The flight to Norway took fourteen hours, even with the private jet Klaus had acquired through methods Kol didn't ask about.
He spent most of it sleeping, recovering reserves depleted by three days of astral searching. The Grimoire monitored his condition, displaying increasingly concerned messages about magical fatigue and the importance of rest before combat.
RESERVES: 68% AND CLIMBING RECOMMENDATION: FULL REST BEFORE TETHER DESTRUCTION WARNING: DAHLIA LIKELY AWARE OF APPROACH
By the time they landed in Bergen, Kol felt almost normal. The vampire blood he'd consumed during the flight had accelerated his recovery, though a persistent headache reminded him that even supernatural bodies had limits.
The Norwegian wilderness hadn't changed much in a millennium.
Klaus and Elijah stood at the edge of the fjord where they'd fished as children, staring at mountains that had witnessed their entire existence. The water was dark and cold, reflecting a sky heavy with clouds. Snow covered everything, pristine and ancient.
"I remember this," Klaus said quietly. "Henrik and I used to race to that rock. I always won, but he never stopped trying."
"Mother would call us for supper from that ridge." Elijah pointed at a distant cliff. "Her voice carried across the entire valley."
For Kol, the experience was strange and disorienting. Marcus's soul processed Kol's inherited memories—childhood moments that felt simultaneously real and secondhand. He remembered the cold bite of winter mornings, the smell of his mother's cooking, the sound of his siblings' laughter. But the memories belonged to someone else, absorbed rather than lived.
"The village ruins are north," he said, pulling them back to the mission. "About three miles through the forest."
They moved at supernatural speed, covering ground that would have taken humans hours in mere minutes. The forest grew denser as they traveled, ancient trees that predated the Mikaelson family itself. Snow crunched beneath their feet—the only sound in the winter stillness.
Then they found the village.
Or what remained of it. A thousand years had reduced the settlement to scattered stones and overgrown foundations. Trees grew through what had once been homes. The great hall where Mikael had held court was nothing but a depression in the ground, filled with snow and dead leaves.
"There." Elijah pointed at a twisted shape in the center of the ruins. "Mother's workshop."
The rowan tree was unmistakable. It grew from the remains of Esther's altar, its trunk twisted and wrong, branches reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers. Magic saturated the area—oppressive, ancient, and distinctly hostile.
"That's the tether," Kol confirmed. His void sense screamed warnings as they approached. "Dahlia's power is woven through every fiber of it."
"Then we cut it down," Klaus said simply.
"It won't be that easy. She's left protections."
As if summoned by his words, the spirits manifested.
They rose from the snow like smoke taking form—dozens of spectral figures, witches by their dress and bearing, all wearing expressions of terrible rage. Their eyes burned with borrowed power, their forms flickering between solid and translucent.
"Bound spirits," Vincent had warned them about this possibility. "Witches she's killed over the centuries, their souls imprisoned and forced to serve."
"Mikaelsons." The lead spirit's voice echoed across the clearing. "The blood-debt comes due. You cannot stop what was promised."
"Watch us," Klaus snarled.
He attacked with hybrid fury, tearing through the first spirit before Kol could finish raising barriers. But these weren't ordinary ghosts—Dahlia had bound them with purpose, given them substance and power. The spirit reformed almost immediately, its spectral claws raking across Klaus's arm.
Elijah joined the fight, centuries of combat training evident in every movement. He flowed between enemies like water, disrupting their forms with precise strikes while avoiding their counterattacks.
Kol focused on the tether.
The unbinding ritual was complex—layers of magic woven over millennia, each one needing to be dismantled in sequence. He chanted words from three different languages, channeling void energy through the Grimoire while his brothers kept the guardians occupied.
The first layer shattered. The tree screamed—actually screamed, a sound of violated magic tearing through the clearing.
More spirits manifested. Twenty. Thirty. More than Klaus and Elijah could handle indefinitely.
"How long?" Klaus demanded, hurling a guardian into a tree trunk.
"Minutes. Maybe more."
"We don't have minutes."
Kol pushed harder, ignoring the strain on his reserves. The second layer broke. The third. Each one released a pulse of power that drew more guardians from wherever Dahlia had bound them.
"BROTHER!" Elijah's warning came too late.
A guardian's claws tore through Kol's side, breaking his concentration. Pain lanced through him—real, physical, bleeding despite the wound's spectral source. He staggered but kept chanting, refusing to let the ritual collapse.
Klaus appeared beside him, tearing the guardian apart with his bare hands. "Keep going. We'll hold them."
The brothers fought back-to-back, centuries of conflict forgotten in the need to protect their youngest sibling. They moved in coordination that spoke of shared childhood training, bodies remembering partnership their minds had forgotten.
