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Chapter Text

✨ Story Preview / Hook ✨

Time, magic, and choices collide. After Finn’s death, Elena and Caroline find themselves navigating challenges that stretch across centuries, testing friendships, loyalties, and the very limits of their power.

Expect unexpected alliances, mystical mysteries, and moments that will push our heroines to grow—and sometimes break—in ways they never imagined.

Action, suspense, and slow-burn dynamics meet heart, humor, and hard-won courage. Secrets of the past will echo in the present, and every decision could change everything.

Follow Elena and Caroline as they discover who they truly are… and what they’re willing to fight for.

Chapter Text

Elena sat on the cool grass outside the lake house porch, staring at the still water and wondering when her life had spun so far out of control. At an age when she should have been worrying about college applications, prom dresses, and graduation, she and her friends were instead haunted by the supernatural—and by whether they would even live to see another year.

She traced the thought backward, as she often did. Had everything gone wrong the moment she met Stefan? Or was it Katherine? Or the night she was kidnapped by Rose and Trevor? Perhaps it was even earlier—the night of the car crash, when her parents drowned and she lived. Maybe, Elena thought darkly, if Stefan had not obeyed her father’s pleas and saved him instead of her, all of this would be simpler.

Maybe she had been doomed from the start. Mikael had come for her when she was just a toddler, and Bonnie’s mother had paid the price.

“Hey!” Caroline’s voice snapped her out of the spiral, sharp and bossy as ever. “We came here to relax, remember? If you two don’t stop sulking and come join me on the couch for these cheesy movies, I swear I’ll sign you both up as volunteers for the next Founders’ event. With Carol Lockwood.”

That threat was enough to break through Elena’s brooding.

The three of them—Caroline, Bonnie, and Elena—had come to the Gilbert lake house to escape for the weekend, to pretend, for just a little while, that they were normal teenagers. A baby vampire. A powerful but untested witch. A doppelgänger cursed by fate. It sounded like the setup for a disaster, but this was as close to peace as any of them could get.

Of course, Bonnie wasn’t really relaxing. She had buried herself in the thick pages of a grimoire, still searching for a spell to uncover the origins of the sire lines. Weeks of effort, and still nothing. Caroline, tired of watching her friend burn herself out, had decreed—in pure Caroline Forbes fashion—that they were leaving town. No Salvatore brothers allowed. In fact, she had promised hell itself if Damon or Stefan appeared within a five-hundred-mile radius.

“Caroline, you don’t understand,” Bonnie said without looking up, her voice taut with frustration. “We need to know which sire line you’re tied to. We’re not the only ones who have a vendetta against the Mikaelsons. By now everyone knows the truth—kill an Original, and you wipe out their entire bloodline. We’ve already killed one. Do you have any idea how many vampires in Finn’s line might be out there, furious, wanting revenge? We need to be ready.”

“Bonnie.” Elena stood and crossed to her. “I agree with you, but Caroline’s not wrong either. You can’t take all this on yourself. You’ll burn out. Let us help. Damon and Stefan are working on it too. I know you don’t trust them to get it right, but they’ve been alive for over a century and a half. They might actually have the connections we don’t. Please… just take the night off. Come watch the movie with us. Caroline will even let you pick the first one.”

Bonnie’s lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. And Elena, for once, forced herself to let go.

They curled up together on the couch, a trio of girls who had once worried about history projects and annoying gym teachers, and for a little while, it almost felt like they were those girls again.

“Shh,” Caroline whispered later, nudging Elena with her elbow. She nodded toward Bonnie, who had drifted off with her head on the armrest, snug under a blanket.

Caroline beckoned, and the two slipped quietly outside into the night. The porch boards creaked softly beneath their feet, the lake glinting silver in the starlight. The air smelled faintly of pine and damp earth, grounding Elena in memories of summers past—campfires, laughter, safety.

“Bonnie’s carrying everything on her shoulders,” Elena murmured as she sat on the steps. “Especially since her mom… since Abby turned. She doesn’t even know which sire line she belongs to.”

Caroline leaned against a post, her arms folded tight. “She lost her mom the moment she got her back. And she blames the vampires for it. If Mikael hadn’t come to Mystic Falls, Abby wouldn’t have left. In her mind, she’s losing her all over again—and this time, it’s her fault. If she hadn’t gotten involved with us, maybe Abby would still be human.”

Elena swallowed hard. “Sometimes I feel like it’s all my fault too. Stefan and Damon only came back because of me—because of my face. I pushed to open the tomb, and it killed Bonnie’s grandmother. The Originals came here for the doppelgänger. That’s me. The doppelgänger curse seems to be to ruin everyone around her. Even you, Caroline—Katherine turned you just to send me a message.”

Caroline straightened, fire sparking in her eyes. “No, Elena. Stop. You don’t get to blame yourself for everyone’s choices. Damon and Stefan were coming back to Mystic Falls no matter what. Damon thought Katherine was in that tomb—he had Emily’s locket, remember? He would have forced a Bennett witch no matter what. And Stefan came on his own. He was there the night of your crash because he chose to be. None of that is on you.”

She crossed her arms. “And as for me? Katherine turned me for the sacrifice, not for you. If it felt like a message, fine, but it wasn’t. And you know what? I don’t hate that I’m a vampire. I thrive this way. I’m stronger, bolder—more me than I ever was. So no, Elena. You don’t get to take credit for that either.”

Elena said nothing, the words catching in her throat. For once, she let the silence stand.

Morning came with the scent of coffee. Elena blinked awake to see Caroline placing a steaming cup on her bedside table.

“Good morning,” Elena murmured, grateful already.

“Good morning to you too.” Caroline bounced on her toes, bright and eager. “Now get up and get ready! I’ve got the whole day planned, and we are starting in twenty minutes. Chop-chop!”

Elena laughed, shaking her head. “You and your schedules. Fine, fifteen minutes. But thank you—for the coffee. You really are the best, Caroline.”

Downstairs, the kitchen was warm with the hiss of eggs in the pan and the rich smell of sausages. Bonnie stood at the stove while Caroline hovered with far too much energy for the early hour.

“You started without me?” Elena teased, setting her empty mug in the dishwasher.

“Barely,” Bonnie replied, cracking eggs into a pan. “Come help.”

Caroline, brandishing sausages, gave a triumphant grin. “We’re going full English breakfast today. After that—pampering session. Mani-pedis. Then takeout for lunch, swimming in the lake, and a bonfire tonight. Maybe even grilling.”

Bonnie raised a brow. “Grilling? Last time Tyler and Matt tried that, they nearly burned down the deck.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “Stefan fixed it last time we were here. Turns out he’s surprisingly handy.”

Bonnie smirked. “Oh really? Handy, was he?”

Caroline gasped in mock outrage. “Elena Gilbert! Such scandalous words from a founding family girl!”

Their laughter rang through the house, bright and free, as if the weight of the supernatural world couldn’t touch them. For just a moment, it felt true.

They gathered at the dining table, plates piled high. Caroline was the first to break the fragile bubble.

“Okay,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Elena. “Spill. What’s going on with you and the Salvatores? Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

Elena set her fork down, suddenly aware of both Bonnie’s curious gaze and Caroline’s expectant one.

“I don’t even know,” she admitted quietly. “When Stefan came back to Mystic Falls, I was drowning in grief after my parents’ deaths. He… understood me. Or at least, it felt that way. Then I learned what he was, what this world was, and there wasn’t time to breathe. Tanner died. Vicki Died. Jeremy was spiraling. Katherine came back. One disaster after another. And through it all, I convinced myself it was Stefan who made me feel alive, when really it was just adrenaline keeping me from falling apart.”

She pushed her food around her plate, voice lowering. “And then Jenna died. John. Isobel. Every loss came crashing down on me at once, and Stefan wasn’t there. I kept chasing him because I thought he was the only thing keeping me afloat, but… the night on Wickery Bridge, when he threatened to kill me just to get Klaus to remove the hybrids, something broke. I let him go. I couldn’t do it anymore. He doesn’t even know what he would’ve done if Klaus hadn’t listened.”

“Now he’s giving you those sad puppy eyes every time he thinks you’re not looking,” Bonnie muttered.

Elena gave a humorless laugh. “He wants forgiveness. Maybe I can give him that one day. But I can’t go back to what we were. Not ever.”

“And Damon?” Caroline pressed.

Elena hesitated, then sighed. “Damon… Damon’s interested in me. But after everything he did when he first came to town, I shouldn’t even want to be friends with him. And yet, I keep forgiving him. Over and over. I don’t even know why.”

Bonnie’s brow furrowed. “Maybe you should think about that—why you forgive him so easily.”

“Maybe one day,” Elena said firmly. “But not today. Today is about us. No more Salvatores. This is our weekend.”

Caroline grinned, victorious, and lifted her glass. “To us.”

“To us,” Bonnie echoed.

Elena clinked her glass against theirs, forcing a smile. For tonight, at least, she would let herself believe it.

The sun was sliding low, its reflection shimmering across the pool, painting their skin in gold. After their pampering session—lotions, face masks, and far too much gossip—they were sprawled on deck chairs, drinks sweating in their hands. It was the picture of relaxation… until Bonnie pulled out her ever-present grimoire.

Caroline groaned the moment she saw it. “Bonnie! What is that? This is supposed to be a girls’ weekend. No magic, no Originals, no stress.”

Bonnie barely glanced up from the worn pages. “You two told me to ask for help, didn’t you? Well, here I am—asking. Come brainstorm with me.”

Elena stifled a smile. Caroline huffed, but in the end she didn’t move, only muttering, “You’re impossible.”

So the three of them ended up spending the warm evening lazing by the pool, flipping through the grimoire between idle conversation and lazy laughter. The smell of chlorine mixed with the sweet tang of lemonade, a strangely ordinary backdrop for talk of spells and bloodlines.

“Hey, Bonnie,” Caroline said suddenly, propping herself up on her elbows. “I’ve been thinking… could you, I don’t know, tweak a spell? Like the way we tweak recipes to get the result we want?”

Bonnie’s brow furrowed. “Practically? I’ve never tried. But theoretically? Yes. A lot of spells we use now were discovered exactly that way—altered versions of older ones.”

Caroline’s eyes lit with excitement. “Then what about this—what if you took a spell meant to trace someone’s family tree and reworked it to trace a vampire’s sire line instead? A sire line is basically a supernatural family tree, isn’t it?”

“Show me.” Bonnie leaned closer as Caroline flipped to a marked page, the parchment worn soft by centuries of use. She scanned it quickly, eyes narrowing in thought.

“So?” Elena asked, leaning in too, curiosity prickling her voice. “What’s the verdict?”

Bonnie tapped the page with one finger. “I could probably alter it. But wait—there’s a section in here about modifying spells to achieve different results. It’s not straightforward, but it’s possible. Elena, grab that book—the one with the black spine.”

Elena slid off her chair, crossing to the low table where Bonnie had stacked half a dozen heavy tomes. She lifted the book Bonnie indicated and frowned as she flipped it open. “Uh, Bonnie? This one’s in Latin.”

“Yes,” Bonnie said matter-of-factly. “I can read Latin. And you”—she shot Elena a pointed look—“can pull up a translator on your phone if you want to follow along.”

Caroline sighed dramatically. “Only us. Only we could turn a girls’ night into Witchcraft 101.”

Elena laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, but if this works, maybe it’ll actually be worth it.”

The three bent over the grimoire, the laughter fading into quiet concentration, the sound of turning pages mixing with the faint ripple of the pool. It felt like the start of something important—though none of them yet realized just how far the spell would take them.

Chapter Text

“Okay, so the spell to trace a person’s family needs a drop of their blood for every generation, a focus—usually fire, water, or runes in ash—and an incantation, whatever that turns out to be,” Caroline read aloud, flipping the page with a sigh.

Elena smirked as her phone translated the text. She tapped play, letting the soft mechanical voice pronounce: “Sanguis revelare, radices ostendere, origo ad originem ducatur.”

“Well,” she said, raising her brows, “that was the easy part.”

Bonnie leaned forward, her eyes scanning their scattered notes. “Now comes the hard part—tweaking it to work for sire lines.”

Caroline muttered under her breath, “I still can’t believe no one’s ever tried this. Would’ve saved us all a lot of trouble.”

“Caroline,” Elena reminded gently, “you’ve got to remember—the Originals were myths for most of the supernatural community until, what, a month ago? Even Damon and Stefan didn’t believe in them until Elijah showed up.”

Bonnie nodded, her voice dropping lower. “And Finn’s death made it real for everyone. Every vampire in the world knows now: kill an Original, and you kill an entire sire line. No one can afford to ignore that anymore.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier at her words.

“Okay,” Bonnie said after a beat, gathering herself. “So far, we’ve figured out one tweak: instead of tracing a human family tree, we’ll use Caroline’s blood as the anchor. That part’s simple enough. But we still need a new focus, and we need to alter the incantation itself.”

The three of them had migrated inside once night fell, the lake house lit only by lamps and the faint silver spill of moonlight through the windows. Grimoires and notebooks were spread across the dining table, their corners weighted down by half-empty mugs. Each girl had claimed a corner—Bonnie buried in her books, Elena with her phone and notebook, Caroline wrapped in a blanket like Armor against exhaustion.

“I’m starving,” Elena admitted, rubbing her eyes. “And it’s almost midnight. We’ve been staring at this for hours and we’re not getting anywhere. Let’s eat, get some sleep, and come back fresh in the morning.”

Caroline yawned, stretching out her legs. “She’s right, Bon. It’s our first real lead in weeks—we can’t afford to mess it up by rushing. Tomorrow, we bring in the boys. Fresh eyes, fresh brains. Even if it’s Damon’s smug face, he might catch something we’ve missed.”

Bonnie finally leaned back, her shoulders sagging. “Fine. You’re right. We’ll pin it here and pick up tomorrow.” She glanced at Caroline. “Send a message to the group. Tell them to meet us here in the morning.”

Elena perked up, already gathering the mugs. “And make sure you add, bring breakfast.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, already half-asleep in her blanket. “Sure. I’ll tell them to bring food. Now bed, before I collapse right here.”

The next morning came with a thunderous banging at the front door.

Caroline stomped to answer it, flinging it open with a scowl. “Do you mind? Some of us were hoping to sleep past sunrise.”

Matt and Tyler grinned at her from the porch.

“Whoa, someone’s cranky,” Tyler teased as they stepped inside.

Matt smirked. “What happened? Did you guys stay up too late? Or just not sleep at all?”

“The second one,” Elena muttered, already reaching for the coffee pot.

Tyler grabbed a steaming mug before she could even pour for herself. “So? What’s this lead you dragged us out here for?”

Caroline folded her arms, scanning the empty doorway. “And where are our dear Salvatores? Honestly, I thought Damon would be the first to jump at a chance to crash our weekend. Especially after how pouty he was about not being invited.”

Matt raised an eyebrow just as Caroline poured her coffee. She slipped a vial of blood into it and stirred.

Elena froze mid-pour, staring. “Care! Did you seriously just…? That’s disgusting. Milk, sugar, sure. But blood in coffee? You’ve officially defiled the sacred bean.”

Caroline only smirked, taking a long, unapologetic sip. “What? It’s better this way. Coffee alone does nothing for me anymore. Blood gives it a kick. And trust me—after last night, I need all the kick I can get.”

Matt dropped into a chair, glancing between the three of them. “Relax, Caroline. The Salvatores aren’t avoiding you. They were out of town yesterday, following a lead to figure out who turned Rose.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Tyler asked, leaning forward, eyes narrowing. “You guys have found a spell that tracks a person’s bloodline, and you want to change it to track the sire-line. I mean… is that even possible to alter a spell?”

“Well, it’s theoretically possible to alter a spell,” Bonnie said, her fingers brushing over the open pages of her notebook. “A lot of witches have altered spells. I’ve even seen small tweaks in my grimoires before, and yes”—she gave Tyler a pointed look—“I tried a few simple spells yesterday to make sure it could actually work.”

The morning sunlight spilled into the lake house, glinting off syrup bottles and the polished surface of the table. Pancakes, waffles, and mugs of steaming coffee created a sense of normalcy in contrast to the heavy magic work they had been doing. The girls had just come down, freshly dressed, and quickly filled the boys in on the previous night’s breakthroughs.

“Okay, so what all do we have left to figure out?” Matt asked, taking a seat with a mug in hand.

“Wow… pancakes and waffles—you guys are the best,” Caroline said, scooping a forkful into her mouth before continuing. “Anyway, the spell is in three parts: the blood—which we’re using mine for now—the focus, and the incantation. That’s the two parts we still need to work on.”

“Okay, so how about Bonnie and Elena handle the incantation stuff, while you, me, and Tyler figure out the focus?” Matt suggested, naturally dividing the workload.

“Well, that’s a great idea—let’s split the work and get to it,” Caroline said, rising from her chair.

Elena stopped her, frowning slightly. “Care, we get that you don’t really need food, but please… let’s enjoy our breakfast before we dive into it?”

By noon, the only concrete result was the altered incantation Bonnie had drafted.

“Okay, so explain to me in layman’s terms why we think this incantation is correct,” Tyler said, leaning on the edge of the table, the sunlight glinting off his hair.

“Tyler,” Matt said, voice tinged with defensiveness, “it’s Bonnie. She says it’s correct, then it’s correct. Among us, she knows magic the best.”

“Matt, I’m not questioning Bonnie’s skills,” Tyler said carefully, “but it’s her first time tweaking a spell. We can’t leave anything to chance. Explaining it might even reveal a loophole she—or any of us—missed.”

Bonnie smiled faintly, setting up a small whiteboard like a teacher preparing her lesson. “Fine. Let’s go step by step.”

“The original incantation goes: ‘Sanguis revelare, radices ostendere, origo ad originem ducatur’—meaning, ‘Reveal the blood, show the roots, guide origin to origin.’ The version I’ve written is ‘Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur’—‘Reveal the blood, show the bonds, guide creation to creator.’”

She tapped the board with her pen, emphasizing each part. “Three parts: first, reveal the blood—unchanged. Second, show the roots—this is about family trees, literal ancestry. We need bonds, the connections forged through turning. Third, guide origin to origin—good for tracing human ancestry, but sire lines aren’t about birth, they’re about creators and creations, so we adjust it to ‘creation to creator.’”

Bonnie’s gaze swept over them, steady and expectant. “So… any loopholes? Anything that doesn’t make sense?”

Caroline leaned over the scattered books and notes, eyes narrowing as she examined the symbols. Tyler and Matt did the same. After a tense moment, Caroline finally nodded. “Well… that’s solid. No gaps anywhere.”

Matt exhaled, shoulders loosening, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. That’s one major part done.”

“So, now we have the blood and the incantation figured out,” Caroline began, taking the place where Bonnie stood few hours ago in front of the board. “Let’s talk about the focus. Here’s what we’ve found.”

She tapped the whiteboard, where sketches and notes jostled for attention. “Every spell needs a focus—something that grounds the magic, shapes it. Think of it like… a lens for energy. The books always mention one of the four elements: air, earth, fire, or water. Each carries a different property, and the choice changes the outcome.”

Caroline’s eyes wandered toward the lake, sunlight glinting on the water’s ripples. “Air is about clarity, movement, communication. Earth—stability, roots, endurance. Fire—power, destruction, rebirth. Water—reflection, memory, passage. Air won’t work. It’s scattered, unpredictable, not ideal for something as heavy as a bloodline. Fire… it could work, but it’s violent. If the spell tears instead of traces, it could destroy the link completely.”

She paused, exhaling slowly. “Now we’re debating water and earth. Water is about memory and passage—it could guide the spell across time. Earth is about roots, family roots… like sire-line roots. Both make sense, but we need to pick carefully.”

Hours passed. Lunch came and went. Elena had ordered Chinese delivery for everyone. By evening, they had migrated outside, blankets spread across the grass, chairs angled toward the lake as the sun sank low, turning the water molten gold.

“Suggestions? Rebuttals?” Matt asked, stretching back in his chair.

“No… nothing major,” Bonnie said, eyes still scanning her notes. “I agree that air and fire won’t work. Earth is solid and reliable, keeps magic grounded—but it’s too literal. It locks into blood ancestry, not sire bonds, which aren’t tied to soil or birth-lines.”

Elena, reclining on a lounge chair, looked from Bonnie to Tyler, who had his feet dipping in the lake. “Water reflects and reveals, like a mirror. It adapts and flows, following paths—perfect for tracing sire bonds.”

Caroline leaned on the railing, watching the sun dip behind the trees. “Then it’s settled. Water makes the most sense. It reflects, like a mirror. Sire lines are connections across time—water can trace those currents better than anything else.” She smiled faintly, the last rays of sunlight glinting on the lake.

Nearby, Tyler and Matt tended the grill, Damon and Stefan hovered near the table, flipping through notes, while Elena and Bonnie carried plates of dinner. Damon’s voice cut through the calm.

“Yes, but water absorbs emotion,” Bonnie pointed out. “If I’m not properly centered, it can twist the spell based on what I’m feeling.”

“Well then, Bon-Bon,” Damon said with a sly grin, “I do hope you remember your yoga lessons. You’re going to need them.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bonnie shot back, rolling her eyes. “And for me to be centered, you need to be on a different continent, Damon.”

“Does it affect you, Bon-Bon?” he teased.

“Yes. I imagine your… presence irritates everyone,” Bonnie said evenly.

“Guys! Enough!” Stefan’s calm voice cut through the banter. “We’ve made progress. Focus on that. After the spell, you can fight all you want.”

The group finally quieted, moving toward the dinner table as the first stars began to twinkle above the lake.

Later, as the clock edged toward midnight, Bonnie stood, voice steady and authoritative.

“So, the final spell: a drop of blood from the vampire whose lineage is being traced for every generation, a focus—water—and the incantation: ‘Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.’”

She looked each of them in the eye. “Nothing here screams danger, but stay alert. Damon—you vamp-speed Elena away if anything goes wrong. Stefan—Matt, Tyler—you handle me. Caroline—you get yourself out. Clear?”

Everyone nodded, tension lingering in the cool night air. Bonnie softened slightly, but her tone remained firm.

“We do the spell tomorrow. I need to be perfectly centred. No arguments, Damon—keep the snark to a minimum. Everyone else—be calm, be sweet. No mood swings. No drama. Just… happy, happy.”

Chapter Text

A man stood before a blank canvas, brush in hand, palette at his side. For fifteen long minutes he had lifted the brush, only to hesitate, retreat, and begin again. The silence of the studio was broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards as Rebekah shifted in her chair. That chair had always been there—her corner in Klaus’s studio—kept waiting for her even during the centuries when she was daggered.

“Nik, what are you doing?” she asked at last, her tone dry, though her eyes lingered on his tense shoulders. “I’ve never seen you so… lacking inspiration.”

“It isn’t inspiration I lack, Rebekah,” Klaus muttered, his voice tight. “It’s imagination.”

“Then tell me what you’re trying to imagine. Perhaps I can help.”

“I wanted to paint us. Our family. As we once were.” His voice cracked, soft with something dangerously close to longing.

Rebekah’s lips curved into a smirk, though her eyes softened. “Feeling nostalgic, brother? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It’s not nostalgia,” Klaus snapped, though the bite in his tone faded as quickly as it came. His gaze remained fixed on the empty canvas. “I’ve wanted a family portrait for centuries, yet every attempt falls short. None of my paintings do us justice. And now… now it feels like I’ll never manage it.”

Rebekah rose, walked toward him, her hand brushing the edge of the easel. “Nik, nothing is lost forever. Perhaps the brush won’t obey tonight. Focus on something else, and later it may come to you.”

But Klaus was no longer listening. He abandoned the canvas, striding to the liquor cabinet. He poured a heavy glass of bourbon, then dipped his brush into dark paints, dragging furious strokes across a new canvas—something jagged, abstract, violent. His grief poured out in colors too dark for memory.

Rebekah knew better than to try again. When Klaus drowned himself in drink and rage, he became unreachable. Quietly, she slipped from the studio, leaving him to his shadows.

