Chapter Text
Caroline took a deep breath.
She was totally ready.
The Originals, Caroline, and Genevieve were gathered in one of the drawing rooms, where the full moon at its absolute peak washed everything in a silvery glow. The light illuminated the black kyanite stones resting inside a spell bowl.
The room smelled heavy with burning incense, wolfsbane, and sage. All the tedious setup for phase one of the moonlight ring spell had been meticulously handled by Caroline and Genevieve. They had placed every tiny detail right where it belonged and spent a whole hour meditating by candlelight to lock into their inner magic.
This was a serious, high-level spell. Some random nature witch couldn't pull it off, but the last living descendant of New Orleans' ninth coven definitely could.
Caroline tapped into a dark, hidden corner of herself that came from sacrificial magic. It pulsed at the slightest touch, buzzing inside her like a living force, though she couldn't quite grip it completely. It was super volatile, burning through her veins the exact same way the Expression had back in Mystic Falls.
All she managed to do was bring a tiny scrap of it to the surface, something she could shape with her hands and feel humming in her chest. It still burned with power, but it was manageable enough for her to feel confident she was ready.
This was completly different from anything she’d ever tried before, but then again, she had never touched the Expression before using the Expression Triangle to anchor the Other Side, either. There’s a first time for everything, Liz used to say. Caroline inhaled slowly again, she had this.
Or, well, she really hoped so.
Genevieve hovered her hands over the rings, and Caroline matched her movement smoothly. They locked eyes, ready to chant the words that would channel the full moon’s power into the rings, when a blur of motion suddenly barged into the room.
Klaus reacted so fast Caroline’s eyes couldn't even track him. In less than a second, he had his hand slammed around Katherine Pierce’s neck, pinning her flat against the wall.
“What are you doing here?” Klaus hissed, pure fury in his voice.
Elijah acted instantly, speeding up to stand right beside his brother and putting a heavy, firm hand on his shoulder.
“Niklaus.”
Klaus loosened his grip just a fraction, but his fingers still looked ready to rip the vampire’s throat out. Caroline’s heart did a total leap into her throat the second she locked eyes on Katherine, because Katherine’s usually sarcastic, totally unbothered face was twisted in pure, barely contained panic.
And if Katherine Pierce was panicking...
“It’s Marcel.” Katherine bit out, setting her jaw to force down the panic in her voice. “He’s coming. With an entire army of vampires behind him.”
Klaus stood frozen for a whole second, absorbing what Katherine had just dropped on them. Elijah and Kol tensed up immediately, and the air completely left Caroline’s lungs. But Klaus just let go of Katherine’s neck and casually walked over to an antique wooden cabinet in the corner of the room.
He pulled out a gleaming sword attached to one of the doors and tossed it straight to Elijah, who caught the hilt with the effortless skill of a experienced swordsman. Then, to Caroline’s absolute disbelief, Klaus calmly reached into the back of the cabinet, pulled out a massive Viking war axe, and launched it straight at Kol.
Kol caught the handle mid-air and spun it around his fingers with ease, looking like a Viking who’d fought a thousand battles. Caroline watched the whole thing wide-eyed, completely stunned by how casually the Originals were gearing up for a total massacre. Katherine looked just as thrown as she was, a flash of real fear flickering in her dark eyes.
“And you?” Elijah asked.
Klaus just smirked, something wicked dancing in his eyes as a golden flicker played across his irises.
“I’m going with my teeth.”
Klaus turned to Caroline, appearing right in front of her in a blur of hybrid speed. Caroline didn't even have time to blink before he reached up and touched her face for a brief second.
Way too brief.
“Stay here, love.” he ordered. “We’re keeping the fight downstairs.”
Caroline couldn't do anything except give a tight nod and swallow hard. Klaus pressed a quick goodbye kiss to her lips, and Caroline breathed in his scent one last time. He gave her a little smile and then turned back to his brothers.
Katherine was already gone. Caroline figured Elijah had told her to get out of harm's way.
“Come on, brothers.” Klaus said smoothly, casually walking toward the door. “Let’s teach the rabble some manners.”
