged by time. Faint blue light filtered in from hanging lamps along the ceiling, casting soft shadows across the floor. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved, the silence between them heavy but focused.

After a short walk, they reached the end of the hallway, where a large set of double doors stood before them. The doors were unlike the rest of the house—dark, smooth, and carved with strange, delicate patterns that neither Klaus nor Hayley recognized. They looked old, yet untouched by dust or wear.

Before opening them, the old man turned and addressed them in a quiet voice.

"Once you're inside, do not speak loudly. If you need to talk to each other, whisper."

Klaus and Hayley listened carefully as he continued.

"Do not speak to my master. He will not respond to you."

He paused for a moment before giving the final instruction.

"If possible, retrieve your child and leave. But do not touch the place where my master resides."

The weight of his words settled over them. Klaus and Hayley exchanged a glance, understanding the rules well enough. They nodded quickly in response. Their only goal was to get Hope back and leave. Nothing else mattered—not the strange house, not the old man, not even the unsettling aura that clung to this place.

Still, when they heard the last part about where the master resided, something felt off. A quiet confusion flickered in their eyes, though neither of them let it show on their face.

There was no time for questions. The old man turned back to the door, preparing to open it.

And the next step would bring them face to face with something neither of them expected.

As if answering that silent thought, the old man stepped forward and finally opened the doors fully. The moment the heavy wood swung inward, a wave of warmth drifted out from the room beyond. It wasn't harsh or blinding—instead, it was gentle, almost soothing. The sensation wrapped around Klaus and Hayley like a comforting presence, settling deep in their chest. They could tell it wasn't magic, at least not any form they recognized. This was something else entirely.

They took a careful step inside, and at once, they understood why the old man had given them such specific instructions.

The room was quiet and dimly lit, but at the center of it stood something unlike anything they had seen before. A large, transparent stone rose from the ground—smooth and clear like amber, glowing faintly with hues of soft orange and golden yellow. It pulsed gently with light, as if alive. The stone rested atop a low, cushion-like structure, shaped to support it without letting it roll or tilt.

Inside the glowing crystal, a baby could be seen. The child was wrapped in a simple tunic made from fabric neither of them recognized. The cloth was smooth and pale, marked by threads that shimmered faintly under the light. Though they could not see clearly at first, they both sensed it. The child within was a boy.

But it wasn't him they had come for.

Their eyes slowly moved to the side of the glowing stone—and there she was.

Hope.

She lay nearby on a soft, pillow-like mat, curled slightly in sleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm, her hands resting close to her face. The peaceful look on her face made it clear she wasn't in distress. Nothing seemed to hurt her. She was safe, untouched, and resting quietly beside the strange stone that held the unknown child.

For a moment, neither Klaus nor Hayley moved. They stood in silence, taking in the sight of their daughter. Relief filled them, heavy and overwhelming. After all they had gone through, here she was—alive and unhurt.

But even in the calm, a question stirred quietly in the back of their minds.

Who was the child inside the crystal?

Their moment of relief was short-lived.

A whisper came from behind, low and sharp, breaking the quiet.

"Why are you still standing there like fools?" the old man muttered. "Go get your child. And remember—do not touch the crystal where my master rests."

The words snapped them back to the present. Klaus and Hayley exchanged a quick glance, then moved without hesitation. Their steps were slow and careful, but their hearts beat faster with each movement. All that mattered now was getting Hope.

As they drew closer to the glowing crystal, a strange sensation washed over them. It was like stepping beneath cool, fresh water—clean and renewing. The air around the stone grew denser, and the energy within it felt stronger with every step. It wasn't hostile, but it carried a presence too vast to ignore.

They stopped just beside the crystal and gently reached down to lift their daughter. Hope remained asleep, resting peacefully as Klaus cradled her in his arms. Her small breaths were calm, and her body was warm and safe.

For the first time since this journey began, they felt true relief.

They stood still for a few moments, holding her close, letting the quiet settle again. But then something pulled at their awareness. A faint nudge, not physical but impossible to ignore, urged them to look forward.

Both turned their eyes slowly toward the glowing crystal.

Inside, the baby boy they had noticed earlier began to stir. His small hand shifted slightly under the strange fabric that wrapped him. Then, his eyes opened.

Klaus and Hayley stared, drawn in by the sudden movement. What they saw made them freeze.

The child's eyes were a deep, vivid green—but not like any ordinary green. The pupils were slit, thin and sharp, like those of a cat. The light within them shimmered faintly, unnatural and intense.

For a brief second, those strange eyes looked directly at them. Quiet. Aware.

And something about that gaze felt far older than the child it belonged to.

Klaus and Hayley continued to stare at the strange child inside the glowing crystal. For a few long seconds, they stood still, as if caught in a moment that refused to pass. The baby's green, cat-like eyes held their gaze with a quiet weight that neither of them could explain.

Then, suddenly, a soft cough broke the silence.

The sound snapped them out of their trance. Both of them blinked and shook their heads lightly, returning to their senses. Turning around, they saw the old man standing at the far end of the room. He raised one hand and gave them a silent gesture—firm but not impatient—telling them it was time to leave.

Before turning away, Klaus and Hayley looked back at the crystal one last time. The child within had closed his eyes again, as if slipping back into sleep. Whatever presence they had felt only moments ago had faded, leaving only the soft glow of the crystal behind.

Without speaking, they turned and began walking toward the exit. Each step felt heavier now, as if the room itself didn't want to let them go. Hope slept peacefully in Klaus's arms, unaware of the strange encounter that had just taken place.