The garden was cool beneath the falling dusk, the air heavy with the scent of earth and roses. Rebekah lowered herself onto the stone bench, folding her arms as her thoughts drifted unbidden to the past—to the days when they were human. Simpler days, when laughter had filled their home and the word family had not yet been poisoned by betrayal.

A voice, smooth and cocky, cut through her reverie. “Careful, sister. Keep frowning like that and you’ll get lines. Immortality won’t save you from bad habits.”

Rebekah exhaled heavily. “Kol.”

“Wow, that sigh.” Kol dropped lazily onto the bench beside her. “Almost Elijah-worthy. Practicing brooding, are we?”

She shook her head, eyes fixed on the setting sun. “I’m thinking of us. Our family. Everything we’ve lost. For one fleeting moment, we had a chance, Kol. A true chance to mend what centuries had broken. Nik was whole for the first time in a thousand years. No wars over women. No daggers drawn. We were home again, in the very town of our birth. Even Mother was with us.”

Her voice cracked, the words tumbling faster. “And then—like dominos—it all collapsed. Mother plotted our deaths. Finn sided with her. Elijah left, drowning in his endless guilt. Mother vanished. And Finn…” Her throat tightened. “Finn died.”

Kol’s smirk faltered as his sister’s eyes glistened.

“He let himself be killed, Kol. A thousand years old, a Viking warrior, an Original—and he didn’t even fight. He chose death. Chose to leave us. To take us with him, perhaps.” She shook her head, her voice thick. “Even with Sage at his side, he was never happy. I don’t even know if he wanted peace—or simply wanted us all gone.”

Kol leaned back, staring at the horizon. “None of us know. Perhaps that’s why we’ve never avenged him. We sensed it—that death was what he sought. Revenge would have been meaningless.” He sighed, uncharacteristically somber. “He never belonged in this life, Rebekah. Not even with Sage.”

Rebekah wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Do you think they believe we didn’t care for him? The doppelgänger, her friends? Do they think we’re afraid to strike back?”

Kol’s grin returned, sharp and glinting with mischief. “Oh, they know better. The girl survives only because she’s Nik’s precious blood bag. The Salvatores? Stefan reminds Nik of himself, and Damon—well, Damon amuses him. And then there’s Caroline… the golden distraction. All these ties make them arrogant, yes. But beneath it all, they know the truth.” His eyes gleamed in the dying light. “If we wished, we could bring this little town to ruin.”

The lake house had not felt this alive in years. For Elena, it was almost jarring. Morning light spilled through the wide windows, catching on the dust motes that danced in the air, and she stood for a moment at the railing, simply watching. Since her parents’ deaths, the house had been quiet—too quiet. But now, every corner hummed with voices, with footsteps, with life.

It carried her back to childhood, to summers when the world had seemed unbreakable. She remembered weekends spent here with her parents and their friends, the sound of children’s laughter spilling from the living room while the adults traded stories over glasses of wine. Caroline’s mother had always claimed her own room, Aunt Jenna another. Bonnie’s father would arrive to drop her off, only to get caught in endless conversation—and more often than not, he’d stay, sleeping in the old camper by the lake after a barbecue that stretched late into the night.

It had been a home of warmth, of safety. And standing there now, Elena felt the ache of how far away that time had slipped.

A sharp shout broke her reverie. Caroline’s voice rang down the hall, sharp with fury. Damon’s lazy drawl followed, dismissive, mocking—as though barging into a bathroom was nothing, as though her privacy meant nothing.

Elena’s hand clenched around the mug she held. For a flicker of a moment, she wanted to march down the hall, stake in hand, and make him understand what he had done. Why wasn’t she? Why was she still standing here, silent? Was it because he was Stefan’s brother? Because she still felt she owed him for the times he’d saved her? Or was it something darker—something she couldn’t name, couldn’t quite bring herself to admit?

The thought knotted inside her chest, restless, unfinished. And then Bonnie’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, pulling Elena back.

“Enough, everyone.” Bonnie’s voice carried a steel edge beneath its fatigue. “I don’t need stress today. Damon—please behave.”

Elena swallowed her unspoken words, instead slipping into the kitchen and pouring another cup of coffee, placing it quietly on the counter for Bonnie.

The house began to stir in earnest as the rest of them drifted down—voices mingling, chairs scraping against the floor, the kind of restless bustle that came with too many people crammed into a space not quite built for them. Elena caught Matt in the chaos, pulling him aside.

“Can you pick up the breakfast order I placed at the Grill?” she asked. “There are too many of us to cook for, even without accounting for the vampires.” Her tired smile flickered. “And we’ll need the energy today.”

Matt nodded immediately and was halfway to the door when another voice called out.

“Wait up—I’ll come too.” Tyler jogged over, grabbing his jacket. “Need to pick up some clothes from home, and let Mom know I’ll be out for the day.”

The two boys disappeared through the door, their voices fading into the morning air, leaving the rest of them in the lake house steeped in a restless anticipation of what the day would bring.

“Well, do you really think it’s going to work?” Tyler muttered as he and Matt made their way through the quiet streets toward the Grill. “I mean, it’s basically an unknown spell. What if it backfires? What if it doesn’t just trace a sire line but—” his voice dropped “—goes off like a bomb and kills us all?”

Matt shot him a look as they reached the counter. “Tyler, why don’t you save those questions for Bonnie? She—or one of the girls—would know better than us. They’ve been reading all those magic books and dealing with this supernatural stuff way longer.”

“I would’ve,” Tyler admitted with a sigh, leaning against the counter as Sarah disappeared into the kitchen to fetch their order. “But if I asked Bonnie, it might shake her confidence. Her state of mind matters for the spell. And if I asked the girls…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You know how they are—on some wavelength none of us can follow. Always in sync with each other. Bonnie would’ve picked up on it instantly.”

Matt folded his arms, nodding slowly. “Then I guess there’s not much we can do but wait. It’s the first real lead we’ve had in a month. We’ll deal with the consequences when they come… like we always do. Since the moment the supernatural stopped being stories and started knocking on our front doors.”

Sarah returned with their bags of food, and they both thanked her before heading toward the exit.

That was when they froze.

Rebekah Mikaelson was perched casually at the bar, a glass of bourbon in hand, golden hair spilling over her shoulder as she twirled the drink with absent grace. Her presence filled the room like a shadow, and though she hadn’t so much as glanced their way, both boys instinctively shared a look.

Without a word, they slipped quietly toward the door, careful not to draw her attention. The air seemed to thrum with tension until the door swung shut behind them.

Rebekah lifted her bourbon to her lips, but the words she’d overheard clung sharper than the drink.

A lead. Consequences. Since the moment the supernatural stopped being stories…

Her smile turned thin, humorless. So, Elena and her merry band were dabbling in magic now. An untested spell, whispered in secret, aimed at her family. Desperate little children playing with fire they didn’t understand.

She set the glass down with a quiet click, resolve hardening in her chest. If they thought they could touch the Originals, they’d soon be reminded exactly what it meant to provoke one.

Chapter Text

A car rolled up the long driveway of the Mikaelson manor, its engine purring low before a hybrid appeared at the door to collect it for the garage. Rebekah barely noticed. Her mind was still burning with the conversation she had overheard in the Grill. Each word Tyler and Matt had spoken replayed itself like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

Her temper rose as she swept into the house, heels clicking against the marble. She didn’t stop until she reached the blood pantry. Tearing into a bag, she drained it in furious gulps. Another. Then another. The metallic tang did little to soothe her, but at least it quieted the gnawing hunger enough for her to think.

These children, she seethed, tossing the empty bags into the bin. They believe that because Finn let them kill him… because Nik finds them amusing… because Elijah is intrigued by the doppelgänger’s face… they can defy us without consequence? Originals are patient, yes—but when patience shatters, it is absolute. There is no warning. No mercy.

She reached for another bag when a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“This is the second time this week I’ve found you brooding, sister.” Kol strolled in, his smirk sharp as ever. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love again. Perhaps with that bartender… what’s his name? Ah yes—Donovan. The one you nearly killed at the ball, only to change your mind last minute.”

Rebekah shot him a glare. “I’m not in love, Kol. I’m furious. Do you know the doppelgänger and her little friends are still plotting against us?”

Kol arched a brow, intrigued despite himself. “And what makes you so sure?”

“I heard them,” she said, stepping out of the pantry, knife in hand as if she needed the weight of steel to ground her. “Tyler and Matt. They spoke of a lead, of consequences. Of something supernatural. And—” her voice sharpened—“they mentioned an untested spell.”

Kol leaned back against the counter, swirling the blood bag in his hand. “And what in that makes you think they’re after us?”

“They’ve been working at it for a month,” Rebekah shot back. “Don’t you remember the report from one of Nik’s hybrids? They’re trying to trace their sire line. And do you think they’ll just give up, because Mary’s long dead and no one knows who turned her. But what if this spell changes things? Bonnie Bennett may be untrained, but she’s still a Bennett witch. Those grimoires of hers carry old magic. Dangerous magic.”

That, finally, caught Kol’s attention. His smirk faded into something colder, sharper. After a beat, he called out to a nearby hybrid.

“Find the doppelgänger and her little band of misfits,” Kol ordered lazily, though his eyes glinted with malice. “Don’t be seen. Take others with you—make it quick. I want their location, their movements, everything. Report back to me directly.”

He turned back to Rebekah with a smile that was all teeth. “There, sister. If they’re playing with fire, we’ll see it soon enough. And when we do… perhaps we’ll take a little revenge of our own.” He paused, almost theatrically. “Of course, Caroline is off limits. And Elena—well, let’s not damage Nik’s precious blood bag. Not yet.”

Rebekah didn’t bother to answer. She swept past him, climbing the stairs to her room, though her mind churned with the possibilities. If Kol was right, they would soon have proof. And if she was right, then their patience was done—and this time, there would be no forgiveness.

After breakfast, the group made their way to the lake. They had agreed it was the best place for the spell’s focus. Water flowed, it remembered, it carried. And this lake was no ordinary body of water—it was part of Mystic Falls, a place forever scarred by the magic that had first birthed vampires. No one had taken back that ancient surge of power; nature itself had swallowed it whole. Perhaps that was why this town had become such a nexus, a hub where the supernatural always seemed to gather.

They gathered at the water’s edge, the silence heavy, charged with anticipation. Bonnie set her supplies carefully: three candles pressed close together, their flames flickering in the early afternoon breeze. She placed a small floating holder on the water’s surface and steadied the candles upon it.

“Caroline,” she said softly.

Caroline pricked her finger without hesitation, letting three drops of blood fall onto the waiting flame. The fire hissed and flared, swallowing the blood whole.

Bonnie’s voice cut through the air, low and commanding as she began to chant:

“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.”

The blood vanished instantly. Around them, the air shimmered, taking on a faint red tint, curling and twisting like mist made of smoke and light. It circled the group in slow, deliberate currents, humming with power.

Damon shifted closer to Elena, every line of his body tense, ready to snatch her away if anything went wrong. Stefan stood at Matt’s side, equally alert, while Tyler positioned himself near Bonnie, prepared to move if she faltered.

Bonnie’s voice grew steadier, stronger, even as her breaths grew ragged:

“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.
Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.”

The air thickened until it felt heavy, pressing down on their lungs. Then, with a sudden pull, the red light was sucked upward, condensing into a thin beam above the floating candles.

Bonnie pressed on, her whole body trembling, sweat sliding down her brow. Her eyes were sharp, almost fevered, as though she had become nothing but the spell itself.

The red tint shifted, weaving into an image—Caroline, her features suspended in smoke and light. Then another form: Damon. And then, briefly, unmistakably, Katherine.

And just as suddenly, it all fractured. The images splintered like glass struck by a hammer, dissolving into the air.

Bonnie’s voice cracked as she tried again, desperate, willing the magic back with another repetition of the words:

“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur—”

But the light would not return. The red glow evaporated into the afternoon air, leaving behind nothing but darkness and silence.

Bonnie’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the damp earth, her breath torn from her lungs, eyes glazed with exhaustion.

They all stood frozen, staring at the lake where the last traces of red had faded. The spell had worked… but only halfway. The sire line had appeared—Caroline, Damon, Katherine—and then vanished. No further. Not Rose. Not even a shadow of who had come before.

“That’s your lead? That’s your spell, Bonnie?” Damon’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and accusing. He turned on her with a glare.

“Enough,” Stefan snapped, stepping in front of her. “She’s exhausted, Damon. You don’t get to point fingers right now.”

Matt crouched near the discarded notes, his voice softer, almost thoughtful. “The incantation said a drop of blood for every generation. Maybe that’s the problem. We gave one drop for Caroline, one for Damon, one for Katherine. That gave us three links. If we’d added another drop… maybe Rose would have appeared. And then another for whoever turned her.”

“That’s it then,” Damon cut in, his tone sharp but edged with a dangerous kind of eagerness. “We just keep at it. Do the spell again, add more blood each time, push further back with every casting until we hit an Original. Caroline, Me, Katherine, Rose—step by step until we get to the top of the food chain.”

“We can’t just repeat the spell over and over,” Stefan argued. “Not with Bonnie this drained. Every time we push, it’s more strain on her body and her mind. We’ll break her before we get anywhere.”

Caroline’s eyes flashed as she stepped closer to Damon. “You don’t get it, do you? She nearly collapsed after one casting. She can’t keep doing this. Her mental state matters—Bonnie isn’t a machine you can wring magic out of!”

Elena, quiet until now, finally spoke. “What if we don’t go one drop at a time? Caroline had Damon’s blood, Damon had Katherine’s, Katherine had Rose’s. If we use blood higher up the line, we could skip steps. Maybe Katherine’s blood would take us further.”

“She’ll never agree to it,” Stefan said flatly. “She doesn’t want to be dragged back into Original business. Not when Klaus is still hunting her. She barely escaped with her life after the whole Mikael fiasco.”

“Then what about Damon?” Tyler cut in, his gaze moving to Bonnie. “What if we use Damon, but increase the count? Six drops. One for Katherine, one for Rose, and four for whoever came before. Cover the missing links in one go.”

Bonnie had been sitting apart, Caroline’s blood still fresh on her tongue, the taste grounding her. Her chest ached, her hands shook. She shook her head, forcing herself to stand. “No. That’s not how it works. Magic is bound to patterns. Three, seven, thirteen, twenty-one. Sacred numbers. Not six. And before any of you suggest it—I have never cast with seven. It’s dangerous. Nearly impossible to contain. The kind of spell that backfires.”

“But Bonnie,” Stefan said gently, stepping toward her, “this spell isn’t about summoning fire or breaking bones. It’s showing us images. That’s all. You saw it—it didn’t lash out, it didn’t strike. What if seven drops gives us a clearer picture? A full map of the sire line?”

Bonnie hesitated, her lips pressed thin. The others were watching her, waiting, the weight of their hope heavy in the air. Her thoughts raced—to her mother, to Abby’s silence; to her friends, most of them vampires, their fates all tied to an Original bloodline. One answer could change everything.

And yet—danger. Her instincts screamed it.

Still, Stefan’s voice was calm, steady. “Think it over, Bonnie. For them. For all of us.”

She closed her eyes, torn between dread and duty, as the lake lapped quietly at the shore beside them.

Bonnie agreed to try the spell again, but only after regaining her focus. She retreated to her room, warning the others to keep absolute silence. Her magic still thrummed inside her, restless and ready, but her mind felt fractured, fraying at the edges. They hadn’t failed—not exactly—but the spell had slipped from their grasp. Now seven drops of blood… a dangerous number. She remembered the warnings, remembered every face that had been counting on her when she agreed to this. We need to know, she told herself. I have to do this.

She sat cross-legged, lit a single candle, and put on a soft melody to anchor her thoughts. Slowly, through meditation, she pulled herself together, until her breathing was even and her resolve firm. By the time she stepped back outside, the sun was dipping low. They shared a quick meal, half-hearted banter flickering between them, before silence fell again. It was time.

The spell was set. A fresh candle placed on the water, the air heavy with expectation. Damon stepped forward, pricked his finger without hesitation, and let seven drops fall into the flame. Bonnie’s voice rose, steady despite the pounding of her heart:

“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.”

The blood vanished into the wick, and once more the air around them thickened with a red shimmer, wrapping them in its grip. Bonnie kept chanting, feeling the power stir, feeling it pull—

“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.”
“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.”

The magic thrummed in her veins, alive in the ground beneath them, the trees, the water. She felt it inside her bones, searing, unstoppable. Images began to form: Damon… then Katherine…

And then the spell faltered.

A distorted face broke through the haze—a woman, beautiful, but her eyes alight with madness. The image rippled, tearing itself apart. Bonnie felt it snap, the spell twisting violently against her hold. Then—

Nothing.

The red glow vanished. The forest fell silent, too silent. The stillness was worse than noise, worse than failure. Bonnie’s breath came ragged. Panic clawed up her throat.

The quiet shattered.

Power roared back, a surge unlike anything she had ever felt, battering her like a storm. Her control crumbled. She had no anchor, no spell-holder. It was too much. The candles exploded, the air bleeding into a furious crimson storm that swallowed them whole.

And then white.

Bonnie gasped, disoriented, before she realized she was being held—Tyler’s arms around her, shaking her, calling her name. She blinked at his worried face, at the others staring in shock, before darkness claimed her and she collapsed.

Far beyond the circle, half-hidden among the trees, a lone man had watched it all. Instead of leaving, he lingered in the shadows, eyes sharp and patient, intent on gathering more before preparing his report.

Chapter Text

Stefan glanced around the room. Bonnie sat curled on the couch, a blanket draped around her shoulders, her head resting heavily against Caroline. Elena leaned close from the other side, arms wrapped around her as though to anchor her in place. It was almost like Bonnie was drawing strength from them, their presence acting as her emotional battery.

“Well, that was a bust,” Damon muttered from his spot at the bar, swirling bourbon lazily in his glass. “Stefan and I dropped a lead halfway through to come back here for this—and what did we get? A Parlor trick. Smoke, mirrors, and nothing useful.”

Bonnie’s tired eyes flicked up, defensive but weary. “I told you… seven was too much. Magic isn’t just about what you see, Damon—it’s about the balance underneath, the unseen currents. The spell worked, but it faltered because it wasn’t aligned. Three elements, three drops—that’s why it held the first time. You pushed for seven. Seven drops with only three anchors… the balance broke.”

From the kitchen stool, Matt leaned forward, voice careful. “That woman we saw… after Rose. Who was she? She looked… unhinged. Is she part of the line?”

Damon’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Scary Mary. Old vampire. Old-old. Mad as they come.” He lifted his glass in mock salute. “Great in bed, though.”

Elena shot him a sharp glare.

“What?” Damon spread his hands. “Being insane doesn’t automatically cancel out great sex.”

Caroline groaned and rolled her eyes. “So you knew her?”

“Yes,” Damon answered flatly.

“Then maybe we can track her down. Ask her who sired her?” Caroline pressed, her mind already working.

Damon blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, well. Glitter and pony princess with an actual idea. What do you think, brother—road trip?” He set his glass down with a clink and snagged his car keys.

Stefan gave a resigned nod, and within minutes the brothers were out the door, the taillights of Damon’s car vanishing down the road.

From the treeline beyond the lake house, the man cloaked in shadows shifted, watching. His gaze followed the departing car, and with quiet intent, he melted into the night after them.

The next morning the lake house carried the faint hum of normalcy. Elena stood at the stove flipping pancakes, the scent of butter and sugar filling the air, while Matt busied himself at the counter, carefully pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. Caroline sat at the table with a notebook open, her pen tapping against the margins as she scanned their scribbled notes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Hey, where’s Bonnie?” Tyler asked as he wandered in, raking a hand through his hair.

“She’s sitting outside, by the lake,” Caroline answered, glancing up briefly before her eyes fell back to the page. “She… blames herself for what happened yesterday. Thinks if she’d been in a better state of mind, or if she’d practiced more with the higher-numbered spells, she might have held it together.”

Matt set down the coffee pot and frowned. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. What exactly is a seven-number spell? Bonnie mentioned it, but I didn’t really get what it meant.”

Before anyone could reply, the back door creaked open. Bonnie stepped inside, wrapped in a shawl, her expression weary but steady. “Magic isn’t just about words and willpower,” she said quietly, her voice carrying over the clink of dishes. “It runs on balance. Numbers matter. Always have.”

They all turned to her as she spoke, the morning light from the lake casting a soft glow behind her.

“Three is the foundation,” she explained, moving slowly toward the table. “The triangle — body, mind, spirit. It’s the smallest number of elements that can create balance, which is why so many spells are built on it. That’s why the first casting worked at all.

Seven is different. Sacred, but volatile. It doesn’t stabilize — it expands. It opens doors, pushes magic beyond its natural limits. That’s why it overwhelmed me. The spell wasn’t designed to stretch that far with what we had, so it broke under its own weight.

Thirteen…” Her voice dropped. “Thirteen is dangerous. It’s transformation, chaos. Endings and beginnings all at once. Spells that use it can work, but they demand sacrifice. Something always has to be given up.

Numbers like twenty-one, twenty-seven, thirty-three — they’re amplifiers. But with each step up, the strain grows heavier. If the caster isn’t ready, the spell collapses… or worse, it turns on them.

So with three drops, the spell held. With seven, it spun out of balance, like a wheel turning too fast without an anchor. That’s why it fractured. That’s why it lashed out.”

A hush fell over the kitchen as her words sank in. No one argued, no one teased. The weight of it was enough. Elena slid a plate of pancakes onto the table and sat beside Bonnie, giving her a small, encouraging smile. Caroline reached over and squeezed her hand, silent reassurance passing between them. For a moment, the spell, the danger, the Originals — all of it felt far away, replaced by the fragile comfort of breakfast and the bond they shared.

“So, any updates from Damon and Stefan?” Elena asked, closing the tab on her laptop. Her history project was finally finished, due tomorrow after what had already felt like the longest weekend. What was meant to be a simple five-day school break for building maintenance had turned into spells, dead ends, and tension. Yet, in some strange way, the lake house still felt… peaceful.

Caroline lowered her phone and sighed. “Yeah. Just got off the call. Mary—Mary Porter—that was her name. She’s dead. No one knows how. One day she was here, next day she wasn’t. They found her in an apartment with a stake through her heart. No clue who did it.”

“So… back to square one, are we?” Tyler muttered.

“The spell seems like our only lead,” Matt said.

“Yes, but the spell failed,” Caroline countered.

“No, it didn’t fail,” Elena cut in, looking up. “It was unbalanced, like Bonnie said. It worked the first time, when everything lined up. It broke the second time because it didn’t.”

Bonnie shifted under her blanket. “Exactly. And I can’t stabilize a spell built around seven drops of blood. Not alone. I’d need a spell holder—someone to anchor me, to share the weight and keep the balance.”

“Wait—‘spell holder’? What’s that?” Matt asked, leaning forward.

“A spell holder is someone who acts as backup,” Bonnie explained patiently. “They help carry the weight. I can draw power from them, and if the spell backfires, it doesn’t all come down on me.” She hesitated, her voice dropping. “But even if I had one, the structure’s still flawed. The first spell worked because it was balanced: three spell components and three drops of blood. That’s two threes—symmetry, stability. The second? Three components and seven drops. No common ground. It was unstable from the start.”

Elena shut her laptop with finality. “Then we look for another way. We can’t give up. Bonnie, these aren’t all of your grimoires, right? Where’s the rest?”

“At my house,” Bonnie said slowly.

Caroline tilted her head. “Wait—you want to try the spell again?”

“Not that spell,” Elena corrected. “Not with seven drops. Something different. Something smaller but stronger.”

That got Bonnie’s attention. “Yes. There are ways to amplify smaller-number spells—to stretch them so they can do the work of a bigger one. Because the truth is, witches can’t safely cast big-number spells anymore. They always demanded huge sacrifice and overwhelming power, more than even a coven could manage. But if we strengthen a small spell carefully, we might reach the same result without tearing it apart.”

