Chapter Text
Every beginning has a middle. Every middle has an ending. And every ending has a new beginning.
And so the cycle repeats.
Everything you saw was merely a taste of the anarchy you are about to be thrown into.
By now, you’ve realized who has been guiding you along this journey of remembrance.
This is the Odyssey of Recollection.
Now as we journey further into the unknown, you will see how deep the roots of my family tree spreads.
Over the course of my long life, I have come to believe that we are bound forever to those with whom we share blood. And while we may not choose our family, their bond can be our greatest strength, or… our deepest regret. This unfortunate truth has haunted me for as long as I can recall.
But one truth that has always given me hope was the tether of love. The hope that family can truly last always and forever.
MISSISSIPPI RIVER, 1711…
The sea stretched endlessly in every direction, a mirror of calm azure under the cover of endless night. On the horizon loomed an ominous silhouette—a massive ship, weathered and still, as though it had emerged from the depths themselves. The two men on the small scouting boat exchanged uneasy glances as they neared the abandoned vessel.
“What do you make of that?” the first man murmured, leaning forward, his grip tightening on the edge of the boat.
The second man squinted. “No banner. No flag. Floated in out of nowhere. A miracle ship.”
The first man frowned, his unease deepening. “Why is it just sitting out there?”
The second man shrugged, his voice tinged with nervous curiosity. “Suppose we ought to find out.”
With a creak of wood and splash of water, they boarded the ship alongside a handful of other crewmen. The eerie silence aboard the vessel pressed down on them like a weight. The sound of their boots against the wet planks echoed ominously, interrupted only by the faint drip of water from somewhere below deck.
Lanterns in hand, the men descended the ladder into the ship’s bowels, the golden glow of their lights cutting through the oppressive darkness. The air was damp and cold, thick with the metallic tang of salt and decay.
“Where in hell is everyone?” the second man muttered, glancing around the barren, shadowed corridors.
“Deserted,” the first man replied after a pause, his voice lighter now, tinged with greed. “Which makes everything in the hold legally forfeit. Take what suits you.”
They moved deeper into the ship, their lanterns illuminating crates, barrels, and the scattered remnants of what had once been a thriving crew. But then the first man stopped abruptly, his light catching on something unusual at the far end of the hold.
“What do you make of that?” he asked, his voice low.
The second man followed his gaze, his lantern casting a flickering glow over two ornately carved coffins nestled in the shadows. Their polished wood gleamed faintly, the intricate designs hinting at wealth and something far older.
“Open it up,” the first man ordered, his curiosity outweighing his caution.
The second man hesitated, a shiver crawling down his spine. Something about the coffins felt... wrong. But after a moment, he swallowed his unease and bent down, prying open the lid of the nearest one. The wood creaked as the seal broke, and the lantern light revealed its grisly contents.
Inside lay a man, unnaturally still, his pale skin flawless yet somehow lifeless. A dagger protruded from his chest, embedded with precision. The second man recoiled, his breath catching. “What the hell?!”
Before the first man could respond, a deafening crash echoed through the hold. A door somewhere behind them slammed open, followed by a rush of air that sent their lantern flames sputtering. The drip of water was drowned out by panicked cries as the other crewmen began to vanish into the darkness, one by one, their screams cut short by the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh.
The second man spun around, his lantern trembling in his hand. Shadows danced erratically across the walls, and the wind howled through the ship like a living thing. He clutched the lantern tighter, his breath ragged as he strained to see who—or what—was taking his men.
A soft, almost playful voice cut through the chaos. “Hello.”
He turned sharply, the lantern’s light falling on a woman. She stood just a few feet away, her pale features unnervingly calm. Blood smeared her lips, but her delicate handkerchief soon erased the evidence. Her piercing eyes, still faintly veined, bore into him.
“Lovely to see such a handsome face after a long journey,” she said, her voice dripping with dark humor. “Can I eat him, brother?”
From the shadows, another voice answered, smooth and composed. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
The second man froze, his heart pounding as a tall figure stepped out of the darkness. The man’s tailored suit was immaculate, his expression polite yet chillingly detached. He offered a faint, almost cordial smile.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” the man said, his voice gentle but carrying an unmistakable command. His eyes met the second man’s, compelling and irresistible. “You will remember nothing.”
The lantern slipped from the second man’s hand, clattering to the floor as his face went slack. “I will remember nothing,” he echoed, his voice flat, lifeless.
Elijah stood tall, his presence commanding yet composed, as he addressed the lone surviving sailor. The man trembled, his knuckles white as he clutched the sputtering lantern, its flickering light casting eerie shadows across the bloodstained walls.
"We've had a very long journey," Elijah began, his voice calm and precise, "wherein which, unfortunately, we lost all of our crew. Therefore, I will ask you kindly to transport our belongings to the shore."
The sailor's lips parted, but no sound came out at first. His mind raced to make sense of the carnage around him: the gutted bodies of his companions, the oppressive stench of death, and the unrelenting calm of these strangers who seemed utterly unbothered by the slaughter. Finally, he managed to stammer, "What kind of hell demons are you?"