As they reached the door where the old man waited, his voice came again—low and rough, barely above a whisper.

"You and your family have disturbed my master once more," he said without looking at them. "He was not supposed to awaken at this time. Now go outside and wait for me there."

Neither Klaus nor Hayley dared to respond. They simply nodded and picked up their pace, not wanting to risk offending the strange man any further. Together, they stepped out of the room and walked down the hallway, their footsteps quicker than before.

Behind them, the old man lingered a moment longer. He glanced over his shoulder, looking toward the glowing crystal and the child within. Then, without a word, he reached for the doors and closed them gently. The soundless shut of the double doors seemed to erase all signs of what had just taken place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back outside the house with the remaining Mikaelsons.

Though the forest surrounding the wooden bungalow was thick with towering trees, the night didn't feel suffocating. Instead of pitch black, the world was painted in silver-blue hues. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their dark silhouettes outlined under a sky so strangely clear it seemed unreal. Stars scattered above in dazzling brilliance, and beyond them, the faint swirl of the galaxy shimmered like a celestial river.

Despite the beauty above, none of the Mikaelsons felt comforted.

Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and Freya lingered just outside, their feet resting on the gravel path that led to the front gate. None had crossed the boundary since the old man's cryptic warning. It wasn't fear that held them back—but instinct. Something about the land beyond that gate felt wrong.

"So… we're fake vampires now?" Rebekah broke the silence with a sarcastic edge in her voice. She stood with arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes scanning the trees as if expecting them to move.

Elijah stood to the side, spine straight as ever, leaning lightly against one of the porch's thick wooden beams. His gaze stayed fixed on nothing in particular, though his silence said volumes.

"That's what the old man seems to think," Kol muttered. He wandered toward the fence, boots crunching over gravel. When he reached it, he rested both hands on the fence, its top reaching just past his waist. "Bloody fence looks ordinary enough," he added, squinting into the woods beyond.

Freya stepped forward, arms at her sides, brow furrowed with deep thought. "We've lived for over a thousand years. And not once—not once—have we heard of pureblood vampires. Not in any books, not in legends. And he didn't just say vampire. He called himself a true vampire. That's different."

Rebekah scoffed. "The way he said it—like he disdains us."

Kol leaned his elbow casually on the top bar now, half-turning toward them. "Maybe he does. I mean, if he's right—and we're just 'imitations'—then what the hell have we been this whole time?"

"Careful with that fence, Kol," Freya warned absently, eyes still flicking through pieces of memory and fragmented magic lore. "We don't know what kind of enchantments are on this place."

They weren't letting their guard down, not really—but the conversation helped ease the tension, if only slightly.

And then Elijah's voice cracked through the night like a shot.

"Kol, step away from the fence. Now."

Kol froze mid-lean, his smile vanishing instantly. The sharpness in Elijah's tone left no room for debate.

He pulled back without a word, quickly making his way back to the others. Rebekah and Freya exchanged a look.

"What is it?" Freya asked, voice low.

Elijah's eyes were fixed beyond the fence where Kol had been moments ago. His posture had shifted—stiff, more alert. "Something out there was watching."

Rebekah turned to the darkness. "I don't see anything."

For a long moment, they all stared into the woods.

Even beneath the shimmering galaxy, even with the stars clear as crystal above them… the space just beyond the fence felt wrong. Too still. Too quiet.

And something unseen was definitely watching.

After a few moments of tense silence, a sharp hissing sound suddenly cut through the night air. It came from beyond the fence, in the direction where Kol had stood earlier—deep within the thick cluster of towering trees.

All four of them turned their eyes upward. The upper canopy was cloaked in darkness, heavy with gnarled branches and thick leaves. But even in the shadows, their enhanced vision sharpened the outline. What they saw made the air feel colder.

A massive serpent coiled around the thick trunk of a tree, its enormous body wrapped tightly like a living pillar. It was easily the size of a two-story building. Worse still—it had two heads, both watching them with unblinking eyes, glowing faintly through the dark.

Kol took a step back, blinking in disbelief. "Shit, that's a big snake," he muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice lacked its usual confidence.

Elijah's gaze remained fixed, calm but intense. His hands slowly folded behind his back as if to restrain the tension in his body. "That's no ordinary creature," he said quietly. "It's watching us… waiting."

Rebekah narrowed her eyes, unsettled but trying not to show it. "What the hell is that thing doing here? This place just keeps getting worse."

Freya, already shifting her stance with caution, raised one hand slightly, sensing the air around the creature. Her brows furrowed. "It's waiting for us to cross the fence."

Kol tried to joke, but his voice wavered. "Well… that thing definitely looks hungry."

The group stood still, each of them silently calculating whether the creature was a threat or a warning. The forest no longer felt like just a strange setting—it felt alive, and watching.

Just as the tension from the snake coiled in the tree settled over them, something shifted in the air. A quiet, subtle disturbance. As if sensing it, at the same time, all four of them turned their heads toward the opposite direction.

Near the edge of the fence, partially cloaked in shadow, stood another massive creature. It hadn't made a sound, and yet it was there—unmoving, as if it had been watching them for a long time. None of them had seen it arrive. Not even a whisper of its presence had reached their senses until now, which made its sudden appearance all the more unsettling.