Tyler exhaled, flipping a Gilbert journal closed. “So basically, more spell-tweaking. Great. At least this time we know it worked once.”

“Well then, let’s get on it.” Caroline stood, grabbing her bag. “Tyler and I can head back, pick up Bonnie’s books—and some food. If we’re doing late-night spellwork again, we’ll need it.”

Tyler got up with a shrug. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As they slipped out the door, silence settled over the room.

“You know there’s a chance it won’t work again,” Bonnie said softly.

“Maybe not,” Elena replied, her tone steady. “But at least let’s have some hope. We’ll never know unless we try.”

“Hey, Bekah,” Kol said as he slipped into her room, where she lounged on her bed with a laptop propped against her knees.

She glanced up, annoyed at the interruption. “What is it?”

“I just got off the phone with one of the hybrids. Apparently, the Salvatore brothers were after Mary. They went to her place, but found her already dead. Now they’re on their way back.”

Rebekah closed the laptop halfway. “And how exactly did they know Mary turned Rose? Rose has been dead for quite sometime.”

Kol leaned against the wall, idly tossing a paperweight from hand to hand. “The hybrid said they did some sort of spell before they left. Maybe it helped them talk to Rose from the Other Side. You know the Bennetts—always had stronger ties to the dead than most witches.”

Rebekah’s eyes narrowed. “You really think that’s all they’re after? Still chasing sire lines?”

“Yes,” Kol said without hesitation. “They won’t move against us until they’re sure who they belong to. Without that, they’re too scared to make a real move.”

“And what if they did summon Mary? What if they asked her directly?” Rebekah pressed, snapping the laptop shut.

Kol smirked. “Then we make sure they don’t get the chance again. I’ll put a hybrid on them—someone to watch, report back if they try another spell. That way we’ll know before they know.”

Rebekah gave a short nod, but as Kol sauntered out, her fingers tightened on the edge of the laptop. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe it was only about sire lines. But something gnawed at her—an unease that told her the children of Mystic Falls were planning something more than they dared let slip.

Chapter Text

Everyone spread out across the lake house, papers, grimoires, and journals scattered like pieces of a puzzle they couldn’t quite solve.

“Hey, guys, I went over all of our notes,” Matt said as he dropped onto the couch beside Elena. “I can’t find a single thing that mentions amplifying magic.”

Bonnie, standing near the board where she’d been carefully sketching out runes and symbols, shook her head. “And you won’t. I’ve never worked with spell amplifiers before—just herbs and the usual grimoire spells. They don’t need them. These grimoires?” She tapped the stack in front of her. “They’re newer—my Grams’ collection, and a few from the Martin witches. They’re powerful, but not the kind that touch higher arithmetic configurations. For that, we’d need the old Bennett grimoires. Those dealt with spells built for balance and numbers on a bigger scale.”

Just then, Caroline and Tyler came in, lugging a box between them. “Well,” Caroline said with a satisfied grin, “ask and you shall receive.” Tyler set the box down with a soft thud. “Old Bennett grimoires, straight from Bonnie’s house.”

Bonnie blinked, almost speechless, before giving a small, grateful smile.

Later, Caroline and Elena slipped outside, the late afternoon air carrying a calm that contrasted the storm of notes and theories inside.

“When are Damon and Stefan supposed to be here?” Caroline asked.

Elena tucked her hands into her jacket. “Stefan said two hours. They’re already on the road.” She caught Tyler glancing at Caroline from the porch through the window, then turning quickly back to the notes in his hand.

Elena hesitated for a beat before asking softly, “So… are you going to tell me what’s really going on with you and Tyler?”

Caroline exhaled, her eyes lowering. “Elena, I don’t know. I don’t even know what we are anymore.” She paused, gathering the words. “I don’t blame him for what he did under the sire bond. I know he didn’t mean it. But my heart? My heart’s still scared. When I look at him, I remember the bite. And then—after my dad died—he just… left. I get why he left, I really do. But part of me is still upset. Sometimes it feels like we’re only together because we used to be, not because there’s anything real there. Half the time, we act more like friends than lovers.”

Elena slowed her steps, studying her. “Caroline, you don’t owe him a relationship just because you had one before. You’re allowed to leave. To move forward with your life.”

Caroline frowned, biting her lip, but Elena went on. “When Stefan and I ended… it was the night of the bridge. Because he broke my trust. And I think that’s what you feel too—that Tyler broke your trust, even if Klaus forced his hand. And trust…” Elena’s voice softened. “Sometimes once it’s gone, it doesn’t come back.”

Caroline’s eyes glistened, and Elena wrapped her arms around her, holding her tight.

“Okay, so what do we have so far?” Damon asked, leaning against the arm of the couch as the others gathered around, grimoires and notes spread open on the table.

“Amplifiers,” Bonnie began, her voice steady despite the exhaustion shadowing her eyes. She gestured to the books. “They can be anything with inherent magical properties—so long as they’re compatible with the spell. The real challenge is finding one strong enough to boost the casting without breaking it.”

Caroline picked up where Bonnie paused, scanning the open grimoire in front of her. “The common amplifiers mentioned here are four:

• Blood — life itself, the most common amplifier. The stronger the bloodline, the stronger the power.
• Grimoires — ancestral texts that carry echoes of the witches who wrote them, amplifying spells far beyond their usual reach.
• Sacrificial — balance through loss. It could be memories, emotions, animal, even human. But whatever you want, the magic always takes something in return.
• Artifacts — enchanted or cursed objects that can store and focus magic. Rare, powerful… but completely unpredictable.”

She closed the book, letting out a breath.

“Artifacts are off the table—we don’t have any,” Bonnie continued, her tone practical. “Sacrifice… we don’t even know what kind would be required, or how far back we’d have to go. With grimoires, it’s complicated. A newer one won’t sustain a spell this big, but if we use one that’s too old, the spell might collapse. And if it breaks while using amplifiers…” She trailed off, looking at them all in turn. “The consequences would multiply.”

Damon grinned crookedly, “Well, isn’t that just our kind of gamble.”

“So our only real option is blood,” Stefan said, glancing around the room where everyone was scattered across couches and chairs. “But it can’t be ours. If we use vampire or hybrid blood while trying to trace sire lines, it might interfere with the spell and confuse the results.”

“Wait—hold up.” Matt blinked, looking thoroughly lost. “Vampire and hybrid blood has magic? Since when?”

Bonnie gave him a tired but patient look. “Vampires and hybrids aren’t natural, Matt. They were created through rituals and spells. They’re magical creatures. Their blood carries vampirism—the same magic that lets it heal. So yes, technically, it’s magic.”

Damon stood quietly by the wall, glass of bourbon in hand, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. His expression was unreadable—lips set, eyes sharp but distant. Then slowly, he turned toward Elena.

“You know…” he said, voice lower than usual, thoughtful. “Vampires weren’t made by just magic. It took blood too. Tatia’s blood. The doppelgänger’s blood.” His gaze settled fully on her now, not playful, not smirking—just serious. “What if… what if we used Elena’s blood?”

The room froze.

Bonnie blinked, a frown pulling at her brow before realization dawned.

“That… that could work,” she said slowly, stepping forward to grab a grimoire from the stack. “We already know doppelgänger blood is incredibly potent—it was the key to the original vampire creation spell. If anything can support and anchor this magic… it’s that.”

Caroline looked uneasy. Stefan looked skeptical. Matt looked confused. But Bonnie was already flipping through pages, scanning spells.

“Let me check,” she murmured, eyes darting across old ink and aged parchment.

It was late in the afternoon when Elena stood on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out at the lake. The water shimmered under the fading light, calm and indifferent—so unlike the storm brewing inside her. Everyone had agreed her blood was the perfect amplifier. Even she couldn’t find a loophole in Bonnie’s logic, no flaw to prove it wrong. Still, her stomach knotted tighter with every breath.

Her mind wandered back, unbidden, to the night of Klaus’s ritual. Aunt Jenna on the ground. Uncle John’s sacrifice. Isobel’s hollow eyes. All of them—gone. And the common thread binding their deaths together was her blood. Always her blood.

“Elena? What are you thinking?” Caroline’s voice broke the silence as she stepped onto the porch.

Elena turned slightly, offering her a weak smile. “About my blood. How it always comes down to it. Klaus’s ritual, his hybrids, Esther’s spell linking the Originals—it all started with me. With my blood. And nothing good ever came out of it.” Her voice wavered, weighted with guilt.

Caroline softened, her usual brightness gentled into something steady and grounding. “I know how you feel. Especially after everything Klaus put you through. But this is different. This isn’t about sacrificing you, or hurting the people you love. This is about giving us a chance to fight back.”

Elena swallowed, the ache in her chest tightening. Caroline reached for her and pulled her into a hug.

“This will work,” Caroline whispered firmly against her hair. “And this time… your blood won’t be the reason we lose someone. It’ll be the reason we win.”

From the shadows of the trees, unseen, someone shifted and quietly slipped away, leaving them alone on the porch.

Caroline pulled back, searching Elena’s face, but Elena only shook her head faintly. “I don’t know, Caroline,” she admitted, her voice raw.

Caroline gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. “You don’t have to believe it yet. Just… hold on to the possibility.” With that, she headed back inside, leaving Elena alone with her thoughts.

Not for long. Damon stepped out a moment later, moving to stand beside her. Without asking, his hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. The contact made Elena stiffen—uncomfortable, trapped—but the words stuck in her throat.

“You’re overthinking it,” Damon said quietly, eyes on the lake. “You always do. Bonnie’s right. This spell needs you, and your blood isn’t a curse this time—it’s the key. We’ve all seen what happens when you fight fate. Maybe it’s time to use it.”

Something in his tone, the conviction that bled into charm, tugged at her in a way Caroline’s steady reassurance hadn’t. Against her better judgment, Elena exhaled shakily and nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Damon smirked, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before striding back inside, satisfied.

Left alone again, Elena wrapped her arms tight around herself. The lake rippled under the dying light, and her chest tightened with unease. She’d agreed. But why had Damon’s words swayed her when Caroline’s hadn’t? And why, even now, did it still feel so wrong?

Upstairs, Bonnie sat cross-legged on her bed, eyes closed, breathing slow and deliberate as she tried to steady her mind. Meditation usually calmed her, but tonight every breath carried the weight of what they were about to attempt.

Elena’s blood.

If it worked, it would be perfect—strong, stable, undeniable. But if it went wrong… the consequences would be unfathomable. Spells tied to Elena’s blood had always left a trail of loss in their wake, and Bonnie couldn’t push that thought away no matter how deep she tried to center herself.

Her fingers tightened against her knees as another thought pressed forward. A spell holder. She’d never had one before, not really. But maybe this time she couldn’t risk doing it alone. Traditionally, witches used other witches to share the weight, to balance the flow of power and carry the backlash. But here? She didn’t have that luxury.

Her mind drifted to Caroline. A vampire—unnatural, yes, but also a reservoir of magic in her own right. Vampires were born of a magic, their very existence sustained by it. They were like living batteries, a fusion of human strength and magical essence. If Caroline stood with her, maybe she could ground the spell, stabilize it.

Bonnie exhaled slowly, opening her eyes to the dim light of the room. It was risky. Unorthodox. But maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what they needed.

Kol sat in his game room, absently twirling a controller in his hands though the screen in front of him no longer held his attention. It had been a month since everything happened—since Finn died. His big brother. The one who had first taught him magic as a boy, who almost never smiled, except when Kol showed him a new trick with a spell. Finn, who celebrated their victories in his own dry, boorish way, and now he was gone.

Nik was unraveling—not that he’d ever admit it. Niklaus would never confess to loving any of them, not openly, only seen in the way he clung to Elijah. And Elijah… Elijah wasn’t even here. He hadn’t come back after Finn’s death. Too hurt, Kol thought. Elijah’s absence wasn’t neglect; it was grief. Elijah was always more parent than brother, maybe more than their actual parents ever managed to be. No wonder Nik and Bekah fought over him, his attention, no wonder Kol felt there was never enough left for him.

And Bekah… she was furious, all the time now. Her anger needed an outlet, and maybe that’s why she was so fixated on the little doppelgänger and her band of friends. Always looking for excuses to lash out.

The shrill buzz of his phone cut through his thoughts. He answered lazily, but as he listened, his lips curved into a sharp, wicked smile.

“Ooooh, Bekah!” Kol called, sing-song, as he tossed the controller aside. Nik was brooding in his studio again—he could stay there, wrapped in his misery. Kol would handle this, and maybe give his sister something useful to sink her teeth into.

Rebekah swept into the room, suspicion in her eyes. “What?”

Kol leaned back, smug. “Just had a call from one of the hybrids. Seems our little band of misfits is playing with doppelgänger blood. And—get this—there’s talk of a spell. A chance to fight back.” His grin sharpened. “Maybe your suspicions weren’t so unfounded, sister.”

“I knew it!” Rebekah spat, fury lighting her features. “That doppel-bitch! I’ll kill them all, wring their necks, see how they like it.”

“Easy, Bekah.” Kol rose smoothly, the grin never leaving his face. “Let’s go see what they’re up to first. Stop it before it gets interesting. They’ve holed up in that little lake house on the edge of town. Spells outside, by the water.”

His tone shifted, just for a flicker, into something more cautious. “But Bekah—if the spell’s tied to water, don’t get close. You remember what Mother always said about water magic.”

Rebekah’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. “Yes, Kol. I remember.”

Side by side, they headed out, their steps echoing with the promise of blood and retaliation.

It was late evening, the sun long gone and the lake silvered by moonlight. Candles floated gently on the water, arranged in clusters of three. Three clusters in total formed a wide triangle, the spaces between them deliberate—designed to channel and balance the flow of the spell.

“Okay… so we do this now, then?” Matt asked, brushing dirt from his hands as he stood from arranging the last cluster.

“Yes,” Bonnie said firmly, though her voice carried the weight of nerves. She turned to Elena, passing her a small ritual blade. “Elena, I need a drop of your blood on each wick. It’ll bind the circle.”

Elena hesitated, fingers tightening around the knife. Her gaze flicked to Damon. He gave her a crooked smile, soft but reassuring, before stepping closer. “Come on, princess. Just a few drops—we’ve got this.”

He guided her hand as she nicked her palm, blood welling bright in the firelight. Together, they moved across the lake’s edge, dropping a single crimson bead onto the wick of each candle. With every drop, the tiny flames flared brighter, their glow rippling across the water like veins of living magic.

Tyler suddenly stiffened, muscles coiling. “Wait. Someone’s here,” he muttered, voice sharp with warning. His senses locked onto the treeline. “Moving fast—vampire fast.”

Stefan and Damon both straightened instantly, instincts kicking in.

“Let me check it out,” Damon said, slipping the knife from Elena’s hand and passing it back to Bonnie. He cast one last look over his shoulder. “Witchy—start the spell. Don’t stop, not for anything.”

Bonnie nodded, lowering herself to the ground making a protection circle around then, hands hovering over the grimoires as she steadied her breath.

Damon disappeared into the shadows, and moments later, he saw them. Rebekah, radiant and seething, and Kol, grinning like the devil, stood at the edge of the lake house property.

“Well, well, Damon,” Kol drawled, voice thick with mockery. “Looks like the misfits are playing with things they really shouldn’t. Naughty.” His grin sharpened, eyes flashing with menace.

Back at the circle, Tyler’s voice cut through the tension. “It’s the Originals.”

“Bonnie—do the spell. Now. Don’t stop,” Stefan ordered, his tone clipped, urgent. He turned, already moving. “Tyler, with me. Matt—inside. Grab every Gilbert weapon you can find and guard the girls.”

Matt nodded, pale but determined, before bolting toward the house. Tyler gave Caroline one fleeting glance—something unspoken passing between them—then followed Stefan into the night.

Damon looked at Kol and Rebekah and knew the truth of it: he, Stefan, and Tyler didn’t need to win. They just needed to hold them back—long enough for Bonnie to finish the spell. But when his eyes met Rebekah’s furious glare, he wasn’t sure if they could.

“Well, Kol, you know me,” Damon drawled, trying to stall, a glassy smirk on his face even as his grip tightened. “I love a good brush with danger. But right now? Nothing we’re doing here has anything to do with you.”

Kol’s grin widened, sharp and mocking. “A little wolf told me you’re meddling with things you don’t understand. Some new spell, hmm? Tell me, Damon—do you even know enough about magic to play with fire? And Mary… you went after her. One might think you’re trying to trace the sire lines and take aim at us.”

“Well, then your worries are unfounded,” Stefan cut in smoothly, voice calm, diplomatic. “We’re not coming after you. We’re just here for some peace. That’s all.” He shifted, subtly placing himself between them and the path leading to the lake.

“Really, Stefan?” Rebekah’s voice was a razor’s edge. “I can still tell when you’re lying.” Her eyes flashed as her fury broke loose. “And I’m not here for idle chit-chat. You killed Finn. Let’s see how the doppel-bitch likes it when I kill all of you!”

She launched forward, and Damon struck first, blurring across the clearing. Kol caught him with ease, twisting Damon’s wrist until the bone snapped. Damon hissed but shoved his head forward, cracking Kol across the face with a headbutt that staggered him back a step.

“Cute,” Kol chuckled, shaking it off. Then he shoved Damon hard enough to send him sprawling through the dirt.

Stefan was already behind Rebekah, arm locked around her throat, a stake poised at her chest. But she caught his wrist with lightning speed, yanking the weapon free before slamming her elbow into his ribs. Stefan dropped to his knees, choking on the breath that left him.

Tyler roared, his body contorting, half-shift ripping through him. He charged in, claws tearing into Rebekah as he drove her down into the ground. For a heartbeat she was pinned, disgust twisting her face at the growl in his throat. Then her hand shot up, clamping onto his jaw. With brutal force, she hurled him across the clearing—his body cracked against a tree, slumping but still trying to rise.

Damon lunged again, faster this time, but Kol was waiting. He caught Damon mid-charge, then snapped his neck with a casual twist and tossed him aside like broken glass. Damon hit the ground, blood streaking his lip, motionless.

Stefan dragged himself upright, ribs aching, but Kol kicked him square in the chest, knocking him back down. Tyler was barely on his feet when Rebekah’s fist caught him across the face, sending him crashing back into the dirt.

Kol dusted off his hands with a smirk, glancing toward the lake. “Well, that’s the end of this production. Let’s see what little spell they’re playing with.”

Together, he and Rebekah turned, leaving the broken defenders scattered on the ground as they stalked toward Bonnie.

Matt stumbled out onto the porch, arms loaded with Gilbert weapons. His voice was sharp with urgency.
“Guys—the Originals are here. I saw them fighting through the window on my way out.”

“Then get inside the circle, Matt,” Caroline snapped, beckoning him quickly. “Bonnie drew a protective ward. It’s the only thing that’ll keep you safe.”

Bonnie’s hands trembled as she adjusted the circle of candles floating on the lake, her voice tight.
“We shouldn’t do this now. Not with them here.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Caroline insisted, jaw set as she listened to the muffled chaos beyond the trees. “They already think this is about them—if we stop now, they’ll never let us try again.”

Elena reached for Bonnie’s hand, steadying her. “You can do this. We believe in you.”

Bonnie swallowed hard, nodded once, and forced herself to focus. “Okay. Caroline—your blood. Three drops in the center.”

Caroline pressed the blade to her palm and let the drops fall, the blood rippling outward as Bonnie’s chanting began.
“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur.”

The air shifted at once. Nature itself seemed to stir—the water, the ground, the air thrummed with power. It was stronger, deeper this time, as Caroline’s hand clasped Bonnie’s in support, stabilizing her. Elena’s blood still burned faintly in the wicks. Together, it amplified everything.

The flames rose, bleeding into a deep crimson glow. Faces began to flicker in the circle of firelight—Caroline first, then Damon, then Katherine and Rose. Last came a blurred, half-formed image of Mary, wreathed in smoke, before the spell stuttered and crackled under its own weight.

Outside the circle, Rebekah’s furious voice split the night.
“You bitch! Kol—look at them! They’ve started the spell! I’ll kill you all—starting with the doppel-bitch!”

Matt still by the lake house raised a crossbow, loosing a bolt straight at her. The arrow struck true—until Kol plucked it from the air with a lazy smile.
“Nice try, commoner. But you’ll have to do better.” He flipped the bolt back with supernatural force. It slammed into Matt’s stomach, sending him crashing against the porch rail with a strangled cry.

Bonnie’s concentration wavered. Fear clawed at her chest. The spell strained, pulsing too hard, too fast. Caroline squeezed her hand, grounding her, but even that wasn’t enough to silence the certainty pressing in on her.

We won’t walk away from this. Not with Originals standing over us.

Kol’s grin faded as his gaze sharpened on the circle. He could feel it—the power was unstable, buckling beneath the weight of too much blood, too much force.
“Rebekah,” he warned, suddenly grave. “Wait. Don’t go near it. That spell’s not steady—it’ll—”

But Rebekah’s rage had drowned out reason.
“You think you can outwit us with magic? I’ll tear you apart myself!” She surged toward the lake, eyes locked on the girls.

Bonnie’s chanting quickened, desperate, terrified. “Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur!” Inside, her heart screamed a single thought— get them away, somewhere safe, before she reaches us. She knew the Originals wouldn’t let them leave unharmed.

“Sanguis revelare, vincula ostendere, creatio ad creatorem ducatur!” She could feel it slipping—her control wrenched away, as if another hand had seized the spell mid-flow, twisting its path.

The candles blazed upward, flames bending inward, collapsing toward the circle. The water glowed blood-red before surging into a jagged white light. Bonnie’s eyes snapped open—shining, inhuman—and the spell broke loose.

A shockwave burst outward. Rebekah was flung back across the clearing, Kol darting forward to catch her, dragging her away from the water’s edge.

Damon, Stefan, and Tyler staggered in from the treeline just as the backlash hit. They barely had time to see the girls—Bonnie, Caroline, Elena—enveloped by a column of searing white light before it exploded outward. The force threw them off their feet, ripping the air from their lungs.

The last thing Damon saw, just before darkness swallowed him, was a silhouette deep in the forest—watching.

Chapter Text

Caroline stirred, her head heavy as though she’d been dragged through water. Slowly, her eyes blinked open to the sight of towering trees overhead—dense, ancient, and far darker than the familiar forest near the lake house. She pushed herself up, confusion twisting in her chest, until her gaze landed on Elena sprawled across the forest floor, unmoving.

“Elena!” Caroline rushed to her side, cradling her head in her lap. Without hesitation, she bit her wrist and pressed it to her friend’s lips. “Come on, Elena. Wake up.”

A groan escaped Elena as she stirred, swallowing the blood. Her lashes fluttered before her eyes opened slowly, hazy with disorientation. “Caroline… what happened? Where are we?” She sat up gingerly, scanning the shadows between the trees. “And—where are the others? I don’t see anyone.”

Caroline shook her head, her worry sharpening as she glanced around. “I don’t know. But this isn’t the forest near the lake house. It feels… wrong. Heavier.”

Elena frowned, drawing in a deep breath. It struck her immediately—the air was different. Crisp, clean, almost too pure, as if she were breathing something untouched by time. Her eyes lifted instinctively to the sky, and she froze.

“Care… look at the sky.”

Caroline followed her gaze, and her stomach dropped. The stars were brighter than she had ever seen them, glowing in sharp constellations she barely recognized. The moon hung high and luminous, bathing the forest in silver light. But something was off—it was full. And back home, it had only just been a new moon.

Caroline’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Where in the world are we?”

For a moment, neither of them moved, their unease growing thicker than the shadows around them. Then Caroline forced herself to her feet and extended a hand to Elena. “Come on. We can’t just sit here. If we keep moving, maybe we’ll find someone—someone who can tell us how to get back home.”

Elena hesitated but nodded, taking Caroline’s hand. Together they started forward, the moonlight guiding their path through the thick forest.

Still, unease gnawed at Caroline’s chest. Her every step felt watched, her every breath shadowed. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing into the darkness.

