Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alara woke to the sound of faint laughter.

Not the giggles of her neighbors drifting across the Whispering Pond or Neris’ bubbling laugh echoing off the reeds — this was older. Deeper. It hummed through her bones, soft as ripples against still water.

The laugh.

Her laugh.

The echo that had called her into being.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled — ripples froze on the pond, petals hung suspended mid-fall. Then the moment passed, leaving her breathless, her chest aching with the familiar pull.

She shook her head, wings fluttering, as she tried to chase away the longing that truly never faded. The reeds glittered with dew; the air smelled of spring. A new day. A new ache.

Emerging from her cozy home woven from lily pads and she stretched, feeling her wings flutter behind her. Mist shimmered over Neverland’s Whispering Pond, catching the early morning rays, turning the air into soft gold. 

Her wings fluttered again, and with a small jump, her feet left the ground. Humming, she floated down to the river banks, flicking her wrist. A stream of water shot up into the air like a ribbon, sending droplets dancing through the air.

Landing on her feet, she continued to walk by the river absent-mindedly when a voice chimed from behind. “Alara! You’re feeling better!” 

Turning, Alara smiled, “Good morning, Neris!” she greeted her neighbor, who was flying towards her with a bright grin on her face. 

Neris giggled as she hugged Alara, spinning her around. “You look like you’re feeling better!” 

Alara smiled at Neris' infectious happiness, “I’m feeling stronger, come on I’m sure Dave is waiting on us!” she laughed and pulled Neris along the banks of the river towards Dave’s home. 

Alara smiled as she cupped her hands in the still water of the river. Lifting the water, she jumped a little to give herself a boost into the air, flying up to Dave’s web and strung water droplets onto it.  

“There you are, Dave!” Neris cheered when the fuzzy spider came crawling towards them, his two front legs twitching happily. 

In no time, Alara and Neris finished placing droplets on Dave’s web. “Come on,” Neris said, linking arms with her, carrying most of Alara’s weight. “Thalena’s at the Glassreach!”

Alara giggled and allowed herself to be tugged along as they took off toward the main river of the Forgotten Isle. They waved at those they passed, chatting excitedly as the morning bloomed around them. 

As they flew past the Whispering Glade, Alara slowed when the First Bloom of Spring came into view. 

It stood taller than the rest of the flowers, its petals glowing with a soft, blushing pink light. Gold dust shimmered off the edges—unfamiliar, beautiful. Not native to Neverland. Alara knew that. It was a flower from the Mainland, the world of mortals. 

It's been so long since fairies had made their seasonal journey to the Mainland. Witch's power had grown, tensions rose, and slowly, silently, the fairies stopped going. Now, few have ever visited the mainland.

As she passed the Spring Bloom, she heard it again.

A laugh.

Soft. Male. Familiar in a strange, deep way.

Not a sound from this world.

Her wings fluttered faster, and a shiver ran down her spine. As she hovered, breath caught in her throat, as the sound faded into the rustle of the trees. Every time she heard it, something inside her shifted—like the tide pulling gently at her heart. For a moment, time itself seemed to bend.

“Alara? Are you okay?” Neris’ voice broke through the stillness, soft and concerned.

Alara blinked and turned to her. Her smile was quiet and carefully placed. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” she said, gently tugging Neris toward the Glassreach.

~~~~~~~

“You heard it again?” Thalena asked later that day, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Alara had been about to leave the gathering at the Glassreach with a few friends when the elder called her aside, leading her up to her home near the top of the waterfall.

Alara nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was faint… but I know it’s him. The laugh that made me.”

Thalena hummed as she continued to stir a bowl of glowing nectar, her gaze distant. “You remember what I told you. Every fairy is born from a mortal’s laugh. That sound is the beginning of your thread. But to still hear the echo? That means the bond is strong…”

She paused in her stirring, her expression shifting. “Stronger than most.”

Alara leaned in, wings fluttering as curiosity bloomed in her chest when she noticed Thalena eyeing her. “What does that mean?” Thalena had always warned her to ignore the laughter. She had never lingered on the subject before.

Thalena hesitated for a moment. “It means you’ll always feel a pull to him. Long ago, fairies visited the mortals whose laughter created them—if they wished. But now… the paths between our worlds are quiet. Still, when a bond is as strong as yours, it awakens something inside. A curiosity that rarely fades.”

Alara’s gaze dropped to the waterfall cascading below. “We’re not supposed to go to the Mainland anymore.”

“No,” Thalena said softly. “We don’t. Because not all who go… return unchanged. But apparently, that kind of warning doesn't stop people.” She gave a pointed look to a fairy who was avoiding the elder's sharp gaze. 

Alara huffed, “I didn't mean to go to Skull Island.” She muttered, her mind whirling with possibilities and a wild idea. 

~~~~~~~

Alara quietly gathered her things, slipping them into her bag with hurried care, freezing when her door creaked open. 

“Neris,” She breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared me. What are you doing here?” 

“What am I doing here?” Neris asked, incredulous, eyes darting to the half-packed bag. “What are you doing?”

“The elders,” Alara said softly, looking up at her friend with distress shadowing her features, wings low to the ground. “They will never allow me to go to the Mainland to find my Lira.” She breathed deeply, “Neris, I can’t keep doing this. It hurts.” 

Neris let out a sigh, but there was no sadness—only understanding. They had been neighbors for centuries, and she’d long known how that day changed Alara. “But you’d be going alone, you can’t.” She gripped her hands in hers. 

Alara smiled softly at her friend. “I know, but you can’t come with me. I don't know if I’ll be able to come back, and we don't know what the elders will do.”

Neris scoffed and landed, crossing her arms, “It’s not forbidden… only whispered about.”

“No.” Alara shook her head, “But, you know the stories, not everyone comes back.” 

“That’s even more of a reason for me to come with you!” Neris exploded.

“I’m not allowing you to risk yourself!” Alara shouted back, “Neris, come on, I’ll be back before the year is up.” 

Neris narrowed her eyes at Alara, scanning her face. She knows she shouldn’t allow her to leave by herself, but it could potentially be dangerous having more than one fairy together, especially if Alara is trying to find her Lira. 

“If you are not, I will come and find you.” Neris stood up straighter, pointing a finger at her. “Against my better judgment, and only because you’re going to find your Lira.” She couldn't believe she was going to allow Alara to go, but knowing her, Alara would find her own way to the Mainland.

Alara smiled reassuringly at Neris, watching as her shoulder slumped and her wings lowered. “I’m going to miss you.” Neris wrapped her in a hug. Alara hugged her back tightly. 

“How do you even know he’s still alive?” Neris hesitated as she pulled away. “Or that he is even a he?” Neris tilted her head. She hated to ask, but a trip like this would take a lot of energy from her. Still, she could see it—Alara’s mind was already made up.

Alara paused, her expression shifting—something rare, something certain. “I can feel it,” she said. “He’s still out there. I just... know.” 

Neris examined her again, pursing her lips, she suppressed the comments at the tip of her tongue, knowing it could spark an argument. “You’ll be careful?” 

Alara smiled softly, dreamlike but resolute. “I’ll be okay,” she whispered. “I promise. Besides, I survived Skull Island,” she teased.

Neris rolled her eyes. “Barely,” she muttered. “I can’t let you go alone, you’ll have no one to rein you in.” She shook her head, stepping closer to Alara. 

Alara sighed, “Neris, we just talked about this. I’ll be fine, I’ll be extra careful.” 

“Fly low and slow. Find water immediately after passing the veil.” Neris spoke sternly, her hands holding Alaras tightly. 

“Say bye to Dave for me?” Neris smiled sadly and nodded. “Of course.” 

Alara looked at Neris and lunged at her, wrapping her in a tight hug. Ever since she opened her eyes a thousand years ago and got settled in her home, Neris had been at her side. She had been so happy to finally have a neighbor that she had rarely left Alara’s side. 

“I’m going to miss you.” Alara breathed, tightening her hold on her best friend/sister. 

“Of course you will, I’m very memorable.” Neris teased, returning the tight hold on Alara. “Go towards the Twin Falls, scout rotation has changed. Fen has been complaining at every chance he gets.” She laughed at the clumsy scout.

Alara chuckled with a nod before pulling away with a deep breath. She jumped and rose into the sky, hovering for a bit. Alara looked back at Neris for a second, waving with both hands before she took off.

Towards the Twin Falls and onto the second star to the right.

Toward the world where the laugh was waiting.

Chapter Text

Alara knew the moment she entered the human world. 

The air was different. Cooler. Sharper. She could feel the magic in the air, heavy in some places, thinner in others. The wind was less like a song here and more like a whisper she couldn’t quite understand.

She soared high above the twinkling lights of a large human city, the rooftops stretching endlessly below like puzzle pieces stitched together with rivers and chimneys and glowing streets.

Her wings fluttered with delight. So many lights, she thought. 

Neris’ warning echoed in her mind to find water immediately, but her curiosity and breathless excitement urged her lower towards the human town. It looked so much different than how she remembered it to be. 

The town unfolded before her. Towers with glittering glass walls reached the sky, while red and colorful metal things roamed the ground like giant ladybugs and black beetles in slow, determined lines.

Alara giggled and dipped lower, a childlike wonder spreading across her face. She zipped around watching the mortals walk with tiny lights in their hands—glowing rectangles they stared into, completely missing the fairy that darted just overhead. 

“Do they not see ?” she whispered, looking down at the girl from inside the branches of a tree. “They’re so busy looking down,” Alara mused softly, “they don’t see the magic all around them.”

Keeping hidden from the humans, she flew over them, watching in pure fascination. 

Why do they walk so fast and never look up? Alara wondered. She smiled and breathed in deeply at the familiar smell of roasted nuts, her eyes moved over the street to the small dogs, and the laughter of children running through a grassy area. Looking up, she gasped, seeing a large golden pointed tower in the city and a large circle with seats attached. 

She loved it. But beneath all her excitement and wonder, the ache in her chest, that began as soon as she crossed the veil between the human world and Neverland, slowly became a pull. Tugging at her being.

The laugh.

It was stronger here. Not so much like a memory, but it felt alive. Warm, distant, and real. 

And though her wonder could drive her forever, she couldn’t ignore this feeling any longer. She hovered, turning once more to take in the city before rising into the air, following the ache in her chest. 