The creature resembled a giant wolf, but far more unnatural. Its fur was the darkest black they had ever seen, so deep it seemed to absorb the light around it, like a piece of the night itself had taken shape. But what truly froze them were its eyes. Six glowing red orbs blinked slowly, all fixed directly on them. There was no snarl, no growl—just silent, watchful stillness.

Elijah's jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. Rebekah's breath caught slightly as her fingers curled at her sides. Kol's usual sarcasm was nowhere to be found. He simply stared, eyes wide, his mind clearly racing. Freya reached instinctively for her magic, fingers twitching as if ready to cast without thinking.

None of them spoke. Instead, they quietly stepped back, retreating toward the house with careful, measured steps. Their eyes darted between the towering two-headed snake in the tree and the wolf-like creature by the fence.

The house, though silent and still, now seemed like the safest place nearby. None of them spoke, but the unspoken agreement was clear. Slowly, they began to move toward it—cautiously, step by step—keeping their eyes on the two creatures that still watched them from opposite ends of the clearing. They didn't intend to go inside, only to draw closer to its presence, as if the structure itself might serve as a shield. Even the illusion of shelter felt better than being fully exposed in the open, under the gaze of those unnatural eyes.

Just as they were only a few steps away from the house, something unexpected happened.

Without warning, the massive two-headed snake began to retreat. It loosened its grip on the tree trunk and silently slithered upward into the dense branches, disappearing into the darkness above. Its movements were smooth and silent, vanishing so completely that it was as if it had never been there.

At the same time, the six-eyed wolf near the fence backed away. Its glowing eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, then faded into the shadows as the creature melted into the night. One blink—and it was gone.

The sudden retreat of both monsters left the Mikaelsons standing in confusion. They exchanged uncertain glances, each of them silently questioning what had changed. Why had the creatures withdrawn so suddenly?

Before anyone could speak, the quiet creak of a door caught their attention. The front door behind them slowly opened, and they all turned at once.

Stepping out into the open were Klaus and Hayley. Klaus held Hope gently in his arms, and though his usual intensity lingered in his expression, there was calm in his eyes. Hayley walked close beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

For a moment, a wave of relief washed over them at the sight of the child—safe, unharmed, and back within their reach. But even as their shoulders eased, a part of them stayed on edge.

They also saw that Klaus and Hayley both wore faint, tired smiles—subtle, but full of quiet relief.

Their brief moment of reunion was soon interrupted by a voice from behind Klaus and Hayley. It cut through the quiet like a sharp gust of wind.

"What, you four still alive?" the old man said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though it remained cold and flat. "Guess you actually took my warning seriously."

The Mikaelsons didn't respond. They simply stood there in silence, their expressions unreadable, eyes fixed on him as if waiting for what would come next.

The old man looked at them for a moment longer, then gave a slight tilt of his head. "Enough chatting. I'll send you back."

Despite the insult in his tone, none of them protested. There was no point. He held the power here, and they knew it. But the moment he mentioned sending them back—home—something in them shifted. Their postures eased slightly, and faint signs of relief returned to their faces.

No one asked how. They just watched.

The old man raised his hands and clapped once. The sound was sharp and echoing.

Instantly, everything around them faded. Darkness swept over their vision, quick and absolute.

By the time the wind settled and the night grew still again, the clearing in front of the bungalow was empty. The snake in the trees was gone. The six-eyed wolf had vanished. And the family who had stood in front of the house just moments ago had disappeared—without a trace, as if they had never been there at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a room bathed in the warm, flickering hues of orange and gold, the light seemed to emanate from a massive, amber-like crystal embedded at the very heart of the chamber. The walls, though shrouded in shadow, gleamed faintly with the reflected glow, casting long, surreal patterns across the floor like the shifting images of a dream.

Standing directly before the crystal was an old man dressed in what resembled a butler's uniform—though far more elaborate. The black fabric was tailored perfectly to his tall frame, with sharp crimson linings and ornate silver clasps that suggested a rank beyond mere service. His posture was composed and still, yet his gaze was fixed intently on the crystal before him.

Inside the crystalline core, seemingly suspended in the amber substance, was a two-year-old boy—a male toddler. And though he was encased, his eyes were unmistakably open, calm, unblinking, and eerily aware. He was staring directly back at the old man. The old man did not speak aloud, but his lips parted slightly, as though murmuring unheard words to the child. Still, no sound came out, and the baby did not reply in any audible way.

Instead, a voice echoed within the old man's mind—clear, commanding, and unmistakably familiar.

(Did you finish escorting the Mikaelsons back to their place, Marcus?)

The old man named Marcus, straightened his posture slightly at the voice. His expression remained neutral, but there was a trace of pride in the way he responded.

"Yes, sire. I already did what you asked me to do," he said with quiet respect.

(Good.)

A moment passed, heavy with a silence that didn't feel empty—rather, it felt measured, as if waiting for something more. Marcus hesitated, then lifted his gaze slightly toward the crystal, his voice softer but still sure.

"May I ask you something, sire?"

There was a pause. Then the mental voice responded with calm indulgence.

(Go ahead, Marcus.)

Marcus tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing just enough to show the question had been bothering him.

"Why did you want the Mikaelsons to pick up Hope themselves?" he asked. "Why not simply have me return her? I could have brought the child back."

There was no anger in his tone—just confusion, maybe even a hint of frustration poorly masked behind his loyalty.

The voice in his mind answered with calm clarity.

(Because I know you, Marcus. You don't know how to handle a child—especially a baby—unless it involves ending its life.)