But the forest was still. Silent. Empty.

Rebekah stirred, groaning as her eyes fluttered open. The weight pressed against her chest shifted, and she realized Kol was sprawled half across her, shielding her. She shoved him off with a grunt, pushing herself upright.

They were lying near the very edge of the lake house clearing. The ground was wrong here. Rebekah’s eyes narrowed as she took in the sight: earth collapsed inward in a wide crater, scorched black at the edges. The lake lapped sluggishly against it, water darkened and thick, carrying the metallic sting of iron and ozone.

Kol rose beside her, brushing dirt from his jacket. His expression hardened as he stilled, senses sharpening. “Rebekah. Listen.” His gaze flicked toward the trees. “No one else is here. I count seven heartbeats. Not nine.”

Rebekah’s jaw tightened. She stretched her own senses outward, her face twisting in frustration. “The doppel-bitch and her little vampire friend—they’re missing.”

Kol didn’t answer, his eyes still scanning the unnatural crater.

Across the clearing, Damon staggered upright, wiping blood from his mouth. Stefan pushed himself up beside him, grim but steady. Tyler groaned as he forced himself to his feet, his bones still aching from the fight.

Then he froze, spotting Matt slumped against the porch steps. A broken arrow protruded from his abdomen, blood pooling thick around it. “Matt!” Tyler was at his side in an instant, ripping the shaft free and pressing his wrist to Matt’s lips. The boy swallowed instinctively, breath hitching as color slowly returned to his face.

Meanwhile, Stefan and Damon exchanged a look and moved wordlessly toward the lake. Without hesitation, they vaulted into the crater. The air was thick down here, humming with the residue of magic. And there, half-buried in the collapsed earth, was Bonnie—unconscious, her body frighteningly still.

“Bonnie!” Stefan crouched, lifting her carefully into his arms. Damon scanned the hollow, his eyes sharp. “No sign of Elena or Caroline,” he muttered, tension edging his voice.

Stefan didn’t answer, his jaw set as he carried Bonnie back up toward the house. They laid her gently beside Matt on the porch. Stefan bit into his wrist, pressing it to her lips, willing her to drink. Then they waited, silent and strained, for the witch to stir.

Elena trailed close behind Caroline, watching the way her friend’s head tilted slightly, as if she were listening to something Elena couldn’t hear.

“Caroline?” Elena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caroline slowed, her eyes narrowing into the dark. “Heartbeats,” she said softly. “Not far. Definitely human. This way.”

Elena swallowed, nerves twisting in her stomach. She couldn’t hear anything but the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of some bird, but she trusted Caroline’s instincts. If there were people nearby, maybe they’d finally get some answers.

The deeper they went, the stranger the forest felt. Elena’s skin prickled with every step, as though unseen eyes were following her. It wasn’t just the silence—it was weight, heavy and old, pressing down on her bones. Like a hundred years of watching, waiting.

Even the trees were different here. Towering, twisted giants with trunks so wide it would take five people to wrap around them. Their branches stretched high and knotted, blotting out patches of the sky, their roots curling across the ground like veins.

Finally, the forest thinned, and they emerged at the edge of a clearing. Both girls stopped short.

A village.

Or something close to one. Huts scattered loosely, their shapes primitive and strange. Smoke curled lazily from a fire pit that hadn’t yet gone cold. Wooden tools and half-carved stones lay abandoned in the dirt. Strips of meat hung drying from racks. It was ancient—prehistoric, almost—but undeniably lived in.

Caroline’s hand twitched toward Elena’s arm, a silent warning. Elena’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the eerie stillness.

Then—

Crunch.

Leaves shifted behind them.

Both girls spun on instinct. A tall figure stood at the edge of the trees, framed in moonlight. They couldn’t make out the details, only the silhouette: long hair, lithe frame, a strange gown that moved like leaves in the breeze.

The figure stepped forward, head tilting curiously. When she spoke, the words were fluid, melodic—but completely foreign. A language Elena didn’t recognize, yet something about it sparked in the back of her mind, tugging at half-remembered lectures in Ric’s classroom about old dialects and dead tongues.

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me I’m not imagining this…”

Elena swallowed hard. “No. You’re not.”

Matt stirred awake, groaning as the world swam back into focus. Tyler was crouched behind him, steadying his back, while Stefan knelt nearby, pressing his wrist to Bonnie’s lips as she weakly stirred. Damon hovered close, his jaw tight, eyes flicking between them and the ruined lakeside.

Blinking, Matt’s gaze shifted past his friends — to where Rebekah stood, arms folded, glaring at them. Kol, however, wasn’t watching them at all. He was pacing near the crater where the ritual had been, eyes fixed on the water’s black, churning surface as though expecting something to crawl out of it.

“Hey,” Tyler’s voice cut through, offering Matt his hand. “You good?”

Matt let Tyler pull him to his feet, still wincing. “Just peachy,” he muttered, then added more sincerely, “Thanks for the save.” His eyes went straight to Bonnie, who was now upright but leaning heavily against Stefan. Damon lingered protectively beside them, expression dark. “Bonnie, you okay?” Matt asked.

She nodded faintly, her voice hoarse. “I’ll live.”

“Then where are Elena and Caroline?” Matt pressed, glancing between them.

Before Bonnie could answer, Rebekah’s sharp voice cut through. “Yes. Where are they? Did they run off while you lot were busy bleeding all over the forest?”

Bonnie froze, confusion flickering across her face. She turned to Damon for answers.

“They’re not here,” Damon said flatly, reading her look. “I can’t hear them, can’t sense them. Nothing.”

“Maybe Caroline took Elena away,” Matt offered quickly. “That’s what she was supposed to do if things went south, right?”

Bonnie shook her head immediately. “No. She was holding my hand when the spell blew back. I would’ve felt it if she pulled away.”

Stefan’s voice was calm but firm. “Caroline wouldn’t have left Bonnie. She’d have dragged them both out, no matter what. And we were all right at the lake’s edge. They didn’t just walk away without us noticing.”

The truth settled over them like a stone in Bonnie’s stomach. They weren’t here. She could feel it. Something deeper had happened. Her voice shook when she said, “Then we have to look again. Please—check.”

“Bonnie.” Tyler’s tone was careful, but his face was grim. “They’re not here. Not even the Originals can sense them.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “Well, isn’t this just wonderful.” She shot Kol a look before stepping forward, her patience already thin. “The magic,” she demanded, glaring at Bonnie. “What were you doing here? That backlash wasn’t simple witchcraft. It feels old—ancient. What spell did you cast?”

Bonnie’s pulse spiked, but she forced herself to answer evenly. “We were tracking sirelines.”

“Lies,” Rebekah snapped, faster than a whip. In a flash she was on Bonnie, her hand closing tight around her throat. Bonnie clawed at her wrist, gasping as Rebekah snarled, “Tell me the truth, witch. What spell rips open the ground and swallows people whole? Where are the doppel-bitch and your little baby vampire?”

Bonnie choked out between breaths, “I’m telling you the truth! We… we modified a family-line spell—to track sirelines instead.”

Kol turned then, his expression shifting from suspicion to shock. “You modified a lineage spell?” His voice was sharp, incredulous. “Are you insane?”

“Let her go, Rebekah,” Stefan said tightly, but Kol ignored him, stepping closer.

“Show me,” he demanded, eyes snapping to the notebook lying near the scorched circle.

Matt hesitated, then moved quickly, snatching it up and flipping to the pages scrawled with Bonnie’s notes. He held it out stiffly, his voice tight as he explained, “Here. This is it. We tweaked the spell, made the water the focus. Three drops of blood… and amplifiers. Elena’s blood.”

Kol’s eyes scanned the page, his frown deepening with every line.

Both Elena and Caroline froze as a figure stepped into the moonlight.

Her hair looked as if autumn itself had taken root there — strands shifting between fiery red, copper, and bark-brown. Her gown wasn’t sewn but grown; vines, bark, and petals wove seamlessly into living patterns that shifted and breathed with her every movement.

She spoke again in that strange, old tongue — words that sounded more like earth and wind than human speech.

Caroline instinctively moved in front of Elena, squaring her shoulders protectively. “Who are you? What are you saying? Can you speak English?” she demanded, her tone firm even as her stomach twisted with unease.

The woman tilted her head at an unnatural angle, eyes narrowing with unsettling curiosity. Her fingers twitched, and suddenly a vine burst from the ground, wrapping tight around Elena’s arms. Elena went rigid, her eyes wide as her breath hitched — like she was drowning without water.

“Elena!” Caroline shouted, grabbing at the vine, trying to tear it free. But it was rooted deep into the earth, unyielding, thrumming with a strength she couldn’t match. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

When the woman only watched in silence, Caroline lunged at her. But more vines erupted, coiling around her wrists and legs, dragging her still. She fought, vamp strength straining, but the bindings only tightened.

For a long, breathless moment, the forest itself seemed to hold them captive. Then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, the vines loosened and slithered back into the soil, leaving Caroline and Elena gasping and shaken.

The woman finally spoke again — this time in English. Her voice was layered, like wind through leaves:
“The whispers were true. The forest told me of your coming — blood bound, cursed, and chosen. You are a fracture in the balance. But what kind of fracture…?”

Chapter Text

“Hey guys, I think we should take a look at the forest. Maybe we’ll find Elena and Caroline—or at least something that could lead us to them,” Stefan suggested, his gaze sweeping over the tree line.

Damon followed his eyes, then flicked a look at Tyler before jerking his head toward the Originals. “For once, brother, you’re right. Why don’t we take a stroll through the woods and surrounding area? See if the missing girls left us a breadcrumb trail. And Tyler—why don’t you stay here, keep an eye on Matt and Bonnie?”

Without waiting for a reply, Damon and Stefan vamp-sped into the forest, vanishing in a blur of motion.

Matt pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the ache from earlier still lingered. “I’ll… I’ll call them. Maybe they’ve got their phones on them.”

He headed back into the house. Bonnie, left sitting on the porch steps, couldn’t shake the pit in her stomach. The feeling was wrong. Too wrong. She tried to replay the spell in her mind, grasping at the details, but the harder she focused, the blurrier it became.

Matt returned moments later, holding up two phones. “No luck. Elena’s was in the kitchen, and Caroline’s was stuffed in her handbag. They didn’t take them.” He dropped the devices into Bonnie’s lap, his jaw tightening.

“Hey, are you going to make sense or just keep whispering to yourself?” Caroline snapped, her patience fraying. Her sharp blue eyes stayed fixed on the strange woman—the one who had commanded the vines like they were her personal guard.

The woman didn’t answer right away. She only tilted her head, studying them as if they were curiosities instead of intruders. At last, her voice came low, almost musical: “Come with me. The forest will host you for now.”

Without another word, she turned and moved deeper into the trees, her figure seeming to melt into the forest shadows, like she belonged more to bark and vine than flesh.

Elena and Caroline exchanged a wary look. Neither spoke, but the hesitation hung heavy between them. Choosing defiance, they turned instead toward the huts—only for vines to shoot up from the earth once more, coiling thickly across their path.

Caroline blew out a breath, exasperated. “Great. Trapped by shrubbery.”

Elena sighed, resigned, and nodded. Together, they fell in step behind the mysterious woman, following her into the heart of the forest.

Kol and Rebekah were hunched in a corner over the notes, voices sharp and furious as they argued over the lines of a spell. Bonnie hesitated only a moment before moving toward them, determined to see for herself. Maybe, just maybe, there’d be a clue hidden in their scrawled notes that could lead her back to Elena and Caroline.

Kol’s head snapped up the moment she came close. He tapped a finger hard against the finished spell. “This is the one you lot used?”

Bonnie straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Yes. That’s it.”

Kol exchanged a look with Rebekah, then turned on Bonnie, voice sharp enough to cut. “Are you an idiot? Who in the world made you a witch? Were you trained in craft—or in sheer stupidity? Because from where I’m standing, this isn’t the work of a sensible witch. It’s the work of someone who hasn’t the faintest idea what they’re doing.”

Bonnie stiffened, forcing herself not to flinch. “What do you mean? I translated the spell right—it worked. Perfectly. We tested it before.”

Kol’s eyes flared as he snapped the grimoire shut, the crack echoing in the room. “Tested? Oh, bravo. You absolute fools. Mixing blood magic with water magic? Do you even understand what that does? Blood binds. Water spreads. Put them together, they don’t balance—they rip a spell apart at the seams and scatter it everywhere. They don’t stabilize; they detonate.” He jabbed a finger toward her. “And then—this is my favourite part—you threw in the doppelgänger’s blood. Do you have any idea what that does? It doesn’t just amplify, darling—it rewrites the rules entirely. You didn’t craft a spell; you set a beacon and left the door wide open. ‘Here, anyone listening, come have a play.’”

Rebekah crossed her arms, eyes glittering with contempt. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m shocked. You lot have a talent for poking hornets’ nests and then acting aghast when you get stung. If you wanted to risk your own skins, fine—but you risked ours too. Modified spells, blood rituals, and no safeguards? It’s a miracle you’re still breathing.”

Kol leaned in close, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “And the best part? You couldn’t even hold on to your own spell. You lost control. Might as well have signed the invitation in blood: ‘Here you go, ruin it however you please.’”

He was winding up for another tirade when movement caught his eye. Damon and Stefan entered, their faces pale, grim. Kol groaned, throwing his head back. “Oh, splendid. More bad news?”

Damon’s jaw tightened, but he kept quiet as Stefan stepped forward. “We didn’t find Elena or Caroline. No signs of them.”

Rebekah let out a bitter laugh. “No bloody surprise there. Why would anything ever be simple?”

Damon shot her a glare, but Stefan pushed on. “We did find… this.” He held up a necklace, its silver chain glinting, the pendant—a black onyx stone coiled with a snake pattern—gleaming darkly even in the dim light. “It was hot to the touch. And I know for a fact it didn’t belong to either of them.”

Bonnie’s breath caught. “Is that—”

Kol cut in smoothly, lips curling. “If you were about to say a witch’s talisman, then yes. And not the sort you want lying around unattended.”

Elena and Caroline followed the woman deeper into the forest until the trees opened onto a still lake. She raised one hand, and the forest itself obeyed: trunks bent, branches wove together, and within moments, a structure stood before them—four pillars crowned with a living roof of leaves.

Caroline stepped instinctively in front of Elena, shoulders squared. “Please, we just want to get back home.”

The woman’s gaze flickered between them, her expression unreadable. “Home?” she echoed, as if the word itself were foreign. “You have crossed into a place where time does not bow to your world. Home is not so near as you hope.”

Elena’s stomach twisted. “Then… where are we?”

Instead of answering, the woman lifted her hand. The forest seemed to exhale: leaves rustled without wind, vines curled upward in a circle around their feet, and from the earth itself rose a shallow bowl of woven bark and moss. It filled instantly with clear water.

“Blood tells truth,” she said. “Yours will decide if the forest keeps you… or casts you out.”

Caroline frowned, ready to protest, but Elena caught her wrist. “If this is what it takes, then we do it.”

Reluctantly, Caroline bit her palm and let a drop fall into the bowl. Elena followed. The surface rippled, glowing faintly—not dark or poisoned, but lit from within by a silvery sheen, like moonlight caught in water.

The women's expression softened, though her eyes still weighed them with unsettling intensity. “Not destruction… not yet. But dangerous.”

Caroline bristled. “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We’re just trying to get back to our friends.”

The women tilted her head, as though listening to something they could not hear. At last she lowered her hand, and the vines stilled. “Then you will stay. The forest will judge you more deeply in the days ahead. Until then, you are under my watch.”

Elena glanced at Caroline, her pulse quickening. “Stay? For how long?”

The woman turned, her gown of leaves rustling as though it grew with every step. “As long as it takes for me to know what you truly are. When the time comes, I will take you to those who share your blood. Until then, you remain here.”

She gestured toward the structure. “This is where you will lodge for the night.” With a wave of her hand, dry wood stacked itself neatly before them. Another flick of her fingers, and the pile kindled with silver-green flames—otherworldly, shimmering like no fire Elena had ever seen.

“Every flame has two hungers,” the woman intoned. “One to destroy, one to protect. Keep it alive until dawn. But beware—feed it too much, and it will consume. Starve it, and it will fade. Balance is the only way through.” With that, she melted back into the forest.

Elena took a step after her, but the women vanished into the trees. Returning to Caroline, she found her frowning, arms crossed. “So… babysitting fire? I think we’ve got this covered.”

Elena crouched, staring into the silver-green flames. They pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. “Care… I don’t think this is just fire.”

Tyler was thoroughly confused. Just twenty-four hours ago, everything had been fine—Elena and Caroline were here, and they had been planning a spell to track the sire line. Now everything was in shambles. The Originals came, they fought and lost, the spell faltered, Matt got hurt, and Elena and Caroline had vanished. And now Kol was saying the spell had been dangerous from the start—that they’d been wrong all along.

It felt awful.

His mind drifted back to the day before, he and Caroline had gone to get the grimoire from Bonnie’s house. Things had been awkward between them, and he knew he had only himself to blame. Caroline never outright held him responsible, but he saw it in every well-hidden tremble, every flinch. She didn’t spend time alone with him anymore not like before. And why would she? He had left her, gone no-contact during one of the hardest times of her life—right after she lost her father.

But what choice had he really had? He had to break the sire bond. He couldn’t live with Klaus as his master. And he knew Caroline understood that, at least in her head. But her heart still carried complaints, ones he longed to sort out. He wanted to fix things. To show her he could be better. That they could be better.

And now she was gone.

A knot formed in his chest, but he forced resolve over it. He had broken the sire bond. He could find her again. He would find her again. They’d have their happily-ever-after. He’d do everything on Caroline’s damn list—without a single complaint.

Tyler was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed Damon handing over the strange necklace to Kol. The Original turned it over in his hands with narrowed eyes before glancing at Bonnie.

“Witch,” Kol said sharply. “Check whether the talisman still holds magic, or if it’s been drained dry and used.”

Bonnie nodded, pressing her palms over it. A faint shimmer of white light glowed from the stone before fading. She exhaled, glancing from the talisman back to Kol.

“It was recently used,” she said quietly. “And it carries the same magical backlash as the site where the spell collapsed.”

Kol’s expression darkened, muttering under his breath, “Brilliant.”

Bonnie frowned, her mind racing. She looked from the talisman to the burned-out ritual circle, a realization creeping in. “There’s something else. When Rebekah and Kol appeared—just for a moment—I felt it. Someone else was… touching the spell. Redirecting it. Taking control.”

Kol’s head snapped toward her, shock flashing in his eyes.

Chapter Text

The silver-green fire flickered uncertainly, its glow wavering with every breath of wind. At first, they did the obvious—feeding it with dry wood whenever it dipped, crouching close as though their presence alone could keep it alive. But the forest was not simple.

A sudden gust tore through the clearing, sharp enough to nearly smother the flame. Both girls dropped low, trying to shield it with their bodies, but the wind shifted again, then again, striking from every direction.

“This is stupid,” Caroline muttered, vanishing into the trees in a blur of speed. She returned with a massive, dew-slick leaf and jammed it into the ground like a shield, crouching low to hold it steady. It worked for a moment—until the wind circled once more.

Elena glanced at the makeshift barrier and spoke quickly. “Hey, Care. What if you grab a few more? We could build a shelter, something that lets the fire breathe but keeps out the worst of the gusts.”

Caroline paused, then nodded. She blurred away again, gathering more broad leaves. Together, they fashioned a rough shed around the flame, a fragile but clever barrier. The fire glowed stubbornly beneath it, no longer at the mercy of every shift in the wind.

When the air finally settled, Caroline slumped back with a frustrated huff. “What are we even doing here? Instead of trying to find a way home, we’re babysitting a fire, listening to some woman who seems to control the whole forest.”

As her words spilled sharper, the fire flared wildly, matching her anger. When her voice broke into doubt, it dimmed, flickering low.

Elena caught the change, her eyes narrowing. “Care—wait. Let me try something.” She leaned toward the flame. “This is hopeless. We’ll never be able to do this.”

Instantly, the fire shrank, nearly going out. Elena straightened and tried again, firmer this time. “No. We can. We’ll survive the night, and we’ll keep this alive.”

The flame swelled, burning bright.

Caroline stared, realization dawning. “It’s reacting to us. To our words… to what we feel.”

From then on, their rhythm changed. Elena’s calm encouragement steadied the flame, while Caroline’s fierce determination coaxed it back into balance whenever it faltered.

But the forest did not yield. Thin vines slithered from the roots nearby, creeping toward the fire like snakes. Elena saw them first and kicked them back, her breath ragged. Minutes bled into hours, and exhaustion dragged at her. Her eyes grew heavy, her movements sluggish. When a spray of water hissed up from the pond, droplets threatening the fire, Caroline’s hands darted out. She willed the water to steam harmlessly away, saving the flame in a flash of instinct.

“Elena.” Caroline’s voice was low, strained but steady. “You’re about to pass out. Lie down—just for a while. I’ll keep watch.”

Elena shook her head, swaying but stubborn. “We both need to stay awake—”

Caroline pressed a hand to her shoulder, firm but not unkind. “We need balance. That’s what this is about, right? So rest. I’ll wake you when it’s my turn.”

At last, Elena gave in. She curled near the fire’s edge, whispering a few words of encouragement to it before sleep claimed her.

The night dragged on. Caroline kept vigil, silver-green light washing over her tired face. When Elena stirred awake again, she caught the tightness in Caroline’s posture, the faint tremor in her hands.

“You didn’t rest at all,” Elena murmured, sitting up.

Caroline shrugged, her jaw tense. “Couldn’t. Someone had to keep it alive.”

Elena was about to argue when she saw it—the veins darkening under Caroline’s eyes, pupils sharp in the firelight, fangs pressing at her lips.

“Care…” Elena whispered.

Caroline turned away instantly, pressing her palms into the dirt. “I’m fine. Just—ignore it.”

“No, you’re not.” Elena’s voice stayed calm though her stomach knotted. “You’re starving.”

“I can handle it,” Caroline snapped, too fast, too defensive. “I don’t want—”

“Caroline.” Elena cut her off gently, holding out her wrist. “Take it.”

Caroline recoiled as if burned. “Absolutely not. You’ve already given enough tonight.”

“You’re shaking,” Elena pressed, her tone unwavering. “If you collapse, the fire dies. We fail. You said balance matters—so let me balance this. Please.”

Caroline’s hunger clawed at her, instincts howling. She shook her head, whispering, “I can’t.”

“You can,” Elena said softly but with unshakable resolve. “It’s me, Care. I trust you.”

The words broke through. With trembling hands, Caroline took her wrist. Her lips brushed the skin once—hesitant—before her fangs sank in. Elena gasped but didn’t pull away. Her free hand settled on Caroline’s shoulder, steadying her.

Caroline drank just enough to quiet the gnawing ache, then tore herself back, guilt shadowing her face.

“…Better?” Elena asked quietly.

Caroline’s voice was rough. “Yeah. But you didn’t have to—”

“I did,” Elena said simply, offering the faintest tired smile. “We’re in this together.”

Caroline huffed a shaky laugh, easing back. “…Sometimes you’re way too stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one,” Elena teased, shifting closer to the fire.

After that, their rhythm held. Caroline went to rest as Elena’s calm soothed the flames;. Through hunger, exhaustion, and doubt, they endured.

At last, the first pale gray of dawn touched the treetops. The flame surged once—bright and pure—before settling into a bed of glowing embers that pulsed like the forest’s own heartbeat.

At the lake house, Kol was still reeling from Bonnie’s confession. His voice cut through the tense air, sharp and incredulous.

“Do you even hear yourself? Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting? That some witch just waltzed in and hijacked a spell with blood-and-water binding as if it were child’s play? Impossible. Suicidal. And yet—” he jabbed a finger at her, his tone dripping with scorn—“you claim you felt it? That you, a half-trained little Bennett, could sense someone rewriting a spell of that magnitude?”

