Chapter Text
The day had drifted by in a strange calm. Elena and Caroline had wandered the forest together, tracing paths between trees that seemed older than time itself, marveling at plants unlike any they’d ever seen. The forest felt alive—watching, whispering—and yet by sunset, it had lulled them into a rhythm, as if daring them to forget the trials that had already tested them.
Now, they sat by the pond, the sky painted in molten hues of orange and violet, waiting. The water glimmered with the last light of day, glassy and still. Elena had gone quiet, her thoughts turned inward, when Caroline caught the shift in the air.
The woman emerged from the treeline as if the dusk itself had shaped her. The clearing stirred at her presence; leaves rustled without wind, the pond rippled though no stone had touched it. Her voice carried, soft yet commanding, like branches creaking in an unseen storm.
“You have tended the flame,” she said. “Now the forest will test truth.”
Elena straightened, drawn from her haze. Caroline heard the sound then—a soft rushing behind her—and turned just in time to see the pond rise. Water lifted unnaturally, rising higher, curling like a living tide that moved toward them.
“Elena…” Caroline whispered, but before either could move, the water shimmered, hardening midair. Its surface smoothed, gleaming like polished glass until it stilled into a perfect mirror.
Elena gasped as her reflection moved—out of sync. It reached forward, seized her hand, and yanked. Elena’s scream tore the clearing as she was pulled inside. She struck the mirror’s surface from within, her fists pounding against the glassy prison, eyes wide with panic.
“ELENA!” Caroline lunged forward, but the mirror shivered violently. In the next breath, it split into five, shards floating into a star-shaped circle around her. Each one held Elena’s face—identical, terrified, pounding against the surface in perfect mimicry.
Caroline’s pulse thundered. “No, no, no—Elena!” She pressed her palms against the nearest mirror. Cold bit her skin. On the other side, the reflection’s lips shaped her name in silent desperation.
Caroline whirled toward the woman, fury lacing her voice. “What did you do to her?”
The red-haired woman lifted her hand, expression calm but unreadable. “The task is twofold. One must break free. The other must discern the truth. Only then will the forest release her.”
Inside the mirrors, Elena slammed her fists again, her voice muffled, distorted. “Caroline! I can’t—it won’t break!”
The other four Elenas mirrored her words and movements perfectly, indistinguishable in their panic.
Caroline’s heart clenched, helplessness twisting tight in her chest.
“The mirror will not break with force,” the woman intoned. “It will only yield to will.”
Stefan came downstairs after changing, the sound of his footsteps muffled against the old wooden floor. At the bar, Damon sat slouched with a glass in hand, half-empty bottles scattered like forgotten sentries. His eyes were bloodshot, his smirk gone, replaced by something sharper—anger, grief, exhaustion.
“Damon,” Stefan said quietly, “how are you holding up? I know… everything’s gone wrong this week.”
Damon gave a bitter laugh, more a growl than humor. “How do you think I am, Stefan? First, we’re chasing after Ric’s psychotic alter-ego and a missing white oak stake that he stashed God knows where. Then there’s the sire line question hanging over all of us. And now—forget the sire line—we’ve lost Elena to some spell no one understands, Caroline with her, and oh, let’s not forget the brand-new witch who apparently makes Bonnie look like she’s still reading ‘Witchcraft for Dummies.’” He slammed the glass down on the counter, amber liquid sloshing. “So tell me again, brother—how do you think I am?”
Stefan sighed, the weight pressing on his shoulders just as heavily. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
For a moment, silence stretched, broken only by Damon refilling his glass. Then he asked, softer but edged with something sharp: “How’s Ric? And how are you handling his little evil alter-ego problem?”
Stefan hesitated, then leaned against the bar. “Ric doesn’t know where the white oak stake is, but he’s sure his alter-ego does. He told me… the only way to force it out is to push himself to the edge. Near death.”
Damon’s eyes flicked up, incredulous. “Near death. Brilliant. So where is he then? Because I’ve been a little busy dealing with everything else—don’t tell me he’s out there on a killing spree.”
“No,” Stefan said firmly. “He asked me to lock him up. He’s in the cellar. Controlled environment. I’ve been pushing him—psychological torture, physical too when necessary. It’s ugly, but at least this way, if his alter-ego surfaces, he’s not free to wreak havoc on the town.”
Damon’s jaw clenched as he downed the rest of his drink. “I really hope you both know what the hell you’re doing.” His eyes narrowed. “Is Klaus still breathing down our necks about the stake?”
Stefan shook his head slightly. “He gave us a week. Said if we didn’t find it, he’d ‘handle things his way.’ But with Elena and Caroline missing, I don’t think the stake’s his top priority anymore—at least for now. That won’t last. Klaus will still want it, and soon.”