Marcus lowered his eyes, as if acknowledging the truth without protest.

(I asked you to retrieve her parents because I wanted you to personally meet your kind in this world.)

(Which, I sensed, you were somehow disappointed in them for their lack of evolution.)

The chamber fell quiet again, save for the soft hum emanating from the crystal. Marcus exhaled softly and gave the faintest shake of his head.

After a brief silence, Marcus spoke again, his voice steady but curious.

"Sire, is this realm the next one you're going to conquer?"

There was a pause before the answer arrived.

(Not at the moment. You know, we just completed our latest conquest not long ago.)

The voice was calm and carried the weight of many victories. It spoke with the confidence of someone who had witnessed empires rise and fall under his command.

(For now, I simply intend to travel through this world and enjoy it. Unfortunately, my real body cannot enter this realm. It is too fragile, and if I were to force my way in, this realm would shatter.)

Though the speaker's tone remained composed, there was no hint of irritation or discontent. He spoke with the calm understanding of one who had long accepted the limitations of crossing between realms.

The man behind the voice was a little familiar with this world. He knew its history and what was yet to come, but as always, he chose to ignore it and simply go with the flow. He understood that his presence here would alter the course of events—whether in small ways or on a much larger scale.

For now, though, his focus was on the vessel before him.

(Just guard my vessel until it emerges from the crystal. After that, you may return to the empire. I will handle the rest.)

Marcus gave a firm nod, his loyalty unwavering. "I will follow your order."

("See you next time, Marcus.")

The voice faded from his mind, leaving behind only silence and the soft, constant hum of the amber crystal. Marcus knew their conversation was over. With a final glance at the vessel, whose eyes were now closed, he bowed slightly, not out of duty, but out of respect.

Quietly, he spoke the words that only the loyal few would ever say with full conviction.

"All hail Sephiroth. Long live the Roth Empire."

Then, without further hesitation, Marcus turned and walked out of the chamber. The echoes of his footsteps faded into the glow-lit corridors behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Abattoir — Early Morning.

Dawn crept gently over the New Orleans skyline, casting soft light on the old brick walls of the Abattoir. The compound, quiet after a long night of chaos and revelation, held a strange stillness. The Mikaelsons had returned—with Hope.

After everything they had endured, the first order of business had been to make sure she was safe. Freya wasted no time examining her, and Vincent Griffith arrived not long after, summoned by a frantic call from Freya the moment they'd stepped through the threshold.

Klaus, on the other hand, contacted Marcel—since he had originally asked him to search for clues about Hope's whereabouts. He sent a message letting him know there was no need to keep looking—they had already found her.

Now, with the worst seemingly behind them, Klaus and Elijah sat at the bar inside the compound. A nearly empty bottle of bourbon sat between them. Morning light spilled in through the open windows, painting golden streaks across the worn wood floor.

Klaus stared into his glass before speaking, his voice low but bitter. "I can't believe there's still something in this world we didn't know about."

Elijah, always the more composed of the two, sipped quietly from his glass. His expression was thoughtful, but his silence spoke volumes.

Klaus shook his head, the frustration mounting again. "Think about it. We're the Originals—so they say. The first vampires to ever walk this earth. And now suddenly, a creature appears calling itself a 'true' vampire? Where the hell has it been hiding all this time?"

Elijah set his glass down gently, the soft clink echoing in the stillness of the room. "This world is far older than we are, brother. Nothing should surprise us anymore. For all we know, a dragon could show up tomorrow and I wouldn't bat an eye."

Klaus gave a short, humorless laugh. "If it did, I'd make sure it knew who rules this city."

Footsteps echoed across the upper floor. Moments later, Kol descended the grand staircase, dressed in his usual mix of charm and arrogance. His grin widened as he approached them.

"Well, well," Kol drawled, grabbing a half-full bottle of wine as he passed the bar. "Turns out my niece is adorable. Had I known sooner, I might have actually visited more often."

He poured himself a generous glass, then raised it lazily in Klaus's direction. "Though I must say, brother, are we certain she's yours? Because I'm struggling to find a single feature she inherited from you."

Elijah chuckled under his breath, barely concealing his amusement. Klaus, however, shot Kol a withering look, the kind that could make a lesser man reconsider his life choices.

Kol, of course, remained unfazed. He downed his wine in a single long sip, set the glass down, and gave a casual wave.

"Well, I'd love to stay and be insulted some more, but frankly, our little brush with death last night has left me drained. I think I'll go find Davina—preferably somewhere less gloomy."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strolled toward the compound's exit, his footsteps fading into the stillness once more.

Elijah watched him go, then turned to Klaus with a small smirk. "At least some things never change."

Klaus exhaled deeply, eyes drifting toward the hallway where Hope was likely resting. His voice was quieter now. "Let's just hope she won't have to live in a world where things like last night become normal."

Elijah nodded, his expression more somber. "For her sake, I hope not."

Their quiet drinking was interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps approaching from the hallway. Both Klaus and Elijah turned their heads just as Hayley appeared, cradling Hope gently in her arms. The early morning light caught her hair, and her face looked tired but determined.

"Klaus, we're leaving," Hayley said quietly, her tone calm but firm.

Klaus furrowed his brows, clearly surprised. Elijah looked equally puzzled, lifting an eyebrow in silent question.

"It's not safe to go out right now, Hayley," Klaus replied, his voice edged with concern. "After everything that's happened, it's madness to walk out that door."