The three of them stepped out, and Caroline felt a knot tighten in her chest. She stared at the empty doorway for a long moment until the chaotic sounds of fighting flooded the room, turning the compound into a full-on warzone.
Caroline tried to take a deep breath and keep her cool. If there was one thing the Mikaelsons were ridiculously good at, it was pulling off a massacre. Still, she couldn't shake this nasty prickle at the back of her neck—a chill creeping down her spine like a total red flag.
“Genevieve, do you think…”
Caroline hadn't even fully turned around before a cloud of white powder slammed right into her face. She started coughing like crazy. Her knees completely gave out, and she hit the floor hard, panic instantly taking over her useless limbs and scrambling her thoughts.
“Help...” she gasped out.
The absolute last thing she saw was Genevieve standing over her, smiling.
_____
Niklaus, Elijah, and Kol entered the courtyard, swarmed by at least a hundred vampires, with the composure of aristocrats strolling to afternoon tea.
“Gentlemen,” Elijah greeted with a faint, arrogant smirk, taking in the compound surrounded by enemies. “It is a fine night to die, don’t you think?”
“Oh, don’t ruin the ending for them, Elijah.” Kol mocked with a dangerous smile, his dark eyes lighting with a genuine excitement reserved for the moments preceding a bloodbath. “You will ruin the fun.”
Niklaus looked into the eyes of his enemies with a subtle amusement. There was cruelty in his posture, his irises infused with a lupine fury that set them ablaze in gleaming gold.
“Marcel.” Niklaus called out, raising his voice. “Step forward and fight like the vampire I raised you to be.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Vampires parted to reveal Marcellus standing before the main gate like a king stripped of his crown. Elijah observed him with something approaching pity for the boy he had once been. It was truly a tragedy that matters had reached such a dire conclusion.
“I’m here.” Marcellus announced, a growl echoing through the ranks. “Ready to take what is mine.”
Niklaus smiled, and Elijah saw an incandescent rage within his brother that threatened to burn him from the inside out. He kept his eyes on Marcellus as he said…
“He’s mine.”
Niklaus seized Marcellus by the collar before the younger vampire could react and vanished from the compound. Elijah recognized the tactic they had employed in so many battles before: separate the general from his army and watch them fall one by one.
Elijah smiled again. The innate condescension gleaming in his dark eyes matched the intrinsic vanity in the way he spun his sword between his fingers.
“Gentlemen,” Elijah said, spreading his arms. “Shall we?”
And so, the slaughter began.
The vampires moved in waves, dozens of them descending upon the Originals with all the savagery they possessed. Marcellus had drilled them for battle, Elijah realized, a coordinated assault was far more effective than a chaotic charge against the first vampires in history.
Marcellu’s little soldiers might have been organized, but they were fledgling vampires beneath Elijah’s ancient blade and Kol’s bloodthirsty axe. The Originals had been raised as Vikings, their people lived and died by the fine art of combat. They struck to kill, faster than anyone, stronger, smarter.
Elijah’s sword severed limbs on one side. A fluid motion and an arm hit the floor, an elegant pivot and two heads were ruined, a powerful thrust and a heart was driven from a chest by the tip of the blade. Elijah anticipated the attacks of these fledgling vampires as if playing a game of chess in which he alone was master.
They managed to land a few scratches on his torso, a few cuts from wooden debris on his arms, but they came nowhere near his chest. At some point, Elijah set his sword aside and began ripping out hearts with his bare hands, while his brother dismembered bodies, severed heads, and opened abdomen with his axe.
Elijah could not say how long it lasted or how many vampires he brought down, but those who remained backed against the walls with sheer horror in their eyes. There were roughly fifty left, if Elijah’s calculations were correct.
It would be simple to end this foolish uprising with a few more deaths. Blood had a way of settling disputes permanently. This was not the first massacre his family had faced, and it certainly would not be the last. Just another night tarnished by thick shadows and the acrid stench of death; it would end as quickly as it had begun…
That was when it happened.
Elijah heard growls. He caught the stench of werewolves. He saw them encircle the courtyard, their golden eyes locking onto the Originals.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. One more betrayal to the list.