Following the laugh. 

~~~~~~~

Alara skimmed happily across the vast stretch of water, her wings trailing ripples over the surface. Being near the water gave her energy as she twirled in the air, water following her. 

The laugh, faint and echoing on the wind, had grown stronger. It pulled at her heart, more insistent than her curiosity that filled her as she crossed into a new land also full of bustling towns. She flew until she wasn’t in the loud, bustling human town anymore, but somewhere quieter. 

That’s when she saw it: a grand white house, old and crumbling, with cracks like veins running down its stone skin. Vines twisted up the walls, climbing greedily toward the roof. Something about it made her wings quiver. 

Just as Alara started to fly closer, a blonde man burst out of the house, holding a girl with long brunette hair. They looked fearful, but their closeness was unmistakable. Alara darted behind a tree branch as they hurried to the metal beetle sitting in front of the house.

Her head tilted in curiosity, but she felt nothing in particular pull her towards either of them. Movement from the doorway caught her eye as another man with dark hair, almost black, stepped out of the home. 

Alara quickly ducked behind a leaf when his piercing eyes swept across the area where she was hiding, but he moved on and let the metal beetle swallow him, too, before it sped away. Alara let out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding.

Blinking, she moved closer to the run-down home, still feeling a pull from inside. Flying low to the ground, Alara looked for an opening, finally finding one at the back. She slipped through a broken window, slowly drifting through the home, her eyes darting around, taking in the dirty and dusty home.  

She followed the pull like a thread tied to her chest. This cannot be his home, he wouldn't stay in such a dusty place, she wondered. She didn’t want to startle him; she just wanted a glimpse before she figured out what to do next. 

Turning the corner, she let out a gasp, seeing the man. 

He stood—or rather, hung—pinned to a door by a thick wooden stake. His skin was grey, and lines marked his face and hands. His clothes were fine, nicer than most humans she’d seen… but he looked lifeless. 

She blinked slowly. The ache in her heart, the one that had guided her here, that had lived in her since birth, was quiet. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she hovered before him, uncertain. Even from afar, the dark energy that clung to him was overwhelming. In Neverland, fairies avoided such things. But this… this was different.

Flying closer, she brushed a strand of hair from his face, tilting her head. He looked dead, but the bond inside her made her think otherwise. 

Her heart beat faster and her breathing got easier. Flying didn't take as much concentration or effort as it had been. She felt awake, alive. 

Floating back, Alara concentrated, using the energy the unconscious man gave her. Her body warmed, tingling with energy as she began to grow to human size. Her dress—woven from blue flower petals—shifted and stretched to fit her new size.

Her shoes touched the ground as she stepped unsteadily toward him, fingers wrapping around the stake. She braced her feet and pulled. The wood didn’t budge.

She tried again, with a soft grunt—and this time, it gave way with a sharp crack.

Glancing up, Alara let out a shriek when she found his dark eyes open and looking at her. Jumping away, Alara felt her wings snap out in a golden flash as she shrank and darted backward, away from the man despite his protests. 

“Wait,” he said, voice smooth and low. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

His tone was even, careful, like someone used to calming frightened creatures. He stared in wonder. In all his long life, he’d never seen anything like her. Myths, maybe—stories told to children. But not this. Not someone so real, and so impossibly small.

Her wings glittered iridescently. Her blue dress shimmered as she hovered. Gold and silver dust drifted from her like stars falling in slow motion. Alara stared back just as intently. She slowly flew towards him, circling him cautiously. He could swear he could hear bells. 

“What are you?” she questioned herself aloud, still in shock at seeing the grey and lines fade from the man's face. She had seen mainland mortals before, but didn't know they could do that. She also didn’t know mortal bodies could hold that much dark energy. 

The man stood as still as he could, watching as the small creature circled him with an expression of wonder and delight. That sound , the same sound he had been hearing for days. Faint, musical, just beyond his reach—he’d dismissed it as phantom noise.

But now, he knew: It was her.

“My name is Elijah,” he said softly. Slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand, palm up.

She hesitated, hovering just out of reach. He made no move, no sudden gesture. Only watching her with quiet awe.

She stared at him—at the hand, the face, the eyes. The dark energy around him still made her wary, but his voice… it rang in her soul.

A small smile slowly crept onto her face as her wings fluttered. 

“It’s alright,” Elijah said again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I won’t hurt you.”

She exhaled, and her wings shimmered before melting into her back, fading from view. 

Elijah’s eyes squinted as he watched the small creature begin to grow into human size. In her place stood a young woman, short, delicate, and luminous. His eyes swept over her blue dress, which hung softly around her, shaped to her human form. Her wings were gone— melted seamlessly into her back, leaving only the faint white outline of a tattoo—lace spun into skin.

He offered Alara a gentle smile, the kind that rarely reached his eyes anymore. He should be wary. He should question her magic, her impossibility. But instead, all he could think of was how her light, her presence, reminded him of a dawn he had seen in his human days. 

“Hello there,” he spoke softly. 

“Hello, I’m Alara.”

Silence settled between the two before Elijah broke it, his voice smooth and steady. “You are... unlike anything I’ve encountered,” he said at last, each word deliberate.

“That is a good thing?” Alara tilted her head, a teasing note threading through her voice. There was a spark behind her dreamy smile, quick and knowing.

He studied her carefully, as though piecing together a puzzle only he could see. “I’ve seen many things in my time,” he said calmly. “Some would call them impossible. Your existence…” He paused, the corner of his mouth turning faintly. “Is perhaps the least unbelievable among them.”

Her smile bloomed, mischievous. “Flattery will get you somewhere ,” she said lightly. “But not everywhere.”

Elijah’s gaze lingered on her, roaming around her human form—not with suspicion, but something like reverence.

“This home... isn’t suited for conversation,” he murmured, glancing at the broken doors, banister railing, and glass. “There’s a better place. Will you come with me?” 

He offered his hand. Alara blinked at it, then hesitantly placed her smaller one in his. The moment they touched, a rush of warmth and energy ran along the tattoo of her wings pressed into her back. Her breath caught, but she allowed him to lead her.

Outside, she stopped abruptly, eyes wide. Elijah looked back. “Is everything alright?”

She glanced over to him. “Yes, yes—it’s just… does it hurt when the beetle eats you? It didn’t look like it hurt the other people, but..” She trailed off and flushed when she noticed Elijah’s baffled expression. 

“I- pardon?” Elijah asked, not understanding what she was saying. He followed her gaze to his sleek black SUV parked off the side of the home. 

Realization dawned, and one corner of his mouth tugged upward. “The beetle,” he echoed softly. “You mean the car.”

Alara tilted her head, frowning in thought. “Car?” she repeated, tasting the unfamiliar word. “Is that what humans call them? They look like beetles. Hard shell, shiny colors, legs that roll.” She let go of Elijah and bent slightly, peering at the tires as though they might scuttle away at any moment.

“It will not eat you,” Elijah gently assured, his voice filled with amusement but no hint of mockery. “It carries you from one place to another. Like… a horse, but swifter.”

Her eyes brightened, wonder replacing caution. “A metal horse?”

“If you prefer.” He opened the passenger door with a graceful sweep, as though presenting her with something sacred. “Would you like to try?”

Alara hesitated, leaning closer to peer into the dim interior. “It smells… strange.” Her nose wrinkled adorably. “Like burned trees and old lightning.”

“Gasoline,” Elijah explained. “Not nearly as poetic as you make it sound.”

She giggled at that, soft and bell-like. The sound struck him harder than expected, lodging somewhere deep in his chest. For a heartbeat, he simply watched her — this small, luminous creature who looked at his world like it was still worth marveling at.

Then, quietly: “Trust me.”

Alara blinked up at him. The warmth thrumming under her skin — that strange rush from their first touch — flared again at his words. She climbed into the car, fingers trailing curiously over the seat. “Do all metal beetles smell like this?” she asked, entirely serious.

Elijah chuckled under his breath as he closed the door behind her. “Most of them, yes.”

By the time he walked around to the driver’s side, Alara had discovered the seatbelt and was tugging at it. “Oh! It bites!” she gasped when it clicked.

“That,” Elijah murmured as he slid in beside her, “is to keep you safe.”

“From the beetle?”

“From everything else.”

He started the engine and pulled onto the road. She gasped and looked around when the metal beetle-car began to move. She pressed her face near the window, eyes filled with wonder. Lights flickered past, trees blurred, and people moved. He watched her from the corner of his eye, the way she absorbed the world around her. He didn’t want to break the spell.

Soon, they arrived at a place Elijah calls a hotel. Elijah led her through the quiet lobby and up to his room. Once inside, he gestured toward the small sitting area. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll return shortly.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Alara couldn’t help herself. She drifted around the room, fingers brushing over thick, layered scrolls and trinkets. Her curiosity bloomed like a flower in sunlight.

She stepped away when she heard his footsteps returning. Turning, she lit up at the sight of him, now in clean clothes, the grey cast of death completely gone.

“You look better,” she said softly, sincerely. 

Elijah gave her a small, genuine smile and motioned for her to sit. She obeyed, brushing her fingers across the fabric of the long seat.

Elijah settled into the short seat opposite her, eyes never leaving her face. “There is much I want to ask,” he said quietly and thoughtfully. “The first being, what are you?” 

Alara studied him again, tilting her head. “A fairy,” she confirmed his suspicions softly, “From Neverland.”

“A fairy,” he repeated, intrigued by the girl claiming to be a creature from a children's storybook. “From Neverland… I confess, I have never heard of such a place.”

Alara giggled softly at his admission, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s real. Hidden between stars and tides. My home— the Forgotten Isle — a place where seasons dance together, where time forgets to move.” 

She leaned forward in her seat, her fingers tracing the fabric of the long chair. “But it didn’t forget you.”

Elijah’s brow furrowed slightly. “Me?”

Alara lifted her hands, and water gathered at her fingertips, rippling into the air like a ribbon of liquid glass. Tiny flecks of light shimmered within it, catching in the glow of the hotel lamp.

“When a baby laughs for the first time,” she murmured, “a fairy is born.” She twisted her wrists gently, shaping the water to her words. “Most of us lose the echo of that laugh. It fades. But mine… never did.”

Elijah’s gaze lingered on the water, his expression unreadable yet deeply focused.

“I’ve heard it my whole life,” Alara continued, voice softening. “Like a string, pulling me across stars, across oceans. It led me here.” She looked up, meeting his eyes with quiet certainty. “It led me to you, Lira.”

A weighted silence settled between them. 

Elijah’s composure wavered, just slightly. Centuries of grief and bloodshed warred with something he hadn’t felt in a very long time: pure wonder.

“My laugh?” he asked, voice low, almost reverent.

Alara nodded. “Yours. It was soft. Warm. Full of hope.” Her smile turned shy. “You don’t remember, but I do.”

Elijah sat back slowly, exhaling through his nose — a rare tell of his emotions. 

Alara’s head tilted as she watched the thoughts run through his mind. She had thought the dark energy around him would have disappeared when he woke, but it was still there. Persistent and clinging to his soul. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She blurted, her curiosity winning out. Her hand slapped over her mouth as she realized the rudeness of her words. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice small. “That was rude.”

Elijah regarded her with a faint furrow of his brow, his expression thoughtful rather than offended. “You needn’t apologize,” he said calmly, his voice smooth, deliberate. “Though I admit, I am curious what prompts such a question.”

Alara shifted slightly, looking at him more intensely. “Well, it's just—there is this darkness surrounding you. I thought it would go away when you woke, but it didn’t. What are you?”

He studied her for a long moment — the glow of her skin, the almost tangible hum of magic in the air around her. Then, almost despite himself, the corner of his mouth curved, a faint, gentler smile. 

“I am… a vampire. One of the first, in fact,” Elijah said at last, carefully choosing his words.

Alara’s breath caught. She’d heard whispers of such creatures — dark, dead, and cursed beings that drank blood — rising on the mainland around the same time the fairies stopped visiting. To hear it from his lips was something else entirely.

“The first?” she asked softly.

“One of them,” he confirmed quietly. “My family and I. We are called the Originals.”

“Your family?” Alara asked in complete wonder. 

A flicker of emotion passed across his face, too fast for her to figure out. “There were seven of us.” He spoke after a few moments. “My father was a landowner in a village in Eastern Europe. My mother…” He paused. “That’s a long story.”

He reached up, fingertips brushing her temple. “I can show you—if you’d allow it.”

Alara’s eyes looked at him in surprise, but she nodded, trusting. “Alright.”

He shared his memories—glimpses of a long-lost village, his family, the ritual that changed them, the centuries of survival.

Alara watched in quiet awe, absorbing it all, heart open, mind wide. This man, this myth, had a soul weathered by centuries—and yet, here he sat, across from her, and her wings hummed under her skin with the truth of him. 

Elijah’s memories unfolded before her, each one more captivating than the last. But beneath them—threaded like a hidden current—she kept seeing it: a red wooden door at the end of a stark white hallway, with black smoke curling like shadows at its base.

The image didn’t belong to the surface of his thoughts, but it lingered. Heavy. Unspoken.

She could feel the weight of his grief pressing at the edges of the vision, quiet but overwhelming. It pulled at her. She didn’t look away. 

“Wow.” Alara breathed, twisting her dress in her hands as she processed everything he revealed.

Chapter Text

They talked into the night. 

At her request, Elijah tried to describe the “human experience”—something he had known only briefly, a millennium ago. He spoke of ordinary mornings: the smell of fresh bread, preparing for hunts, and practicing his sword fighting. Everything changed the night he and his siblings turned. 

He told her of the fleeting moments he witnessed: families laughing in the park, lovers quarreling in the rain; of farmers who mourned poor harvests yet still returned to the fields with stubborn hope. Each memory was shared slowly, and every time he felt he was sharing too much. Alara never pressed. She simply listened, asking the right questions that invited him to answer, never demanding.

She admired the light in his eyes, but a shadow lingered in the corners of her mind — a dark tide rising just beneath his calm surface. It frightened her, but also drew her closer.

When she spoke, a ribbon of water unfurled at her fingertips, curling into shifting shapes as her words took form. She told him of Heavenstead, where the mortals dwelled; of the Shardlands, haunted by the Lost Boys; and the Underlands, domain of the mermaids. Last, her voice softened as she wove the image of her own home—villages perched upon lily pads, festivals glistening with morning dew, and the blush of Neverland turning pink at the very first bloom of spring.

The water glimmered, and Elijah, so practiced at control, found himself leaning closer, caught by her gentle words.

Conversation drifted from centuries‑old philosophies to favorite flowers, from the pranks she would pull on mermaids and pirates to the many places he had lived in his long years.

Elijah smiled when he noticed Alara had fallen asleep and returned to her original size in the middle of his story about his time in a peaceful town in France when he was separated from his family. He watched her, her breath coming evenly as she slept peacefully. Elijah realized he had spoken more openly than he had in decades. Yet he felt no alarm, only a curious steadiness. 

~~~~~~~

By morning, Alara all but beamed as she walked down the sidewalk, Elijah close behind her, gently moving her when her wandering curiosity carried her into someone’s path. She tried to take in every detail at once, wide‑eyed with wonder. Humans, she realized, were utterly different when you were walking among them instead of watching from above.

“Elijah?” She gave his elbow a gentle nudge. Her gaze fixed on a small black rectangle in a passerby’s hand, not noticing Elijah freeze for a split second at her casual touch. “What is that, that light brick?” 

Last night, Elijah had taken some time to explain human inventions, but it appeared he had somehow forgotten a few of the more modern ones. “A phone,” he supplied once he realized what she was staring at, tone patient. He withdrew his own from his jacket and placed it in her palms. “A device humans created that lets people speak — or write — to one another instantly, no matter the distance.” With practiced ease, he opened the messaging screen, then the call log.

“Wow.” Alara traced a fingertip along the glass, light catching in her eyes. She lingered on the smooth surface until Elijah’s gentle tug urged her onward. “So… it’s a talking stone?”

Elijah’s brows furrowed slightly, intrigued. “What is a talking stone?”

Alara looked up at him incredulously. “What do you mean, what is a talking stone? They’re the best stones to have conversations with — though some can be very rude, but others can be so funny. They’re everywhere near the Glassreach.”

Elijah’s head tilted, curiosity sharpening behind his calm expression. “Do these stones… speak of their own accord, or only to fairies?”

“Only to us,” she said easily, as though that explained everything. “But they’re picky — they like some fairies more than others.”

“And what determines whether a stone is rude or polite?”

Alara’s mouth curved into a thoughtful pout. “The mood they were born in, I think. Or maybe the song the river sang when they first touched water. It’s hard to tell with stones — they keep secrets better than pirates.”

Elijah considered this, his gaze steady on her face rather than the crowd around them. “Are they… sentient? Do they have thoughts of their own?”

“Of course.” Her tone was simple, certain. “But they’re old thoughts. Slow thoughts. Like trees. You have to listen a long time to hear one.”

He hummed softly, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips. “Fascinating.” A pause. “Would they speak to me, do you think?”

Alara blinked up at him, then grinned — soft, mischievous. “If they liked you. And they would. You’re patient.”

His lips curved faintly. “Patience is a virtue hard won,” he murmured. Then, after a beat: “I suppose, in a way, these ‘phones’ are like your talking stones — except you speak to another person on the other end, not the phone itself.”

A little farther on, they paused near a guitar player. Alara looked up to find Elijah’s attention elsewhere, his head tilted slightly. A hint of a smile touched his lips. 

Alara follows his eye line, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion at seeing a building filled with people. Alara turned when Elijah moved and put a green piece of paper in the black case, then picked up a handful of silver items. 

Alara’s attention drifted toward a man seated with a guitar in his lap, fingers moving over the strings. She smiled softly and edged closer, drawn by the melody. The tune stirred a familiar ache — it reminded her of Peter, of the way he’d strum playfully with laughter in his eyes, and the rare, almost sacred moments when his music turned quiet and somber.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded behind her. Screams erupted; people scattered in panic.

Before Alara could turn, strong arms swept around her waist. The world blurred, then stilled — and she found herself away from the chaos.

Instinct flared; water gathered at her fingertips as she shocked the figure holding her. Elijah stepped back, surprised — though his composure remained intact, only a flicker of emotion crossing his face.

“Elijah!” she breathed, lowering her hand as the water dissipated. “What—what was that?”

He offered her a reassuring smile, every inch of it carefully measured, “My apologies,” he murmured, voice even, almost too calm. “The commotion was… unfortunate,” he smoothed his cuff, the gesture practiced and controlled.

He had shown her glimpses of his past the night before in a haze of awe, disbelief, and hope. He had shown her his life, but softened the edges of the truth, never showing her the whole. Never the blood. Never the ruthless precision he wielded in the name of his family. He wanted her to stay untouched by the darkness the world had to offer—the darker pieces of him—yet a part of him feared she had seen more than he intended. 

“The shop windows shattered. That was vampire speed.” He explained, avoiding actually telling her he had made the windows explode in the coffee shop. 

Alara eyed him for a second. “That was vampire speed? I don’t think I like it very much.” She knew he was most likely behind the chaos breaking behind her. Violence was not foreign to her - Neverland, for all its wonders, had its dark corners. From the memories he had shown her, she knew he was hiding parts of himself; she could see the manifestation in his mind. 

A low chuckle slipped from Elijah, but the mirth quickly faded, and his posture straightened, courtly once more.  “My apologies, Alara. It does take some time to adjust to. There is a matter I need to attend to. Please stay here until I return.” 

She smiled and allowed him to lead her back to his room. She was curious about what he needed to do, but she had a feeling he wouldn't give her the full story. 

Elijah waited until she closed the door to the hotel room before he took off for Slater's apartment.

Alara walked around the hotel room, looking at everything in the room curiously. She poked and pushed at everything she was unsure about. Elijah had spent some time last night explaining what things were around the room. Picking up a thick, layered scroll, she opened it, and a few things fell out. Bending down, Alara paused as the face of a pretty girl came into view. 

“Rebekah,” she whispered. She recognized the woman from Elijah’s memories. The woman from his memories was beautiful, full of life, easily excitable, and quick to fall in love. The woman in this paper painting was frozen in time, frozen in the moment that made her look happy and alive. She looked down at the other pieces of paper, other paintings of his family members. 

Alara had settled on the ground, staring at the paper paintings of his siblings. From the way he spoke of them, he loves every one of them very deeply, but there was an underlying layer of sadness she had seen in some of the pirates who ravaged the seas. 

The door opened. Alara snapped her head up.

“Elijah!” she beamed, scrambling to her feet — then noticed the paper paintings still in her hands and hastily set them down. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking down. “I didn’t read anything.” 

His gaze flicked to his journal on the couch, then back to her. “It’s quite alright,” he said evenly, stepping closer until he stood before her. His eyes lowered briefly to the photos and softened.

“They look happy.” She said quietly, her gaze lingering on the faces of his family, then lifted to meet Elijah’s. “May I meet them someday?” 

Elijah’s expression softened, the weight in his eyes heavy. “I am afraid that would not be possible.” He moved away from her, taking the journal and photos with him to the couch and sitting down. Alara followed him silently. 

The truth clawed at him, Niklaus’ betrayal, his family sunk to the bottom of the seas, and vengeance brewed in his chest. But when he looked at Alara, untainted by his family's centuries-long feuds, he couldn't bring himself to darken her with it. 