His laugh rang out, humorless and biting. “Utter nonsense. Either you imagined it, or you’ve been far more reckless than I thought.”

The words hung in the air, but after a moment Kol’s expression tightened, his mockery fading into something colder. “It’s not simple to hijack magic,” he said more sharply. “Especially not a spell like this. Redirecting it mid-casting is… nearly impossible.”

Bonnie’s spine went rigid. The memory of that moment pressed against her mind: the spell buckling, ready to collapse and destroy everything with it—until suddenly, it hadn’t. It had been as though invisible hands caught a falling chain of dominos and redirected it, forcing the magic into an entirely new flow.

She remembered the talisman, how its resonance had matched that shift. And the aftermath—it was nothing like the broken, chaotic residue of a failed spell. Even when Damon’s blood had disrupted her magic before, the energy hadn’t felt like this. This was different. This was the echo of something that had been completed.

Frustration sparked in her chest, tightening her throat. She opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Damon’s voice cut in first.

“I saw it,” he said suddenly. The room shifted, all eyes snapping to him. Damon’s voice was low, rough around the edges. “Right before I blacked out—I saw a silhouette. Someone else was there. Maybe they pulled Elena and Caroline out… and because it was magic, there’s no trace.”

Dawn broke in pale gold across the treetops. Mist clung low to the forest floor as the woman appeared once more, stepping into the clearing as though the forest itself had carried her there.

At the circle’s heart, the fire still burned—steady and bright. She lifted her hand, drawing a flame from the ring. It hovered in her palm, flaring white before settling again. A small, knowing smile touched her lips.

“You endured the night,” she said quietly. “And you tended the fire well.”

From a woven pouch at her side, she produced food—berries, roots, and a flask of water—and set them down before the girls.

Caroline’s eyes flicked to Elena, then back to the offering. Without a word, she picked up a berry and bit into it, chewing slowly, testing. When nothing happened, she pushed the rest toward Elena and leaned back, making no move to eat further. Elena accepted, hunger gnawing at her, and finished what remained.

The woman’s gaze lingered on the exchange. Her eyes, sharp and intent, settled on Caroline.

“You are not eating,” she said. “You do not need food to survive. You do not feel human. Explain.”

Elena and Caroline shared a look—wordless, wary. Then Caroline answered carefully, “I am a vampires. Once human… now something else. We survive on blood.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “And you—” her gaze pinned Caroline, “—how did you become one?”

Caroline hesitated, but Elena spoke first, her tone clipped. “It was an accident. She had vampire blood in her system… and then she died.”

The forest seemed to still around them, waiting, but the woman gave no sign of judgment. She simply studied them, as though weighing their words against knowledge older than the trees.

When the silence grew thick, Elena pressed forward, seizing the moment. “Where are we? Who are you? Why is everything different? And how do we return?”

The woman’s reply was a single, unshakable statement.

“All will be revealed in time. For now, rest. Walk the forest. I will return to you at nightfall. If you pass the trial of the night, you shall have your answers—and my help.”

She turned without another word, vanishing into the trees until the forest swallowed her whole.

At the lake house, Damon’s words cracked like glass.

“This is on you, witchy,” he snarled, turning on Bonnie. “You strutted in here, so sure of yourself, so sure magic could solve everything—and now look! You let someone hijack your spell. Hijack it! You can’t even control your own power, let alone stop someone else from ripping it out of your hands.”

Bonnie’s lips parted, but Matt stepped forward before she could speak. His voice cut sharp, steady. “Enough.”

Tyler moved to his side, jaw tight, fists clenched. “Damon, watch what you say to her. She did this because of you. You’ve been pushing her for weeks, hounding her about finding the sire line. You kept piling it on until she could barely breathe. You’re the reason she was stressed out enough that Caroline even suggested this weekend away in the first place.”

Damon sneered, but before he could lash back, Stefan’s voice slid between them, measured and calm. “Stop. This isn’t the time for blame. Pointing fingers won’t bring them back. What matters is finding Elena, Caroline, and whoever owns this talisman strong enough to hijack Bonnie’s spell.”

A sharp scoff cut through his diplomacy.

Rebekah leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes gleaming with disdain. “Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Your friends are gone, and instead of pulling yourselves together, you claw at each other like squabbling children. No wonder everything you touch turns to ash.”

Damon spun on her, rage sparking hot. “If you two Originals hadn’t crashed the party, none of this would’ve happened!”

Kol’s smirk vanished. In an instant, he crossed the room. Damon’s neck snapped with a vicious crack, his body crumpling to the floor.

“Blame us again,” Kol said coldly, “and I’ll make it permanent.” He glanced around the room, eyes glittering. “You want them back? Then stop wasting time. Rest. Regroup. I’ll consult my contacts. Then—and only then—we continue the search.”

Stefan narrowed his eyes. “Why help us at all?”

Kol gave a slow, sharp smile. “Because Klaus will tear this town apart if he loses his little doppelgänger blood bag. Consider my help… self-preservation.”

With that, he and Rebekah swept out and vamp-speed away.

Silence fell heavy over the lake house. Bonnie slumped back against the stairs, her face pale, drained of strength. Matt and Tyler lingered close, protective shadows at her side. Stefan stood apart, his gaze fixed on Damon’s unconscious body sprawled across the floor—watchful, wary, waiting for him to wake.

By the time Rebekah and Kol had put enough distance between themselves and the lake house, the sky was already shifting. The black of night thinned into deep indigo, and streaks of pale blue crept along the horizon. The silence of early morning pressed around them, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves.

Rebekah slowed, glancing back once to be sure no one had followed. When she spoke, her voice was low, deliberate.
“It doesn’t add up. Spells don’t just… change course. Not without intent.”

Kol tilted his head, the first hints of dawn painting his features in cold light. “Exactly. Someone didn’t simply nudge the Bennett witch’s power—they wrenched it away from her, mid-cast. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Rebekah folded her arms tight across her chest, unease flickering in her eyes. “Dangerous… or powerful?”

Kol’s laugh was short, hollow, carrying no trace of amusement. “Both. Whoever it was didn’t just hijack a Lineage spell—they rewrote it. Shaped it into something else entirely. No residue, no trail. That sort of mastery takes centuries of knowledge. And a taste for chaos.”

Her frown deepened as the morning light bled slowly through the trees. “So what are they, then? Enemy?”

Kol leaned lazily against the rough bark of an oak, though the talisman he turned over in his fingers gleamed sharp in the new light. “That depends. Either we’re facing an enemy clever enough to unravel a Bennet's witch's magic… or the only witch sharp enough to unravel what’s coming.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The pale blue deepened overhead, washing the forest in the fragile quiet of dawn. Rebekah finally tore her gaze from the horizon and fixed it on her brother.

“Then let’s hope,” she said softly, “for all our sakes… it’s the latter.”

Chapter Text

Rebekah lifted her eyes from the couch where she sat, watching Kol pace the living room. He was bent over grimoires scattered across the table, fingers leaving smudges of dirt as he turned the pages too quickly, too carelessly. His shirt was rumpled, streaked with mud from the night before, and he looked every inch the picture of frustration.

She supposed they should have cleaned up first. But how could they, when the questions wouldn’t stop circling her mind? A spell redirected mid-cast. A Bennett’s spell, no less. No matter how untrained Bonnie was, meddling with that kind of lineage was never easy. Not for anyone.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to their mother—missing, silent. Could it be her? The possibility twisted in her gut. She knew Kol was thinking the same; it was the only reason he cared this much. Otherwise, the little doppelgänger could be rotting in a ditch and he wouldn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

Kol’s voice cut through her reverie. “Did you find something?” He hadn’t looked up, but he’d noticed her stare.

Rebekah hesitated. “No… nothing much. Or nothing related. I was just—”

She stopped, words dying in her throat as footsteps sounded overhead. Klaus descended the stairs, his gaze snapping to them the moment he entered the room. His eyes narrowed instantly, sharp and suspicious.

“Kol. Rebekah.” His voice carried a dangerous edge. “Why do you look as though you’ve rolled in mud? And at this hour? Did the two of you get into a fight?” He paused, his stare flicking between them. “I know you weren’t here last night.”

Rebekah glanced at Kol, who gave her the slightest nod. Together, they began to recount everything—the overheard conversation at the Grill, the Salvatores tracking down Mary, the hybrid set on their trail, the spell Bonnie cast, the interception gone wrong, the doppelgänger and Caroline vanishing, and the silence left in the aftermath.

By the time they finished, Klaus’s eyes blazed with fury. His lips curled, and for a moment Rebekah thought he might tear the room apart.

“Nik—please,” she started, lifting her hands in a calming gesture.

But Klaus had already turned on his heel, storming out before she could say more. The front door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through the house like a warning bell.

The lake house was heavy with unease, the air taut as a drawn bowstring.

Damon sat on the couch, eerily quiet, but the fury radiating from him was palpable, coiled like a predator waiting to strike. Bonnie lingered by the window, arms wrapped around herself, eyes unfocused on the treeline beyond. Guilt weighed on her shoulders, dragging her down.

Matt had gathered the scattered notes and grimoires, but now just sat staring at the pages, his expression blank, as if the words refused to make sense. Tyler had already stormed out before dawn, muttering about needing to run. Last anyone heard, he was combing the woods, desperate for a trail—Elena’s, Caroline’s, anyone’s.

Stefan paced the living room, steps restless, the lines of worry etched deep into his face.

The sudden bang on the door snapped every head toward the sound.

Stefan crossed the room cautiously, opened it—only to find Klaus standing just beyond the threshold, smile sharp and false.

“Ripper,” Klaus greeted smoothly, though his voice dripped with mockery. “Where are my doppelgänger and Caroline?” His grin widened, all teeth, all threat. “I’ve just been informed by my darling siblings that you lot managed to lose them during some reckless little spell gone wrong.” The smile dropped into a snarl. “Tell me—where are they?”

Stefan tensed, but before he could answer, Damon stepped up beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Hi, Klaus,” Damon drawled, voice edged with acid. “Do you mind? We had a rough night.” He jerked his chin toward the yard.

Klaus’s composure cracked, rage seething through. “A rough night?” His voice rose, dangerous and sharp. “If I don’t get my doppelgänger back, I’ll show you a rough night. I will level this town to ash if you don’t fix it.”

His gaze shifted past Stefan and Damon, locking onto Bonnie. His eyes narrowed, cold and calculating, before he turned on his heel.

The front door slammed behind him, leaving the silence heavier than before.

The woman had not always been bound to the forest. Once, she was mortal—a priestess sworn to protect the balance of earth, water, and sky. Her people had lived in harmony with the old magic, giving offerings to trees and streams, knowing that reverence was what kept the world alive.

But when outsiders came—greedy hands felling trees, poisoning rivers—her people grew desperate. They called upon the oldest roots, begging nature to save what remained.

Nature answered. It did not save them. It claimed them.

Their bodies dissolved into bark and breath, their souls woven into roots and leaves. They became sentinels: neither mortal nor spirit, but both. The forest became their flesh, their voices carried on wind and water. Power thrummed in them—vines, roots, flowers bending to their will. Yet the bond was a tether; within their grove, they were nearly invincible, but beyond it, they weakened.

Seasons bled into centuries. Mortals rose and fell. This grove had been her family’s before the change. Her father had been the high priest. She alone had stayed when others drifted, carrying her ancestors’ vows in silence.

Her memories of humanity came in fragments: firelit laughter, clasped hands in ritual, the ache of loss when her people were taken. The forest had dulled those edges, teaching her detachment. Mortals were fragile, reckless. Yet… she remembered.

In recent days, the forest had grown restless, whispering as if preparing for an arrival. Then, yesterday, the air shifted. A disturbance rippled through the roots, and the trees sang with anticipation. She followed, and found two young women.

One with hair dark as night but eyes carrying the weight of lifetimes. The other with hair spun like silken thread, golden and bright. They had been headed for the village, but the forest itself stirred against their leaving. It was not their time. So she stopped them.

She had taken the younger one’s tongue—Elena’s— woven its shape into her own voice. But she had left her memories untouched. To enter them would be a violation, no different from the axes that once split her groves. Boundaries must be guarded, even her own.

From that moment, she had watched.

The blood test revealed much: Caroline’s offering burned steady and protective, while Elena’s shimmered with silver light, pure of heart. Then came the fire. She left them with a flame meant to judge, one that would devour or wither depending on their souls. Through the long night, she listened as it rose and faltered with their strength.

The younger one—restless, headstrong—shielded the flame with fierce determination, even bending nature itself when her frustration threatened to undo her. The Dark-haired one steadied it with patience, soothing its edges, enduring even when exhaustion weighed her down. Alone, either might have failed. But together, they found rhythm. Strength and softness. Shield and anchor.

By dawn, the fire yielded into white embers. They had passed.

Still, she watched. By day, their bond revealed itself in smaller trials. Caroline tested every berry, every root before handing them to Elena, protective even in silence. Elena had offered her blood to sustain her friend. They walked the forest not as strangers to be feared but as wanderers awed by its beauty—tracing bark with fingertips, smiling when sun scattered gold through the canopy.

These moments spoke louder than fire or blood. They did not endure through power alone, but through the quiet, unyielding act of holding each other steady.

And yet… Elena was not whole. Her soul shimmered oddly, as though there were fractures running deep, places where her thoughts bent in directions not her own. Beneath her words, she heard another voice, low and hidden, like roots twisting under soil. A shadow of control, faint but present. She frowned, though she did not name it. Not yet.

The sun bled low, setting fire to the canopy. The forest hushed, waiting. Slowly, the she stepped from her trees and into flesh, her gown of living leaves whispering against the grass. Tonight, they would face the mirror, and she would see if the light in them could endure their shadows.

Rebekah stood in the corner of the Salvatore boarding house, arms folded as she watched the room. They had all gathered here, united by one purpose: finding the little doppelgänger.

She observed silently—Matt standing by Bonnie, both bent over grimoires, their faces drawn with worry. Tyler flanked Stefan, restless and ready to move at the slightest lead. Damon lounged with a drink in hand, his posture casual but his eyes sharp, ready to lash out.

The front doors opened, and Niklaus entered with Kol at his side.

“Finally,” Rebekah muttered, lifting her chin. “You dragged us here, Kol. Care to explain what was so urgent?”

Kol flashed her a thin smile. “A little patience, sister, goes a long way.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a parchment, handing it to Bonnie. “This spell will read the life force of the doppelgänger and the blonde. At the very least, we’ll know whether we’re searching for the living—or wasting time chasing the dead.”

“They’re alive,” Bonnie said quickly, clutching the parchment like a lifeline. “They have to be.”

Under Kol’s instruction, she performed the spell. Symbols flared across the parchment, light pooling faintly before dimming into a steady glow.

Rebekah exhaled. “Well, at least we know they’re breathing.” Her relief was edged with steel. “But the question remains: for how long—and in what condition?”

Bonnie paled. Stefan stepped in, voice even. “Rebekah, enough. Don’t make this worse.”

Kol glanced at his sister, irritation flickering in his eyes. “She has a point. But we work with what we have. Now…” He leaned forward, addressing Bonnie again. “Have you tried a tracing spell?”

“Plenty,” Bonnie said, her voice brittle. “It’s… strange. It doesn’t feel like a cloaking. It’s like the spell recognizes them, but it can’t hold on. They slip away.”

Kol’s brow arched. He retrieved another parchment and passed it to her. “Try this one. It’s older. Stronger.”

Damon and Stefan crowded close as Bonnie began the incantation. For a moment, the spell surged—lines of light sketching across the parchment, weaving into a map. But then it faltered, the glow shivering before flickering like a dying flame.

Kol’s voice cut through the tension, sharp as glass. “No. This is wrong.” He gestured to the glowing, uncertain runes across the table. “It should have given us a clear thread straight to them. Instead…” He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “It’s like staring at smoke. They’re there—but not. Present, yet untouchable.”

Damon scowled, arms crossed. “What the hell does that even mean? Either they exist or they don’t.”

Kol gave a short, humorless laugh. “If only the world were that simple. The spell recognizes them, but it cannot reach them. It’s as though something is keeping them just beyond our grasp—a barrier, a distortion. Whatever it is, it’s clever. Very clever.”

Klaus’ voice broke through, thick with disdain. “As expected. Useless.” His glare swept the room. “You lot can’t even manage a simple spell. And what of the talisman? Do you have any idea who it belongs to?”

Damon bristled. “No. Haven’t looked. Elena’s the priority.”

Klaus’ smile was all teeth. “Very well. Then we’ll do this my way.” His gaze pinned Damon. “Your memory. I want to see it for myself—the spell site, the witch you claimed to glimpse.”

Damon sneered. “Do you have no sense of boundaries? I’m not showing you anything.”

Klaus’ expression darkened. “Boundaries?” He stepped forward in a blur, slamming Damon against the wall. Wood cracked from the impact. Damon grunted, struggling, but Klaus’ grip was iron. His claws extended, piercing skin as he dragged them slowly across Damon’s throat. Blood welled.

“Show me,” Klaus growled, voice low and dangerous. “Or I’ll peel the truth out of you, piece by piece.”

Damon hissed in pain, refusing. “Go to hell.”

Klaus’ eyes burned gold. “Wrong answer.” He tightened his grip, forcing his way into Damon’s mind. Damon’s scream tore through the room, raw and guttural, as Klaus invaded his thoughts.

Rebekah looked away, unimpressed. They should have known better—Originals always got their way.

Moments later, Klaus withdrew, releasing Damon to slump against the wall, pale and seething. Smug satisfaction curved his lips.

“Ever the meddler, aren’t you, Damon?” Klaus drawled. “And ever so persuasive when it comes to my doppelgänger. Opportunistic as always.”

Confusion flickered through the room. Rebekah caught it mirrored in their faces. Whatever Klaus had seen, Damon understood it. His jaw clenched, irritation written in every line of him.

“Come, Kol. Rebekah.” Klaus didn’t wait for protest. “Kol, find a spell this Bennett girl can actually manage without botching. The rest of you—be useful. Find the doppelgänger, find Caroline, or find the owner of the talisman.”

And with that, he strode out, leaving the room in uneasy silence.

Chapter Text

The day had drifted by in a strange calm. Elena and Caroline had wandered the forest together, tracing paths between trees that seemed older than time itself, marveling at plants unlike any they’d ever seen. The forest felt alive—watching, whispering—and yet by sunset, it had lulled them into a rhythm, as if daring them to forget the trials that had already tested them.

Now, they sat by the pond, the sky painted in molten hues of orange and violet, waiting. The water glimmered with the last light of day, glassy and still. Elena had gone quiet, her thoughts turned inward, when Caroline caught the shift in the air.

The woman emerged from the treeline as if the dusk itself had shaped her. The clearing stirred at her presence; leaves rustled without wind, the pond rippled though no stone had touched it. Her voice carried, soft yet commanding, like branches creaking in an unseen storm.

“You have tended the flame,” she said. “Now the forest will test truth.”

Elena straightened, drawn from her haze. Caroline heard the sound then—a soft rushing behind her—and turned just in time to see the pond rise. Water lifted unnaturally, rising higher, curling like a living tide that moved toward them.

“Elena…” Caroline whispered, but before either could move, the water shimmered, hardening midair. Its surface smoothed, gleaming like polished glass until it stilled into a perfect mirror.

Elena gasped as her reflection moved—out of sync. It reached forward, seized her hand, and yanked. Elena’s scream tore the clearing as she was pulled inside. She struck the mirror’s surface from within, her fists pounding against the glassy prison, eyes wide with panic.

“ELENA!” Caroline lunged forward, but the mirror shivered violently. In the next breath, it split into five, shards floating into a star-shaped circle around her. Each one held Elena’s face—identical, terrified, pounding against the surface in perfect mimicry.

Caroline’s pulse thundered. “No, no, no—Elena!” She pressed her palms against the nearest mirror. Cold bit her skin. On the other side, the reflection’s lips shaped her name in silent desperation.

Caroline whirled toward the woman, fury lacing her voice. “What did you do to her?”

The red-haired woman lifted her hand, expression calm but unreadable. “The task is twofold. One must break free. The other must discern the truth. Only then will the forest release her.”

Inside the mirrors, Elena slammed her fists again, her voice muffled, distorted. “Caroline! I can’t—it won’t break!”

The other four Elenas mirrored her words and movements perfectly, indistinguishable in their panic.

Caroline’s heart clenched, helplessness twisting tight in her chest.

“The mirror will not break with force,” the woman intoned. “It will only yield to will.”

Stefan came downstairs after changing, the sound of his footsteps muffled against the old wooden floor. At the bar, Damon sat slouched with a glass in hand, half-empty bottles scattered like forgotten sentries. His eyes were bloodshot, his smirk gone, replaced by something sharper—anger, grief, exhaustion.

“Damon,” Stefan said quietly, “how are you holding up? I know… everything’s gone wrong this week.”

Damon gave a bitter laugh, more a growl than humor. “How do you think I am, Stefan? First, we’re chasing after Ric’s psychotic alter-ego and a missing white oak stake that he stashed God knows where. Then there’s the sire line question hanging over all of us. And now—forget the sire line—we’ve lost Elena to some spell no one understands, Caroline with her, and oh, let’s not forget the brand-new witch who apparently makes Bonnie look like she’s still reading ‘Witchcraft for Dummies.’” He slammed the glass down on the counter, amber liquid sloshing. “So tell me again, brother—how do you think I am?”

Stefan sighed, the weight pressing on his shoulders just as heavily. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

For a moment, silence stretched, broken only by Damon refilling his glass. Then he asked, softer but edged with something sharp: “How’s Ric? And how are you handling his little evil alter-ego problem?”

Stefan hesitated, then leaned against the bar. “Ric doesn’t know where the white oak stake is, but he’s sure his alter-ego does. He told me… the only way to force it out is to push himself to the edge. Near death.”

Damon’s eyes flicked up, incredulous. “Near death. Brilliant. So where is he then? Because I’ve been a little busy dealing with everything else—don’t tell me he’s out there on a killing spree.”

“No,” Stefan said firmly. “He asked me to lock him up. He’s in the cellar. Controlled environment. I’ve been pushing him—psychological torture, physical too when necessary. It’s ugly, but at least this way, if his alter-ego surfaces, he’s not free to wreak havoc on the town.”

Damon’s jaw clenched as he downed the rest of his drink. “I really hope you both know what the hell you’re doing.” His eyes narrowed. “Is Klaus still breathing down our necks about the stake?”

Stefan shook his head slightly. “He gave us a week. Said if we didn’t find it, he’d ‘handle things his way.’ But with Elena and Caroline missing, I don’t think the stake’s his top priority anymore—at least for now. That won’t last. Klaus will still want it, and soon.”

Stefan straightened, already turning toward the door.

“And where exactly are you going?” Damon called after him, his voice laced with suspicion.

Stefan glanced back, expression tight. “I can’t solve the witch, or Elena, or Caroline. But Ric? That, at least, I can face. So that’s where I’m going.”

And without waiting for an answer, Stefan left, the door closing behind him, leaving Damon alone with his glass and his spiraling thoughts.

Caroline forced herself to breathe, her pulse racing in her throat. Five mirrors, five Elenas—each pounding, each crying, each begging with identical voices that clawed at her heart. Her eyes darted between them, searching for something, anything that would tell her which one was real.

Come on, Caroline. Think. Think.

Her gaze sharpened as she studied them: the subtle tilt of their heads, the way their shoulders hunched, the flicker of panic in their eyes. They were perfect copies—too perfect. That was the trick.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos, low and mocking, not belonging to any one reflection but reverberating through them all.
“Really, Caroline? After all these years, and you still can’t tell the difference between me and Elena?”

Her blood went cold. Katherine. The memory of her smirk, her poisonous charm, the way she wore Elena’s face like a mask—Caroline had seen it before. Felt it. And Bonnie had too. They had always been able to tell, eventually. Not by the face. Not by the voice. But by the soul.

Caroline closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. Elena isn’t just desperation or panic. She’s compassion. Always worrying about everyone else, even when she’s breaking inside.