Elijah did not understand until his gaze fell upon the black rings on his enemies’ fingers. Yet that was impossible, the spell was not supposed to be finished until at least the end of the month. Caroline had assured them that...
The air left Elijah’s lungs.
Caroline.
Elijah and Kol exchanged an alarmed look.
If the wewolves had turned against them and the spell had been completed ahead of schedule, then where was Caroline?
Elijah had no time to run before ten werewolves lunged in his direction.
And then, the true carnage began.
_____
Klaus threw Marcel through the windshield of a car along the streets of the French Quarter.
It was a brutal strike, powerful enough to reduce the vehicle to a metallic frame upon impact. Marcel coughed up blood, his lungs punctured by his own ribs.
“You betrayed me, stole my kingdom, tried to kill me, and now you wish to reclaim what is yours?” Klaus roared, his eyes flashing gold as his wolf awoke with the hatred consuming his limbs. “This city was never yours, Marcel.”
His prodigal son recovered quickly, attempting to strike his face with a blow Klaus himself had taught him. The hybrid clamped his fist around Marcel’s arm with crushing force, the strike far off-target.
“I built an empire without you, Klaus!” Marcel bellowed, his jaw set against the pain. “And now you want to take it from me?”
Klaus’s fingernails lengthened into claws, piercing Marcel’s skin until red blood stained the pavement. He stared directly at his former protégé, hatred meeting hatred in their gazes, two forces competing for dominance.
“I do not need to take what is already mine.” Klaus hissed through gritted teeth.
With a swift twist of his wrist, Marcel’s arm snapped, the bone protruding through the skin. He contorted in agony, but Klaus did not slacken his grip.
Klaus’s knee struck Marcel’s face with such force that his body was hurled backward, crushing the metallic shell of the car. Marcel’s bitter laugh echoed through the quiet street, blood staining his teeth as he forced the bone back into place.
“The truth is you can’t bear to see me thrive without you, can you?” Marcel mocked, his rasping laugh striking Klaus’s chest with force, fueling his anger. “You never could. You call me family, but I was never truly your family, was I, Klaus? I’m just the enslaved boy who needs to learn his place.”
In less than a second, Klaus seized Marcel by the throat and hoisted him up again, slamming him violently against the hood of the car. He leaned in close to the face of the man he had once considered a son, the boy for whom he had fought to give everything Klaus had never received from his own father.
“I raised you as an equal, as a son. I taught you how to lead. I made you who you are, and your gratitude was the Opera House I built reduced to ashes, everyone I knew dead in a play designed by Mikael, and a flight in the dead of night.” Klaus said in near-whisper, as though the words were far too violent to be shouted. Marcel set his jaw and met Klaus’s fury without hesitation, because the hybrid had taught him never to back down. “You built your independence on the ashes of my family's legacy, claiming to be your own man while standing on everything I gave you. But guess what, Marcellus? You are nothing more than a usurper who betrayed your own family.”
His grip on Marcel’s throat tightened, and the younger vampire contorted beneath Klaus’s claws, which sank slowly into his flesh. Unshed tears filled Marcel’s eyes, his teeth clenched to hold back the visceral emotions that were shattering his mask of dominance.
“I am what you made me.” Marcel shot back, his voice strangled. “I betrayed you because you were unreasonable, selfish, and possessive, and I was not made to spend my life in chains.”
Klaus released Marcel, the words severing something inside him that would never be mended. He stepped back from his former son and tried to ignore the memory of that terrified boy he had found in a apple orchard. He tried to forget the decades spent teaching him everything he knew, he tried to rid himself of the pathetic sensation consuming him like yet another weakness.
But how could he, with his mistakes exposed like a festering wound before him? Everything he had done to Marcel. Everything he refused to repeat with his daughter.
Caroline had once told him he could never be like Mikael because he loved too much. Yet his love had become a prison for the boy he had raised as a son, chains from which Klaus himself had freed him. Would he become like his father if he executed Marcel for his crimes? Klaus knew no mercy, he had taught his protégé that pity was a weakness and giving up was a luxury afforded to cowards.