“My brother, Niklaus…” he exhaled slowly, choosing his words with care, voice low, as if speaking too loudly might summon the ghosts he’d long tried to silence. For a brief moment, his mask cracked — a glimpse of the brother he once was, lost beneath layers of vengeance. “He daggered them one by one and cast them into the seas.”

Alara’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth dropped in shock, and her breath hitched. “He- but you’re family? Why would he do that?” Her kind quarreled, yes, but never like this.

Elijah sighed but shook his head, and his jaw tightened. “Niklaus is… dangerous. More dangerous than anyone you have met.” 

“But I thought you could not be killed?” Alara said, confused, his words contradicting what he told her last night.

“Not the sun, not fire, not even a werewolf bite,” Elijah explained, his voice steady. “Only wood from one particular tree can harm us—a tree my family ensured was destroyed long ago. But nature and its loopholes. Witches forged silver daggers, and when dipped in the ash of that burnt wood, these weapons can temporarily kill us.”

Alara looked at him silently, moving closer, searching his face with wide, steady eyes. “You mean to stop him, don't you." Elijah’s nod was imperceptible, but there, “I am. I will do what I must to stop him.” 

Her fingers fidgeted at her sides. She could tell there was something he was not or did not want to tell her. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to see past his careful and put-together words.

~~~~~~~

The next day, Alara stood beside Elijah as he compelled the papers transferring ownership of the small house into her name. He left soon after to find Elena, ensuring the girl — integral to his plans — was safe and in a place he could easily find.

When he returned, irritation hummed beneath his carefully composed expression. Hours of searching, and no trace of the teenager. Alara still lacked what she called a talking stone, which made contacting her impossible — another complication to add to an already delicate situation.

“Can I come too?” Alara’s voice broke his thoughts, soft but insistent. “I’ve been in this house all day. Please?”

Elijah paused, studying her. A sigh escaped him — controlled, almost imperceptible — before he inclined his head. “Very well. But first, we must stop at the Martins’ home. The witches are assisting me in tracking Elena.” 

He trusted the Martin witches not to do anything to Alara. He also trusted the Martin witches not to know of the existence of fairies beyond the childhood stories, though he was curious as to how a witch would react in her presence; from her stories, fairies hadn’t set foot on earth for almost a thousand years.

At the mention of witches, her expression dimmed. She knew — and so did he — the fraught history between her kind and theirs. The night before, she’d spoken of it: jealousy, envy, the purity of fairy magic twisted into rumor and resentment.

“Oh.” Her lips pressed together, small and tight. “Okay. Can I still come?” Her boredom outweighed her sense of nerves at meeting a witch again for the first time in years.

Elijah’s gaze softened, though his voice remained even. “You may. Though give me your word you’ll listen to me.”

Alara beamed and nodded, excited to get out of the house. She all but ran to the metal beetle. Elijah smiled at her happiness and followed after her. 

She trailed after Elijah, humming softly to herself as he led her up the small walkway towards the home. Elijah knocked firmly, then pressed a curious little button that made a sharp ringing sound. Alara tilted her head, her brows lifting in interest, but before she could ask him about it, the door opened to reveal a dark-skinned man with a surprised expression but no recognition, just confusion.

“Elijah,” Jonas greeted, cautious but polite and sharp. “This must be…?” 

“A friend,” Elijah said evenly. He kept his voice smooth, offering nothing more. A century of secrets honed into the smallest of smiles.

Jonas’s eyes lingered a second too long. Elijah noticed — catalogued the look, weighed it, dismissed nothing. Too curious. Dangerous.

They don’t know what she is. Relief mingled with something sharper — an unfamiliar tug in his chest. Good. Better this way. 

Alara tilted her head, studying the witches with quiet curiosity. As the man didn't seem to realize what exactly she was. Alara offered a small, sweet smile, her fingers nervously twining behind her back. "Hello," she said warmly, her voice light, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes when she met the witch’s wary stare.

Jonas simply inclined his head, his gaze sharp. “What can I do for you, Elijah?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“I wish to know how Elena is doing,” Elijah replied.  The Martins may not know what she is, but magic calls to magic — and hers is… different. Older. Untouched by the rot of this world. They will see power. Covet it. 

These thoughts ran through Elijah’s mind as his attention lingered on Alara for a moment, watching with quiet amusement as she wandered the entryway, lightly brushing her fingers over small objects with feather-light curiosity, cleverly masking the way she avoided standing too close to Jonas.

Jonas gave a short nod and moved to a table cluttered with items — a clump of hair, a photo, and a blade. He gestured for the vampire to sit. Elijah guided Alara to a chair opposite Jonas, ever the courteous shield between her and the witch.

“How exactly does the spell work?” Elijah asked, settling into his seat with effortless grace.

Jonas began explaining as Alara leaned forward slightly, peering at the paper painting Jonas laid out. She recognized the girl, Elena, from the day she had found Elijah. Back then, she had barely noticed her. Now, her clever gaze studied every detail.

Jonas held out his hand. “Give me your hand,” he instructed.

Elijah's eyes narrowed faintly, but he offered his hand without hesitation, palm up. Alara flinched, wrinkling her nose in soft disgust.

Elijah didn’t even blink.

Jonas turned Elijah’s bleeding hand over the photo. “Place it here.”

Wordlessly, Elijah complied.

"Now, take my hand," Jonas said, extending his free hand.

This time, Elijah responded immediately, setting his other hand into Jonas’s grasp with measured patience.

“Close your eyes. Relax your mind. Find her,” Jonas instructed, beginning to chant in a language Alara didn’t recognize.

The air thickened with magic. Alara’s wings, hidden against her back, tingled faintly — a silent, instinctive warning. She pressed her palms flat to her skirt to steady herself, wide-eyed but trying to appear calm, but her heart fluttered faster.

After a long moment, Elijah opened his eyes, a flash of satisfaction glinting through his usual restraint.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Jonas asked.

Elijah nodded once. “I know exactly where she is.” Rising from the table in a single fluid motion, he turned to Alara calmly. He turned to Alara. “Would you wait here until I return?” His tone was soft, almost tender.

Alara opened her mouth to protest, but she quickly remembered the promise she had made to him. But at the same time, she didn't think she would be required to stay with witches by herself, even if the witches didn't seem to know she was a fairy. Biting her lip, she gave Elijah a small nod as her fingers fidgeted slightly at the hem of her dress. 

Elijah stepped closer, voice dropping low for her ears alone. “Do not be concerned. I shall return to you shortly.”

Her chest loosened — not fully, but enough.

And then he was gone, leaving only the faint stir of the door in his wake.

Alara continued to look around the house at everything, still avoiding the witch’s gaze. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her, weighing her.

Jonas’s voice was calm but edged with steel. “How do you know Elijah?”

Alara met his gaze steadily. “We’re... friends.” Her tone was simple but carried an unspoken challenge.

Jonas hummed, the sound low and skeptical, but he didn’t press further-yet.

The sound of the door opening again caught their attention. Alara immediately looked over, seeing a teenage boy walk in. Jonas rose from his seat and approached the boy. “So, how was school?”

The boy blinked at Alara, confusion flickering across his face. “It was... revealing. Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at her.

Jonas gave him a tight smile. “Luka, this is Alara. She’s a friend of Elijah’s. Alara, this is my son.”

Alara offered a shy, gentle smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Hello.”

Luka gave a half-smile in return before turning back to his father. Alara tilted her head slightly, noticing the brief grimace Luka tried to hide.

“What’s wrong?” Jonas asked, stepping closer, voice sharp with concern.

Luka shook his head quickly. “Nothing.”

He rubbed his neck and moved to sit at the table across from Alara, pulling out a tangle of thick, layered scrolls and papers.

Curious, Alara leaned forward slightly, trying to read the upside-down pages without appearing too obvious. She didn’t want to intrude, especially when witches were involved. 

Without warning, Luka hunched over, groaning in pain.

“What’s going on?” Jonas demanded, rushing to him.

Luka gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s Bonnie Bennett... she’s channeling me,” he gritted out.

Alara’s eyes widened, unease stirring in her chest. How could she forget how they pulled from each other, ripping and weaving power in a way that didn’t feel like harmony. It felt wrong. Fairies could only draw strength from their own element.

“Why would you let her do that?” Jonas barked, panic slipping into his voice.

“You told me to bond with her, so I bonded,” Luka gasped, blood beginning to trickle from his nose.

He cried out and collapsed to the ground. Jonas dropped with him immediately, shouting his name. 

Alara wavered, torn between leaving him to suffer or stepping in. 

Every instinct told her not to help a witch—yet watching Luka writhe in pain tugged at something deep within her. The part of her that had once tended wounds on the Forgotten Isle stirred, quiet but insistent, until it pulled her forward. 

Kneeling at his side, she reached out, her hands trembling despite herself. The moment her fingers brushed his, a shimmer unfurled—water blooming between them, cool and delicate as morning mist.

Jonas stared, wide-eyed, but Alara kept her focus on Luka, weaving her elemental magic carefully.

Luka’s cries faded to strained whimpers. Jonas leaned closer, whispering something under his breath, trying to sever the magical link himself.

Soon enough, Luka’s breathing evened out, exhausted but alive.

“Are you alright?” Jonas asked quickly, scanning his son’s face.

Luka nodded weakly, struggling to sit up. Alara exhaled in relief and slumped back onto the floor, her legs shaky under her. She tensed her body, trying not to show her weakness. She needed Elijah.

Swallowing her nerves, she used the chair for support, climbing back into it just as Jonas helped Luka up.

“Thank you,” Luka said, looking at her with honest gratitude. “I don’t know what you did, but... thank you.”

Alara gave a soft, playful shrug, smiling tiredly. 

“Thank you,” Jonas echoed, his voice gentler now, his eyes filled with suspicion... and curiosity.

“I’m going to bed,” Luka mumbled, shuffling off toward his room. Jonas followed him, casting one last glance at Alara.

Once they were gone, Alara slipped into the fireroom, turning on the hand tub and running her hand under the cool water. She let out a shaky breath, letting the water reenergize her a little.

Hearing Jonas' footsteps, she quickly shut off the water and returned to the table, her movements small and cautious.

“What exactly did you do?” Jonas asked, voice firmer now that they were alone.

Alara smiled, soft and nonchalant, but inside, her heart fluttered like a trapped bird. “I helped ease the pain. That’s all.”

“Elijah called. He’s on his way,” Jonas added, studying her carefully.

The room fell into a short silence, broken only when the front door swung open.

Alara straightened instantly, a brilliant smile lighting up her face as she felt Elijah’s presence sweep into the room like a calming breeze.

He took in the living room, the quiet living room, furniture still in slight disarray, a damp sheen on the floor. Jonas’s sharp stare lingered on Alara. His eyes swept over her, cataloging every detail. Unharmed. Good.

Elijah moved toward her, composed but sharp-eyed, attuned to her. “How are you?” he asked, voice low and warm, his gaze scanning her face for any other sign of distress.

“I’m alright. Did you find her?” Alara asked, stepping closer with quiet eagerness.

He nodded. “Your shadow spell was successful,” he confirmed, turning briefly to Jonas. “I tracked her down,” he added smoothly, “I did encounter one of the brothers responsible for my death.”

“I assume he didn’t walk away,” Jonas said dryly.

Elijah offered a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “Actually, I spared him.” His voice grew colder. “He would die before he allowed harm to come to her. They both would. She is safe — ”

Jonas nodded once. “For now.”

“That’s precisely where we need her to be. How is Luka?” Elijah asked casually.

“He’s okay, he’s asleep now,” Jonas responded.

Elijah’s attention shifted fully back to Alara, the edges of his formal mask softening imperceptibly. “Come, Alara. It’s late. Goodnight, Jonas.” He gestured for her to follow him with a subtle glance. 

As they stepped into the night, Elijah spoke again, low enough that only she could hear. “Jonas told me you helped Luka.” 

The moment Elijah answered the phone, the older warlock’s first words were questions about Alara—what she was. Jonas had never seen or felt magic like hers before, and his curiosity was evident. Elijah was even more surprised when he asked Jonas why he wanted to know. 

Alara bit her lip, glancing up at him as they walked toward the metal beetle, located a few homes down. “Yes... I hope that was alright?”

Elijah’s mouth curved into a rare, warm smile. He shook his head at her compassion. “Yes, it was admirable.”

They continued walking quietly, broken by the soft hum of cicadas. The streetlights haloed her hair in a pale gold, making her seem almost otherworldly in the dark stretch of Mystic Falls. Elijah glanced down at her — at the way she kept her hands clasped before her, wings hidden yet restless beneath her skin. 

Jonas’s curiosity still lingered in Elijah’s mind — the witch’s eyes had weighed her, measured her. It had stirred something sharp and possessive in him that he hadn’t expected. Alara, oblivious to it, hummed softly, leaning just enough into his side to draw him back to the present.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, glancing up.

“Merely thinking,” Elijah replied, voice even as ever. Yet when his gaze met hers, there was warmth there, soft, steady, and grounding her more than words ever could.

Chapter Text

For the next few days, Elijah worked to establish himself in town — a writer, quiet and unassuming. It was a cover he wore easily, honed by centuries of practice. Between meetings with the mayor — not an elder, she’d learned, which was odd; in Neverland, the oldest and most powerful always led — he devoted the rest of his time to Alara.

He walked her through the bustling streets, teaching her human customs with unshakable patience. Why the ‘metal beetles’ stopped at red signs, why you exchanged items in shops for green papers or a swipe of a hard square, how the little black stick connected to the large moving painting, and anything else that caught her eye.

Alara absorbed it all with wide-eyed wonder; a thrill stirred in her chest, a joyous flutter of discovery. Her innocence would have seemed naïve to anyone else; to Elijah, it was deliberate — a curiosity that masked something older, wiser.

He found himself watching her more than he should. The way she lingered by fountains, comparing the water to rivers from her home. The way she pressed her palms to the glass shop windows, fascinated by the mannequins. The way her soft hum threaded through the noise of town and settled, inexplicably, in his chest. He reminded himself — often — that she was not his. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was to him fully. And yet, when people stared too long, he stepped closer, angling his body just so, ensuring she stayed in the shelter of his presence.

The next day, Elijah opened the car door for Alara, offering his hand to help her out before letting go and leading her up the walkway toward a neat white house. Alara’s gaze swept over every detail — the rows of flowers along the porch, the little wind chime swaying lazily in the breeze.

“Do they know we’re coming?” she whispered up to him, voice tinged with wonder rather than worry.

“They do,” Elijah replied, his tone quiet and even. “Remember what we discussed — follow my lead.”

Alara nodded, though her fingers fidgeted at her dress as excitement and nerves mingled inside her. When they reached the porch, Elijah lifted his hand to knock, but Alara leaned forward eagerly.

“May I?” she asked, eyes bright.

Elijah’s lips curved in faint amusement. “Of course.”

She knocked firmly — a little louder than necessary — and grinned at him proudly. Elijah allowed the smallest smile to tug at his mouth before straightening, slipping back into his composed mask as the door opened.

The door opened to reveal a smiling blonde woman. “Hey! You must be Elijah,” She greeted warmly.

Elijah returned her smile with one of practiced ease, his voice carrying a softened American cadence. “Yeah, that’s me. And you must be Jenna. This is Alara—she’s a friend who also has an interested in history.”

Alara offered a cheerful wave. “Hi! It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too! Come in,” Jenna said, stepping aside.

Alara entered with careful grace, eyes darting to the paper paintings in the hallway, the faint hum of the ice box— everything new and fascinating. Elijah’s presence at her side grounded her.

“I think I know where everything is,” Jenna said as she led them toward a small storage closet. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Elijah replied easily.

“I’m good too!” Alara chimed, mimicking his tone with a soft grin. “But thank you.”

Jenna chuckled, opening the closet and rummaging through boxes. “Let’s see... ah, here it is!”

Alara reached for a box Jenna pulled out. “May I?” she asked gently.

“Of course,” Jenna said with a smile, already pulling out more items.

Footsteps creaked on the stairs.

“Hey, what are you doing?” a young girl's voice asked — Elena’s.

Jenna straightened. “Perfect timing!” She handed Elena a box around the doorframe. “Your mom’s files from the historical society. I got roped into helping Mrs. Lockwood organize things.”

“Roped?” Alara echoed quietly to Elijah, puzzled. “Like… tied up with rope?”

Elijah chuckled quietly. “No — like volunteered, but didn’t really want to.”

“Oh,” Alara murmured thoughtfully. The word ‘roped’ didn’t fit — it sounded harsh, like a trap, but Jenna laughed lightly. 

Jenna closed the door, revealing Elijah standing there. Elena froze, eyes widening — fear flashing in her expression. Her gaze darted from Elijah to Alara — delicate, dreamy, practically glowing beside him. Wariness settled in her features.

“Hey,” Elijah greeted smoothly, as if they were strangers. “I’m Elijah.”

“Elijah’s doing research on Mystic Falls,” Jenna supplied casually, oblivious to the tension crackling in the room, as she took the box that she had just given to Elena.

“Right… hi,” Elena said cautiously, suspicion flickering beneath her polite tone.

Elena’s gaze lingered on Elijah, taking in the smooth way he stepped forward and extended his hand. If she noticed that Alara was no longer fully in view behind him, she didn’t think anything of it. “It's a pleasure.”

Elena hesitantly grasped his hand in greeting. 

“So you're welcome to stay here and rummage through this stuff, or Elena and I could help you load it into your car,” Jenna offered cheerfully, watching as Alara thumbed through the journals. 

Elijah looked away from Elena, “Or, I can get someone to pick it up tomorrow.”

“Also, a good plan.” Jenna laughed, walking to stand next to Elena, who had been silently watching Elijah with caution. 

“Thank you for inviting me into your home, Jenna. And Elena.” Elijah’s voice softened on Elena’s name, almost teasing, as he gestured to the door and led Alara out of the house.

He paused at the threshold, casting Elena a small grin. “I hope to see you again sometime soon.”

Outside, Alara exhaled a quiet laugh. “Elijah,” she breathed, part surprise, part giddiness. “She is absolutely terrified and you tease her?”

Elijah didn’t reply, but the faint upturn of his lips said enough.

“Come,” Elijah said, wrapping his arms around her waist and using his vampire speed to reenter the home through an open window on the second floor. 

Alara breathed deeply with her eyes closed as she tried to settle herself after traveling vampire speed. 

Opening her eyes, Elijah had a hand on Elena’s wrist with his hand held to his lips to signal her to be quiet. Elena’s frightened eyes shot to her standing behind Elijah.

Before anything could be done, the door opened. “What is it?” a young boy's voice asked from the other side. 

“Um, Jenna was just asking me to get you to help her with the boxes,” Elena murmured nervously, trying to act like nothing was wrong, though Alara could see her tumultuous emotions rolling through her. 

“Oh, okay,” the boy said and emerged, walking down the stairs, not noticing the vampire and fairy hiding in the corner.

“Its a wise choice,” Elijah says, leaning against the wall, keeping Alara behind him.

Alara peered around his shoulder, catching the way the girl froze, shoulders stiff, eyes darting to Elijah and away again, like she wasn’t sure whether to run or stand her ground. “What do you want?” She questioned, voice tight and restrained. 

“I think its time you and I had a little chat.” Elijah said calmly. 

Elena lingered just outside her door, watching the small, lithe woman follow Elijah inside. Furrowing her brow, Elena shook her head, unsure what to make of the newest newcomer. Quietly, she stepped in, pausing as Alara stood by her dresser, eyes scanning the room and dresser with an almost childlike curiosity. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Elena asked. Her voice was a bit stronger now that she had time to ground herself a little, but she still kept her distance from both of them. 

Elijah’s attention shifted from Alara to Elena. “Forgive the intrusion. I mean your family no harm.” 

“Why did you kill those vampires when they tried to take me?” Elena asked. 