Kol reached the deepest layer of the binding.
This one was different. Personal. He could feel Freya's presence on the other side, pressed against the barrier, waiting for freedom. Her consciousness brushed against his through the weakened wall.
Now, she urged. Do it now.
He poured everything into the final push. Void energy tore through Dahlia's bindings like fire through dry leaves. The tether-tree convulsed, roots ripping from the ground, from dimensions, from reality itself.
The prison shattered.
Somewhere across the world, Freya Mikaelson opened her eyes for the first time in centuries.
And somewhere else, in a hidden sanctum where she'd slept for generations, Dahlia woke screaming.
---
The guardians collapsed as the tether's magic dissipated. Without Dahlia's binding, they were just spirits again—confused, lost, finally free. Some vanished immediately, drawn to whatever afterlife awaited them. Others lingered, processing freedom after so long in servitude.
Kol slumped against the ruined altar, his reserves showing twelve percent. The wound in his side was healing slowly, vampire regeneration hampered by magical damage.
"It's done," he managed. "The prison's broken."
Klaus and Elijah stood amid the fallen spirits, both wounded but functional. The clearing was silent except for their breathing and the creak of the dying tether-tree.
"Where is she?" Klaus demanded. "If the prison's broken—"
"Her consciousness was trapped, not her body." Kol pulled himself upright, wincing. "She needs to find her physical form, wherever Dahlia hid it. Then she'll come to us."
"How do we know she's actually free?"
As if in answer, Kol felt a familiar presence brush against his void sense. Distant but distinct—Freya, reaching out from wherever she'd awakened.
It worked, her voice carried across dimensional space. I'm free. I'll find my body and come to you.
Where are you?
Hidden in plain sight. Dahlia never thought I'd be so close to home.
The connection faded, but not before Kol sensed something else—gratitude so profound it transcended words.
"She's free," he reported. "She'll find us."
Klaus closed his eyes briefly—the closest he came to expressing relief. Elijah's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Then we should return to New Orleans," Elijah suggested. "Dahlia knows we've moved against her. She'll retaliate."
"Let her try." Klaus's voice carried renewed confidence. "We have something she didn't expect—a unified family willing to fight for each other. When Freya arrives, we'll have her knowledge of Dahlia's weaknesses. The witch wanted a family divided by old wounds. She's getting one healed by new purpose."
---
Before leaving, Klaus walked to a specific spot in the ruins—a shallow depression beneath an ancient oak tree, nearly invisible under centuries of growth.
Henrik's grave. Unmarked, forgotten by everyone but family.
Klaus knelt in the snow, one hand pressed against the frozen earth.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," he said quietly. "But I'll protect Hope. I swear it on everything I am—I won't fail her like I failed you."
Kol and Elijah waited at a distance, giving their brother privacy. Some grief was meant to be witnessed but not intruded upon.
When Klaus finally stood, something had shifted in his expression. The old guilt remained, but it was layered with new purpose. He walked past his brothers without speaking, and they fell into step beside him.
The journey back to the airstrip took less time than the approach. They traveled in silence, each processing what had happened in their own way.
On the flight home, Kol received astral contact from Freya—brief but clear.
"It worked," she confirmed. "I'm finding my body now. I'll be in New Orleans within days."
"We'll be ready."
"Kol—thank you. I've been waiting a thousand years for someone to come for me. I'd almost given up hope."
"You're family. Family doesn't give up."
The connection faded. Kol leaned back in his seat, exhaustion finally catching up with him.
Klaus noticed his condition. "Sleep. You've earned it."
"Watch the Grimoire." Kol tucked the book against his chest. "If it displays any warnings, wake me immediately."
"Obviously."
Kol slept for twelve hours straight—deep, dreamless rest that his body desperately needed. When he woke, they were approaching New Orleans, the city's lights visible through the aircraft windows.
The Grimoire had new text displayed:
FREYA MIKAELSON: EN ROUTE ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: 47 HOURS DAHLIA STATUS: FULLY AWAKENED THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL
The race was on. Freya was coming home. But so was something far more dangerous.
Kol looked out the window at New Orleans below—the city he'd helped unite, the alliances he'd built, the family he'd chosen. Everything they'd accomplished would be tested against an enemy older and more powerful than anything they'd faced.
But for the first time in weeks, he felt something like hope.
They weren't alone anymore. And soon, they'd have another ally—the oldest Mikaelson, finally returning to a family she'd been stolen from before any of them were born.
Let Dahlia come. Let her bring everything she had.
The Mikaelsons would be ready.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0