Rebekah stepped forward, the soft clink of her heels against the ship’s planks somehow louder than the howling wind outside. She tilted her head with a bemused smile, her golden hair framing her face like a halo of innocence that belied her predatory nature. "We're vampires, darling," she said with a saccharine tone that made the sailor flinch. "The Original vampires: Rebekah, Elijah, our brothers Kol and Finn—may they rest in peace."
Before the sailor could respond, another voice cut through the tense air, low and mocking. "Are we saving the best for last?"
The sailor turned sharply, his lantern casting light on another figure emerging from the darkness. Klaus stood at the edge of the hold, his predatory grin revealing bloodstained teeth. In his arms hung the lifeless body of the first sailor, limp and drained. Klaus's face was still vamped, veins stark against his skin, and his eyes burned with a dangerous gleam. He laughed softly at Rebekah's comment, the sound low and menacing.
"And our half-brother, Niklaus," Rebekah continued with a roll of her eyes, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "Ignore him; he's a beast."
Klaus smirked, amused by her jab, before unceremoniously dropping the body onto the floor with a sickening thud. Blood pooled beneath it, staining the already slick wooden planks. "We fled Europe and survived the seas," Klaus said, his tone almost conversational despite the macabre scene. "Would you rather I arrive hungry on the shores of our new homeland?"
Elijah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he were chastising an unruly child. "Niklaus, your manners are, as always, without equal." He turned his attention back to the sailor, whose shaking hands barely kept the lantern aloft. "Sir, would you be so good as to tell us where it is that we have landed?"
The sailor swallowed hard, his throat dry. "The French colony of Louisiana," he managed to choke out, "off the shores of a town they’ve named New Orleans."
Elijah inclined his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Thank you so much." He straightened his jacket, his composure unshaken. "Oh, I do recommend that you find yourself further assistance for the luggage. My sincere apologies."
With that, Elijah turned and strode toward the exit, his footsteps measured and deliberate. Rebekah followed, casting the sailor a wink over her shoulder. Klaus lingered for a moment, his predatory gaze locked on the trembling man. For a brief, terrifying second, it seemed as though Klaus might pounce, but then he simply smirked and turned to follow his siblings, leaving the sailor alone in the carnage.
PRESENT DAY, 2011…
Klaus entered the room, the door creaking slightly as it closed behind him. His keen eyes immediately spotted a folded letter propped neatly against a crystal glass decanter. The paper was crisp and pristine, standing out against the dark wood of the table. His name, "Klaus," was scrawled elegantly across the front in a familiar hand. The sight of it made him pause mid-step.
He approached slowly, his footsteps deliberate, and reached for the letter. As he picked it up, he turned it over in his hands, his brows furrowing in recognition of the wax seal pressed firmly on the back. The impression bore the letter "K" — a bold, mocking flourish that he knew all too well. A flicker of irritation crossed his face, though his lips twitched as if he couldn't quite decide whether to smirk or sneer.
He slid a finger beneath the seal, breaking it cleanly, and unfolded the letter. The scent of the parchment carried a faint trace of perfume, a bittersweet reminder of the author. As his eyes began to scan the neat, flowing script, her voice crept into his mind like a ghost, each word tinged with her signature blend of venom and charm.
Klaus,
I hear Elijah has refused you the cure, and in return, you have refused me my freedom. Shame on you both.
Klaus exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. "Typical," he muttered under his breath, already anticipating the rest of her taunts.
But while you boys sort out your problems, I have one last thing to offer you.
Klaus tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself. Katherine never reached out without an ulterior motive, and rarely did she offer anything without expecting a price to be paid.
I've caught wind that there is a witch in New Orleans named Jane-Anne Deveraux plotting a move against you. Hunt her down. What she has to say will rattle you so deeply to your core that chasing little old me will be the least of your concerns.
At this, Klaus's grip on the letter tightened ever so slightly. His eyes darkened, the name "Jane-Anne Deveraux" already carving its place in his mind. New Orleans. A place steeped in his history, in his past triumphs and betrayals. What could possibly await him there that Katherine deemed important enough to deflect his pursuit of her?
It's been a fun five centuries, Klaus, but I've worn down too many good heels running from you.
He could almost hear the smirk in her voice, the way she loved to needle him, even from afar.
With love and hate,
Katerina
The letter slipped from Klaus's fingers, falling back to the table, the sound of its landing barely audible. He stood there for a moment, his face unreadable, though his eyes burned with a storm of emotions — anger, intrigue, and something far darker.
Klaus reached for the decanter, pouring himself a generous glass of bourbon. The amber liquid swirled in the light as he lifted it to his lips and took a slow sip, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. His mind raced.
"Jane-Anne Deveraux," he said to himself, testing the name aloud, his voice a low growl. Katherine may have believed this letter would distract him, but in truth, it only sharpened his resolve.
"New Orleans," he murmured, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Let’s see what secrets you’ve been keeping from me."
With that, Klaus downed the rest of the bourbon in one swift motion, grabbed his coat, and strode purposefully toward the door. Whatever awaited him in New Orleans, he would face it head-on. And if Katherine thought this would be enough to derail him entirely, she had gravely underestimated him.