Could Marcel have been different had Klaus not made so many mistakes? His former son’s crimes had torn a piece of his soul the day Elijah told him that Marcel not only still breathed, but had claimed the city for himself. The home Klaus had built, the home Marcel had played a part in destroying.
Would Klaus be making yet another irreparable mistake if he tore Marcel's heart from his chest, burying it along with another piece of his shattered soul?
Klaus turned to Marcel, who was watching him in confusion, as though unsure how to process the retreat of his former father’s rage.
“I tried to be a father to you, Marcellus.” Klaus admitted, emotions so intense in his eyes that they stole the words from Marcel’s tongue. “I made many mistakes, but I loved you.”
Marcel parted his lips in utter astonishment as he watched a single tear escape his former mentor’s eye. Klaus Mikaelson did not retreat or show mercy. Klaus Mikaelson did not free his enemies, he destroyed them until nothing remained.
Yet there he stood.
“Go.” was all Klaus said.
“What?” Marcel asked, stunned. “You’re not going to kill me?”
“I won’t kill my own son.” Klaus declared, clenching his fists and swallowing the overwhelming emotions surging through him like vervain. “I’m not my father.”
Klaus met Marcellus’s bewildered gaze one last time.
“Go.” he commanded again. “Gather what remains of your vampires and leave.”
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Marcel vanished into the night.
The void he left in that quiet street brought forth the memory of the moment Klaus had thought Mikael had killed him. The pain was sharp and vivid in the festering wound in his chest. He had no desire to relive it by becoming the author of his own suffering, Klaus did not wish to be the monster his siblings had accused him of being at Lafayette Cemetery.
Marcel might have disappointed him, betrayed him, and tried to take everything from him. Yet Klaus could not raise his hand against him and tear a heart from the chest where he had once fought to secure an eternal place. Klaus would be better for Marcel. He would be better for his daughter. He would be better for Caroline.
Enough with this family’s cycle of violence.
Let it all end tonight.
That the exact moment when Klaus gasped in pain, clutching his chest as his blood turned to acid.
He could feel dark magic crackling around his skin, robbing him of his strength, forcing him to his knees. The air vanished from Klaus’s lungs, and agony spread through his limbs alongside a sudden weakness, bringing him to the ground. He gritted his teeth, attempting to stand, but every muscle had hardened like stone, drained by the acrid stench of magic.
Heels clicked against the asphalt, and Klaus gathered his remaining strength to raise his head.
Francesca Correa’s eyes met his.
_____
Caroline awoke to agony dulling her senses.
She was barely aware of the witches carrying her numb limbs into St. Anne’s Church. Caroline opened her mouth, and the first sound to tear past her lips was a scream.
Instinctively, she knew she was in danger. It was as though her mind, programmed to protect her daughter at all costs, knew she had gone into labor.
“Hurry,” Genevieve urged. “I cast the spell to induce the birth, but she still needs to be conscious to push.”
“We need to be fast.” Monique said. Caroline recognized the voice, even through the haze in her mind, even as the words tangled on her tongue. “The Ancestors demanded the baby’s sacrifice before noon.”
Wait, what?
WHAT?
No.
No.
No.
NO!
Caroline snapped into full consciousness. Five witches held down her arms and legs. Her eyes focused on the stained-glass windows of the church, recognizing the place instantly from the time she had visited with Klaus to speak with Father Kieran.
“Let me go!” Caroline shrieked. “LET ME GO!”
She screamed. She shouted. She used every drop of her voice to beg them to stop. To beg them to release her. Her raspy, desperate pleas fell on deaf ears, the words swallowed by the agony of contractions, turning into cries of anguish before she could plead again.
Somehow, this was always how Caroline ended up.
Begging.
Tears streamed down her face as her skin burned with agony. The pain was excruciating. As if a blade were tearing through her womb and ripping her insides to shreds. The witch attempted to summon her magic, that familiar piece of herself that had saved her on so many times, that had proven she was not as helpless as she believed. But in place of the hum of her power, there was only silence.
All of her strength was muted by the iron shackles pricking her wrists with a cold, cruel touch.