“Because I didn't want you to be taken,” Elijah replied. “Klaus is the most feared and hated of the originals, but those who fear him are desperate for his approval. If the word gets out that the doppelganger exists, there'll be a line of vampires eager to take you to him, and I can't have that.” 

Alara turned from the dresser, her attention drawn to Elijah. It was the first time she’d seen him like this — not in the quiet moments they shared, but in his own world, where every word and gesture carried weight. Her heart fluttered uneasily — not fear, but something close: a tantalizing glimpse into a darkness she had only glimpsed in shadows and half-told tales.

Elena looked at him in confusion. “Isn't that exactly what you're trying to do?”

“Let's just say that my goal is not to break the curse,” Elijah spoke, his eyes occasionally darting over to Alara, checking on her.

“So what is your goal?” Elena asked, taking a step closer.

“Klaus's obsession has made him paranoid. He's a recluse.” Elijah stood from his spot, a hand sliding into his pocket. “He trusts only those in his immediate circle.”

“Like… the two of you?” Elena asked, gesturing over to Alara, who still stood at her dresser, silently watching the exchange.

Elijah’s gaze flickered to Alara for the briefest moment — protective, thoughtful — before returning to Elena. “Not anymore,” he said evenly. “And she has never stood with him.”

Elena digested the information. “So, you don't know where he is, do you? You're trying to use me to draw him out?” She spoke with a little realization.

Alara’s eyes flickered; she had briefly seen this side of Elijah before the memory moved on or through carefully edited versions of the truth. The readiness in his voice now wasn’t a surprise, but the clarity of it still made her stomach tighten.

“Well, to do that, I need you to stay put and stop trying to get yourself killed,” Elijah said with a small smirk on his face. 

“How do I know you're telling the truth?” Elena questioned, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“If I weren't being truthful, your family would be dead, and I'd be taking you to Klaus right now. Instead, I'm here and I'm prepared to offer you a deal.” Elijah shrugged casually. 

Alara’s mouth parted at Elijah’s words. 

It wasn’t the threat that startled her — she knew well enough what he was capable of — but the ease with which he said it, as if it were a simple truth rather than a horror. Fairies didn’t speak of killing so plainly; disputes in Neverland rarely ended in blood, yet when they did, the violence was swift and merciless. Instead of fear, something sharper bloomed in her chest — curiosity, even a flicker of awe.

This was a part of him she hadn’t seen, the darkness he kept tucked behind polite smiles. She should have been unsettled. Instead, she found herself wanting to understand.

“What kind of a deal?” She asked, her interest piqued. 

“Do nothing,” Elijah said, walking towards Alara slowly, almost observing how she would react. And when Alara didn’t move from Elijah’s approaching form, he stopped beside her. “Do nothing, live your life, stop fighting, and then, when the time is right, you and I shall draw Klaus to get out and I shall make sure your friends remain unharmed.” 

“And then what?” Elena asked. 

“Then.” Elijah watched Alara’s facial expressions for what he was about to say, measuring her expressions, “I kill him.”

Alara looked at him fully in complete surprise. That was not something he had mentioned earlier. He had just said he wanted to stop him, Alara thought. Though she could understand why he wanted to kill his brother, she had observed enough to doubt that Elijah could ever bring true harm to his brother.

“Just like that?” Elena voiced her thoughts, her surprise evident in her voice.

“Just like that.” He confirmed, looking away from Alara and to Elena. “I'm a man of my word, Elena. I make a deal, I keep a deal.”

Elena nodded, and it seemed like her body began to relax at his words. “How are you gonna be able to keep everybody safe?”

“I notice you have a friend, Bonnie, is it?” Elijah shifted, leaning against Elena’s dresser. “She seems to possess the gift of magic. I have friends with similar gifts.” 

“You know witches?” Her gaze landed on Alara, “Is that what she is?” 

Alara looked at Elena, and for the first time since the conversation started, a small smile emerged on her face. Alara kept quiet, but mischief was laced in her smile and eyes. 

Elijah also gave the smallest of smiles as he ignored the question from Elena. “Together we can protect you and everybody that matters to you.”

Elena stared at him silently, trying to figure out the truth in his words. Her gaze slid over to the mysterious girl. She was someone to Elijah, that was a fact, but Elena wasn’t entirely sure about her. 

“So, do we have a deal?” Elijah moved to stand in front of Elena. 

“I need you to do one more thing for me.” She said her chin lifted slightly as she stepped closer. 

Elijah gazed at her in amusement, “You're negotiating again?” 

Elena nodded, sure of herself now. “Yes. Stefan got trapped in the tomb with Katherine,” she informed Elijah, who immediately understood what she was saying. 

Elijah hummed as he moved back, close to Alara again, “And you would like for the Salvatore boy to be freed,” he finished for her with a thoughtful expression. 

Elena didn’t respond, but her silence was telling enough.

Elijah nodded and got Alara’s attention, and held a hand out for Alara so they could leave. 

“Mr. Salvatore will return later tonight.” Elijah spoke before him, and Alara disappeared as fast as they had appeared. 

“You’re good at that,” Alara said softly as they made their way to the mettle bettle. For the first time since stepping onto the mortal plane — since meeting Elijah — her voice lacked its usual lilt. Serious. Steady.

Elijah glanced at her, brows lifting faintly as he opened the passenger door for her. “Pardon?”

She waited until they were both inside the metal beetle, the hush of the cabin broken only by the faint tick of the cooling engine. Streetlights washed pale gold across her features as they passed in and out of shadow. “Saying things that sound like truth,” she murmured. “Even when they aren’t the whole of it.”

Elijah shifted in his seat, hand pausing on the gearshift. He hadn’t realized she’d seen through him so easily. “I did not lie to her,” he said carefully.

Alara chuckled — not mocking, but knowing. “No. But you left pieces behind — sharp ones. You didn’t want her to see them.” Her head tilted, eyes narrowing in quiet thought. “You didn’t want me to see them either.”

Elijah studied her profile, moonlight brushing over the white ink of her hidden wings beneath her dress. “And yet you do?” His tone was measured, almost wary.

“I always do,” she replied, gaze flicking toward him. “We hear when laughter isn’t real — and when words are heavy.” She leaned back into the seat, but her question cut through the silence. “Why hide it from me?”

Elijah met her stare, something unspoken tightening in his chest. He had not seen her so solemn before; her gaze was unflinching.

“Because I would spare you the weight of it,” he said at last, his voice low, honest in a way he rarely allowed himself.

Alara studied him, expression softening but not yielding. “I was born from your laugh, Elijah,” she whispered. “The weight has always been mine too.”

Elijah’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the wheel. For centuries, no one had spoken to him like this — seen him like this so quickly and clearly. Her words landed not as judgment but as something far rarer: understanding. And for a moment, he felt the weight he carried ease, just slightly, as though she had taken a fraction of it into her own small hands.

The silence lingered between them, warm instead of heavy.

After a beat, Alara turned to the window, eyes catching on a cluster of neon lights down the street. Laughter drifted faintly from the building — clinking glasses, music, voices overlapping. “What is that place?” she asked, curiosity returning to her tone.

Elijah followed her gaze. “The Mystic Grill. A tavern of sorts.”

“Could we go?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly. “Just for a little while. There’s so many people walking in and out of there.”

Elijah hesitated. He had business at the tomb — not exactly dangerous business — but leaving her here, among mortals, was safer than waiting in the car. “Very well,” he said at last, pulling the car toward the lights. “But do not stray from the crowd. I need to go collect Mr. Salvatore.”

He wanted to take her straight back to the house, shield her from the noise and chaos of the town. But he knew better. She needed space to experience this world without him hovering over her shoulder — to see it through her own eyes. As much as it unsettled him, he understood it was the right thing to do.

Alara’s smile bloomed, soft but unmistakably thrilled.

Elijah parked the car and moved around to open Alara’s door. She stepped out carefully, gaze darting across the bustling patio — humans laughing over plates of food, others weaving through tables with black plates and glasses perched on top, music humming faintly from somewhere inside.

Her eyes widened as they entered the restaurant. Humans crowded around strange items — knocking balls with long sticks on a table rimmed in green and throwing pointed things at a circular board.

Alara gasped. “Where are the bees?” she blurted, excitement sparking in her voice at the sight of a familiar game.

Elijah followed her line of sight. “The game of darts does not involve bees,” he explained smoothly. “Humans are too large to use them and… do not have the same relationship with bees as you do.”

Alara’s shoulders slumped. “Disappointing,” she muttered, only to be distracted by a neon-lit box humming in the corner. She darted toward it, fingers tracing the glowing, colorful frame.

“What is it?” she whispered in awe.

“A jukebox,” Elijah replied, amusement flickering in his eyes. “One of the many devices humans use to play music.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You mean—” she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially — “there are people in here? How do they get inside?”

This time, Elijah allowed himself a quiet laugh. “No, Alara. Humans devised a way to capture sound and play it back.”

Alara blinked at the box, marveling. “Humans are so strange.”

He led her to an empty table, ordered for them, and stayed with her until his phone buzzed — Jonas. The tomb was ready to be opened.

“Will you be alright?” Elijah asked quietly.

Alara nodded, though her eyes followed him as he left. Moments later, she sighed, idly swirling her strawberry milkshake. Bored, she rose to explore the nobee dart game — and promptly collided with someone.

Light-pink liquid splattered across the girl’s shirt.

“Seriously?” the blonde exclaimed, eyes widening as she looked down at the mess.

“Oh my stars, I am so sorry!” Alara yelped at the same time, scrambling for the dark cloth on the table and thrusting it into the girl’s hands while babbling apologies.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” the girl cut her off, waving her hands before dabbing at the stain herself. “Seriously, don’t— you’re gonna make the spill worse.”

Alara froze awkwardly, cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t paying attention. The—uh—nobee dart game distracted me.”

The girl blinked at her, frowning faintly. “Nobee… dart game? Do you mean darts?”

Alara winced. “Yes. Darts.” Great. Not going well.

“I’m Alara,” she offered quickly, trying a tentative smile.

The girl’s eyes swept over her, narrowing just slightly. Something about the girl’s presence felt… off. Not vampire, not werewolf— It was faint, something Caroline couldn’t place.

“Caroline,” she said finally, polite but cautious. “You’re new here?”

Alara nodded. “I really am sorry about spilling my drink on you.”

Caroline sighed, softening a little as she set the cloth down. “Okay, honestly? It’s fine. I’ll just toss it in the wash.” She sat, gesturing for Alara to do the same. “So… when did you move here?”

“A few days ago,” Alara replied, sliding into the seat across from her. “I’m… taking everything in.” 

The moment the words left her lips, something faint tugged at her. A sudden awareness, it wasn’t strong, nothing like the heavy, ancient darkness she’d felt from Elijah. This was barely there, a shadow, but still there. Alara kept her smile in place.

“Right.” Caroline brightened at that, slipping into familiar territory. “Well, Mystic Falls isn’t exactly big, but we have events. Like, a lot of them.” She gestured vaguely around them as she rattled them off. “There’s a Historical Tea Party at the Lockwood house next week — super traditional, lots of tiny hats and even tinier sandwiches. Then the Chamber of Commerce is having this luncheon the day after, which sounds boring but the food’s good. Oh, and the Grill always has random stuff going on too.”

She stopped when she noticed Alara’s politely blank expression.

“I’m Miss Mystic,” Caroline added, gesturing to herself as if that explained everything.

Alara tilted her head, still unsure but smiling anyway. “Sounds fun. Everyone goes?”

“Basically,” Caroline replied with a shrug. 

A chime sounded from Caroline’s direction, and she pulled out her own talking stone. She glanced down at it before hopping to her feet in one smooth motion. “Gotta run — but hey, welcome to Mystic Falls.” With a quick smile, she wove between the tables and disappeared through the crowd.

Alara slumped in her seat once the girl darted off, oblivious to the curious glance Caroline tossed her way before disappearing into the crowd.

“Didn’t like the milkshake, huh?” a boy’s voice teased. She turned to find a blonde with blue eyes, holding a square grey bin, made out of some odd, smooth material. “There are better ways to tell us.”

“I spilled it,” Alara admitted sheepishly. “On someone else.”

He grinned, wiping up the rest of the milkshake that didn’t make a home on Caroline. “No worries. Want me to grab you another? Or something else, you had been nursing that shake for a while.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Alara’s head whipped around at the familiar voice. Elijah stood behind her, composed as ever. He looked at her, his eyes scanning her before he reached for a folded object and slipped a green paper onto the table.

“Ready?”

She nodded, bouncing to his side and falling into step with him.

“Why did that boy have the word ‘Matt’ on his shirt? And ‘Mystic Grill’? Would he forget where he was without it?”

“The words are part of a work uniform,” Elijah explained as they stepped into the night.

“Like what scouts wear,” Alara said brightly, interrupting him.

“Precisely,” he replied with faint amusement, opening the car door.

“And humans have to label themselves?” she mused aloud as she climbed in. “So odd.”

Elijah chuckled softly. “Not quite. It allows customers to know their names.”

“oh,” Alara murmured.

Chapter Text

Alara sighed, long and drawn out, and shifted in her seat for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. Her legs dangled off the arm of the chair she was sitting sideways in. Her bare feet hit the side rhythmically against the side of the chair. 

Elijah was sitting at the table, surrounded by piles of old papers and thick, layered scrolls, hunting for a house tied to old witch deaths. The task required quiet and patience, two things she had very little of. 

Especially since she had already offered many times to find it herself, but he repeatedly refused, wary of the reaction of restless witch spirits still lingering there.

He had kindly lent her his talking stone earlier that morning and allowed her to ‘download’ a game. Matching the candies entertained her for a few hours, until even she got tired of hearing the cheerful voice—“Delightful! Another sugar burst!” 

She let out a little huff as she stood and wandered over to the tall shelf of thick, layered scrolls Elijah had organized according to his preference. Her fingers trailed along the shelf, leaving tiny beads of dew like morning mist.

She grabbed one from the shelf, thumbing through it absentmindedly. She was growing restless. Never in her life had she been caged like this, even during her stay in the healing halls after her incident at Skull Island.

From across the room, Elijah glanced up briefly from his notes, eyes flicking to her like a tether. Looking back down at his files, Elijah sighed. He had been through these pages for days and had not found a clue to the location of the witch's house. 

“Alara,” Elijah said, standing, “I think it's time we got out of this house for a while, yes?”

She turned quickly, her eyes lit up, “Yes!” She didn’t wait for an answer, already moving toward the door.

Elijah smiled softly at her constant excitement. He had only seen one time when she had shown real seriousness. Alara all but ran to the ‘metal beetle’ and they drove off. 

After a while, Elijah finally made it to the entrance of the woods. Alara climbed out of the metal beetle and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of oak, maple, and hickory mingling with damp earth.

“Come.” Elijah gestured for her to follow him, and Alara quickly fell into step with him. 

She basked in the openness of the vast woods, the sun shining on her, the chirp of the birds. If she kept her eyes closed, it was almost like she was back home; all she was missing was the rushing water and chatter of the other fairies visiting the Glassreach. 

Alara and Elijah walked in silence through the woods until Elijah finally stopped once they reached a small clearing. The sun filtered through the tall trees, the silence peaceful in a way the human world rarely was. 

“I used to come here,” he said softly, his hands slipping into his pockets, a comfortable gesture. “When I was a boy. Before everything changed.”

Alara turned her head, curiosity in her gaze. “You were here... before you were a vampire?”

A nod. “It’s not the same forest, but the feeling of it is familiar. Stillness. Freedom.”

She smiled at that — a small, dreamy thing that held a flicker of understanding.

Freedom.

“You’ve looked restless,” he said, voice low. “Bored, maybe. I thought… perhaps this would help.”

Alara didn’t answer right away. She took in the space, the height of the trees, and the softness of the wind. Slowly, her shoulders lowered, and something in her posture shifted — less guarded, more herself.

“It does help,” she murmured, glancing at him. “I haven’t had space like this in a while.”

Then, her wings unfurled  — translucent and edged in pale silver and soft water-blue. They stretched high before fluttering once, twice. It was like watching the forest exhale. 

Elijah stared.

Not out of fear or confusion, but awe.

A bright, unrestrained smile emerged on her lips as she shot into the air, her wings beating as fast as a hummingbird's. Alara twirled in the air, weaving through the trees with practiced ease. A laugh flew past her lips as she summoned water, letting it burst around her. 

Elijah followed her movements, silent, transfixed. A rare genuine smile grew on his lips as he watched her unadulterated joy. 

She was radiant in a way he couldn't describe—more spirit than flesh as she moved with a kind of grace that didn’t belong to this world. He’d spent centuries locking himself away behind composure and control, yet here he was—watching a fairy dance in the woods and feeling something splinter deep inside.

The tenderness that bloomed in him came too fast. It was reckless. It was foolish. But it felt real. More real than anything he’d let himself feel in decades.

He should have been wary. Should have stepped back. But he couldn’t. He did not want to.

He found himself memorizing the way the breeze lifted her hair, the tilt of her smile when she spun in the air, the unguarded joy in her eyes. It was a joy unbothered by centuries or sins. A joy untouched by the cruelty of this world.

And for a moment, he envied it. Then, he wanted to protect it.

Finally, Alara lowered herself back down, hovering over the ground. “Tell me.” 

Elijah tilted his head slightly. “Tell me about your time here when you were a boy.” Alara implored. 

A thoughtful expression settled on Elijah's face as memories flooded his mind. The times of chasing and being chased in the woods by his siblings, shrieks of laughter echoing through the trees. The quiet mornings before everyone else in the village woke. The chaotic evenings at their dinner tables. 

"There was this one year," Elijah began quietly, looking up at the sky. "Winter had stretched longer than we expected, and families around us were struggling to survive. Kol had whined endlessly—about the cold, about missing the summer berries, about how the frost made it harder for him to pull his usual pranks on us."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "One evening, he carved a little wooden figure, coated the mouth with pitch, and set it beside the fire. When our mother went to stir the stew, the figure’s face melted into something grotesque. Even father laughed. I think that startled us more than the trick itself."

His gaze grew distant as the memory took him. "The cold broke a few days later. The snow began to recede, and the air smelled of damp earth and pine. That night, the village lit a bonfire so tall it seemed to touch the stars. The embers floated upward and mingled with them, like sparks falling into the heavens. We slaughtered twenty animals, enough to fill every belly until it hurt. There were barrels of mead and trays of roasted roots and bread fresh from the fire pit. We sang the old songs in our tongue."

Elijah’s voice softened. "My mother wore her hair loose that night, like she had when she was younger. Rebekah plaited flowers into it, claiming she looked like the goddess Freyja. Kol danced until he could barely stand, and even Finn—stoic, reserved Finn—smiled as the music played. I remember standing beside the fire, feeling the heat against my face, thinking that perhaps the gods had granted us mercy after all."

A silence settled between them, thick with the weight of long-buried memories. Elijah seemed lost in the glow of that distant night, his eyes tracing the flicker of nearby shadows.

Alara hovered nearby, her wings fluttering softly, giving him space to work through his thoughts. After a moment, he glanced at her, a faint, rare smile touching his lips—one that held a hint of mischief.

“Though,” he said with a faint smile, “it seems fairies were simply… behind schedule.”

Alara blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected jest. Her cheeks warmed slightly, an amused smile curving her lips. 

“Well, I suppose even us timeless creatures need a little extra time now and then.” She replied, her tone light.