Her gaze swept across the mirrors again. All five Elenas clawed at the glass, their eyes wide with pleading. But one—just one—was different. While the others begged to be freed, this Elena’s gaze flicked not at herself, but at Caroline. Her eyes were wide with fear, not just for herself, but for her friend.

Caroline’s heart clenched. She pressed her palm firmly to that mirror. “This one. You’re my Elena.”

The woman’s voice carried across the clearing, sharp as wind through branches. “Be very sure. Choose wrong, and you may never see her again.”

Caroline’s chin lifted stubbornly, jaw set. “No. This is Elena. I know her.”

Her words hung in the air, defiant, unwavering.

Klaus pushed open the library doors, his footsteps heavy, his temper already simmering. His eyes swept the room until they landed on Kol, hunched over a spread of grimoires and scattered parchments.

“Kol,” Klaus said, his tone clipped. “How’s the spell coming along?”

Kol didn’t look up immediately, quill scratching across parchment as he muttered. “The spell the Bennett witch performed today was one of the strongest tracings I’ve encountered. It should have worked flawlessly. I’m reviewing the structure now, trying to see why it failed.”

Klaus exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. “Oh, perfect. Just perfect. Another dead end.” His voice rose as he began pacing, his rant spilling out like a dam breaking. “We’ve no idea where the white oak stake is. The history teacher with the charming little homicidal alter-ego won’t admit a thing. The doppelgänger is missing. My supply of her blood is dwindling. Esther is still at large. A new witch is meddling under our noses. And my hybrids—my hybrids are utterly useless at tracking.”

Rebekah entered quietly but froze at his words, brows knitting as she took in her brother’s fury. Crossing the room, she spoke softly, but firmly. “Nik, please. Calm down. We’ll find the doppelgänger, and the white oak stake as well. That little ragtag group of Elena’s won’t be able to use it—they’re still too tangled in sire bonds and guilt. And now, with both Elena and Caroline missing, they’ll be consumed with finding them. Killing us will be the last thing on their minds.”

Klaus turned sharply to her, anger glinting in his eyes. “And what if they use this opportunity to hide the stake? What then? They may not know where she is, but they don’t need her to bury a weapon.” His jaw tightened, the words turning bitter. “Perhaps I should have taken the doppelgänger when I had the chance. Left to her own devices, she’s become a liability. And now? Now we have some new witch prowling the shadows—unless, of course, it’s not new at all. Unless it’s our dear mother, still scheming to end me by stealing away what’s mine.”

The last words came out low, venomous.

Rebekah’s expression softened. She stepped closer, her voice quiet but insistent. “Nik… talk to Elijah. He may have an idea, a plan we haven’t seen. He always does.”

For a moment, Klaus said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the effort of restraint. Then he turned away, his silence more telling than his rage.

The women lifted her hand. The mirrors shifted, gliding across the air like shards of moonlight until only one remained containing Elena. Then, with a ripple, the glass stretched and folded inward, forming a cage around her.

Inside, Elena sagged against the walls, her breath fogging the smooth surface. She struck the mirror again and again with her fists, but it didn’t so much as tremble. Her pulse raced. Her fear grew. Around her, four false Elenas pressed their palms to their prisons in perfect mimicry, taunting her with flawless imitation.

The woman’s earlier words echoed in her head: The mirror will not break with force. You must break it with will.

But Elena’s will faltered.

One reflection tilted her head, lips curling in a cruel smile as the glass shimmered. “Look at you. Always pretending you’re different. Special. But you’re not, are you? You’re nothing but a copy. A face printed again and again.”

Elena’s stomach clenched, and she pressed her palms to the mirror. “I’m not them.”

“Oh, but you are,” the reflection purred. “Same blood. Same curse. You were never the first—you were never original. Katherine carved out her power. Tatia had a story worth remembering. And you? You’re just the placeholder. Disposable. Even the boy you love… he loved another face before yours. You’re not chosen—you’re recycled.”

Elena’s breath hitched, her throat tight. The words clawed at her insecurities, ripping open wounds she had never dared to name. Her gaze darted from one mirror to the next, her panic rising as Katherine’s mocking smirk flickered in one of the faces. Shadows whispered in her own voice, pressing closer, louder.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispered, pressing her hands to her head.

Outside the cage, Caroline slammed her fists against the barrier, her voice cutting sharp through the suffocating whispers. “Elena! Look at me—don’t listen to them!”

But Elena only saw herself reflected back—four faces, four sneers, four voices dripping with venom.

The women’s voice drifted through the clearing, low and resonant like wind through hollow trees. “The mirror reveals what lies beneath. Fractures. Masks. You will not pass until you face them.”

Caroline whirled on her, fury flashing. “This is insane! She’s not Katherine, she’s not any of them—she’s Elena!”

Elena’s chest heaved as the reflections pressed in closer, their whispers sharpening into a chorus. Copy. Replaceable. Disposable.

“Hey!” Caroline’s voice snapped through the storm. She pressed her palms hard against the glass, her eyes locked only on Elena—her Elena—not the illusions. “Don’t you dare listen to them.”

Elena’s tear-filled eyes flicked toward her, trembling. “But… she’s right, Care. I’m just—”

“No.” Caroline’s voice dropped, soft but unbreakable. Fierce with conviction. “No. You’re not Katherine. You’re not Tatia. You’re not anyone’s shadow. You’re Elena Gilbert. The girl who fights even when she’s terrified. The girl who drags everyone back from the brink because you refuse to let them give up. You’re the one who pulled me through when I wanted to shut down after my dad. You’re the one who stayed, even when it hurt.

“Katherine runs. She leaves destruction and doesn’t look back. She plays with people’s lives and laughs when they burn. That’s not you, Elena. That has never been you.”

Caroline’s words cut clean through the suffocating whispers. For the first time, Elena stilled.

The mirror Elenas hissed, their faces warping, but Caroline’s voice rang stronger, unwavering.

“Remember when it was us—me, Bonnie, Jeremy, Stefan? We always knew who was Katherine and who was you. Instantly. Because you’re not just a face, Elena. You’re you. You care even when it hurts. You love even when it’s hard. You make people feel like they matter, even when you don’t believe you do. Katherine could never be that. Ever.”

Tears welled hot in Elena’s eyes as Caroline pressed on, her voice breaking but fierce.

“You’re unique. You’re lovable. You’re better. Your face doesn’t matter—it never did. Your heart does. That’s why you’re our friend. That’s why you’re mine. And no mirror, no curse, no doppelgänger legacy gets to tell you otherwise.”

The reflections faltered, their whispers dimming. Elena straightened, her trembling easing as certainty began to settle where fear had been.

Her voice steadied to a whisper. “I’m not Katherine. I’m not just a copy. I’m Elena Gilbert. And I am real.”

A crack shot through the mirror like a bolt of lightning. Elena pressed her hand harder, and the glass shattered outward in a cascade of silver shards. She stumbled forward—straight into Caroline’s arms.

Caroline caught her tight, breathless with relief. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Elena clung to her, still shaking. “I thought I’d be stuck there forever.”

Caroline pulled back just enough to grin faintly, brushing away a tear from Elena’s cheek. “Please. Like I wouldn’t find you out of a hundred copies.”

The Dryad stepped forward, silent until now. Her expression was unreadable, but in her eyes glimmered approval. With a sweep of her hand, the shattered mirrors melted into the earth, replaced by a low table woven of roots and leaves. Upon it lay a simple offering—fruits, nuts, and bowls of clear water.

“You have passed,” the Dryad said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. “You faced shadow and truth alike. Now you may sit at my table. Eat. And then… you may ask your question.”

Exhaustion and relief washed over them. Elena and Caroline exchanged a long, wordless look—fear, pride, and gratitude braided together. Then, hand in hand, they sat across from the ancient guardian of the forest, ready at last for answers.

Chapter Text

Elena and Caroline sat with the red-haired woman in the forest clearing, the twilight glow softening the edges of the trees. The air smelled faintly of moss and river water, and though the setting was serene, both girls kept their guard up.

They followed the same ritual as before—Caroline carefully checked the food laid out before allowing Elena to take a bite. This time, though, Caroline joined her, nibbling lightly at the offerings.

The woman’s sharp eyes caught the detail. “I see you’ve chosen to dine with us. But you don’t need food to sustain.”

Caroline gave a small shrug, her tone casual but edged. “No, I don’t need food to live. But I still like to have some. It’s a preference.”

Elena glanced at her friend with a faint smile before turning back to their host. “We never got a chance to introduce ourselves. I’m Elena Gilbert, and this is my friend Caroline Forbes. And you are…?”

The red-haired woman regarded them steadily, then answered, “I am Willow, and this is my family’s forest.”

Both girls softened a little at her words. Elena smiled politely. “It’s nice to finally be introduced, Willow. Can you tell us where we are?”

Willow tilted her head, her expression almost wistful. “You are near the Forest of Aelwyr.”

Caroline frowned. “Forest of Aelwyr? Where’s that?”

“The name comes from the river that runs nearby,” Willow explained. “The River Aelwyr.”

Elena blinked. “This is the first time I’m hearing of a river named Aelwyr.”

Willow’s lips curved into a sad smile. “That’s because you are both a very long way from your home.”

Caroline’s head snapped up, alarm flashing in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Willow’s gaze lingered on them, her voice soft yet unwavering.
“I hadn’t expected the threads of nature to weave this way, but they pressed me to see it through. And now you are here—not merely far from home, but far from your own time.”

The cellar was damp and musky, the dim light casting long shadows against the stone walls. Stefan descended the steps quietly, his gaze settling on Alaric slumped inside the barred cell. Dried blood streaked Ric’s face, his exhaustion etched deep into every line.

“Hey, Ric,” Stefan said, sliding a bottle of water through the bars. “How are you holding up?”

Alaric took it with a tired hand, voice rough. “Still me, Stefan. Still no clue where the bloody stake is. It’s like my alter-ego’s gone on vacation—he won’t surface, won’t talk, nothing.”

Stefan exhaled, leaning against the bars. “Have you tried… I don’t know, meditation? Some way of reaching him from the inside?”

Ric gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “What fantasy show have you been watching? It’s not that simple. This isn’t some mystical séance—it’s a split personality. There’s no sitting cross-legged until evil-me decides to have a chat.”

Stefan’s jaw tightened. “There has to be something. Some way to get through.”

Ric shook his head. “There isn’t. And I still don’t know where the stake is.” He studied Stefan carefully, frowning. “You look tense. You haven’t been down here in days. I heard the commotion upstairs this morning—what’s going on?”

Stefan dragged a hand down his face, weariness pressing hard at the edges. “It’s fine, Ric. Everything’s under control. We’ll figure it out. You just need to remember where that stake is—so Klaus gets off our backs.”

Ric’s eyes narrowed; he clearly didn’t buy it. But his voice softened anyway. “If I could put it in your hands, I would. But Stefan—if something’s wrong, if I can help—”

“No,” Stefan cut in sharply. His tone wavered just enough to betray the weight pressing down on him. “You just focus on the stake.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Then Stefan sighed, almost a whisper: “I’m sorry.”

Before Alaric could respond, Stefan blurred forward—his hand snapping Ric’s neck in one clean motion. Ric crumpled to the ground, lifeless once more, leaving Stefan standing in the dim light, guilt etched into the hard set of his face.

“What do you mean, not in our time?” Elena exclaimed, her voice sharp with alarm as she turned to Caroline, whose wide eyes mirrored her own unease.

Caroline steadied herself, her tone edged but controlled. “And how do you even know that?”

Willow’s gaze was calm, her words measured. “The forest told me of your arrival. Nature has been waiting for you.”

Caroline frowned. “What do you mean? Who are you? How do you control the forest like this?”

The women's eyes shifted to the pond, where the night sky shimmered in the reflection of its still waters. “I was once a priestess of this land, sworn to guard the balance of earth, water, and sky. When outsiders came to exploit its heart, we asked nature for aid—and we were changed. We became what you see before you. Those who know us call us Dryads.”

Caroline blinked. “Dryads—as in tree spirits?”

Elena, still rattled but curious, added, “In mythology they live inside trees—especially oaks. They’re guardians of the forest, usually depicted as women bound to nature itself.”

Willow tilted her head thoughtfully. “I do not know the myths you speak of. But yes, in essence, I am the protector of this forest.”

Elena crossed her arms, suspicion cutting through her awe. “If we’re… back in time, then how are you speaking our language?”

At that, Willow’s lips curved into a faint smile. “The night I bound you with vines, I borrowed your tongue, Elena Gilbert”

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Borrowed her what?”

“I took the knowledge of your language from her mind,” Willow clarified.

Elena stiffened, eyes wide. “You took English from my head? How—”

“It is a gift,” Willow interrupted gently. “One given to us by nature. But rest assured, I did not touch your memories. Only your words.”

Elena swallowed hard, unsettled.

“How do we get home?” Caroline pressed, her voice tight.

Willow’s expression turned somber. “I’m afraid the only way back to your time is the way everyone else reaches it—by living it.”

Elena’s brow furrowed. “What? What do you mean, living it? How far back are we?”

Willow’s gaze drifted to the rippling pond. “You stand at the edge of a time when your kind—vampires—do not yet exist. Or perhaps at the cusp of their creation.”

Elena and Caroline both stiffened, unease growing.

Willow spoke again, her tone patient but firm:
“You must understand. You have come back into the past. From the perspective of the time you left behind, this age had always existed—it was part of your history. But from where you stand now, that future you came from does not yet exist.”

Caroline shook her head, frustrated. “What do you mean it doesn’t exist? We lived it—it has to.”

Willow sighed softly. “The past is now your present. The future you remember doesn’t exist here, not yet, because it is not needed for this present to be. In your time, you could travel back into this age because it was already written into your history. But from this moment in the past, the future hasn’t been written. It cannot be traveled to, because, from the timeline’s perspective, it has not yet come to pass.”

Elena and Caroline exchanged a long, uneasy look, shaken by the weight of her words.

The words sank heavy into the silence.

Caroline crossed her arms tightly, her voice sharp. “And how do we know you’re not lying to us?”

Willow’s gaze hardened, her tone firm. “Because, child, if you were not meant to be here, you would not be. If you were an intrusion, the forest would never have allowed you to pass my tests. You would already be dead.”

She turned to Caroline, her eyes narrowing. “You, vampire, are wrong for this age. You should not exist here. And yet, you do. Nature must have willed it—or you would not have survived a single night.”

Caroline shifted uncomfortably at the weight of her words.

Willow continued, her voice solemn. “You will remain here until I decide it is safe for you to leave. When the time comes, I will take you to your blood, Elena Gilbert.”

Elena frowned. “My blood?”

“Yes,” Willow said. “Your line has always been here. I will take you to your family. But not yet. First, you must learn the way of this time.”

Then her gaze moved to Caroline, sharp as a blade. “But you, Caroline Forbes… you are dangerous here. Vampires have not yet been born. The earth is not ready for you. Could you survive only on your friend’s blood until your kind comes into existence?”

Caroline’s breath caught, her voice low and uneasy. “That’s impossible. Feeding only from Elena would drain her, weaken her. And if I starve—if I lose control—it won’t just be hunger. I’ll be dangerous. I’ll be lost to bloodlust.”

Willow regarded her with unflinching calm. Then she nodded once. “It is all right. Nature will show a path.”

Stefan stepped into the living room, ready to head to Bonnie’s place to check on her. His eyes fell on Damon, still slouched at the bar, glass in hand, nursing what looked less like a drink and more like his own disappointment.

Stefan paused, giving him a look of quiet disapproval. Damon caught it, forced a grin, but it faltered almost instantly — the mask slipping just enough to reveal the frustration and helplessness gnawing at him.

Then Stefan’s mind flashed back to Klaus’s words from earlier, the ones Damon had brushed off. Opportunistic. Meddler. Stefan hadn’t understood at the time, but Damon clearly had.

“Hey,” Stefan said slowly, studying his brother. “What did Klaus mean about you being opportunistic? About meddling with Elena?”

Damon looked up, expression shuttering in an instant. “I don’t know… what he meant. He’s Klaus. His brain works crazy.”

But Stefan knew his brother too well. That deflection — the way Damon wouldn’t meet his eyes — it was a tell. He was hiding something. Stefan’s jaw tightened as the thought crossed his mind: I’ll have to ask Elena myself when she gets back.

Without another word, he shook his head and left.

At the bar, Damon exhaled sharply, the tension draining from his shoulders. Relief flickered for a moment, but it left him looking more lost than defiant, staring into the empty glass as if it held answers he’d never find.

Chapter Text

“Do you believe her?” Caroline asked as she and Elena knelt by the river, filling their wooden buckets. Their reflections rippled in the water, distorted by the current. Both wore the garments Willow had woven for them — not fabric as they knew it, but nature itself transformed. Caroline’s dress was crafted from pressed flower petals and silken moss, strengthened by Dryad magic so they never wilted or tore. Elena’s was softer, woven from flax-like grasses and bark fibers, enchanted until the weave felt smooth and breathable.

“Believe her about what?” Elena asked, glancing up.

Caroline kept her gaze fixed on the river’s flow. “All of this. That we’ve actually traveled back in time—so far back that vampires don’t even exist yet? That there’s no way to return to the future? It sounds… absurd. We could die in a dozen ways before we ever make it to our own time. And the Mikaelsons—” she scoffed, “they’ve been vampires for a thousand years.”

Elena looked at Caroline, her mind drifting back over the past few weeks — the endless spell tweaks, the failure of the ritual, and the fact that it had been her blood that caused it all to unravel. Her blood — it always came down to that. It was the reason everything went wrong, wasn’t it? And now, here they were, thrown into the past by a mistake that began with her. But then there was the test. The mirror. The one she hadn't expected to need… but it had helped her in a way she hadn’t realized she’d needed. Before that, she’d always been afraid—she had carried the weight of looking like someone else, of being confused with Katherine — the manipulator, the survivor who left nothing but ruin behind. She had spent so long trying not to be her that somewhere along the way, she had stopped being Elena Gilbert.

But that mirror had reminded her of something she had forgotten. Maybe her face was a copy — a repeated version in a long, cursed line. But that’s all it was. A face. Everything else — her choices, her compassion, her heart, her mistakes — that was hers. That was Elena Gilbert. And maybe that’s what mattered more than anything else.

She remembered reading once that you had to show yourself the same compassion you offered others. And only now, after everything, she understood what that meant.

“I don’t know, Care,” she said finally. “she’s a Dryad. She could have killed us if she wanted to, but she didn’t. She’s the protector of this forest. Remember what Bonnie always said? Every myth is rooted in truth. And besides…” she gave a faint smile, “in the last few days all she’s taught us is survival—how to cook with open hearths, how to use herbs, how to brew ale, bake bread, smoke fish and meat, even care for animals. It’s like she’s training us to live in the Viking age.”

Caroline let out a short laugh as they started back with the water. “You’re right. And honestly, I’ve enjoyed her combat lessons. I’ve been a vampire for so long, but I never really thought to learn how to fight properly. And now? I love it. What was it she called those warrior women?”

“Shieldmaidens,” Elena answered, amused.

Caroline grinned, bumping Elena with her shoulder. “Exactly. Isn’t it fascinating? I always thought Vikings were just raiders—violent men who pillaged villages and stole women. But Willow’s been showing us something else. Viking women had rights: they could divorce, inherit land, manage farms. They had power. That’s more than most women had even centuries later.

Elena’s smile softened as she listened. “Yeah, it’s incredible. When Elijah first told me he was from a Viking village, I was shocked—he never struck me as one. But maybe that’s because we only ever learned the bloody side of their history. Living here… it feels different.”

They crested the rise where their hut stood, tucked low among the trees. Built with their own hands under Willow’s guidance, it was simple yet sturdy. The roof was layered with cut turf and straw, slanting to shed rain. Thick timber walls were sealed with clay and moss, giving it an earthen solidity. A single doorway, draped with stitched hide, served as the entrance. Just outside, a fire pit was ringed with stones, a blackened pot hanging over it.

The interior was plain but purposeful: one shared room for sleeping and storage, and a small kitchen corner to prepare meals. The stove itself was outside, a clever design to keep smoke from choking the house. From where they stood now, the little hut looked almost humble, yet it promised shelter from storms and warmth against the cold nights—a home, however temporary.

“You’re back as well, good,” Willow said, returning with baskets of plucked fruits and nuts. She set them down and added, “Let’s start preparing dinner, then.”

Elena and Caroline put down the water and began working, Willow watching over them as they cooked. “Over the past few days,” Willow said, “I have taught you both Household and Domestic Skills—everything you’ll need to survive in this time—as well as Agriculture, Animal Care, and Social and Cultural knowledge. Now I would like to teach you Craft and Trade Skills, which will help you earn a living.”

Elena looked up from preparing the meat. “Craft and trade skills? What do you mean?”

“You’ll need to know basic basket-making, pottery, and woodworking for everyday tools. You’ll also need to understand weighing silver for barter, mending sails and ropes, and perhaps even rowing,” Willow explained, watching Caroline start the stove and place a pot of broth over it.

“Why skills related to ships?” Caroline asked.

Willow glanced at her. “Many of the settlers here came from distant lands beyond the Norðrvegr haf. Sailing is part of their life.”

Elena, now kneading dough for bread, tilted her head. “Norðrvegr haf?”

“It’s what you would call a sea in the northern direction,” Willow replied.

“You mean the North Atlantic Ocean,” Elena said, remembering what Elijah and Rebekah had mentioned about being born in Europe before coming here. Willow nodded.

Continuing, she said, “Caroline, I know you have begun to carve blood. I have consulted with the spirits of nature, and we may have a solution for you.”

Caroline looked up from her cooking. “How? I need blood to survive.”

Willow smiled. “With the assistance of the spirits, I will craft a bowl for you. One drop of willingly given blood, placed inside, will be potent enough to keep your thirst at bay. But be warned: drinking from it will cost you most of your vampiric advantages—you’ll lose speed, healing, and strength.”

Caroline considered this, then asked, “Can I have the night to think about it?”

Willow nodded.

Dinner was served, and they ate while Willow regaled them with stories of Vikings, their myths, and gods, so they would understand the world they were about to live in.

Klaus called Elijah for what felt like the hundredth time, listening to the ring fade into silence once more. Elijah had left Mystic Falls the night their mother tried to kill them all, and though he had kept in touch afterward—he had even sent Kol to fetch Elijah’s blood for the unlinking spell—everything had gone quiet after Finn’s death.

Klaus could understand why. Out of all his siblings, it was Elijah he had always been closest to. Rebekah might have been at his side through the centuries, Kol might have offered chaos and laughter, but it was Elijah who had understood him—who had anchored him. And now, he was simply… gone.

He knew his younger siblings were giving him space in their own ways. Kol hadn’t left after the unlinking, even though it was in his nature to wander. Rebekah lingered too, though anger simmered beneath her grief. They all understood—without Elijah here, Klaus needed them close, or else Mystic Falls would drown in blood.

Most people in town believed the Mikaelsons had never truly cared for Finn, that he was forgotten, cast aside. But how wrong they were. Finn was their big brother. Even if Elijah had long carried the mantle of protector, in their eyes, Finn had always held that place. Yes, he’d been daggered for centuries. But, he had been fragile—suicidal, weighed down by guilt. Daggering him had been their only way of saving him from himself. Back then, there were no words for depression, no treatments or understanding. Daggering had been their desperate way of holding onto him, of keeping him alive.

And when Finn was finally un-daggered… perhaps, in some fragile corner of their hearts, they had all hoped he could be helped. That he could find something in this new century that might heal him. But that hope had been nothing more than wistful imagination.

Klaus remembered the way Finn had looked after they first turned—guilty every time he drank blood, ashamed after every haze, treating his life as endless penance. He had loved the nature’s magic, longed for the feel of the same beneath his feet. Always clinging to something pure, as though it might absolve him. That was why Klaus hadn’t avenged him. Finn would never have wanted blood spilled in his name. Perhaps he was resigned to his own death, but Klaus refused to believe Finn had known that all the vampires in his bloodline would go with him. His brother would never have accepted that.