Caroline was laid out upon the altar like an offering ready to be slaughtered. She thrashed with all her might, forcing her limbs to react.
This couldn't be happening.
It couldn't be happening again.
“Please, please! Don’t hurt my baby, don’t hurt my baby…” she screamed, her voice raw, as Genevieve forced her legs apart. “Please! Let me go, PLEASE!”
They were pathetic words, weren't they? How many times had Caroline pronounced them? First with Damon, when she was just a helpless girl begging for her life. Then with Bill. The first time, the second time. The pleas blurred together between past and present in Caroline’s ears. Every time she had felt vulnerable, every time she had believed her life meant less than someone else's desire to break her.
They were the exact same words. The exact same tears. The exact same desperate tone.
When would it finally end?
Witches pressed down on her shoulders, pulling her chains until her wrists bled, gripping her ankles to keep her legs pinned. Waves of agony erupted in her abdomen, radiating through every single limb of her body. Screaming was the only thing Caroline had left.
Maybe if she screamed loudly enough, someone would hear. Maybe if her throat bled from her desperate shrieks, her baby could be saved.
Those witches intended to sacrifice her daughter. They intended to murder the child Caroline had carried for nearly nine full months. The very same little girl for whom Klaus had built a nursery at the compound, the little girl whose every milestone she had recorded in her collection of scrapbooks and albums filled with photos and videos. The little girl Liz was so desperate to meet, the little girl who didn't have a name or a face yet, but who had claimed an undeniable place in Caroline’s heart.
She could not let them tear her heart out of her chest and leave it bleeding on an altar for the fucking ancestors.
“I will kill you!” she snepped, pure hatred blazing in her eyes as they landed on Genevieve’s horrible face. “You’re going to die!”
Despair was a blade in her chest, ripping her open from the inside out. In the breaks between spasms of agony, she wept amid her rage on more time, like a helpless girl trapped inside her own body. The pain stole the fire from her anger, chilling veins stripped of power and forcing every muscle to contract involuntarily.
“Please, don’t do this.” she begged, tears drenching her face, the salty taste of her own grief filling her mouth. “Please...”
Then another contraction arrived, tearing her apart. Her baby... She needed to save her baby. She just needed enough time for Klaus to get there. Enough time for someone to save them both.
Elijah. Kol. Rebekah. Klaus. Anyone.
Caroline needed someone.
She just needed someone.
Klaus had a habit of showing up whenever she needed him, saving her from everything he could. He had always been there. In the woods, in the laboratory, at the cemetery. He was always there.
He just needed to be there one more time.
Just one more time.
Caroline prayed to the saints on the walls, to the angels in the stained glass, to the ancestors she didn't even know. She begged any force in the universe to help her. Not for her life, nor for her future or her dreams, but for her baby. Her little girl, who had fought so hard to survive this far, so that she might stay safe inside her womb.
Caroline just needed to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it felt like she was dying. Her life was nothing compared to the life of her daughter.
Just a little longer.
Just a little longer…
______
Klaus tried to push himself up.
Yet it felt as though vervain ran through his veins in place of blood. His limbs burned and faltered, his strength entirely drained. In his mind, Klaus’s wolf let out a whine of rage and apprehension, its voice growing increasingly distant.
Klaus’s focus, however, remained fixed on a single person: Francesca Correa. The woman smiling before him, vengeance gleaming in her eyes as they flashed golden. He had to suppress his surprise beneath a mask of fury, because the situation was almost too absurd to comprehend.
“Seeing you on the ground gives me so much pleasure I could tear you in half.” Francesca growled.
An illustrious member of the human faction had turned against him. Except she didn't belong to the humans, did she? The plot lay exposed before him, Klaus needed only a few seconds to connect the bloody dots of treason within his own city. The web unraveled effortlessly in his mind as the rats crawled out of the sewer to steal crumbs of what belonged to him.
“I take it your surname isn't Correa, am I right?” Klaus asked, spitting the blood that rose in his throat onto the glass-littered ground. “You clever little rat.”