~~~~~~~

“Are you certain this is… appropriate?” Alara asked, eyeing the pale pink dress Elijah had handed her. The color felt strange against her fingers — soft and warm, nothing like the endless shades of blue she usually wore. The unfamiliarity tugged at her nerves.

Elijah’s gaze swept over her, deliberate but unhurried. “Yes.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “You look lovely, Alara.” After seeing her almost exclusively in shades of blue, the sight of her in another color was a pleasant change. When he’d taken her to get more clothes, she’d chosen nothing but blue, and though Elijah had tried to tempt her with other options, she’d never actually worn them—until now.

Alara sighed, glancing down as she smoothed the skirt. “I don’t know… do we have to go?”

Elijah’s expression softened as he stepped closer, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “If you’d rather stay here, you may, and I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Before she could protest, he lifted a hand slightly, stopping her, already anticipating the familiar argument she always gave when he left to keep his cover. “Yes, I have to go. Mayor Lockwood is hosting this tea and has placed me as her guest of honor. It would be rude not to attend.”

Her lower lip jutted in a small pout, but she slipped her heels on anyway. When she straightened, she gained a few inches, grinning up at him as if proud of the accomplishment, though she still didn’t quite meet his height.

Elijah’s eyes glinted with quiet amusement. He offered his arm, guiding her out of the house. They settled into the car, the familiar hum of the engine breaking the soft quiet between them.

“Will you teach me how to drive the metal beetle?” she asked suddenly, her gaze bright as she watched him.

“You want to learn how to drive a car?” Elijah asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yes!” She leaned closer to him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s a normal human activity, isn’t it? How hard can it be?” Her voice dipped into playful pleading. “Please?”

Elijah chuckled, the sound warm in the small space. Her eagerness to experience every fragment of the human world never failed to disarm him. “Alright,” he said at last. “When we have the opportunity, I will teach you.”

He left unspoken the second reason—a quiet, calculated thought that it would give her another means of escape, aside from her wings, if she ever needed it. His focus returned to the road, though his awareness remained attuned to her presence beside him.

Soon they arrived at a large red house. Voices and laughter spilling from open windows. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut flowers and brewing tea. Guests wandered between small tables, their colorful dresses swaying softly. Some were wearing tiny hats, which were perched on their heads. Alara’s eyes drank in the scene. Caroline was right, Alara thought to herself.

Elijah opened her door and helped her out. Before they could approach the steps, a bright-faced woman intercepted them.

“Elijah! You made it! Come on in, everyone is waiting!” she exclaimed, her smile broad and welcoming as she led them into the house.

Her gaze flicked quickly to Alara, who stood quietly, taking in the room with keen curiosity.

“Mrs. Lockwood, thank you for the invitation,” Elijah said smoothly. “This is Alara, a close friend with an interest in history.”

Mrs. Lockwood’s smile softened as she turned to Alara. “Very nice to meet you, Alara. But please, I told you to call me Carol.”

Elijah caught a passing waiter’s tray and took two glasses, handing one to Alara and one to Carol before selecting his own.

“I hope your time in Mystic Falls has been productive so far.” She said, her tone warm.. 

“It has,” Elijah replied with a faint smile. “Ms. Sommers has been invaluable in my research.”

Alara shifted her weight, stifling a yawn. Maybe staying home would have been better, she thought, eyes wandering.

“That’s great, I am glad. I knew she would be the one for the job.” Mrs. Lockwood's expression glowed with pride at the success of her idea.

“Have you spent much time in Richmond for your book?” She asked, taking a sip of her drink, “There's such a wealth of history there.”

“No. I'm focusing mostly on the smaller regions of Virginia. Lots of research. Strictly academic.” Elijah responded, voice steady. 

Alara’s eyes glazed over momentarily, the murmur of guests and clinking glasses growing louder in her ears.

Alara’s wings fluttered under her skin, an instinctive ripple she couldn’t stop, snapping her attention back. A new presence entered the room, sharper than Caroline's. It wasn’t as heavy as Elijah’s, but it was still enough for her to notice it. 

Her eyes swept the room again as they landed on a tall man with dark, almost black hair and clear blue eyes. The man from the house, she recognized him from the day she met Elijah. 

She quickly looked away when she noticed him begin to make his way in their direction. 

“Damon.” Mrs. Lockwood greeted the approaching man. The new dark presence follows Damon. “What a surprise.”

“Carol.” He smiled at the woman, kissing her cheek, his eyes trained on Elijah and quickly darting over to Alara. 

“Elijah, Alara,” Carol introduced warmly, “I want you to meet Damon Salvatore. His family is one of Mystic Falls' founding families.” She didn’t seem to notice the quiet tension threading between the men.

“Such a pleasure to meet you.” Damon offered with a tight smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling a touch too much.

Alara’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly at the falseness in his tone, though her own expression remained politely sweet.

Elijah settled a hand on Alara’s back as he shook Damon's hand, “No. Pleasure's mine.”

Damon’s attention shifted to her, “Hello. Alara, is it?” His smile turned sickly sweet. 

“Yes,” she replied with a soft smile, eyes bright but unreadable. “I’ve heard you’re quite the charmer.” She tilted her head slightly, voice soft and sincere, as if she truly meant it. 

“But I wasn’t aware it is supposed to take so much effort.”

Elijah’s thumb nudged her back lightly—an unspoken caution—while Damon’s smile faltered, quickly twisting into a sly grin. “Well, sweetheart, charm’s an art—and sometimes it requires a little extra… practice.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with playful menace. “But don’t worry, I’m a quick learner.”

Alara met his gaze evenly for a brief moment, her expression unreadable yet confident. Then, she turned her attention away, focusing instead on the conversation between Elijah and Mrs. Lockwood. Just as Mrs. Lockwood noticed someone approaching across the room, she excused herself politely and slipped away, leaving Elijah and Alara standing together amidst the gathering.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to get a word with you, Elijah. Do you mind coming with me to have a chat?” Damon spoke with fake politeness as he reapproached them, stopping them from moving too far from their spot. 

Alara caught Elijah’s jaw tightening. His smile remained polite but clipped as he nodded and followed Damon, hand resting protectively on her back.

Damon shut the door when they entered the room. Alara’s eyes darted around briefly, noting the door on the other side of the room and the doors that led to the outside.

“You know, when Elena and you made that deal to protect her loved ones. That didn't mean you could compel the locals.” He said, jerking a thumb towards Alara. 

“Compel?" She questioned aloud, looking at Elijah, “That's the mind control thing, right?”

Elijah’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, but his tone stayed composed. “I’m quite aware of the terms, Damon. Alara is here under my protection—and of her own will.” Elijah spoke evenly, his attention moving to the other vampire. “What can I do for you, Damon?” 

Damon’s gaze flicked from Alara back to Elijah, sharp and calculating. 

Alara wandered the room with quiet curiosity, pausing at a paper painting of Mayor Carol and two other mortals. Still, her eyes flicked often between the two men, taking in the tension coiling through Damon’s shoulders and the controlled calm in Elijah’s stance.

“Where's Elena?” Elijah asked when Damon didn’t speak, voice calm and measured, his fingers absently tracing the carved wood of the chair’s back.

“Safe with Stefan. They’re laying low—you know, the whole werewolf problem,” Damon replied, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he referenced the previous night’s events.

Elijah gave a slight nod. “Oh, yeah. I heard about that.”

Damon’s eyes glinted. “I’m sure you did, considering it was your witch who saved the day.”

Elijah’s lips curled into a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Damon leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Which makes me wonder exactly why you’re here.”

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of warning in his eyes. “Why don’t you focus on keeping Elena safe and leave the rest to me?”

He moved toward the door, but Damon flashed in front of him, blocking his path with an unyielding stance. “Not good enough.”

Alara’s eyes caught the dark shadow that suddenly settled over Elijah’s as he fixed his gaze on Damon. In an instant, Elijah’s hand shot out with lightning speed, grasping Damon’s neck and slamming him against the wall, holding him there with effortless strength.