But that was the curse of being a vampire—they never changed. Rebekah was still the girl she had been a thousand years ago, yearning for love and freedom. Kol was still the restless boy, frustrated at losing his magic and place in nature. Elijah remained the noble protector, the unshakable elder brother. And Klaus? Klaus was still the insecure one, terrified of being left behind, desperate to hold his family together by any means.

They were the same as they had always been—just cursed to feel everything more intensely.

With a frustrated sigh, Klaus ended the call. Elijah wasn’t going to answer. Maybe it was time to reach out the way they used to. Pulling out his phone, Klaus sent a message to Stefan and Damon, summoning their ragtag band of allies, and another to Kol and Rebekah.

Meet at the mansion this evening, he wrote.

He set the phone down and looked out over Mystic Falls, the shadows of evening stretching long across the town. The threads of chaos were everywhere: Finn’s death, the missing doppelgänger, the elusive white oak stake, and a new, powerful witch stirring in the background. But for the first time since everything had fallen apart, Klaus felt the familiar surge of control.

Tonight, I take charge. And anyone who stands in the way—well… they’ll learn quickly whose hand holds the leash.

Chapter Text

“Welcome,” Klaus greeted as they entered the Mikaelson mansion.

Stefan’s eyes flicked around the grand room, contemplative. He had no idea what had prompted Klaus to summon them all, but he knew the tensions between the Originals ran deep. Elena and Caroline’s disappearance had only poured fuel on the fire—and dragged everyone else into it.

He’d come with Tyler and Matt, while Damon had gone to fetch Bonnie. Klaus lounged on his couch with Rebekah and Kol flanking him, the three of them sitting with the casual authority of royalty.

“Come in, help yourselves to a drink,” Klaus said smoothly, nodding to the bar where two help stood waiting.

“No thanks,” Stefan answered sharply. “Why have you called us?”

Klaus’ expression darkened. “Ripper, I want a productive meeting. I don’t care if you’re whole or bleeding out—I expect cooperation.”

Kol smirked, pushing off the couch. In a blur of speed, he grabbed Matt by the throat and lifted him clean off the ground.

“Salvatore,” Kol sneered, tightening his grip as Matt choked and flailed, “you need to learn. We don’t ask. We are cleaning up your pathetic little messes, and you’d better start showing gratitude—and respect.”

He slammed Matt onto the floor like he weighed nothing, then strolled back toward the couch. Klaus and Rebekah didn’t intervene; they only smirked at the display.

“You see,” Klaus gestured almost lazily. “Hoping for even a spark of intelligence from you lot is proving… useless. From now on, we take charge.”

Stefan froze, glancing between Tyler, Matt, and the door—where Damon had just entered with Bonnie.

“What do you mean take charge?” Damon demanded.

“It means,” Klaus said, his voice smooth and dangerous, “you baby vampires have been running wild long enough. We allowed it because it amused us. But now? You’ve crossed into creating problems for us.” His gaze swept over Damon, then Stefan. “And that, we do not tolerate.”

Damon crossed his arms, defiance flashing in his eyes. “So what—you give orders, and we fetch?”

Klaus smirked. Essentially, yes. You’re entertaining, Damon—but amusement won’t save you when I decide the game is over.”

Damon shot him a mocking grin. “Don’t think so.”

Before the words could settle, Rebekah blurred across the room. She seized Damon by the hair, slammed him against the wall, and held him there like a rag doll.

“You bore me,” she said coldly. “Whatever alpha-male act you’re clinging to—it ends here. Obey, or we’ll wipe you out and tidy the mess without you.”

She let Damon drop with a thud, then stepped in front of Stefan, eyes narrowed. “You’re not stupid. So listen carefully: do as my brother commands… or you’ll be a brother short.”

Kol chuckled darkly from the couch. “Nik, I still say we follow my original idea. Kill them all, then handle the mess at our leisure.”

Klaus’ lips curled into a smile. “Patience, brother. Let’s give them one last chance. If they refuse…” He tilted his head toward Kol. “Then it’s dealer’s choice.”

Kol’s grin turned vicious as his eyes lingered on the Salvatores’ group.

Caroline wandered aimlessly, her mind replaying Willow’s offer from last night. She knew she couldn’t survive on Elena’s blood alone, and she couldn’t go without blood either. Stefan’s “bunny diet” had never worked for her. Willow’s solution seemed perfect—yet something about it unsettled her, something she couldn’t quite put into words.

Her thoughts drifted further back, to when she was human, when the supernatural had only just torn its way into their lives. To when she was dating Damon. The memory sent a shiver down her spine. She had never told anyone what happened during that time. Not Elena. Not Bonnie. No one.

When she had first turned into a vampire, she was furious with them for not noticing, for not protecting her. But then she learned about Bonnie’s Grams, about what really happened, about everything her friends had been fighting in the shadows. And she couldn’t hold onto that anger anymore. She knew the feeling all too well—trying to keep your head above water while the waves kept pulling you under, pretending you were fine so no one else drowned with you. Maybe that’s why she stayed silent. Because if she told them, it might break them. Elena and Bonnie would blame themselves forever, and then they’d kill the Salvatores or drive them away. And as much as she hated to admit it, right now the Salvatores were… useful.

Maybe one day, when this was all over—when they didn’t need the Salvatores anymore—she’d tell Elena and Bonnie the truth. And then? Goodbye, Salvatore.

It wasn’t that she hated Stefan. But honestly—did he really not know what Damon had been doing to her? They were brothers. Of course he knew. Just like she knew Bonnie and Elena better than anyone, and Elena knew Jeremy. Still, for now, she’d play the part of “Team Stellena.” Anything to keep Elena away from Damon.

“I need more information before I agree,” Caroline muttered to herself, before heading to find Willow.

She followed the familiar path to the valley of flowers, where she knew Willow would be at this hour.

“Good morning, Caroline,” Willow greeted warmly, surrounded by blossoms.

“Morning,” Caroline replied, settling beside her. “I was hoping we could talk more.”

“Of course,” Willow said with a smile. “Ask, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Caroline took a breath. “First—I want to know how you’ll make the bowl.”

Willow’s smile deepened. “I’ll use the elements themselves. You’ll bring me clay from the riverbank—it represents the earth’s foundation. Water will be mixed in, for flow and adaptability. Then, I’ll need a drop of your blood… and a drop willingly given from a human whose blood you can consume. That binds life to the vessel. It will tie the bowl to you, ensuring that only that human’s blood can sustain you through it. Once shaped and dried, the clay will be baked in fire, flames sealing the blood into the vessel. Finally, I’ll perform the blessing, filling it with water and a drop of blood.”

“Blessing?” Caroline asked cautiously.

Willow’s eyes softened as she began to chant:

Terra domai, aqua veyra,
Fira thalos, aeris enna.
Vessa carin, vessa bindra.
Sanguis unum, benessai dorum.
Fames calma, natura keepra.
Unum gutta, vita resta.
Soen ai naturas, soen ai verum.

Caroline blinked, confused. “And that means…?”

Willow translated, her voice low and reverent:

From earth I take, from water I bind.
From fire I temper, from air I breathe life.
Clay becomes vessel, vessel becomes bond.
With blood, I seal. With blessing, I give.
May hunger be stilled, may balance be kept.
One drop to sustain, no more, no less.
By nature’s will, so it shall be.

Caroline nodded slowly, then frowned. “So… a drop of human blood?”

Willow inclined her head. “Yes. That was the condition set by the spirits. The bowl must be bound, not left free to be misused. It will only ever work with the blood it’s tied to. No one else’s.”

Caroline hesitated. “And you expect me to use Elena’s blood? You must know she thinks it’s cursed. Dangerous. Like it brings bad luck.”

Willow didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she rose and gestured for Caroline to walk with her. Surprised, Caroline followed, their path winding through lilies and wildflowers.

“Elena needs to accept her blood and her face as a doppelgänger,” Willow said at last. “Only then will she grow into who she’s meant to be. Hiding from herself will do her no good.”

Caroline thought back to Elena after the mirror trial—stronger, more sure of herself. Willow was right.

“She’s already begun,” Willow continued softly. “Her face no longer frightens her. This ritual would help her accept her blood, too. Without that acceptance, she’ll never reach her destiny.”

“Her… destiny?” Caroline asked.

“I cannot see what the Fates have woven,” Willow admitted. “But I know this: she cannot walk her path until she stops running from herself. If you agree, the ritual will serve two purposes. You will no longer need to harm anyone to feed… and Elena will learn her blood can sustain life, not just destroy.”

Caroline was silent for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. I’m ready for the ritual.”

Willow smiled. “Good.

Klaus’s eyes swept over them, cold and calculating. “Look at the mess you’ve made: a missing doppelgänger, a missing White Oak Stake, an alternate-ego vampire hunter, and a witch running loose. Have I missed anything? Anything at all you’ve been hiding?”

They all looked down, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Very well,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “We have work to do. Bartender,” he jabbed a finger at Matt, “you’re the weakest among the lot. Your job is simple: keep your ears open. Anything unusual, anything pointing to trouble, you tell me. Understand?”

Matt nodded quickly.

Klaus turned to Damon, smirk playing on his lips. “You, Damon… endlessly irritating, And you will do nothing but irritate me until we find my doppelgänger. Your task is simple: find my doppelgänger. Nothing else. Fail, and you’ll regret it.”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “And you think I’ll just obey?”

Klaus leaned forward, eyes glinting. “You will. Because that’s what you want. Don’t forget—I’ve been in your head. I know your thought process better than anyone. So yes, you will obey.”

Damon’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

Stefan met Klaus’s gaze next. “You, Ripper, will work with my sister. Ensure the vampire hunter gives up the White Oak Stake.”

Stefan’s glance slid to Rebekah. She bared her fangs, her expression cold. Working with her won’t be pleasant, he thought, sensing the danger behind her smirk.

“And you, Tyler,” Klaus continued, voice sharp, “think you’re free because you broke the sire bond? You’re not.”

Tyler froze, shock etched on his face.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Klaus said smoothly. “I knew exactly what you’d do the moment you left Mystic Falls. But you’re useful… for now… so you’ll live. You’ll work with Damon to find my doppelgänger.”

Tyler swallowed hard and nodded.

“Witch,” Klaus said, turning to Bonnie, “you will work with my brother. Use the talisman, find the witch and track the doppelgänger, and Caroline. That is your task, nothing more.”

Bonnie’s expression was calm, but her nod betrayed acceptance.

“Good,” Klaus said, voice cutting through the room. “We are in agreement. That is all. Now run along.”

The group began to move, but Damon lingered. “And you? What will you do?”

Klaus’s gaze sharpened, almost a warning. “I do what must be done. For now, you have nothing to worry about—except failing me. Updates, daily. To me or my siblings. No exceptions.”

As they departed, Klaus turned to his siblings. “Elijah isn’t answering my calls. I’ll reach him the old-fashioned way.”

Kol and Rebekah nodded in unison. Rebekah added, “Don’t stay out too late. Return soon.”

Klaus inclined his head. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Elena had just woken up that morning and, as she had expected, Caroline was nowhere to be seen. Caroline had much on her mind, especially now that Willow had devised a potential solution for her blood thirst. Elena made her way toward the lake to train; training here reminded her of sessions with Alaric, and any connection to the present she could preserve, she cherished.

As she began stretching, a red-headed woman approached.

“Elena,” Willow greeted.

“Morning, Willow. How are you this morning? Came for an early session?” Elena asked.

Willow smiled. “Morning, Elena. I’m well. I wanted to talk to you about something.” She stepped closer, standing in front of Elena. Elena waited, curious.

“Caroline has agreed to have the bowl made, and she will use it,” Willow began.

Elena’s eyes brightened. “That’s great, Willow!” she said—but then her gaze sharpened. “That’s not what you’re here to talk to me about, is it?”

Willow nodded. “The bowl, while needing a human drop of blood to sustain Caroline, also requires a drop during its formation. Once made, only the blood given during its creation will work with it.”

Elena’s heart skipped a beat. “You need my blood, don’t you?”

Willow nodded. “Yes, Elena. And I need your willing blood. You must believe in it for the magic to take hold.” She went on to explain how the pot would be created.

“So you need my blood as well as Caroline’s so that it won’t work for anyone else?” Elena asked. Willow nodded.

“And why my blood?” Elena pressed.

Willow looked at her thoughtfully. “Because it will serve as a temporal anchor and a source of life energy. Elena, you are from a future that does not yet exist in this time, just like Caroline. Your blood carries the unique vitality of your own timeline. By using it, the spirits ensure the artifact functions safely, channeling only the life force it is meant to draw from. It also prevents misuse by anyone else, because the magic is keyed specifically to your blood."

She paused, letting her words sink in, then continued, her voice softer, “Additionally, Elena, you are the only human who can stay by Caroline’s side until you return to your future. Your blood ensures the bowl remains tied to someone present and constant, allowing Caroline to use it safely whenever she needs throughout your journey.”

Elena considered Willow’s words and nodded slowly. Willow’s expression softened. “Elena, you must not be so critical of your blood.”

Elena frowned. “What do you mean?”

Willow smiled gently. “When the time comes, we shall talk more about it.”

Willow was preparing the potter’s wheel as Caroline had brought the clay for the pot. She had already spoken with Elena about her blood, and Elena, while wary, had agreed. Now Elena stood at the corner, watching apprehensively, as Caroline placed the clay beside the wheel.

Willow turned to Caroline. “Caroline, using this artifact will suppress most of your strength, your speed, and your healing. That said, your gifts will not disappear—they’ll remain above a human’s, though less than a vampire’s. Are you certain?”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. I am sure.”

Willow inclined her head. “Good. This will not only temper your strength but also reduce your weaknesses. Your intolerance to sunlight and vervain will lessen—you’ll feel your skin burning under the sun, but it will not sear instantly. Vervain will not harm you directly, though it may cause an allergic reaction. Similarly, your compulsion will act more like a suggestion; you cannot compel as before, but your words will carry influence.”

Seeing Caroline’s steady agreement, Willow nodded toward the wheel. “We may begin.”

Caroline stepped forward, her hands steady. She lifted the mound of clay and carefully placed it on the center of the wheel, pressing it gently into position so it would stay balanced as it spun.

Willow pressed her fingers into the clay, kneading and shaping it with practiced precision. Once the clay was ready, Willow instructed Caroline to add her blood. Caroline pricked her finger, letting a drop fall onto the clay. Willow pressed the clay again, integrating it fully. Then she looked at Elena. “One drop, willingly given.” Elena stepped forward, letting a drop of her blood fall onto the clay. Willow pressed the clay once more, binding the essence into it.

With the blood incorporated, Willow began molding the clay into a bowl. Caroline’s eyes followed every movement—the kneading, the shaping, the way the clay responded to Willow’s touch, cool and pliable under her palms. Meanwhile, Elena stoked the fire in the hearth, preparing it for baking the finished pot.

When the bowl took shape, Willow waved her hand, and it dried instantly. She lifted it over the flames Elena had built. Normally, such a vessel would take days to harden in fire, but Willow whispered an incantation and the flames surged higher, wrapping around the clay. In moments, the glow deepened to a steady, earthen strength, as though years of heat and time had been pressed into it at once. The valley filled with the scent of scorched earth and something sharper—magic binding the clay together.

With another gesture, Willow summoned clear water that poured into the vessel, shimmering under the firelight. Elena stepped forward and pricked her finger, letting a single drop of blood fall into the water. As it touched, Willow raised her arms, the wind rustling the surrounding leaves, and her voice rang out with the ancient words:

“Terra domai, aqua veyra,
Fira thalos, aeris enna.
Vessa carin, vessa bindra.
Sanguis unum, benessai dorum.
Fames calma, natura keepra.
Unum gutta, vita resta.
Soen ai naturas, soen ai verum.”

The water inside the bowl shimmered, swirling with a force not its own, until the mixture of water and blood sank into the clay. A faint red glow spread across the surface, pulsing once like a heartbeat before fading into the vessel.

Lowering her hands, Willow’s voice softened, yet carried the weight of finality. She looked at the bowl and named it: “Veyra’dahl”. The name itself seemed to echo, as though the forest had heard and accepted the binding.

Caroline felt the magic hum through the bowl, vibrating faintly beneath her fingertips. The vessel pulsed, alive with the blessing. Willow’s voice softened. “The bowl is complete. It will sustain your thirst without harming others, but it must be used with respect. One drop sustains—no more, no less. Nature will enforce it. Every artifact born of true magic carries a name, and this one shall be called Veyra’dahl—the Life-Giver.”

Caroline exhaled, feeling the weight and power of the finished vessel. The afternoon sun warmed her shoulders, but it was the quiet hum of the magic in her hands that made her heart race.

Elena sat by the river, watching the water ripple in the afternoon sun. Willow had just finished a lesson on Viking society, explaining the social classes—the Jarls, Karls, and Thralls—and how they structured the community alongside witches and healers. Her lessons were intense, and Elena was grateful for Alaric’s training in self-defense; it had prepared her for Willow’s rigorous instruction.

Caroline, meanwhile, had started to show the effects of drinking from the bowl. Losing most of her vampire strength, she grew tired and injured more easily during training. Yet her determination hadn’t wavered. Elena couldn’t help but think back to what Willow had told them a few days ago.

“Hey, Willow,” Elena had said one morning as she sat beside her, watching the dryad tend to a tiny bird.

“Yes, Elena?” Willow replied, glancing up.

Elena hesitated, then asked, “You said we’re in the past, but… how will I ever get back to my present? I’ll age and die long before then, won’t I?”

Willow smiled softly. “You both are not from this time. Even though your bodies are here, you shouldn’t exist—circumstances in this period would never have led to your existence. Your bodies are anchored in time, in stasis, if you will. Your mind can grow, but your body will remain unchanged until you return to your rightful time.”

Elena’s heart sank. “But… what about dying?” she asked, thinking of her baby brother, Jeremy, who didn’t even know about the spell. The fear of never seeing him again pressed down on her.

“You won’t be able to die until you return to your own time,” Willow said gently. “You are timeless until the day you left. After that, you’ll age normally.”

“So… I’ll be eighteen for the next thousand years or so?!” Elena asked, horrified. Willow had simply nodded, a soft, reassuring expression on her face.

It had taken days for Elena to come to terms with the truth, but now she had accepted it. She understood that many vampires lived this way, and Caroline had forever to exist in this state—she just would live like this until the day she returned to her own present. Whatever it took to get back to her brother, Elena would endure.

“Are you done being lost in thought?” Caroline’s voice broke through her reverie. She sat down beside Elena, nursing her hand from their earlier sparring. “Now it’s your turn to get beaten by the Whomping Willow.”

Elena smiled at her friend, letting herself be pulled back into the present. Rising, she took Caroline’s place, ready for the day’s defense lesson. Hand-to-hand combat had become second nature, and now it was time to learn how to wield seaxes with precision.

A sharp knock at her door jolted her awake. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was far too late for any normal visitor. Her hand instinctively went to the drawer beside her bed, grabbing her gun. Heart pounding, she crept toward the living room, pausing to check the camera feed.

Her stomach twisted. Klaus Mikaelson. Right there. Banging on her door.

She froze for a moment, hiding the gun at the drawing rooms table. Aggravating him was not an option. And an irritated Klaus Mikaelson? That was practically a death sentence.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she braced herself and opened the door.

He was there. In all his imposing glory. Eyes glinting with mischief and power, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hello, love,” Klaus said, his voice low and teasing. 

Chapter Text

Klaus,” she greeted as she stepped aside to let him in. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Whiskey, love,” he replied smoothly.

She nodded and crossed to the bar, pouring two glasses—one for him, one for herself. She handed Klaus his drink and then settled at the opposite end of the couch. They sipped in silence, the air heavy but familiar. She knew better than to rush him. Klaus Mikaelson always spoke when he was ready. He always got what he wanted—and when he did, he left. That was their rhythm.

She’d learned early that survival with Klaus meant usefulness. A witch who delivered what he wanted—without questions, without foolish bargains—was too valuable to kill. As long as her principles weren’t trampled too deeply (though, truth be told, they were often bent), she endured. It had become second nature.

Finally, Klaus broke the silence, his tone deceptively casual. “Well, Ella. I need your witchy talents again.”

She smiled faintly. “What do you need me to do?”

That earned her a smirk. That was what Klaus liked most about her—always direct, always ready to deal. “Just a small one. I need to reach out to my dear brother. Elijah has been… avoiding my calls.”

Ella wasn’t surprised. Instead, she weighed the opportunity, already calculating the price. “My college tuition. Next year covered.”

Klaus’s grin widened, exactly as he’d expected. She was clever—too clever to play the martyr like her mother had. Her mother had given everything to her coven and still died for them. Ella had sworn never to make that mistake. No coven ties, no selfless sacrifices—just her own terms. These small services for Klaus had bought her quite a few thing including vacations in Europe, two houses, and a comfortable trust fund. Tuition was just another line on the list.

“Done,” Klaus said easily, leaning back. “What are you studying now?”

“Business. I want a Masters.”

“Perfect. Consider it handled.”

Ella allowed herself a small smile as she rose to gather her supplies. She passed him a slip of paper and gestured for him to write the message. He scrawled a few lines, and she prepared the spell. Moments later, the magic carried Klaus’s words to Elijah.

His phone pinged almost immediately. He read the reply, satisfied. “You, love, are a miracle worker. All the best in your studies. And remember—reach out to me if you ever find yourself in trouble.”

Ella inclined her head, already packing away the remnants of the ritual.

Klaus moved toward the door, but just before stepping out, he turned with that trademark smirk. “By the way, love, I’ll send you a proper collection of drinks tomorrow. This stuff—” he lifted the half-empty glass “—tastes like water.”

Ella’s mouth fell open in outrage, ready to snap back, but he was already gone.

It had been several weeks since they first arrived in the past, and in that time Willow had deemed them proficient enough in the Viking way of life. She had told them they were ready to move on—to live without her guidance.

The news had left Elena and Caroline quietly unsettled. In those weeks, Willow had become more than a teacher. She had been their anchor, their mentor, the steady hand guiding them through a world that was both alien and brutal. The thought of parting from her weighed heavily. But Willow had made it clear: she would not leave the forest, and they could not remain here much longer.

By next week, the whole forest and the surrounding lands would be veiled in dust, the aftermath of a violent volcanic eruption. Willow warned them the air would turn harsh, the ground unfriendly, the forest no longer a place they could endure. Elena and Caroline had lain awake that night, straining to remember any volcanic disasters from their history lessons.

It was Caroline who recalled it first. Mount Churchill, in what would one day be Alaska. It had erupted around the 8th century, scattering ash across much of America. The realization sent a chill through both of them. They had already known they were more than a thousand years in the past—but this was confirmation, sharp and undeniable. And it was terrifying.

Now Willow stood before them, her presence commanding as ever, as she began a new lesson.

“Now that you both are skilled enough to live among the Vikings,” Willow said, her voice steady, “you must understand what else roams this world besides men, werewolves, witches, and animals.”

She lifted her hand, and the earth at her feet stirred. Soil rose into the air, caught and held by the whisper of the wind. Slowly, it twisted, shaping itself into a form, a structure neither Elena nor Caroline could yet recognize.

“Well, that was terrifying,” Caroline muttered as she crouched to gather berries into her basket. “I mean, it was fine when it was just vampires, werewolves, witches, dryads, and hybrids—but now these?”

Elena gave a low laugh, though her expression was uneasy as she thought back to Willow’s lesson. “At least we already knew about spirits and ghosts.”

Caroline shot her a look, lips quirking. “Yes, but we did not know about fire-breathing, intelligent, ancient-magic-wielding dragons or gremlins that apparently exist just to wreck spells and… medieval plumbing?” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

Elena smirked, nudging Caroline with her shoulder. “You forgot the unicorns.”