Stefan straightened, already turning toward the door.
“And where exactly are you going?” Damon called after him, his voice laced with suspicion.
Stefan glanced back, expression tight. “I can’t solve the witch, or Elena, or Caroline. But Ric? That, at least, I can face. So that’s where I’m going.”
And without waiting for an answer, Stefan left, the door closing behind him, leaving Damon alone with his glass and his spiraling thoughts.
Caroline forced herself to breathe, her pulse racing in her throat. Five mirrors, five Elenas—each pounding, each crying, each begging with identical voices that clawed at her heart. Her eyes darted between them, searching for something, anything that would tell her which one was real.
Come on, Caroline. Think. Think.
Her gaze sharpened as she studied them: the subtle tilt of their heads, the way their shoulders hunched, the flicker of panic in their eyes. They were perfect copies—too perfect. That was the trick.
Then, a voice cut through the chaos, low and mocking, not belonging to any one reflection but reverberating through them all.
“Really, Caroline? After all these years, and you still can’t tell the difference between me and Elena?”
Her blood went cold. Katherine. The memory of her smirk, her poisonous charm, the way she wore Elena’s face like a mask—Caroline had seen it before. Felt it. And Bonnie had too. They had always been able to tell, eventually. Not by the face. Not by the voice. But by the soul.
Caroline closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. Elena isn’t just desperation or panic. She’s compassion. Always worrying about everyone else, even when she’s breaking inside.
Her gaze swept across the mirrors again. All five Elenas clawed at the glass, their eyes wide with pleading. But one—just one—was different. While the others begged to be freed, this Elena’s gaze flicked not at herself, but at Caroline. Her eyes were wide with fear, not just for herself, but for her friend.
Caroline’s heart clenched. She pressed her palm firmly to that mirror. “This one. You’re my Elena.”
The woman’s voice carried across the clearing, sharp as wind through branches. “Be very sure. Choose wrong, and you may never see her again.”
Caroline’s chin lifted stubbornly, jaw set. “No. This is Elena. I know her.”
Her words hung in the air, defiant, unwavering.
Klaus pushed open the library doors, his footsteps heavy, his temper already simmering. His eyes swept the room until they landed on Kol, hunched over a spread of grimoires and scattered parchments.
“Kol,” Klaus said, his tone clipped. “How’s the spell coming along?”
Kol didn’t look up immediately, quill scratching across parchment as he muttered. “The spell the Bennett witch performed today was one of the strongest tracings I’ve encountered. It should have worked flawlessly. I’m reviewing the structure now, trying to see why it failed.”
Klaus exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. “Oh, perfect. Just perfect. Another dead end.” His voice rose as he began pacing, his rant spilling out like a dam breaking. “We’ve no idea where the white oak stake is. The history teacher with the charming little homicidal alter-ego won’t admit a thing. The doppelgänger is missing. My supply of her blood is dwindling. Esther is still at large. A new witch is meddling under our noses. And my hybrids—my hybrids are utterly useless at tracking.”
Rebekah entered quietly but froze at his words, brows knitting as she took in her brother’s fury. Crossing the room, she spoke softly, but firmly. “Nik, please. Calm down. We’ll find the doppelgänger, and the white oak stake as well. That little ragtag group of Elena’s won’t be able to use it—they’re still too tangled in sire bonds and guilt. And now, with both Elena and Caroline missing, they’ll be consumed with finding them. Killing us will be the last thing on their minds.”
Klaus turned sharply to her, anger glinting in his eyes. “And what if they use this opportunity to hide the stake? What then? They may not know where she is, but they don’t need her to bury a weapon.” His jaw tightened, the words turning bitter. “Perhaps I should have taken the doppelgänger when I had the chance. Left to her own devices, she’s become a liability. And now? Now we have some new witch prowling the shadows—unless, of course, it’s not new at all. Unless it’s our dear mother, still scheming to end me by stealing away what’s mine.”
The last words came out low, venomous.
Rebekah’s expression softened. She stepped closer, her voice quiet but insistent. “Nik… talk to Elijah. He may have an idea, a plan we haven’t seen. He always does.”
For a moment, Klaus said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the effort of restraint. Then he turned away, his silence more telling than his rage.
The women lifted her hand. The mirrors shifted, gliding across the air like shards of moonlight until only one remained containing Elena. Then, with a ripple, the glass stretched and folded inward, forming a cage around her.
Inside, Elena sagged against the walls, her breath fogging the smooth surface. She struck the mirror again and again with her fists, but it didn’t so much as tremble. Her pulse raced. Her fear grew. Around her, four false Elenas pressed their palms to their prisons in perfect mimicry, taunting her with flawless imitation.