Elijah stood, his expression thoughtful but tense. "You know as well as I do that the city is on the edge of collapse. The prophecy still looms over our heads, the Strix are circling like vultures, and our old enemies are no longer content with haunting the past—they're here, in our streets, drawing blood. This is not the time to leave the safety we have left."

Hayley met both their gazes with steady resolve. "Exactly why we can't stay here for long. This place might be home to you, but for Hope and me, it's a battlefield. Every other day, someone's trying to kill someone under this roof. This house has become a magnet for chaos."

She adjusted the sleeping child in her arms, her voice softer now. "We're going back to our apartment. It's safer there, quieter—and free from vampire politics."

Klaus was quiet for a moment, clearly weighing his options. He looked at Hope, still fast asleep against her mother's shoulder, oblivious to the tension around her.

"Fine," he said at last, standing up. "But if anything—anything—even feels wrong, like last night, you contact me immediately."

"I will," Hayley nodded, watching as Klaus stepped closer and placed a gentle kiss on Hope's forehead. There was a rare softness in his eyes, one that only surfaced when he looked at his daughter.

Hayley caught Elijah's gaze and gave a small nod of acknowledgment—gratitude, maybe, or something more layered. Then without another word, she turned and quietly walked toward the exit. The compound doors opened, then shut behind her with a faint echo.

Klaus stood there for a moment, staring after them. The silence that followed was heavy, almost reflective.

"She'll keep her safe," Elijah said quietly, returning to his glass.

Klaus finally looked away and reached for his coat. "I'm heading out for a bit."

Elijah gave him a knowing glance. "Going to see Camille, are we?"

Klaus didn't answer. He simply gave a faint shake of his head and walked toward the exit, leaving his brother behind in the dim light of the compound's bar.

As Elijah watched him go, he raised his glass once more. "Always running from something," he murmured to himself, then drank in silence as the compound settled into another uneasy calm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been over a week since Hayley experienced one of the most terrifying moments of her life—the day her daughter vanished without a trace. Nothing prepares a mother for that kind of fear, that crushing helplessness. But against all odds, she found Hope. She brought her back, safe and warm in her arms. For a moment, life felt like it was falling back into place.

But this morning, that nightmare returned.

Hayley woke to an eerie silence. The space beside her on the bed was empty. No soft breathing. No tiny fingers clinging to the blanket. Just cold sheets where Hope should've been. Her heart sank. The fear that once paralyzed her surged back, sharper than ever.

"Hope?" she called out, quickly rising from the bed.

She rushed through the apartment, checking every room, every corner, even under furniture—anywhere a child could have wandered or hidden. But Hope was gone. There were no signs of struggle, no broken locks, nothing out of place. It was like she had simply vanished into thin air.

Hayley's hands trembled as she grabbed her phone. Her instincts kicked in—call Klaus, call Elijah, anyone who might help find her daughter. Her thumb hovered over the screen, about to dial, when a sudden knock came at the door.

She froze.

Even with panic rising in her chest, Hayley's mind remained clear. She didn't know anyone in this neighborhood. No one visited unannounced. And if Klaus or anyone from his side had wanted to see them, they would have called first.

Which meant only one thing.

Whoever was on the other side of that door… probably wasn't a friend.

Hayley set the phone down quietly, her body tense. She didn't make a sound, didn't even breathe too loudly. Her instincts screamed caution.

Slowly, silently, she moved toward the door, each step careful and deliberate, her senses on high alert.

As she reached the door, her fingers curled around the knob, and she turned it just enough to open a narrow gap. She leaned in and peered through the opening, eyes sharp and cautious—until they widened in surprise.

Without hesitation, she swung the door open fully.

Standing there was the same old man she had encountered over a week ago, when her daughter was returned to her under the strangest and most terrifying circumstances. Dressed neatly, posture straight, he carried himself with the same calm dignity—completely unfazed by the early hour or her urgency.

"Is she there again?" Hayley asked, her voice low and firm, cutting straight to the point.

The old man offered her a polite nod, his expression unchanged. "Yes, Miss Marshall. She is there again. I came to ask if you would kindly come and collect her."

Without missing a beat, Hayley responded. "Let's go."

She stepped forward without hesitation, ready to follow him—but the old man gently raised his hand in front of her, palm open, signaling for her to pause.

"If I may, Miss Marshall," he said in a composed and courteous tone, "before we leave, I think you should prepare the child's needs. Milk, clothing, and anything else she may require."

Hayley blinked, then nodded. "Right. Give me a minute."

She turned and moved quickly, rushing back into the apartment. Within moments, she had thrown together a bag of essentials—diapers, a bottle, spare clothes, and Hope's favorite stuffed wolf. Slinging it over her shoulder, she returned to the doorway and locked the apartment behind her.

The old man stood exactly where she had left him, his posture as steady as stone. When she gave him a quick nod, indicating she was ready, he simply extended one hand slightly toward her.

Then, in the blink of an eye, a swirl of crimson darkness enveloped them. The street, the apartment, the morning light—everything vanished. The world was swallowed in shadow, and the two of them were gone.

Hayley, having experienced this strange method of travel once before, didn't panic as the crimson shadows faded. She remained steady, her instincts sharp but no longer alarmed. The old man beside her gave off no killing intent, no threatening aura—just as before. That alone was enough to ease some of the tension in her chest.

As her vision cleared, the world around her shifted into focus.