Alara’s mouth dropped open in shock, and she stepped forward, closing the space between them, her wings fluttering faintly with tension under her skin.

Damon’s eyes widened, and with a brutal reflex, he reached up, trying to grab Elijah’s throat in return, his fingers digging in with desperate force. The air around them chilled noticeably; moisture began to bead on the windows, and water coiled at Alara’s fingertips, responding to the shift in energy.

Elijah’s grip tightened as he bent Damon’s wrist back with a sharp snap, the sound echoing in the charged room.

“You young vampires, so arrogant,” Elijah’s voice was cold, laced with ancient disdain. His eyes flickered briefly toward Alara, and as he met her gaze, his expression softened—an unspoken reassurance amid the tension, sensing the change in the air and the growing dampness. “How dare you come here and challenge me?”

Damon gasped, struggling to speak through clenched teeth. “You can’t kill me, man. It’s not part of the deal.”

“Silence.” Elijah’s tone brooked no argument. With supernatural speed, he grabbed a thin, yellow wooden stick from the table and drove it deep into Damon’s neck.

Alara exhaled, her tension easing as Elijah released Damon’s limp form, now sprawled across the table. Damon’s hand shot up, clawing at the makeshift stake lodged in his neck, pain flashing in his eyes.

Elijah’s eyes shifted, cold and unyielding as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief, holding it out with commanding authority. Damon snatched it greedily, pressing it to the wound.

“I’m an original,” Elijah said, voice sharp and commanding. “Show a little respect.”

Turning away from the struggling vampire, Elijah came to stand beside Alara, his hand settling gently on her back, “The moment you cease to be of use to me, you’re dead. So you’d do well to do as I say,” his voice low but firm as he guided her toward the door.

“Keep Elena safe.” With that final command, Elijah closed the heavy double doors behind them, leaving the room charged with silent menace.

The two of them slipped back into the gentle hum of the Historical Tea Party, the soft chatter and clinking teacups welcoming them once more.

Almost immediately, Elijah was intercepted by a man introducing himself as Paul, eager to discuss Elijah’s travels and the other places he intended to write about.

“I’m going to go look at the food,” Alara muttered, her voice pitched low so only Elijah could hear. Without waiting for his reply, she drifted away.

The refreshment room was alive with the scent of freshly baked scones and sugared fruit. Long tables, draped in cream linens, were lined with tiered platters and bowls brimming with colorful offerings. Alara paused at the doorway, subtly watching how others moved—how they reached for the paper plates, how they served themselves—before quietly mimicking their motions.

Alara trailed her gaze along the table, taking in the spread. The scent of warm bread and honey curled into the air, mingling with sharper, savory notes she ignored. Platters of roasted meats were pushed further from her reach as she gravitated toward a plate of sugared pastries and a bowl of ripe berries.

“You’re not from around here,” someone spoke casually behind her, but there was a thread of curiosity under the words.

Looking over, her lips curved faintly. “No.” She didn’t elaborate, instead turning her attention to the delicate crust in her hand.

“My name is Alaric. I’m the history teacher at the high school.” He said, walking closer to her, picking up a plate too. 

Alara just nodded, not fully paying him any attention.

“Elena mentioned a girl with Elijah,” he continued, his tone mild but his gaze assessing. “Short, dark hair… dreamy sort of smile. Guessing that’s you?”

“Guessing,” she echoed softly, tilting her head. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

Alaric gave a small, dry smile. “Haven’t decided yet.”

She studied him for a moment longer than necessary, sensing the careful weight of his interest. Something in his eyes told her he wasn’t asking just to make conversation. She let the silence stretch, then shifted her attention back to the table, selecting a tart before stepping away. 

Pausing before she got too far, Alara looked at the teacher again, her head tilted. “Decisions are heavy things. Best not to rush.”

Alara returned to Elijah’s side and held out the plate to him. He looked over, a small, almost surprised smile playing at his lips as he accepted the fruit tart. It was a simple gesture, but one unfamiliar—someone taking care of him so quietly, so naturally. 

Eventually, Elijah finally told Mrs. Lockwood they had to leave. Just as they were leaving the home, Alara caught sight of Alaric leaning toward Damon in the corner, speaking low enough to be missed by anyone not paying attention. But she saw the glance Damon threw her way, quick and calculated.

Chapter Text

The evening sun cast long shadows over the walkway in the town square, its warm light streaming through the leaves of the oak trees. Alara walked alongside Elijah, her fingers lightly brushing against his as they moved at an easy pace, neither rushing nor lingering, simply enjoying the quiet companionship. 

Around them, the murmur of voices drifted—soft laughter from children chasing each other near the fountain, the gentle clinking of glasses from nearby cafés, the faint rippling of water from the fountain in the center of the square. 

They had intended to return to the house directly, but when Alara suggested she needed fresh air, Elijah didn’t hesitate. He slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road as they passed the square, letting her out into the warm evening air. 

She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of blooming flowers mixed with the faint musk of the earth, her wings fluttering just beneath her skin as if responding to the open sky. 

He watched the way the light caught her hair, the curve of her smile as she took in the simple beauty of the moment. Though he said little, the silence between them was comfortable, a quiet invitation to grow closer.

The calm stretched like a delicate thread between them until the sudden buzz of Elijah’s talking stone sliced through the serenity. He glanced down, eyes darkening as he read the message.

“Jonas,” he said quietly, voice taut. “There’s a werewolf problem. I need to get to the Salvatore house.” His mind raced—he could leave her here, but the werewolves might come to town, and taking her to the house would take too long. 

Without a word, Elijah ushered her back to the metal beetle, silently deciding that taking her with him was the safer choice.

The low hum of the engine replaced the square’s quiet chatter. Alara leaned back, watching the changing scenery as they drove toward the Salvatore house, the sunlight fading into deepening shadows. Her fingers traced idle patterns against the glass, but every so often, her eyes would flick toward Elijah, catching the faint crease between his brows. 

Elijah climbed out of the car after telling her to stay and lock the doors. Alara nodded, but once he was out of sight, she emerged, slipping her heels off, remembering what Elijah had said about vampire hearing, and padded after him in silence.

The front steps were cool beneath her bare feet as she approached the doorway. Her gaze fell on Alaric, lying motionless in the entryway, eyes closed. A flicker of worry tightened her chest, but she moved forward, slipping into the house.

Inside, chaos met her.

Elijah’s hand plunged into a man’s chest, ripping free a heart with the same composure he used to button a suit. 

Three more lunged at him. 

Without hesitation, Alara lifted her hand, water condensing mid-air into an icy force that slammed two werewolves to a halt, giving Elijah the opening to kill the third. He pivoted towards the other two when a werewolf she hadn’t sensed slammed into her, knocking her hard to the floor, suddenly. 

The snarl of teeth and hot breath filled her face. Her eyes narrowed; in the next instant, a sharp sheet of ice shot upward, striking the woman squarely in the face. She hissed, her nails digging into Alara’s arms as she fled in a streak of speed.

Alara rose, brushing off the dust from her dress just as Elijah turned his attention to a cowering man beside Damon. “What about you, sweetheart, hmm? You want to take a shot? Yes, no, yes?” 

“Where’s the girl?” Elijah demanded, looking toward Damon.

“I don’t know,” Damon replied, chained to a chair, his voice utterly unconcerned.

“She ran out,” Alara answered, stopping next to the moonstone.

Damon’s eyes swept over her. “Are you barefoot?” he asked, as if that detail were more alarming than the werewolves attacking.

Elijah’s gaze flicked over his shoulder toward her, pausing when he saw the cut across her forehead and scratches on her arms. His eyes darkened, subtle but sharp, before he turned back to the man, who had tried to bolt. The floor around his feet glittered with a thin sheen of frost, holding him fast.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Elijah said coolly, before driving his fist into the man’s face with lethal force. The body dropped instantly.

“You realize this is the third time I’ve saved your life now?” Elijah remarked dryly to Damon, tearing the chains from the chair with ease. Without another word, he collected the moonstone, reached for Alara’s hand, and led her from the house. 

Elijah stood beside her next to the metal beetle, the familiar weight of caution pressing behind his eyes. "Are you alright?" Elijah asked, his fingers brushing the cuts on her forehead and arms, making her flinch in his hold, but she nodded.

He studied her wounds, frowning. Without a word, he lifted his arm and bit into his wrist, offering it to her. “Vampire blood will heal you.” Vampire blood can heal witches, humans, and werewolves—surely fairies would be no different, Elijah thought. 

Alara’s face twisted in distaste as she leaned back. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” Elijah said evenly, though there was a quiet insistence in his tone. He held his wrist closer. “But this will help.”

She hesitated, uncertain. She would heal on her own, slowly, but apparently not fast enough for the vampire. She could see the concern etched in his features. Wanting to ease him, Alara gave in, carefully pressing her lips to his wrist and taking a tentative sip.

The taste hit her at once. Warm, metallic, wrong. 

Alara gagged, choking as the blood burned her throat. With a whimper, she shoved him back, coughing and spitting the blood onto the ground.

Elijah’s composure cracked, alarm flashing across his face as he snatched a white cloth from his pocket, gently wiping the blood from her lips. He reached for the water bottle he had taken to carrying since meeting her, pressing it into her hands. She drank greedily, though she winced at the stale taste, gasping between swallows.

Elijah brushed her hair from her face, his touch tender. “I apologize. I thought…”

She caught his hands where they framed her face, shaking her head. “You didn’t know. Stars, I didn’t know either.”

For a moment, he just looked at her—steadying himself as she steadied him. His gaze flicked toward the Salvatore house, checking to see if anyone came out to investigate, but the porch remained empty. He turned back, his voice quieter now. “Are you alright?”

Alara took a deep breath, then nodded, meeting his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, though regret laced his words. He slipped back into his side of the car, his composure carefully rebuilt. “Forgive me. I truly believed my blood would help you.”

“Elijah, it’s fine,” she said softly, shifting to face him, her reassurance gentle but certain. “I’m okay.”

His jaw tightened, a rare edge sharpening his tone. “And if you are hurt again? My blood cannot heal you. I told you to stay here, and yet—” He broke off, his reprimand calm but unmistakable.

Alara swallowed, searching for her words. “I know,” she said, watching as Elijah started the metal beetle and began driving away. “I just… I couldn’t stay behind, not when I knew you were going into danger. It didn’t feel right.” 

He studied her for a moment, the weight of his experience meeting the stubborn spark in her eyes. “You’re reckless.”

She let out a small, almost sheepish smile. “Maybe. But I think you’re worth it.”

Elijah’s lips pursed as if he were holding something back, the engine’s hum filling the quiet between them.

“The world we live in is dangerous,” he said, voice low and steady. “I’ve spent centuries protecting myself, Alara. You need not worry about me. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt because of me.”

Alara’s focus shifted from the passing trees, and her eyes slid over to Elijah. “Maybe it’s time you stop protecting yourself alone.” 

He glanced at her, eyes softening. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known, Alara. Your bravery frightens me.”

She met his gaze, a newfound confidence shining through. “And yet, here I am.”

The car rolled along the quiet streets, the evening sky deepening to twilight.

~~~~~~~

Alara sighed as she walked alongside Elijah and Jenna towards the abandoned home. She wasn’t sure why she always seemed to choose the boring tasks—first the historical tea party yesterday, and now this. Apparently, Elijah had asked Jenna to show him the historic spots around town, still searching for the witches’ house. 

“The old Fell property actually starts just beyond that fence.” Jenna gestured with the stack of papers in her hands.

“Ah, the Fells,” Elijah spoke sarcastically. “One of the Founding Families,” he smirked, humored.

“Why do you say it like that?” She asked, amused. 

“My research showed me that this area was actually settled almost two full centuries earlier.” Elijah picked apart a piece of grass he pulled. “It was a migration of townsfolk from the northeast, um, it was Salem, to be precise.” 

“Massachusetts? As in the witch trials?” Jenna asked, surprised, a small smile tugging at her lips. She glanced at Alara, who quickly mirrored Jenna’s excited expression. Elijah’s lips twitched in quiet amusement, knowing full well Alara had no real idea what history they were referring to.

“Which means the ever-lauded founding families… they didn’t actually found anything,” Elijah said smoothly, his voice steady and just dry enough.

Jenna stopped walking near their metal beetles, folding her arms. “Well, I bet it was the men who made the biggest deal about being founders back in 1860. Men are very territorial.”

Alara snorted softly and nodded, her mind flashing to Killian and his stupid ship. Elijah’s gaze flicked to her with mild surprise and wonder. Then, with a subtle smirk, he said, “Yes. They are.”

Alara’s brow furrowed as movement near the metal beetles caught her attention. Alaric approached, and instinctively, Alara took a small step back, sliding closer to Elijah.

“Elijah, Alara, this is my friend, Alaric Saltzman,” Jenna introduced, though Alara caught the barely veiled annoyance simmering beneath Jenna’s tone.

Alaric shrugged, hands sliding into his pants pockets. “Got your message about showing Elijah the old property lines. Figured I’d tag along. You know, being a history buff and all. Where to next?”

Alara stared at him, expression blank, unconvinced. She could feel the undercurrent—he was here for reasons beyond casual history talk.

Elijah’s gaze locked on Alaric’s, voice dry. “I’m curious about the freed slave property owners. Some say the descendants of the slaves are the true keepers of American history.”

Jenna nodded. “I only brought the surveys.” She held up the papers in her hand. “The list is in the car. Just give me a sec.” Alara caught Jenna’s hand resting lightly on Elijah’s for a brief moment before she turned away. Something about the gesture pricked at Alara. She turned her gaze away, distracted by a bird fluttering nearby.

“Alaric Saltzman,” Elijah said with mild amusement, “so you’re one of those people on Elena’s list of loved ones to protect.”

“So is Jenna,” Alaric shot back, eyes flicking to Alara. “And Elena can always add Alara to keep you from compelling her. What do you want with the kid?”

“Compel me?” Alara stepped forward smoothly. “Elijah cannot compel me.” She gave a small shrug, the certainty in her tone disarming. “He hasn’t tried. Why do they keep thinking you have compelled me?”

Elijah’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “I am not entirely sure.” His gaze lifted to Alaric, the smirk deepening at the man’s expression. “There’s no need for jealousy,” he said smoothly, his tone threaded with quiet amusement. “I don’t really pursue younger women.”

Alara giggled softly. “It’s a joke, Ric. Lighten up,” Elijah said, patting Alaric’s arm before guiding Alara toward Jenna.

The tension eased, and the conversation lost steam. Alara found herself growing bored again, the excitement fading as they wandered among the old, abandoned homes.

~~~~~~~

Alaric dropped into the seat across from Damon and Andie with a heavy sigh.

“Other than the lecture on the history of Mystic Falls, did you get anything out of Elijah?” Damon asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Alaric shook his head with a sigh, “No, it was boring. Of course, Jenna thinks he's charming.” He said with a sarcastic tone and a roll of his eye. 

“You sounded jealous.” He turned to Andie with a teasing smile. “Sound a bit jealous?”

“Kinda do.” The woman agreed with a smile on her face. 

“Maybe we shouldn't talk about this here.” he whispered, glancing at Andie.

“Andie, she's been compelled not to divulge my secrets.” Damon says confidently, putting his arm around her, “Haven't you?” He smoozed. 

“Mmhmm.” She leaned in, lips curling. “My lips are sealed.” She kissed him, and he kissed her back.

“This is too weird.” Alaric grimaces, “What about the kid, Alara? She’s practically glued to Elijah.”

Damon’s tone went casual, almost flippant. “Well, when we kill him, the compulsion will break, we compel her to forget, and—poof—she goes back to whatever she came from. Problem solved.”

“Yeah, just one problem. She keeps saying she can’t be compelled and Elijah hasn't even tried. We need to do this soon, she’s innocent and shouldn’t be caught up in this.” Alaric shakes his head.

