The wind howled low through the trees, leaves swirling in the air like whispers of forgotten souls. The sky was clouded over, the moon hiding behind thick darkness. Everything was still. Silent.
And then—
A sharp inhale cut through the quiet.
A sudden gasp, as if the earth itself had come back to life.
Alaric Saltzman sat up from the grass. He blinked, breath fogging in the chill. Something felt… off. His body was heavier, his vision sharper. Every heartbeat around him pulsed in his ears like a drum.
He was alive. But not as he once was.
He stood, slow and steady, his limbs stretching as if he hadn't moved in centuries. He looked down at his hands—veins dark, skin pale, strength coursing through him like fire.
"You're awake," a voice said.
He turned sharply.
Esther.
She stood beneath a twisted old tree, her long dark cloak trailing in the wind. Her face was calm, unreadable, but her eyes—there was something ancient in them. Something cold. Something tired.
Alaric didn't speak. He just stared.
"You're not him," she said softly, stepping forward. "You're what's left. The part of him that never broke. The part that wanted blood."
He didn't deny it. He didn't know how.
"I gave you my spell," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "The same spell I used to make my children what they are. But this version is stronger. Pure. No need for human blood. No loopholes. Just power. And a mission."
Alaric's voice was deeper now, almost echoing. "You want me to kill them."
Esther nodded. "All of them. Klaus. Elijah. Rebekah. Even Freya, if she dares to stop you."
Alaric looked up at the sky for a moment, then back to her. "And why me?"
"Because none of my children would lift a finger to stop the others. They are bound by loyalty. By their sins. But you…" She smiled faintly. "You were always meant to be the executioner."
He stepped closer, the ground cracking beneath his boots. "So where do we start?"
Esther's gaze drifted to the forest beyond. "My husband is coming. Mikael. Together, we'll stand a chance."
But Alaric just shook his head. Slowly. Calmly.
"I don't work with others," he said. "I work alone."
Esther narrowed her eyes. "Even against the Originals?"
"I don't need help," he said. "I just need time."
His eyes glowed faintly now, something unnatural flickering behind them. He turned his back to her and started walking. The shadows around him stretched unnaturally, following his every step.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
Alaric didn't look back.
"Home."
Mikaelson Estate
Kol stormed in, bloodstained and pissed off.
He found Ivar leaning against a table, sipping from a blood bag like it was fine wine. Calm, as always.
Kol scoffed.
"She did it again."
Ivar didn't even look up. "Mother?"
Kol nodded, pacing like a lion in a cage.
"When we let her back in, I said it. I knew she'd screw us over. And guess what? She did exactly what we hated her for—stabbed the family in the back."
Ivar slowly lowered the bag, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"She brought back Alaric?" he asked, voice low.
Kol stopped, turning sharply toward him.
"Yeah. Brought him back, made him stronger. Like, way stronger. She used that same immortality spell she gave us, but… upgraded. Then, the worst part—she linked his life to hers."
Ivar finally looked up. His eyes narrowed.
Kol's voice was tight. "Once he's done wiping us out, she'll kill herself. And him with her. One final goodbye to her 'mistake.'"
Silence stretched between them.
The blood bag in Ivar's hand slowly crumpled.
"This is why I said we should've dealt with her the moment she came back," Kol muttered. "You stopped me."
Ivar sighed, pushing off the table.
"Where is Alaric now?"
Kol blinked, surprised by how quickly Ivar switched gears. "Why? You gonna talk to him?"
"No," Ivar said, already walking out. "I've got Qetsiyah problems coming. I don't need a second one. I'm ending this now."
The door creaked as he pushed it open, moonlight spilling across his face.
Kol stared after him, jaw clenched.
"About time."
Kol stood in the dimly lit room, his frustration evident as he clenched his fists. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, the tension in his body mounting with every second that passed. His vision flickered, and when he opened his eyes again, the air seemed to vibrate with the pulse of his magic.
"Alaric's on his way home. You'll find him at the crossroads near Blackwood Lane."
He didn't wait for a response. Ivar didn't need reassurance.
Kol didn't need to say anything more. He already knew how this would go. Ivar would handle it.
The air around him shifted as Ivar, ever the shadow, melded into the darkness. His form disappeared in a blur, vanishing from sight like smoke on the wind.
Elsewhere
The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the desolate street. The wind had picked up, causing the leaves to scrape across the asphalt.
Alaric walked slowly, his steps measured and precise, his breath visible in the cold air. His senses were heightened—he could hear everything. The soft rustle of the trees, the distant howl of a lone wolf, the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
There was something unnatural in the way his body moved. He was different now. Stronger. Faster. More lethal.
Alaric's fingers twitched as his eyes narrowed. He wasn't just walking anymore. He was hunting. Every movement felt deliberate, every step a reminder of what he had become.
And then, as if the world itself bowed to his will, the energy around him crackled, and an aura of power pulsed through the air. His bloodline ability—the Blood Reaver—came to life.
A dark, crimson energy coiled around his hands, like tendrils of death itself, designed specifically to destroy vampires. Each pulse of energy seemed to suck the very life out of any vampire foolish enough to be near him. No weapon, no magic could protect them. Once he'd set his sights on them, they were already dead.
His eyes glowed with an unnatural light. The Blood Reaver was a bloodline gift that made him a natural hunter of vampires. The ability to drain their strength, reduce them to nothing with just a touch of his power. Their bodies would wither, their hearts would cease, and all that was left would be dust.
His steps quickened. His mind locked onto the scent of blood in the air. Alaric was ready for the first kill.