There it was again—the same wooden bungalow nestled quietly in the forest. The very place where she and the Mikaelsons had found Hope the first time. But unlike their previous visit, which had taken place under the cover of night, the forest was now bathed in morning light. The air felt still, but not in a sinister way. Peaceful. Undisturbed.

Hayley glanced around and took in the full view of the surroundings for the first time. Last time, she'd been so consumed with fear for her daughter that she hadn't noticed anything but the house itself.

Now, her eyes were drawn to the towering trees—tall, thick-trunked, and ancient. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, casting a warm, golden glow across the forest floor. The light danced gently on the moss and fallen leaves, giving the entire scene the quiet beauty of a living painting.

She was so caught in the moment that she barely heard the calm voice that broke the silence.

"This way, Miss Marshall," the old man said gently, gesturing ahead as he began walking toward the house.

Hayley followed silently, still glancing around warily, her protective instincts never fully relaxing.

As they made their way along the narrow path leading to the bungalow, the old man spoke again. His tone remained polite and composed, each word carefully chosen.

"Miss Marshall, your daughter possesses an exceptional affinity for magic. She is unconsciously activating it—even in her sleep. That is what led her to this place again. It appears she is naturally drawn to where my master's vessel resides."

Hayley didn't respond immediately. Her mind was turning over his words, but one in particular stood out.

Vessel.

'So that baby inside the crystal… it wasn't just a child. It was a vessel,' she thought, eyes narrowing slightly.

The old man continued, his voice as steady as before.

"I advised my master that we should strengthen the protective barrier around this domain. However, he declined. He stated that if we were to reinforce it, and your daughter returned again by accident, the barrier would not recognize her intent. She would be crushed… and die."

That made Hayley stop in her tracks.

She looked at the old man, who had also stopped and was now watching her calmly. Alarm rising visibly on her face. Her chest tightened. If what he was saying was true—and she had no reason to believe it wasn't—then Hope was in serious danger. If she found her way here again, there might not be a second chance. All Hayley could do was pray that they wouldn't go through with the reinforcement.

The old man resumed walking, speaking once more as they neared the steps of the house.

"There is another method to prevent her return. I could suppress her magic completely. I am not a practitioner of magic by trade, but I am capable of using basic sealing techniques."

Hayley clenched her jaw as she follows. She didn't like where this was going.

He paused for a moment before finishing his word. "But if I seal her power, it will hinder the natural growth of her magic. A gift like hers should not be wasted."

That made Hayley's stomach churn.

Her expression darkened. She hated how powerless she felt in this moment. The decision he was casually weighing wasn't small. It was her daughter's future. Her legacy. Hope's ability to defend herself one day—her very identity—was at stake. And it wasn't even her who would be making the call.

She said nothing, but her silence was sharp. Tense. Her shoulders were tight and her hands balled slightly at her sides. She knew he noticed. But the old man did not speak again.

As they entered and began walking down the quiet corridor of the house, Hayley's focus sharpened. Each step echoed faintly against the wooden floorboards, but her mind was already ahead—eager to see her daughter, to hold her close and make sure she was safe.

The old man walked ahead of her, calm and composed as always. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, his posture straight and precise with every step. Hayley followed close behind, her focus sharp and her pace tense. The old man didn't say a word. He could sense her urgency, and out of quiet respect, he let the silence guide the way.

They continued their short walk until a familiar pair of double doors came into view at the end of the hall. Hayley recognized them immediately. This was the room.

Without a word, the old man opened the doors with a quiet ease. He held one open and gestured for her to enter.

Inside, sunlight filtered through the tall windows, filling the space with a warm, golden light. And there, near the center of the room, was Hope.

The little girl stood with both hands placed on the large amber crystal, her laughter soft and unbothered, as if she were playing a game with whatever—or whoever—was inside. Her small voice echoed lightly in the otherwise silent chamber.

Hayley froze for a moment in the doorway.

Relief flooded her. The tight knot of worry in her chest finally loosened. She let herself breathe.

Then her eyes shifted, following her daughter's gaze to the crystal. The same one they had seen before. The child inside—the vessel, as the old man had called him. His eyes were open, calmly watching Hope. There was no hostility, no malice—just quiet observation, as if he, too, was a curious child.

Before Hayley could take a step forward, she heard a faint cough behind her. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Then came a soft, measured whisper near her ear.

"Miss Marshall," the old man said gently, "I believe it would be best to retrieve your daughter now. My master is a very busy person, and the young lady has occupied more of his time in this early morning."

Hayley didn't argue. She understood.

She stepped forward quietly, moving with the grace of a mother used to waking sleeping toddlers. Approaching her daughter, she crouched beside her and whispered with a warm but firm tone.

"There you are, young lady," she said softly.

Hope turned, giggling at the familiar voice. She stood up and threw her arms around Hayley's neck, embracing her without hesitation.

Hayley lifted her daughter gently into her arms, holding her close. As she stood, her eyes once again drifted to the crystal. The boy inside was still watching. Their eyes met for a moment, and then slowly, the child's eyes closed again, as if returning to a quiet slumber.

Saying nothing, Hayley turned away, her daughter nestled against her shoulder.

She began walking back toward the door where the old man waiting. Behind her, she felt Hope glance back one last time, peeking over her shoulder at the strange amber crystal and the boy within it.

As they stepped out of the quiet chamber and into the hallway, the door behind them gently closing, Hayley adjusted her grip on Hope. The little girl had already started to rest her head on her mother's shoulder, clearly growing tired after her strange adventure.