“Nobody’s that innocent, Ric.” Damon spoke, remembering the night before and the ice that came from her. “If she’s hanging out with Elijah, she’s either trouble… or bait.”

“I just need the right opportunity," Damon muttered. His eyes seemed to light up seeing the objects of their conversation walk through the door. 

“Ah, there's Jenna with her new boyfriend and the kid. Hi,” Damon sarcastically smiled at them as they approached. 

~~~~~~~

Alara, however, hung back. “Can we go? Please?” she asked quietly, keeping Elijah from walking closer toward the table.

“Are you tired?” It had been a long day of walking—something he hadn’t considered might wear on someone with wings who was used to flying.

“A little,” she admitted.

His mouth tilted in a faint, indulgent smile. “Of course. Just a few more minutes, and we’ll leave.”

Her answering smile was small but genuine, and knowing they’d be gone soon eased her.

When Elijah and Alara finally joined the group, Alaric rose. “As much as I’d love to continue this, I’ve got papers to grade.”

“No, you know what?” The woman said from beside Damon, “We should continue this. Let's have a dinner party.” She smiled widely at her idea. 

“Ooh, my girl.” Damon praised, kissing her cheek. “Full of good ideas. I'll be happy to host. Say tonight. Maybe?” he pushed. 

“It's good for me. Jenna?” the woman prompted. 

“I don't know if tonight works…” Alaric hesitated, just as Jenna said she would be available. 

“Elijah? Alara?” Jenna asked, turning to them. 

“It’d be a pleasure,” Elijah spoke calmly in agreement, and Alara pouted inwardly at the thought of walking into a possible trap.

“Great.” Damon beamed with a sly smile on his face. 

“If you would excuse us, Alara is a little tired,” Elijah said, guiding Alara out of the Mystic Grill.

Chapter Text

Alara’s heels clicked sharply on the Salvatore front steps as she ascended, Elijah close behind her. She exhaled a low, frustrated huff.

“You do realize this is a trap,” she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing. Elijah’s soft hum was all the reply she needed—he agreed.

She huffed again, louder this time, just as Elijah raised his hand to knock.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Damon’s trademark smirk.

“Good evening,” Elijah greeted smoothly, his voice calm but carrying a pulse of control.

“Thanks for coming,” Damon said, stepping aside and motioning them in with a casual nod. “Please, come in.”

Elijah’s hand wrapped around Alara’s wrist, halting her just inside the threshold. His eyes locked with Damon’s, sharp and unwavering.

“Just one moment,” Elijah said, voice low and steady, “Can I just say that if you have anything less than honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider.” 

Damon’s smile twitched but never faltered. “No, nothing, nothing dishonorable. Just getting to know you.” His tone was far too light, far too easy.

“Hmm. Well, that's good.” Elijah took a step forward, subtly positioning himself so Alara stood partially shielded behind him. “Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal, if you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house.” 

Alara caught Damon’s gaze from behind Elijah’s shoulder, her expression unreadable—calm, cold, and unsettlingly blank.

“Crystal,” Damon replied smoothly, finally breaking eye contact.

At that moment, Jenna appeared nearby, a warm smile lighting her face. Alara let herself step past the tense men.

“Jenna,” Alara greeted, her tone warmer than it had ever been.

Jenna laughed softly, glancing toward the two men still locked in their silent battle. “Too much testosterone?”

Alara tilted her head in confusion at the unfamiliar phrase, but she smiled and nodded, keeping her tone light. “Oh yeah. Definitely.” She cleared her throat and quickly added, “Can I help with anything?” Following Jenna down the hall to the fireroom, though Elijah refers to it as the kitchen.

“No, we’re all set. Want some wine?” Jenna asked, motioning toward a few richly labeled bottles.

Alara glanced at the dark liquid, its sharp scent unfamiliar and slightly off-putting. “Um, no thank you,” she declined politely.

Jenna smiled understandingly and left her to join the others.

As Alara stepped into the next room, her eyes swept across the gathering. She spotted a man she didn’t recognize; their eyes met briefly, then she found Elijah. He was already looking at her when she found him. Offering a small smile, Alara turned back to Jenna and Andie, who were deep in conversation about local gossip, a subject she enjoys, even if she didn’t know who it was about

Eventually, the group settled around the dining table. Elijah pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down beside him, the space between them quiet but charged.

The conversation swirled around her—history and local drama—but Alara felt detached, watching instead the dark red liquid swirling in Elijah’s glass.

Noticing her gaze, Elijah leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Would you like to try?” He tilted the glass slightly toward her.

Alara hesitated, then glanced between the wine and Elijah’s steady eyes. “Is this the same as what Jenna offered earlier?”

He nodded. “It is a Merlot. One of the less aggressive vintages.”

After a moment of hesitation, she reached out carefully, her fingers brushing his as she lifted the glass. A tiny sip, and her nose wrinkled immediately at the sharp taste.

“It tastes like damp wood,” she whispered, handing the glass back.

Elijah chuckled softly, accepting his drink. “It is an acquired taste.”

She smiled, more to herself. “It reminds me a little of Starbloom Nectar—though, honestly, Starbloom is far better.” A quiet giggle escaped her lips, and Elijah smiled as he watched her, the moment fleeting but genuine.

“I hate to break it to you, Damon,” Jenna interrupted their quiet moment, “but according to Elijah, your family is so not a founder of this town.”

“Hmm, do tell,” Damon said, bringing his drink up to his lips. 

Elijah looked up from Alara and sat back in his seat. “Well, as I mentioned to Jenna earlier, a faction of settlers migrated from Salem after the witch trials in the 1690s. Over the next hundred years, they developed this community where they could feel safe from persecution.” 

This was the second time the ‘Salem Witch Trials’ had come up, and if the last two words matched her understanding, Alara inwardly smirked—there was a part of her that quietly relished the downfall of witches.

“Andie's a journalist. Big on facts.” Damon responds to something Alara missed. 

“Well, the lore says that there was this wave of anti-witch hysteria. It broke out in the neighboring settlement, so these witches were rounded up. They were tied to stakes in a field together and, uh, burned.” Elijah’s gaze sharpened subtly as he caught the flicker of Alara’s smile—something both knowing and strangely distant. It was a small crease at the corner of her lips, but enough to make him wonder what shadows stirred beneath her gentle exterior.

“Some say you could hear the screams from miles around us. They were consumed by the fire.” Elijah continued, his eyes sweeping over the diner guests. 

Alara’s smile deepened inwardly at how they met their downfall, though she didn’t relish the violent fate they suffered. The witches could have been dealt with differently—perhaps by stealing their shadows or turning them into drops of water. Less violent, more… humane.

“I wouldn't repeat this to the Historical Society.” Jenna laughed over her cup along with Andie.

“It's starting to sound a little like a ghost story to me.” The unknown man shut down the laughter. 

“So why do you want to know the location of these alleged massacres?” Damon asked, a little too interested. 

“You know... a healthy historian's curiosity, of course.” Elijah smiled evenly, his eyes tight. 

“Of course,” Damon said after a moment of silence. 

The conversation flowed easily around the table—well, for everyone else. Alara idly pushed the roasted meat to the side of her plate, the bright greens from her salad already gone. 

“Everything alright with the food?” the unfamiliar man to her right asked, polite but curious.

“I… don’t really eat animals,” she said with a light shrug.

“Oh, shoot—should’ve asked about dietary preferences before cooking. My bad,” Damon drawled, clearly not sorry, and took a long sip of his wine. Without missing a beat, he changed the subject. “Anyone for cognac? Been saving a bottle for a special occasion.”

“None for me, thanks,” Alaric said, leaning back in his chair. “Nine bottles of wine is my limit.”

“The gentlemen should take their drinks in the study,” Andie suggested suddenly with a bright smile, already gathering plates.

Alara blinked, her eyes darting between them. Why were the men leaving together? And why only the men? She stayed quiet, but the question lingered in her thoughts.

“I have to say the food was almost as wonderful as the company,” Elijah said as he rose, buttoning his jacket. He extended a hand to Alara and helped her from her chair with quiet formality.

“I like you.” Andie grinned and took some plates to the kitchen.

"Here you go, gentleman—make yourself useful, hmm?" Jenna said, passing it off to the stranger with a pointed look, her tone edged just enough to make the jab clear.

Alara caught on quickly, mirroring Jenna’s movement and collecting dishes before following her down the hall into the fireroom.

“How did you find the salad and vegetables at least?” Jenna asked, placing the plate down in the sink. 

“Oh, they were very good,” Alara said warmly. “Thank you for inviting me.” She knew, of course, she was here because Elijah was.

“Oh, nonsense—of course I wanted you to come,” Jenna insisted, eyes twinkling. Then she leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear she was up to something. “So… what was that back there?”

“What was what?” Alara asked, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see Alaric and Andie pass through with more dishes.

“You turn down wine from me, but you’ll sip from Elijah’s glass?” Jenna grinned knowingly, sharing a look with Andie, who stayed in the fireroom. 

A small smile curved Alara’s lips. Jenna’s easy, playful energy tugged at a memory of Holly, the sunny-natured fairy who could make even the most rigid elders laugh. But she kept her voice calm, almost offhand. “He was just letting me try it. I’d never had any before.”

Jenna scrunched her eyebrows, “Hadn’t had any before? How old are you?” 

Alara hesitated at the question, then she remembered—Elijah had told her the age when he’d been turned. “Ah, twenty-four,” she said lightly. “I just… never felt the urge to drink, you know.” She let out a soft, airy giggle—more deflection than confession.

Jenna laughed outright. “Well, I definitely can’t relate. I was a stoner in high school and I used to steal from my parents liquor cabinet all the time.” She turned back to the sink, still grinning as she reached for the tap.

“I dabbled a little—nothing too crazy,” Andie said from the cold box, grabbing a bowl with berries and a brown bottle and setting the items on the table. As she headed toward the door, she paused, poked her head back in with a mischievous grin, and added, “Though, well… I did go a little crazy in college.”

The three of them dissolved into giggles, and the sound tugged at Alara’s heart. It carried her back to mornings at the Glassreach, lazy afternoons in the Whispering Glade, and nights beneath the Everroot with her friends. She missed the way she would mess up Gerled’s plans, or the harmless pranks she and Neris would play on Rosile.

“Okay, this is a lot more than I thought,” Jenna said, looking at the items Andie pulled from the cold box and the ones she grabbed. 

They giggled and followed Andie, making their way back out of the room and to where they ate. 

“Sorry, guys, dessert is taking longer than I thought. I usually just unwrap food.” Jenna arched a playful brow at Alara as she drifted back toward Elijah’s side. Chuckling under her breath, Jenna made her way back into the kitchen.

Elijah looked over to Alara with a small smile as she sat next to him.

“So... I know this is a social thing, but I... I would really love to ask you some more questions about the work that you're doing here.” Andie said, shifting in her seat, closer to the edge. 

“I'd love to answer,” Elijah responded politely. 

“Great, that's so great.” Andie cheered, “Ric, would you do me a favor and grab the notebook out of my bag?” Alara’s neck craned to see Damon and Alaric approaching. 

“Elijah, did John tell you he’s Elena’s uncle—or father?” Damon said from his seat, his gaze fixed on the unknown man with a sharp edge of anger. Alara tensed, sensing something unspoken simmering beneath the surface—whether it threatened her or Elijah, she wasn’t sure. She let her eyes drift lazily around the room, alert despite herself.

“Yes, I'm well aware of that,” Elijah said dryly, a bored tone clear in his voice. 

“Of course, she hates him, so there's absolutely no need to keep John on the endangered species list.” Damon seethed. Alara’s eyebrows raised, so that's his name. She realized she spent the entire dinner sitting next to John, not knowing his name. 

“Ric, it's in the front pocket. On the... You know what? Excuse me, guys. Sorry.” Andie hurried out of the room as the two men glared at each other. 

“What I'd like to know, Elijah, is how do you intend on killing Klaus?” John spoke up, looking away from Damon, his gaze settling on Elijah. 

Alara stifled an eye roll at the suspicion lurking in John’s tone, while Elijah’s jaw tightened with each pressing question. “Gentlemen,” Elijah began quietly but firmly, “there are a few things we need to make clear right now.” His gaze shifted calmly to John before briefly flicking to Alara. She gave him a subtle nod, acknowledging the tension in the room. “I allow you to live solely to keep an eye on Elena. I allow Elena to remain in her home, living her life with her friends, as a courtesy. But if you become a liability, I will take her away—and you’ll never see her again.” 

Andie walked back and sat down, opening her thick, layered scroll. “Ok. My first question is when you got here to Mystic…”

Before she could finish, Elijah let out a sharp, unexpected yell that cut through the room like a blade. Alara’s chest flared with a sudden, searing pain. She screamed, clutching at her chest as the temperature plummeted, frost creeping along the edges of the furniture and her breath forming icy clouds.

Arms yanked her backward before she could react any further, pulling her away from Elijah. His eyes never left hers—glimmering with a raw mix of pain and desperation—before his body went limp, slumping to the floor.

“No! Let me go! Elijah!” Alara cried, struggling fiercely against the grip holding her. 

“The compulsion should’ve broken by now!” John barked harshly from behind her, his voice edged with frustration. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

Andie’s voice shouted from the corner, “The room’s freezing—someone do something!”

“Get rid of them before Jenna gets back with dessert,” Alaric’s cold command sliced through the chaos.

Alara struggled harder against John's hold. When he refused to release her, water burst outward in a violent surge, flooding the room like a tidal wave. The force hurled Damon, Alaric, Andie, and John against the walls, their bodies trapped in swirling bubbles that hardened into icy prisons. Yet the magic bent around Elijah, curving protectively to leave him untouched in the storm.

Andie’s eyes widened as she struggled uselessly against the water’s shimmering barrier. “This isn’t right! Alara, what is this!” she pleaded, panic rising in her voice.

Damon gritted his teeth, breaking free with a snarl, and lunged toward Alara.

But she was ready. Raising a hand, she unleashed a brutal stream of water that slammed into him midair, sending him crashing backward. An icicle, razor sharp and deadly, hovered mere inches from his neck, piercing his skin with a cold sting.

“What the hell?!” Damon shouted, thrashing against the icy restraint.

“Alara, please—this isn’t you! Stop this now!” Alaric shouted desperately, voice cracking over the roaring water around them and on the floor.

Alara’s chest tightened with a raw, aching fear—like a shadow clawing at her heart. This wasn’t just anger. This was terror. She had just seen and felt her lira brought low. The thought twisted inside her, sharp and unforgiving.

“You don’t know me,” she snapped, her voice colder than ice but brittle, cracked with the pain she feels in her chest, she refused to show outright. Around her, the others froze, their breath caught in their throats. Andie’s eyes were wide with helplessness, and John’s usual calm fractured, his face tightening with dread.

Damon’s face twisted in shock and fury as the icicle dug deeper into his neck, drawing a line of blood. “Alara!” His voice was laced with disbelief and frustration—he hadn’t expected this raw, unleashed force from her.

Her eyes locked on the dagger Alaric stubbornly clutched as he floated helplessly inside the watery cage —the silver blade Elijah had told her about.

Slowly, deliberately, she advanced, hand reaching toward the weapon.

“No, Alara. You can’t,” Alaric said, tightening his grip despite the futility. Ignoring his protest, she wrenched the dagger free, every inch of her burning with protective fury.

At that moment, Elijah stirred, rising smoothly from the floor with commanding presence. His gaze swept around the room, locking immediately onto the dagger in her hand.

He cut through the swirling water on the floor—his movements untouched by Alara’s magic, which seemed to part and flow around him effortlessly. Moving swiftly to her side, he scooped her up in a blur, his grip firm but gentle, and they vanished together, speeding from the house.

As they left, the water prisons shattered, crashing down around Damon, Andie, John, and Alaric. The temperature slowly evened out, warmth creeping back into the room.

Alaric groaned, rubbing his wrists where the water had held him tight. “She’s... what is she?”

John wiped frost from his face, eyes flickering with concern. “We’ve underestimated her.”

Chapter Text

The moment Elijah reached his car, his gaze dropped to the small, limp form cradled against him. Alara’s head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow, the silver dagger still clutched in her hand, glinting coldly where it lay across her stomach.

A snarl tore through him before he could stop it. Betrayed. Daggered. And in the chaos, he hadn’t been able to get to her—had heard her scream in pain and done nothing, trapped in darkness.

With vampire speed, he eased her into the back seat, his touch far gentler than the storm brewing inside him. Behind the wheel, the engine roared as he shot down the road. His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly the leather creaked, knuckles bone-white.

He’d meant to go straight to Jonas—find the Gilbert Lake House, take Elena, and go—but each glance at her unconscious face twisted the fury deeper into his bones. It wasn’t a clean, burning anger; it was a cold, dangerous thing, honed sharp by centuries of betrayal.

At the next intersection, Elijah’s decision shifted. He turned the wheel, the car sliding onto a different street. Not to Jonas. Not yet. First, he would get her somewhere safe. Somewhere that was theirs.

Arriving at their home, Elijah was out of the car in an instant, moving to the back door to gather Alara into his arms.

She stirred with a faint moan, her head shifting weakly against his chest. “Shh… hold on, Alara,” he murmured, his voice low, calm on the surface but with a steel edge beneath.

As he crossed the threshold, she twisted harder, her small frame fighting his hold. He eased his grip—too much. In his anger, he refused to risk crushing her against him. She slipped from his arms, landing on her hands and knees with a sharp breath.

Light flared. Her wings burst from her back in a brilliant shimmer. The glow chased shadows across the walls for a moment before they fell limply against her back, touching the ground with a muted glow. 

Elijah shut the door quickly, the click loud in the quiet, and dropped to one knee beside her. “I apologize,” he said softly, the words clipped but sincere. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” she breathed—then shook her head. “No. I just… had to get them out.” 

Elijah gathered her gently into his arms again, mindful not to disturb the delicate shimmer of her wings. He started toward her room, intending to lay her down where she could rest.

“No. Wait.” Alara’s voice was soft but firm. “Take me to the tub. I need water.” She felt the slow return of strength stirring inside from where his hands met bare skin, but water would speed the healing.

Elijah studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought, but he didn’t question her. Instead, he shifted course, carrying her into the tubroom. Kneeling beside the tub, Elijah set her down with care. He turned on the faucet, the sound of rushing water filling the space.

Alara lifted her fingers, and the streaming water spluttered before swelling and running faster, the tub filling in moments. Sliding into the water, she let it close over her, a sigh escaping as her muscles loosened. She shifted slightly to make room for her wings, floating on the water’s surface.

“Are you feeling better?” Elijah asked, taking a seat beside the tub, his gaze never leaving her.

Alara smiled at him, serene but small. “Much better.” The truth was her light had grown brighter since meeting him, but she was far from her full strength. She had no intention of telling him of her unstable health—not yet. 

For now, she would take the warmth of the water and the steadiness of the man beside her, and let them be enough.

An hour passed before Alara finally rose from the tub, her dress clinging to her like second skin. In the same breath, Elijah was on his feet, his movements precise, almost instinctive. Her wings gave a faint flutter, heavy from the long soak; they drooped, yet their usual glow returned soft and steady, casting a faint shimmer in the dim light.

He took a towel from the counter and held it out to her, his eyes never leaving hers. She gave him a small, knowing smile before waving her hands. The water clinging to her clothes and skin lifted in a smooth sphere, leaving her dry save for the slow-dripping glow of her wings. With a tilt of her wrists, the sphere dropped back into the tub, the sound of splashing and rushing drain water filling the silence.

Without a word, they parted—Alara went to her room and changed out of the pale blue dress she wore to the dinner party. When she was done, she made her way back out to the sitting room, finding Elijah standing near the window, still in the suit he wore to dinner, jacket off, watching the night beyond the glass. 

In that hour of watching Alara sit in the bathtub, Elijah’s fury slowly cooled, replaced by a sharp clarity. The raw, instinctual anger that had driven him moments ago softened into a measured, calculating calm. He watched her—fragile yet fierce—and the weight of everything that had just transpired settled heavily on his shoulders.

The chaos at the dinner—the water and ice that had pinned the others — her power fierce and unrestrained, yet she controls it with precision. She was no longer just someone to protect; she was a force he needed to understand.

He knew the deal with Elena was now broken; yet beneath the strategist’s mind, beneath the vampire’s ruthless pragmatism, Elijah felt something more vulnerable stir—something he had long believed lost. Alara wasn’t merely a reminder of his past innocence. She was becoming a fragile hope in a world long shrouded in shadows.

Alara moved to the long seat and curled up, knees hugged to her chest. Her hands still tremble faintly from the adrenaline. Elijah’s gaze lingered on her small, still form. At last, he broke the silence.

“Are your wings alright?” His voice was calm, but his eyes stayed fixed on the limp, half-furled shapes behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder at them, lowered and heavy. “They’ll be fine,” she murmured. “They just take longer to dry.”

He studied her for a long moment before speaking again, his tone quiet but weighted. “I have seen many things in my life—entire villages burned, armies slaughtered, my own family tearing each other apart.” A shadow crossed his expression, the memory of the scene he had woken to still fresh. “But I did not expect… that from you.”

Her head lifted, eyes wide, a flicker of fear passing through them. Old voices whispered in her ear— barbs from witches long past: winged pest… monster… child thief… soul stealer.

“You think I’m a monster now?” Her arms tightened around herself. She wished her wings weren’t wet, wished she could hide away. Normally, the insults wouldn’t hurt; she’d heard them all before, but she could not bear the thought of her Lira dismissing her… or hating her.

Elijah’s eyes sharpened in surprise, and without hesitation, he crossed the room. Kneeling in front of her, he said firmly, “No. I do not think you are a monster. You are the furthest thing from it. You are… far more complicated than I had allowed myself to believe.”

She shifted slightly, her fingers fidgeting with each other, her gaze flickering away from Elijah’s. The weight of his words settled around them like a quiet presence. 

“I’m not sure I deserve what you think of me.” she said softly, voice low but steady.

Elijah’s hand moved slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with deliberate care. “I think you are… someone rare and undeniable.”

Alara finally looked at him again, the fear in her eyes gone, but the usual joy still missing. She swallowed, taking a steadying breath. “So… what do we do now?”