The woman’s earlier words echoed in her head: The mirror will not break with force. You must break it with will.
But Elena’s will faltered.
One reflection tilted her head, lips curling in a cruel smile as the glass shimmered. “Look at you. Always pretending you’re different. Special. But you’re not, are you? You’re nothing but a copy. A face printed again and again.”
Elena’s stomach clenched, and she pressed her palms to the mirror. “I’m not them.”
“Oh, but you are,” the reflection purred. “Same blood. Same curse. You were never the first—you were never original. Katherine carved out her power. Tatia had a story worth remembering. And you? You’re just the placeholder. Disposable. Even the boy you love… he loved another face before yours. You’re not chosen—you’re recycled.”
Elena’s breath hitched, her throat tight. The words clawed at her insecurities, ripping open wounds she had never dared to name. Her gaze darted from one mirror to the next, her panic rising as Katherine’s mocking smirk flickered in one of the faces. Shadows whispered in her own voice, pressing closer, louder.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispered, pressing her hands to her head.
Outside the cage, Caroline slammed her fists against the barrier, her voice cutting sharp through the suffocating whispers. “Elena! Look at me—don’t listen to them!”
But Elena only saw herself reflected back—four faces, four sneers, four voices dripping with venom.
The women’s voice drifted through the clearing, low and resonant like wind through hollow trees. “The mirror reveals what lies beneath. Fractures. Masks. You will not pass until you face them.”
Caroline whirled on her, fury flashing. “This is insane! She’s not Katherine, she’s not any of them—she’s Elena!”
Elena’s chest heaved as the reflections pressed in closer, their whispers sharpening into a chorus. Copy. Replaceable. Disposable.
“Hey!” Caroline’s voice snapped through the storm. She pressed her palms hard against the glass, her eyes locked only on Elena—her Elena—not the illusions. “Don’t you dare listen to them.”
Elena’s tear-filled eyes flicked toward her, trembling. “But… she’s right, Care. I’m just—”
“No.” Caroline’s voice dropped, soft but unbreakable. Fierce with conviction. “No. You’re not Katherine. You’re not Tatia. You’re not anyone’s shadow. You’re Elena Gilbert. The girl who fights even when she’s terrified. The girl who drags everyone back from the brink because you refuse to let them give up. You’re the one who pulled me through when I wanted to shut down after my dad. You’re the one who stayed, even when it hurt.
“Katherine runs. She leaves destruction and doesn’t look back. She plays with people’s lives and laughs when they burn. That’s not you, Elena. That has never been you.”
Caroline’s words cut clean through the suffocating whispers. For the first time, Elena stilled.
The mirror Elenas hissed, their faces warping, but Caroline’s voice rang stronger, unwavering.
“Remember when it was us—me, Bonnie, Jeremy, Stefan? We always knew who was Katherine and who was you. Instantly. Because you’re not just a face, Elena. You’re you. You care even when it hurts. You love even when it’s hard. You make people feel like they matter, even when you don’t believe you do. Katherine could never be that. Ever.”
Tears welled hot in Elena’s eyes as Caroline pressed on, her voice breaking but fierce.
“You’re unique. You’re lovable. You’re better. Your face doesn’t matter—it never did. Your heart does. That’s why you’re our friend. That’s why you’re mine. And no mirror, no curse, no doppelgänger legacy gets to tell you otherwise.”
The reflections faltered, their whispers dimming. Elena straightened, her trembling easing as certainty began to settle where fear had been.
Her voice steadied to a whisper. “I’m not Katherine. I’m not just a copy. I’m Elena Gilbert. And I am real.”
A crack shot through the mirror like a bolt of lightning. Elena pressed her hand harder, and the glass shattered outward in a cascade of silver shards. She stumbled forward—straight into Caroline’s arms.
Caroline caught her tight, breathless with relief. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Elena clung to her, still shaking. “I thought I’d be stuck there forever.”
Caroline pulled back just enough to grin faintly, brushing away a tear from Elena’s cheek. “Please. Like I wouldn’t find you out of a hundred copies.”
The Dryad stepped forward, silent until now. Her expression was unreadable, but in her eyes glimmered approval. With a sweep of her hand, the shattered mirrors melted into the earth, replaced by a low table woven of roots and leaves. Upon it lay a simple offering—fruits, nuts, and bowls of clear water.
“You have passed,” the Dryad said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. “You faced shadow and truth alike. Now you may sit at my table. Eat. And then… you may ask your question.”
Exhaustion and relief washed over them. Elena and Caroline exchanged a long, wordless look—fear, pride, and gratitude braided together. Then, hand in hand, they sat across from the ancient guardian of the forest, ready at last for answers.