The black SUV rolled through the outskirts of Mystic Falls under a sky heavy with impending rain. Nathanial Salvatore gripped the wheel, his knuckles white not from tension but from the sheer restraint of holding back 15 tons of strength that could crumple the vehicle like tin foil. It had been 145 years since he last set foot in this town — 145 years of wandering, turning ten elite vampires, founding the Shadow Council, and keeping the supernatural world hidden from human eyes. Now, a single encrypted message from Isolde (his first sired, turned in 1887, now a high-level Council operative in D.C.) had pulled him back.
"Petrova doppelgänger confirmed. Elena Gilbert. Age 17. Parents deceased May 23, 2009. Looks like Katherine Pierce. Location: Mystic Falls. Risk level high. Klaus Mikaelson's curse ritual could target her within years. Recommend observation. Do not engage directly."
Nathanial had stared at the attached photo for hours. The same dark hair, the same expressive eyes, the same quiet strength that had haunted him in Katherine's time. But this girl was innocent, human, grieving. And Klaus — the Original hybrid — would stop at nothing to break his curse. The last thing Elena needed was an association with Nathanial, a rogue hybrid unbound by any sire line, with a history tied to Rebekah Mikaelson and a power level that made even Originals wary.
He compelled himself to stay in the shadows. Protect from afar. That's what the Shadow Council was for.
The SUV pulled off the main road near the old cemetery. Nathanial stepped out, coat swirling in the fog. His senses extended — 2 miles in every direction. Heartbeats: a jogger on Route 9, deer in the woods, a single girl crying softly near the Gilbert plot. Elena.
He moved silently, boots making no sound on the gravel. The cemetery was the same as he remembered — headstones worn by time, the Salvatore family plot empty except for his parents. His brothers' graves were placeholders; their bodies never found after the church fire in 1864. He had believed them dead then. Left town. Joined the army. Killed a man in the chaos of battle — triggering the latent werewolf gene he hadn't known he carried. Then Rebekah found him, turned him, loved him, and vanished. Or so he thought. Klaus had daggered her; he knew that now, centuries later. The betrayal still burned.
Elena sat cross-legged on the grass before her parents' headstones, diary open on her lap. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she wrote steadily, as if putting words on paper could hold the grief at bay.
Nathanial watched from behind an oak. Her heartbeat was strong, resilient. She reminded him of himself in 1864 — determined to move forward, even when the world fell apart.
He stepped forward deliberately, leaves crunching.
Elena looked up, startled. "Who are you?"
"Nathanial," he said, voice low and calm. "I used to live here. A long time ago."
She studied him — tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, eyes the color of storm clouds. Something about him felt familiar, like a half-remembered dream. "You look... I don't know. Like someone I should know."
"We've met," he said. "Briefly. You were grieving. I offered comfort. Then I made you forget, for your safety."
Her brow furrowed. "I don't remember meeting you."
"You will," he said gently. "But not today. Not until it's safe."
He crouched to her level, keeping a respectful distance. "You're Elena Gilbert. Your parents died four months ago. Car accident on Wickery Bridge. You're trying to pretend everything's fine, but it's not. And you're writing in that diary to remind yourself you're still alive."
She closed the diary, hugging it to her chest. "How do you know that?"
"Because I've been there." He glanced at the headstones. "My family... they're gone too. Long ago. I came back to see if anything was left."
Elena wiped her eyes. "There's nothing left. Just memories that hurt."
Nathanial nodded. "Memories are all we have sometimes. But they don't have to define you. You can be more than the sad girl who lost her parents. You can be the girl who survives."
She looked at him, really looked. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're in danger, Elena. More than you know." He let a faint red glow flicker in his eyes — not full alpha, just enough to show the truth. "Vampires exist. Old ones. One in particular wants your blood. He's called Klaus. He needs a doppelgänger like you to break a curse. If he finds out you're connected to someone like me, he'll use it. So you can't know me. Not yet."
Her breath caught. "Your eyes... they're red."
"Part of what I am." He stood. "A hybrid. Stronger than the others. But I can't protect you if you're linked to me. So..."
He leaned in, voice a velvet whisper. "Forget this meeting. Forget my name, my face, the red in my eyes. Forget the conversation. Live your life. Go to school. Make friends. Fall for the new boy in town. Be safe. Be happy."
The compulsion took hold — deeper than any vampire could manage, no eye contact required, unbreakable by lesser magic. Elena's eyes glazed, then cleared. She blinked, confused.
"I... I think I should go," she said, standing. She walked away, diary clutched tight, not looking back.
Nathanial watched until she disappeared down the path. The ache in his chest was unexpected. He had compelled thousands over centuries, but this one hurt.
His phone buzzed — Marcus, sired in 1923, now handling East Coast surveillance. "Boss, Stefan Salvatore enrolled at the high school today. Compelled the secretary. Damon followed. Tomb vampires stirring below the church ruins. Exposure risk low but rising. Your orders?"
"Observe," Nathanial replied. "No intervention unless the veil is threatened. The doppelgänger is priority one. If Damon gets reckless, contain it quietly."
"Understood. Isolde has government contacts on standby for cover stories if needed."
Nathanial ended the call. The Shadow Council was a machine — supernaturals knew it existed as a mysterious enforcer, but no one knew the founder was an unbound Salvatore hybrid. That was the point.
He walked to the Salvatore plot, kneeling before the empty graves. "I thought you were dead, brothers," he murmured. "I left. I survived. Rebekah turned me. I built something to protect what we couldn't protect then. Now you're back, and so am I."
His eyes glowed full red, power surging. He could feel Stefan's presence — cool, controlled, a mile away at the boarding house. Damon was wilder, chaotic. They would draw attention. He would make sure it didn't burn everything down.
Later that evening, the back-to-school bonfire party roared at the Falls. Music thumped, teenagers laughed, firelight flickered. Nathanial watched from the treeline, two miles distant — senses sharp enough to hear every word.
Elena stood with Bonnie and Caroline. She looked lighter, almost smiling. The compulsion was holding. Stefan arrived, drawing eyes. Caroline flirted shamelessly. Elena watched Stefan, curious.
Then Damon struck.
In the woods, Vicki Donovan wandered alone, high and upset. Damon fed on her — quick, brutal, leaving her bleeding on the ground. Nathanial's lips curled. Damon was always reckless.
He extended his will. A gust of wind — elemental control — whipped through the trees, knocking Damon off balance mid-feed. Vicki gasped, alive but weak. Stefan, nearby, heard the disturbance. He rushed in, scooping Vicki up, carrying her back to the party.
The brothers clashed later — Stefan pinning Damon against a tree, demanding answers. "Why are you here?"
Damon smirked. "You know why. Elena."
Nathanial smiled thinly. Let them fight. He would clean the mess.
At the party, Elena and Stefan searched for Jeremy, found Vicki bloody. Panic spread. Stefan vanished into the night. Elena stared after him, unsettled.
Back at the Gilbert house, Elena wrote in her diary: "Dear Diary, today I thought I could start fresh. But something feels off. Like there's someone watching. Protecting. I don't know why."
Across town, Nathanial stood on the Salvatore boarding house roof, staring at the moon. Rebekah was out there, daggered somewhere. His brothers were here. Elena was safe, for now.
But the shadows were lengthening.