~~~~~~~

The morning after the dinner party, Elijah had phoned Jones, informing him of the deal’s dissolution. His tone had been measured, but there was no mistaking the anger beneath it. In the days that followed, he and Alara remained tucked away in their home, a quiet exile of their own making. 

He was mildly surprised the Salvatore brothers had attempted to call him a few times, Stefan more than Damon. Elena’s persistence, however, was no surprise at all; her calls came in steady intervals, each one ignored without hesitation.

By all logic, Elijah knew he should have followed through on his earlier threat—to take Elena and see his plan through to the end. But logic faltered when set against the sight of Alara’s wings. 

They had not perked up once since drying. Stranger still, she did not bother to melt them into her back as she often did. She left them unfurled, the sight unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

In the third week, he had been quietly relieved to find her wings still present, yet they remained folded close, not lifting to their usual proud curve — a stillness wholly unlike her. 

He found himself watching her more than he intended—his gaze drawn to the faint twitch of translucent veining, the way each filament caught the air. He studied them as one might study an ancient text: every delicate line, every subtle hue, searching for the meaning behind their posture. And in turn, he studied her.

He lingered closer than he ever dared, his presence deliberate but quiet. He brought her the tea she brought from home without remark; he had seen her make it enough to figure it out himself, he had only once burned himself on the ironically named Frostkiss petal. Other times, he would shift the curtains aside to let in the soft moonlight for her or to let in the morning sunbeams. 

Yet her wings did not lift. 

Elijah stood in the doorway watching her as she sat curled near the window. She offered him a faint smile when he approached, gentle but muted. The memory of her darting through the forest trees, laughing freely as she twirled mid-air, flashed through his mind with such clarity. 

Already reaching a hand out for her, before he could speak, Alara spoke up, looking at him, “Could we go to the forest?”

His lips curled faintly, a restrained smile. A quiet tension gripped him—part of him longed to stay, to simply watch her, and yet he knew duty called elsewhere. His mission, the tangled web of deals and obligations, tugged insistently at the edges of his mind. Could he let himself linger here, when the world beyond these walls demanded action?

“It seems I have indeed kept you indoors too long, ” He spoke, not commanding but inviting. 

Alara’s hand slipped into his smoothly. They spent the day in the forest, moving slowly. Elijah led her farther than they had ever gone, along paths he had once walked long before immortality, when life was simpler, and the world was quieter.

He showed her the trails he had known as a boy, where he had wandered alone or with his siblings, places hidden beneath towering oaks and tangled roots. He guided her to caves tucked beneath the forest floor, cool and still, the kind that whispered with echoes of the past, and to small, crystal-clear creeks where the family had once picked berries in the summer, the water rippling over smooth stones.

At one quiet bend, he paused and gestured to the sunlight glinting on the water. “This is where we’d stop for a drink,” he said, his voice steady, carrying only the faintest warmth. 

Alara crouched at the stream, letting her fingers trace the surface. Lifting her hand, the water followed, twisting and shaping into a ribbon. Sitting on the ground, she played with the water with both her hands, letting the water snake around her fingers, wrists, and hands. 

Elijah’s gaze softened considerably as he watched her play with the water. Her wings, once drooped, slowly began to lift, not by a lot but enough to give Elijah some relief.

Her joy returned slowly, the longer she lingered in the forest, near the flowing water. She still needed the wildness of nature, the calm of running water—a sensation she had never been without in the Forgotten Isle, where every corner of the isle thrummed with unbroken nature. As grounded as their bond was, even Elijah’s presence could not replace that. She should have told him sooner, but had not wished to burden him further.

Standing Alara let the water splash back down, and they continued on their walk. Little by little, they regained their natural curve, their glow brightening and fluttering strongly now. Each step Elijah made, each smile she gave, drew him in quietly even more, a reminder that even centuries of careful control could not dull the wonder of witnessing someone truly alive. 

~~~~~~~

The next day, Elijah and Alara went to Jonas’ house to revisit their plan. Elijah believed it would be relatively simple to neutralize the Salvatore brothers and retrieve Elena before the full moon in a week. 

Alara slid out of the metal beetle, closing the door gently, and walked beside Elijah towards Jonas’ house. They ascended the steps, not noticing the pairs of eyes following their movements. Elijah raised his hand and knocked on the door; it opened at the first knock. 

The door creaked open, and the coppery tang of blood struck first. Red streaks marred the floorboards, smeared across the walls in chaotic arcs. Alara’s breath caught, her mouth parting as the scene registered. Before she could take a single step inside, Elijah blurred forward, a wall of dark-clad steadiness between her and the carnage.

“Look away, Alara,” his voice was low, firm, but gentle with care as he angled her body back toward the hall. “This is not for your eyes.”

She resisted, just barely, straining to glimpse past him. Even in the most shadowed corners of Neverland—the caves where pirates whispered and mermaids dragged men under—she had never seen horror painted so vividly. The violence here was not born of wildness or survival. It was deliberate, cruel, a message written in blood. 

“Alara, go back to the car.” He ordered firmly, already trying to pull her way from the scene.

“Elijah—what about Jonas? Luka?” She struggled against Elijah’s hold, desperate to go further into the home. They were witches, yes, but they had always been kind to her. Whenever she used her magic, curiosity and yearning flickered in their eyes, yet Elijah and the awe it inspired kept them from prying.

“You shouldn’t see this, Alara. Please, go back to the car,” Elijah urged, his voice steady but taut, one hand lifting to turn her away. His movements were gentle, protective.

“You should really listen to him, Alara.”

A new voice slithered across the yard, mocking and dark. Before they could even react, Elijah was flung across the lawn with a violent snap of power. He crashed into the far end of the yard, rolling to his feet almost instantly.

At the same time, Alara’s scream tore through the air as pain lanced through her mind. She dropped to her knees, clutching her head, a witch emerging from the dark house. The wind howled in answer, spiraling around her. Streams of water burst into being from the very air, whipping into violent rings that circled her protectively, a storm in miniature. 

Elijah’s dark eyes narrowed as he rose to face the man who had thrown him. “Niklaus.” His voice was sharp with restrained fury.

Niklaus smirked. “Brother. Always meddling.”

Before Elijah could reply, two more witches emerged from the shadows, chanting low. Their magic clawed at the air, a suffocating weight pressing down. Alara’s water barrier shuddered under the onslaught, sparks of power snapping between elements.

Elijah blurred forward, intercepting Niklaus with a vicious strike that sent him staggering. The two Originals clashed in a blur of speed and strength, each blow shattering bones beneath them.

Alara’s thoughts wavered, her power splintering as she thrust a half-formed icicle toward the witches. They scattered, breaking formation to avoid the strike. Gritting her teeth, she formed another shard, slamming it into a warlock and knocking him off his feet.

Her chest burned with effort, but she willed her storm sharper, harder. A jagged spear of ice materialized, and with a cry, she hurled it. The weapon cut clean through the witch charging from the house, dropping the witch in a lifeless heap. 

Another voice rose, chanting furiously. Alara staggered back, but with a sharp flick of her wrist, a torrent of water snapped into being, coiling around the man’s throat. She dragged him off his feet, slamming him into a tree again and again until his body went limp and unconscious.

The last witch advanced, flames curling in her palms. Alara’s water hissed into steam where it touched the fire, their powers clashing violently, crackling the air.

Across the yard, Elijah drove Niklaus backward, his fists a blur. But just as he gained ground, his gaze flicked to Alara—her cry of pain, the steam clouding her form, her wild fight against the witches. That split-second of distraction was all Niklaus needed.

With a vicious growl, Niklaus rammed his elbow into Elijah’s side and threw him down, his strength overwhelming. Before Elijah could recover, Niklaus blurred across the yard and seized Alara. His hand clamped like iron around her throat, lifting her effortlessly. She clawed against his grip, water dripping helplessly from her fingers as her storm collapsed.

“Niklaus!” Elijah roared, scrambling up, but Niklaus pressed her tightly against his chest, his smirk cruel.

“Let her go,” Elijah said, voice even, deliberate. 

But his eyes betrayed him. That calm mask he had worn for centuries—steady, unshaken—fractured. A flicker of raw fear cracked through, sharp as broken glass. His jaw clenched hard enough that the muscle jumped, his hands curling into fists at his sides, though he did not move.

“I warned you before, Elijah,” Niklaus drawled, his voice thick with mockery. “Love is a distraction. And you’ve proven me right.”

For an instant, Elijah almost moved—shoulders tightening, weight shifting forward. The hunger to rip his brother apart was there, plain in his gaze. But then he forced it down, strangling the urge as though burying it beneath centuries of discipline. Still, the mask had slipped, and he had seen it. Niklaus tightened his grip, making Alara choke and thrash.

Elijah’s fury burned, but Niklaus’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Watching you scheme behind my back… plotting to kill me?” He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing Alara’s temple as she struggled in vain. “So I’ve decided—I’ll take the little water sprite with me. That way, you won’t dare interfere.”

Elijah stilled, his rage simmering beneath the surface, but his eyes never left Alara’s. She coughed weakly in Niklaus’s grip, her gaze flicking toward Elijah, trust and fear mingling in her eyes.

Niklaus smiled, savoring the moment. “I’m disappointed in you, brother. Truly.”

Elijah’s nostrils flared, the faintest crack in composure, but his gaze never wavered from Alara.