For a moment, Caroline’s smile softened. Just remembering the image Willow had shown them—an ethereal creature so pure, so radiant that even its image made them feel safe and warm—was enough to calm her. But the warmth bled from her face as another memory pushed forward.

“The Wendigo,” she said quietly. Her basket stilled in her hands. “Don’t forget what she told us about them. They linger in dark forests, hidden places. And when the volcano erupts…” Caroline’s voice dropped. “The skies will be ash-dark, and they’ll have the cover they need to roam.”

Elena shivered, glancing toward the tree line. “Then we don’t have time to waste. We need to get stronger—and fast. Whatever Willow wants us to learn, we take it all in.”

Caroline nodded firmly. The two finished collecting berries in silence, their thoughts weighed down by the shadow of creatures best left in nightmares. With baskets full, they headed back toward the small house, ready to prepare dinner—and to brace for the lessons still to come.

Klaus slid back into the driver’s seat, ready to head home, when his phone rang. Elijah.

“Elijah—finally,” Klaus answered, starting the car. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to pick up a phone.”

“I hardly could, Niklaus,” Elijah replied smoothly. “You’ve been blowing it up for days. And that rather dramatic message you sent? Hard to ignore.”

Klaus smirked to himself. “Well, I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?”

A sigh echoed down the line, the kind only Elijah could manage. “Where’s the fire, brother?”

Klaus’ smile sharpened. His noble, infuriatingly calm elder brother—always so ready to swoop in, save the family, and tidy up the mess. But this time, Klaus wasn’t the one to blame.

“Not me, Elijah. The Salvatore.”

Even without seeing him, Klaus could imagine Elijah’s face tightening at the name. “And what,” Elijah said evenly, “has Damon Salvatore done now?”

Klaus let out a low chuckle. “What hasn’t he done?” he replied, and launched into the story—the missing doppelgänger, the stolen stake, the hunter, the chaos unraveling in Mystic Falls.

When he finished, Elijah’s voice carried a faint trace of amusement. “So, Niklaus, for once it isn’t you causing the fire. You’re simply cleaning up after someone else’s.”

“You’re amused?” Klaus snapped, irritation flashing.

“Can’t say I’m not,” Elijah admitted smoothly. “Though it seems rather fitting.”

Klaus gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw tense. “You’ll be returning to Mystic Falls then?”

“Not immediately,” Elijah answered. “I have business of my own to conclude. But when it is done, I’ll come.”

Klaus frowned, caught off guard by his brother’s indifference. A doppelgänger missing—and not just any, but one Elijah once called friend—and yet he sounded almost detached. Klaus’ instincts whispered otherwise. Guilt perhaps. Or something Elijah wasn’t telling him.

“You know where they are, don’t you?” Klaus pressed.

“No, Niklaus,” Elijah replied, his tone unchanged. “But I may be able to send someone to assist in my stead.”

Klaus was about to push further when he heard it—a quiet voice in the background, calling Elijah’s name.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Elijah answered softly, muffled from the receiver. Then, back to Klaus: “I’m afraid I must go. I’ll return when I can.”

The line went dead before Klaus could answer.

He stared at the screen, the silence of the car settling in around him. A sigh escaped.

So it seemed, he was left to run the circus alone.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Willow told them they would soon have to leave the forest and find shelter in the village, as the land here would become uninhabitable. What had once felt foreign and harsh had, in time, become a strange kind of home for Elena and Caroline. The towering trees, the sound of rushing water, the quiet nights under starlight—all of it had grown familiar. The thought of leaving weighed heavily on them. More than the forest, though, it was leaving Willow that cut the deepest.

“Stop making those long faces, both of you,” Willow said gently, catching the expressions on Elena’s and Caroline’s faces. She masked her own sadness, but her eyes betrayed the truth. It had been centuries since she had companions like these—people to teach, to guide, to simply talk with. She would miss them as much as they would miss her, but she could not walk their path, nor could they linger in hers. “You are not leaving today. You still have another week, perhaps a little more. Take it.”

Elena managed a small smile, and Caroline followed with a brighter one, though both were bittersweet. “It’s not like we won’t see each other again,” Willow continued softly. “Should you need me, you will find me. What I want most is for you to carry my teachings with you.”

“Of course we will,” Caroline quipped, her voice lighter than her heart. “I don’t think we’d survive without them.”

That earned a smile from Willow, though it faded as her tone grew grave. “When the volcano erupts, this entire land will be cast into darkness for months. Ash will fall like snow, storms will rage, and the skies will choke out the sun. In that darkness, the Wendigo will leave their caverns and shadowed woods to roam freely.”

Elena felt a chill pass through her, and Caroline’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“It is not in a Wendigo’s nature to show mercy,” Willow went on, her voice low, steady, almost ritualistic. “But their true horror lies not in their fangs or claws—but in their touch. A single brush from them drains the life from a human, leaving behind nothing but skin stretched over brittle bones. Do not let them touch you. While you may be bound by time and cannot die before your return, you are not spared the agony of such a fate. The suffering is real, the recovery slow… and even death will not come as a reprieve for you.”

“Should you encounter a Wendigo,” Willow warned, her tone firm and unyielding, “your first instinct must be to run. Avoid them whenever possible. Sunlight will burn them, but in the days ahead, the skies will be veiled, and the sun will be scarce. The only means you will have to incapacitate one are fire—or, if you are swift and precise, a clean decapitation. That will put them down, though only for a few hours.”

Elena and Caroline exchanged a glance, their faces hardening with resolve. Willow’s eyes lingered on them, sharp and almost motherly in their intensity. “I expect you both to carry your seaxes at all times. Never let yourselves go unarmed once you leave this forest. And more importantly, trust no one but each other. You are one another’s anchor, and without that bond, you will not survive the centuries ahead.”

Elena nodded quickly, her voice steady though her heart raced. “Of course, Willow. We’ll be careful—and we’ll stay together through this journey.”

A small, rare smile touched Willow’s lips at Elena’s words. “Good. That is all for now.” Her expression softened, but only slightly, as she turned her attention. “Elena, walk with me. There is something I wish to speak with you about.”

She gestured toward the deeper shadows of the forest, where the path wound toward the falls. Caroline’s brows rose, but before she could question, Willow added, “Caroline, Please start collecting berries. We will join you shortly, and then we can prepare dinner together.”

Caroline huffed lightly, though without protest, and shouldered her basket. “Fine, but if you’re keeping secrets, I’ll wring it out of Elena later.”

Elena gave her a small smile, then followed Willow into the forest, the sound of rushing water already faintly reaching her ears as the trees closed around them.

One month after Finn’s death, before the ritual…

It had been a month since Finn’s death, and he had gone completely out of contact with his siblings. Silence weighed heavier on him than anger ever could. He often found himself circling back, asking when it had all begun to unravel. Was it the time locked in a coffin at Klaus’s hand? Or the moment he woke, only to find the world had moved on without him? Perhaps it was when he raised that poisoned glass of champagne to his lips, sealing his fate with their mother’s betrayal.

And yet, despite everything, he still worried about Esther. She was their mother. That truth lingered like a splinter under his skin. If one path to her goal closed, she would carve another—always relentless, always willing to sacrifice for her vision. He knew she hadn’t abandoned her plan to end them; she was simply seeking another way.

So here he was, miles from his family, guilt gnawing at him like an old wound, chasing whispers and ghosts. He had gone to witches, scholars of old magic, seekers of forbidden knowledge—but none had offered answers he could cling to. Still, his mind drifted back, again and again, to one memory: a witch he had once known. Perhaps the most dedicated he had ever met. Her craft had been her life, and her devotion had struck him like a revelation. She had been the spark that once gave him courage—to confront Niklaus, to dream of gathering their fractured family under one roof again.

The creak of a door snapped him from his thoughts. He looked up, and for the first time in days, a faint smile touched his lips.

A woman stepped inside. Her dark brown hair framed her face in soft, natural waves, with rebellious strands falling across her brow. Warm, honey-toned skin caught the light, smooth and unassuming, yet alive with quiet energy. But it was her eyes that held him—large and brown, carrying a spark of curiosity, humor, and something unspoken. She moved with an easy grace, the kind born of someone entirely at ease in her own skin—approachable, yet compelling in the way she seemed to read the room with a single glance.

“Hi, Elijah,” she said, her voice light, familiar, grounding. “I hope you didn’t wait long for me.”

“What did Elijah say?” Rebekah asked the moment Klaus stepped into the mansion.

She was standing at the edge of the staircase, concern written across her face. For an instant, Klaus saw not the centuries-old Original but the little sister she had once been — fragile, hopeful, and waiting for comfort. It had been so long since he allowed himself to think back to their mortal days, when happiness still visited their family more often than sorrow.

“Elijah’s… busy. He’ll come when he can,” Klaus replied, though he could already see from the frown tugging at her lips that she didn’t believe him. Rebekah could hardly recall a time Elijah hadn’t come running to their aid, no matter the cost to himself.

“I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or worried that he’s not here,” she admitted quietly. “Relieved, because at least he’s safe and away from this mess. Worried, because if Elijah can’t come back to us, then whatever he’s facing must be… worse.”

Klaus sighed, his chest heavy. “Give him time, Rebekah. He needs it. Elijah has always sacrificed everything for this family. And now, with part of it lost forever, he’s grieving in his own way. He won’t show it to us. That’s not who he is. But he feels it. More than you know.”

Rebekah’s conflicted expression softened. She gave a small nod before turning to climb the stairs, leaving Klaus alone in the dim hall. He stood there for a long moment, before heading toward the bar to pour himself a drink, the weight of unspoken grief pressing down on him.

“Well, Damon, how do you want to start tracking Elena and Caroline?” Tyler asked as he caught up to him outside the Grill.

Damon smirked, not missing a beat. “What’s this, wolf boy? Klaus barely gives the order and you’re already wagging your tail to fetch for him? Remind me again—why did you bother breaking the sire bond?” He strolled toward his car without waiting for a reply.

“I’m not interested in taking orders from Klaus or anyone else,” Tyler shot back, irritation lacing his voice as he followed. “But we do need to find Elena and Caroline.”

“Sure, sure,” Damon drawled, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now, buckle up, wolf boy—we’re going on a road trip first.”

Tyler frowned, climbing into the passenger seat. “Road trip? To where?”

Damon revved the engine, his grin sharp and infuriating. “Aren’t you full of questions today?”

Stefan sighed and took another long swig from his glass.

“Trying to fill Damon’s shoes now that he skipped out today?” Matt asked dryly from behind the bar, arms crossed. His eyes flicked to the half-empty bottle Stefan had been steadily working through. “I know things are bad, but you’re drinking like it’s your sole purpose in life.”

The Grill was quiet in the afternoon lull, just a few scattered patrons. For the past hour, Stefan had been the one draining the shelves like Damon usually did.

“Well,” Stefan muttered gruffly, “I just came from a two-hour torture session with Ric.”

Matt blinked, shocked. “Why would you even—what?”

Stefan finally looked up, his eyes shadowed. “Rebekah was pissed. She thinks it’s the only way Ric will talk. She killed him a few times, burned him some more… and then made it clear if I didn’t help, she’d compel me to do it anyway.”

Matt frowned, sliding another drink across the counter. “And you didn’t refuse?”

“I couldn’t,” Stefan said, taking the glass. “If she compelled me, I’d lose control. This way at least… I can try to give Ric a break in between.” His voice was flat, weary.

Matt shook his head, troubled. “Don’t you drink vervain? That would stop her.”

Stefan gave a humorless laugh. “It burns, Matt. No matter how much we try, we can’t keep it in our system for long. And wearing it as jewelry?” He shook his head. “Constant pain. And eventually, it’s useless. We can’t keep it up forever.”

The conversation died as the door swung open and a couple of customers wandered in, sliding onto stools at the bar. Stefan went quiet, staring down into his drink as if the bottom of the glass held answers he’d never find.

Elena followed Willow through the trees until the sound of rushing water grew louder. The forest opened into a small clearing where a waterfall spilled into a clear pool, mist rising in the fading light.

“Come, Elena. Sit,” Willow said, gesturing toward a cluster of flat stones by the falls.

Elena lowered herself onto the cool stone, glancing around uncertainly. Willow sat beside her, folding her hands neatly in her lap before speaking.

“Elena, I have noticed something in you—your outlook toward your heritage is… steeped in negativity. Can you tell me why that is?”

“My heritage?” Elena repeated, brow furrowing.

“Your doppelgänger heritage,” Willow clarified gently, her gaze steady.

Elena’s lips pressed into a thin line. “My blood and my face have been nothing but a curse. A cause of suffering—for me, and for everyone I care about.” Her voice was cool, but there was a rawness beneath it as she turned her eyes toward the waterfall.

Willow studied her for a moment, then asked softly, “May I?”

Elena turned back, puzzled. “May you what?”

“See your memories,” Willow said calmly. “I wish to understand the weight behind your contempt—what has shaped your view of who you are.”

Elena’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. “Why?”

“Child,” Willow replied, her tone neither coaxing nor stern but calm with conviction, “I do not seek to pry into your life for curiosity’s sake. Your story is not entertainment to me. I only wish to understand why you feel this way, before I tell you more of what your heritage truly means.”

Elena hesitated, weighing her words, then finally said, “I’ll let you look—but first, I want to hear what you know about my heritage.”

Willow studied the determination on Elena’s face, and after a moment of silence, she inclined her head. “Very well.”

Chapter Text

“Long before your time, more than a thousand years ago, Elena,” Willow began, guiding her into a memory that belonged to neither of them, “there were two sect of magic—entirely different, living side by side but rarely crossing paths. The nature witches drew their power from the world around them. The Volkhvy coven drew theirs from within—their blood, their very essence. They respected a distance, rarely interfering in one another’s affairs… until Silas arrived.”

Silas was a young man of striking charm and ambition. He courted Questiya Bennett, the head of the Bennett witches and the representative of all nature witches—a woman both wise and formidable. She was everything a nature witch could hope for: strong, steady, and clever. Silas was enamored with her… or so it seemed.

During a peace treaty between the covens, Silas accompanied Questiya to the Travelers’ stronghold as her betrothed. There, he met Amara, the daughter of the Volkhvy coven’s head. She was young, spirited, and radiant—a striking contrast to Questiya’s quiet strength. And in that moment, Silas’s heart shifted.

From that day, he could not stop thinking of Amara. He wrote her letters, sent her secret gifts, and slowly, their love blossomed—a quiet, burning connection expressed in whispered notes, stolen glances, and hidden tokens exchanged across the divide.

Eventually, Silas promised Amara he would leave Questiya for her, no matter the consequences. They planned to run away during the festival of the Bennett witches—a night of light, magic, and celebration. But fate, as it often does, had other plans.

Questiya, searching for Silas that night, discovered his letters and their plan. Her heart burned with betrayal. She realized, to her shock, that Silas had taken the immortality elixirs she had prepared earlier at his behest—intended for him and herself—and fled with them. When she found the lovers, she realized they had both taken the elixirs, and in her fury, she cursed them.

Silas was frozen within the earth, trapped between life and death: tethered to the world, unable to move, unable to age, yet barred from truly living. Amara became the anchor: her spirit bound to the Other Side, forever present, aware, but never able to touch him again.

Questiya’s curse ensured they would never find one another, not even in death. If Silas died, he would pass to the Other Side; Amara was condemned to endure the agony of every supernatural who perished. Silas remained trapped, while Amara suffered eternal, lonely vigilance. Their love, though fierce, was shattered by magic and betrayal. From this tragedy came war between the Volkhvy coven and the nature witches.

“That, Elena, is why your blood is special, why the magic within you is… different,” Willow concluded. “You carry their legacy, their blood, and all the power—and peril—that comes with being a member of the Volkhvy coven.”

Elena blinked through tears, pulling back from the sudden, overwhelming surge of memory.

Elena took a deep breath and asked, “What happened after?”

Willow looked at her and said, “Both covens went to war. Given that the nature’s witches had greater numbers, they emerged victorious. Some of Silas and Amara’s followers—along with those uneasy about the presence of the true immortals, which unbalanced the natural order—found the cure Questiya had created and buried it with Silas. Then, they cast a powerful spell, one that allowed the shadows of Amara and Silas to be born every century, to die in their place. The followers of Silas also ensured that these shadow beings would always meet so that they could fall in love with one another.”

Elena’s expression hardened, and she let out a resigned sigh. “And these shadow beings… are the doppelgängers. I’m one of them.”

Willow’s face remained calm, betraying no emotion. “Yes,” she confirmed.

Elena’s shoulders slumped, disappointment weighing on her. “I need time,” she murmured, then turned and walked away, leaving Willow by the edge of the water fall.

“What are we doing here in Denver?” Tyler asked Damon as they passed under the “Welcome to Denver” sign.

Damon smirked. “We’re here to check up on Jeremy.”

Tyler sighed and raised an eyebrow. “And the real reason we’re here?”

Damon feigned offense. “What, you don’t trust me?”

Tyler gave him a pointed look, and Damon’s smirk widened. “Fine. If Elena and Caroline get out first, the first thing she’ll do is check in on Jeremy. If he hasn’t heard from her, from now on he’ll be on alert—and he might also be able to help us with his connection to spirits and ghosts.”

Tyler smirked knowingly. “And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with the fact that she’ll appreciate you checking in with Jeremy and letting him know what’s going on?”

Damon grinned. “We’re here.”

Elena walked through the forest meadows, her mind tangled in the memories Willow had shown her the night before. She had finally accepted that her face was not her own, but a copy—a shadow. For so long she believed she was only a reflection of Tatia, but now she knew the truth: it all went back to Amara. The story of the doppelgängers was far more complicated than she had ever imagined.

Every shadow of Amara was destined to cross paths with a shadow of Silas. Every version of her, bound to meet him. But did that mean she was forever fated to love one? Was her heart nothing more than a story written centuries ago? Elena’s chest tightened as she sank down against the trunk of a tree, lost in thought.

Her life since her parents’ death had been shaped—no, dictated—by her existence as a doppelgänger. And now, it seemed, her future was bound by the same chains.

She looked up when Willow appeared, quiet as the breeze, and took a seat beside her.

“Elena, you look troubled,” Willow said softly. “Please… if you have questions, ask me.”

Elena hesitated, her expression uncertain. “Will my life always be ruled by the fact that I’m a doppelgänger?”

Willow smiled gently. “No, Elena. Your life is more than that. But the burden of being a doppelgänger will only grow heavier unless you accept it.”

Elena frowned, unconvinced. “And what about love? Am I forever destined to love a shadow of Silas?” A flicker of anger flashed in her eyes, the weight of yet another stolen choice pressing down on her.

Willow shook her head with a calm smile. “No one can force love. It’s true the doppelgängers of Amara and Silas often find themselves drawn to each other, but the spell did not command love—it only ensured their paths would cross. Being shadows of Amara and Silas, they feel a spark of familiarity when they meet. Nothing more.”

Elena leaned back, thoughtful. “And yet, despite that, every doppelgänger has ended up with their counterpart.”

“Yes,” Willow admitted. “But that was their choice. Many also found love elsewhere. You must understand, Elena—most doppelgängers knew this story from childhood. They were careful when they met their counterpart. Some chose that path, others did not.”

Relief softened Elena’s features. “Can you show me Silas’s face?”

Willow’s smile brightened, pleased to see Elena taking even a hesitant step toward accepting her heritage. “Yes, Elena. I can.”

The image formed in Elena’s mind, and her world tilted on its axis. She stared in shock.

“That’s… Stefan.”

Willow blinked in surprise as Elena whispered, “Stefan was the man I once loved.”

Willow tilted her head, intrigued. “So, you met a shadow of Silas, loved him, and yet now you do not?”

Elena exhaled, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “Yes. For a time, I loved him deeply. But then, because of choices—his and mine—that love faded.”

Willow’s smile deepened, almost proud. “Do you see, child? If it were magic forcing your heart, you never would have stopped loving him.”

Elena turned to Willow, hesitating before voicing the thought that had been tugging at her mind.
“You said doppelgängers are born every century. But Stefan… he’s a vampire. He’s over a hundred and fifty years older than me.”

Willow’s brows rose in surprise. She said nothing about Elena’s choice of love but her silence carried quiet disapproval.

“Then,” Elena continued slowly, “there must be another doppelgänger born in my century.”

“Yes,” Willow replied.

Elena swallowed hard. “Will I meet him? And… fall in love with him?”

A gentle smile touched Willow’s lips at Elena’s worry. “No, child. As I’ve said, no one can make you love anyone. You may feel a connection, a spark of familiarity, but nothing more. Tell me, Elena—could you truly love another man with Stefan’s face?”

Elena’s answer came quickly, firmly. “No. I couldn’t.”

Willow nodded, as though that settled it. “Then there’s your answer.”

But Elena’s curiosity pressed on. “Willow, you said a doppelgänger is born every century. Yet as far as I know, the one before me lived more than five hundred years ago. And the one before her, the same.”

Willow regarded her steadily. “Elena, it is not necessary for doppelgängers to be born in the same region. They appear wherever the Petrova bloodline flows. And tell me—how many families across the world might still carry it?”

Elena considered this and slowly nodded, accepting Willow’s words. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For telling me my heritage.”

Willow tilted her head. “But why did your parents never tell you?”

Elena’s expression faltered, sadness clouding her eyes. “Because the parents who raised me were not my birth parents. My birth mother—she was a Petrova. But she never told me the truth.”

Confusion flickered across Willow’s face. Elena gave a small, weary smile. “You’ll understand… when I show you my memories.”

Willow nodded in agreement.

“Can I show you this later?” Elena asked softly. “For now, I just… I don’t want to think about any of this.”

“Of course.” Willow rose gracefully, leaving Elena alone with her thoughts, the roar of the falls echoing faintly in the distance.

Bonnie walked slowly around the lake house clearing, her senses stretched wide as she searched for anything—anything—that felt out of place. They had been trying different spells for days, hoping to find a thread that would lead them to Elena and Caroline, but every attempt had ended in frustration. The only reassurance they had was the faint but steady confirmation that the girls were still alive.

Back in Mystic Falls, school had already started. Excuses had been made—Elena was said to be visiting Jeremy in Denver, while Caroline was with her father. Sheriff Forbes knew the truth, of course, but her help could only extend so far. Officially, neither girl was missing, which left them waiting for the smallest trace—an online login, a bank transaction—anything that could leave a trail.

Kol had been the one to suggest coming here. If they could find some trace of the talisman’s owner—something left behind by the one who cast the spell—it might finally give them answers.

“Do you sense any magical residue that isn’t your own?” Kol asked, crouching by the lake’s edge as he examined the ground. His sharp eyes scanned the tree line, every movement precise.

Bonnie drew in a long, steady breath and closed her eyes. The air still carried the weight of the casting, charged with the remains of the spell. Sorting through it was like trying to untangle threads in a knot, but slowly she pushed past the layers, searching for any imbalance in the resonance.

And then—she felt it. Near the treeline, exactly where Damon had once claimed to see someone, there pulsed a faint aura. It was different at first, foreign almost, but then she recognized it aligning, echoing faintly with the signature of the spell that had taken Elena and Caroline.

“There,” Bonnie whispered, her voice sharp with certainty. She called out to Kol, pointing toward the treeline.

He joined her quickly, scanning the area himself. “You sense something different here?” he asked.

Bonnie nodded firmly, keeping her focus steady.

Kol crouched, letting his hand brush against the ground. As he shifted his weight, something small pressed under his boot. He paused, moved his foot aside, and reached down. His fingers closed around a flat stone, cool and etched with age.

When he brushed away the dirt, the mark became visible—a rune. The rune of balance.

Kol froze. For a moment, centuries seemed to fall away from him. His expression darkened with recognition, and his grip tightened on the stone. It had been ages since he had seen anyone use runes in this way—so long ago, back when he himself was only a boy first learning magic.

Bonnie stepped closer, frowning at his silence. “What? What is it?”

Kol lifted his eyes to hers, his voice low, carrying something between reverence and unease.

“This belonged to the witch we’ve been hunting. And if I’m right—this may finally help us trace them.”