The old man, turned slightly to face her while walking.

"Miss Marshall, it appears I won't be able to send you back right away," he said calmly. "I have a matter to attend to, so I kindly ask if you could stay here for a short while. Perhaps an hour at most."

Hayley glanced at him, then looked down at Hope in her arms. The child was safe and calm. That was all that mattered.

"It's fine, sir," she replied, her tone relaxed, though still alert. "If I can't leave right now, I might as well wait until you're finished."

Marcus nodded with approval. "That's very understanding of you. Also, you don't need to call me 'sir.' Considering our past encounter wasn't exactly a pleasant introduction, I think it's proper we start again on better terms."

He came to a stop and turned to face her fully, his expression composed but sincere.

"My name is Marcus Bluddfeld. A True Vampire, head of the Bluddfeld family, and Master of the Imperial Household. But for simplicity's sake, you may call me Old Man Marcus."

With a touch of formality, he extended his arm toward her for a handshake.

Hayley blinked. 'That's a lot of titles,' she thought. Despite herself, she reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm but respectful.

After a brief handshake, Marcus gave a small nod, satisfied.

"Come," he said. "Let me escort you to your room."

They began walking down the corridor, the soft thud of their footsteps echoing faintly through the wooden floor. Hayley remained quiet, gently rocking Hope in her arms, while Marcus continued in his calm, instructive tone.

"While I'm away, you are free to walk around the house and the grounds—but do not cross the fence," he said. "If you get hungry, feel free to use the kitchen. However, I must ask that you do not enter any rooms apart from the one assigned to you. Especially not my master's chamber. Though, truthfully, you wouldn't be able to open the doors even if you tried. The house recognizes who it allows to enter."

Hayley gave a faint nod in response. She wasn't the type to go poking around someone else's secrets—unless she had a reason to.

After a short walk, they reached a corner of the house where a modest wooden door waited, its surface carved with faint markings that shimmered subtly in the morning light. Marcus stepped forward and opened it gently.

He held it open with a slight bow. "This will be your room for the time being."

Hayley stepped inside, her eyes immediately scanning the space with cautious instinct. But what she saw made her pause. The room was far from ordinary—it carried a quiet elegance, almost otherworldly in its design. The bed, draped in deep crimson and gold linens, looked fit for royalty, its carved frame etched with unfamiliar symbols that faintly shimmered in the light. The floor was polished dark wood, smooth beneath her boots, with a patterned rug that looked handwoven, possibly ancient. A low table made of dark glass sat beside the bed, holding a crystal pitcher and two perfectly cut goblets instead of simple glasses. Across the room, tall velvet curtains framed a window that offered a breathtaking view of the sunlit forest, its golden light spilling into the room like a soft veil. Everything felt timeless—foreign, yet oddly calming.

As she entered, Marcus remained at the doorway, his posture still composed.

"I will return when my business is done," he said. "Please make yourself comfortable."

With that, he gave a slight nod and stepped away, leaving Hayley and Hope alone in the quiet room.

After the door closed gently behind her, Hayley stood still for a moment, letting the quiet settle around her. The soft hum of the room's energy felt foreign but not threatening. She turned and set the small travel bag on the bed, the contents shifting slightly as it landed on the lush, velvet blankets.

With practiced ease, she lifted Hope into her arms and laid her gently on the center of the bed. The little girl looked up at her with wide, shining eyes, full of laughter and innocence, as if none of this was out of the ordinary.

Hayley gave her a small smile, brushing a few strands of hair from her daughter's forehead. Then she walked over to the tall window, pulling it open to let the fresh air in. A cool breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of pine and something unfamiliar—crisp, clean, almost magical.

Returning to the bed, Hayley watched Hope giggling and sucking her thumb, completely at ease. She sat beside her and leaned in close, her voice soft but filled with a familiar mix of scolding and love.

"Look at you," she whispered. "You little mischievous thing. Do you even know how worried I get when you disappear like that?"

Hope just laughed, louder this time, as if to tease her mother.

Hayley sighed, but couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips. She played with Hope for a while, tickling her belly and brushing her fingers through her hair before settling her down for a quick meal. She fed her slowly, holding her steady in her lap, and watched as Hope dozed briefly between bites—only to wake up again with another giggle.

After a little while, Hayley decided it was time for them to look around outside. She packed a few essentials into the bag, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped out into the soft, golden light of the morning, curious to see more of the strange place they had found themselves in.

The space beyond the house was just as surreal as the room inside. She found a soft patch of grass near the porch and gently set Hope down, letting her walk and explore. The toddler wobbled a bit but moved with the curious energy only young children had.

Hayley stood nearby, her eyes sweeping the area. The forest was massive—dense with towering trees that stretched higher than any she had ever seen. In the distance, mountain peaks rose so high they disappeared into the clouds. They looked far taller than any peak on Earth.

The wind shifted, carrying faint but powerful sounds—roars, deep and distant, echoing from somewhere within the woods. Hayley paused and narrowed her eyes, scanning the treeline. But she saw nothing. No movement. Just the faint shimmer of sunlight breaking through the branches.

Her thoughts drifted to Marcus's warning. Don't cross the fence.

She glanced toward the simple wooden fence that surrounded the clearing. It didn't look like much—just aged wood, slightly taller than her waist—but she had no doubt it was more than it seemed. Whatever was out there in the woods, she didn't think it could cross that line. To her, she thinks that the fence clearly served as both a boundary and a form of protection, keeping the dangers of the forest at bay.

Still, the faint sounds kept her alert.

Hayley stayed close to Hope, never letting her out of reach. Even in this peaceful place, her guard never dropped entirely. But for now, within the boundary of that strange, otherworldly sanctuary, she allowed herself to breathe.

Hope played happily at her feet, laughing as she grabbed at blades of grass and chased after a drifting feather. And for a brief, quiet moment, Hayley felt safe.

Hayley and Hope spent some time outside, enjoying the strange calm of their surroundings. Hope still waddled across the grass, laughing and playing, while Hayley kept close, always watching. Despite the beauty of the place, her instincts never fully rested.

Then, without warning, the light dimmed.

A massive shadow passed over the clearing, and Hayley's senses snapped to full alert. She immediately scooped Hope into her arms and looked up, ready to defend if needed.

What she saw, however, made her freeze.

Above them soared a massive bird, its wings wide enough to darken the ground below. Her mouth parted slightly in disbelief as the creature glided overhead. It wasn't just large—it was otherworldly. The feathers shimmered slightly in the sunlight, and as it passed, she caught a glimpse of two sharp, curved horns protruding from each side of its head. It looked like a hawk, but far more ancient and powerful, something that didn't belong in any earthly sky.

Hayley watched it with wide eyes as the creature circled and descended toward a wide clearing near the fence gate. From where she stood, she had a clear view as the giant bird landed gracefully on the open field, just beyond the boundary.

To her surprise, someone leapt down from the creature's back.

It was Marcus.

She recognized him immediately—his formal posture, silver hair, and composed demeanor made him unmistakable even from a distance. The old man approached the bird with quiet familiarity, resting a gloved hand gently on its head. He murmured something too soft to hear, and the great beast gave a single cry before lifting off into the sky again.

Hayley stood still, her eyes following the bird as it rose higher and disappeared into the clouds. Her mind struggled to fully register what she had just witnessed. That was no ordinary creature, and Marcus riding it? That was something out of a storybook, not real life.

She was still caught in awe when a familiar voice grounded her again.

"Miss Hayley," Marcus called out from across the grass, his tone as calm as ever. "I have concluded my business. Allow me to return you to your home."

Hayley turned to face him, still processing everything. She glanced from the sky back to him, searching for the right words, but nothing came. She simply nodded, holding Hope a little tighter against her chest.

Marcus approached with a slight bow of his head. Without another word, he raised one hand in a smooth, controlled motion. The familiar crimson darkness began to form, swirling around them like a soft wind.

In the blink of an eye, they vanished from the clearing, leaving the quiet, enchanted world behind.

The strange forest fell silent once again, as if nothing had happened at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night had settled over New Orleans, quiet and heavy, casting long shadows across the courtyard of the Mikaelsons' compound. The lanterns burned low, and the scent of old wood and bourbon lingered in the air.

Inside, two men sat facing each other at the long bar—glasses in hand, a bottle between them.

One of them was Marcel Gerard: dark complexion, brown eyes, and the kind of striking handsomeness that carried weight and confidence. He leaned back in his chair with a casual air, though there was a sharpness in his eyes that didn't match the relaxed pose.

Across from him sat Elijah Mikaelson. Impeccably dressed, composed as always, but a little more solemn tonight. His glass was nearly empty, and the silence between them stretched just long enough to say that neither man was in a hurry.

Marcel was the one to break it.

"I'm just curious, Elijah," he said, setting his glass down gently. "What exactly happened the night Hope disappeared? You all came back with her, clearly shaken, but no one's said a word about who took her—or how you found her."

Elijah didn't respond at first. He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes fixed ahead, but his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

The truth sat heavy on his shoulders. How could he begin to explain what they encountered? A being who moved with ancient power, a place that didn't quite belong to this world. Even now, the memory of the old man presence stirred something unsettled in him.

"We found her," Elijah said simply, finally meeting Marcel's gaze. "That's what matters."

Since that night, not one of the Mikaelsons had spoken about it, not even to each other. The silence had become part of the memory.

Marcel watched him, picking up on the hesitation. But he didn't push—at least not directly.

Instead, he shifted the subject.

"And Rebekah?" he asked. "I haven't heard from her lately. I'm starting to get worried."

Elijah paused again. That truth was difficult too. After they returned with Hope, Rebekah's curse had flared violently. She'd begun to lose control. And when the fear of hurting someone became too real, she'd asked Elijah to dagger her—to put her to sleep before she became a danger.

He did it. He still heard the crack of the dagger sliding into place.

"She's alright," Elijah said quietly, with a calmness that masked the weight behind the words. "You know, Rebekah—when she's quiet, she's usually off chasing something important."

Marcel didn't fully buy it, but he let it go.

"With everything going on—your family's enemies showing up left and right—I don't think splitting up is a smart move," he said. "You might be the Originals, but every time someone comes after you, this city pays the price."

Elijah set his glass down with care and finally looked Marcel in the eye.

"I'm aware," he said calmly.

Marcel studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. It wasn't the answer he wanted, but he knew Elijah well enough to recognize when a line wouldn't be crossed.

He stood from his seat and reached for his coat.

"Alright."

Marcel lingered a moment longer, then gave a short nod and walked off, his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he disappeared into the night.

Elijah remained seated, staring into the empty glass in front of him. The silence returned, thicker now. Outside, the wind rustled the leaves gently, carrying the distant sounds of the city that never truly slept.

---End of chapter---