Francesca’s fist struck Klaus’s face with crushing force, snapping his head to the side. The hybrid wouldn't have even felt the blow had he possessed his strength, but his limbs were limp, his blood burned, and the first signs of desiccation were setting in, paralyzing his toes.
“My name is Francesca Guerrera.” she admitted, her lips curling with venom. “Does that name ring a bell?”
Klaus tried to recall, but his mind was far too slow to sift through a thousand years of memories for people he had likely killed. There were simply too many.
“Not particularly, no.”
Francesca kicked him violently in the chest, sending Klaus’s back slamming against the asphalt. The faint echo of a distant growl sounded in his ears as anger contorted his expression, furious at her sheer audacity to think she could ever dominate him.
He tried to react, but his fingers were graying, cursed with immobility.
“You tried to decimate our pack a century ago, Klaus, but you failed.” the woman continued, utterly boring the hybrid. “You shattered us, but we survived and persevered until the day of revenge arrived. And look at that, it has.”
Francesca loomed over him, her teeth gritted in rage. Klaus didn't need to look at her hand to know she wore one of the moonlight rings, her controlled form beneath the full moon was evidence enough. Caroline had noted that crafting those charms would take weeks to store every lunar phase, Klaus didn't need to think twice to realize they had uncovered another source of power.
The power of a wolf who didn’t turn with the moon.
His power.
The sour stench of magic hit his nostrils, his unyielding limbs and the creeping desiccation told Klaus everything he needed to know. And for heaven's sake, it meant Francesca could stop delivering her pathetic speech about her little vendetta.
He laughed. His laughter echoed through the empty street, the amusement in his eyes igniting Francesca’s rage.
“So, you allied yourself with our dear witch Genevieve to gain the power to take your revenge.” Did she truly not see how ridiculous it all sounded? “She masked your scent and bound the rings to my strength, and now you believe you can defeat me.”
Klaus recognized a werewolf from a mile away, their scent always handed them over. Francesca had needed help to hide like a rat among the humans, someone to mask her scent as she drew close to his family, someone to complete the spell.
It wasn't difficult to deduce who it was.
In truth, Klaus should have foreseen it, he was the master of the game after all. Treason stoked the hybrid’s fury, but he kept the unbothered mask firmly in place to infuriate Francesca.
No one terrified Klaus Mikaelson.
His laughter ceased when the werewolf drove a severed metal bumper from the car straight into his abdomen. His internal organs tore, blood spurting from the wound, and Klaus set his jaw, holding back the agony through sheer force of will.
“I did more than that.” Francesca announced with a cruel smile. “I attacked the Harvest festival and made you believe it was Marcel, forcing you to turn against your family, or what’s left of it. All I need was a small distraction to complete the spell and strike while you were busy with your own allies.”
She laughed mockingly. Klaus’s jaw tightened at the insult, but his arms were already completely desiccated, the blood loss accelerating the excruciating process.
“I had you all running after one another like cat and mouse. And guess what, Klaus? I won the game.” Francesca declared, hatred flashing in her golden eyes. “Your brothers are likely in pieces by now. And your precious Caroline... let’s just say she must be having some fun with her witch friends, while your daughter will be sacrificed in a matter of hours.”
Fear struck like a dagger, slicing through his skin with sharp pain and piercing his heart.
Caroline.
What had she done to Caroline? It was the only thought echoing in his mind, alongside a furious growl from the nearly dormant wolf within him.
“If you touch a single hair on her head, I will break every bone in your body and tear them out slowly until you beg for death!” Klaus bellowed, the threat coming out raw, pulsing, and brutal.
Francesca laughed at the promise, treating Klaus as though he were dirt beneath her heels.
“Too late, Klaus.” Francesca spat, baring her teeth. “You lost.
She smiled and cold fear incinerated Klaus’s thoughts. Francesca approached him one more time, savoring the words that would fall from her lips.
“And your little witch will pay the price.”
Klaus gritted his teeth.
“I will kill you!” Klaus roared as the woman walked away without looking back. Fury and panic struggled to break through the barrier of his skin, calling out to his dormant wolf, only to be met with a cutting void.
He screamed, trying to pull the metal from his abdomen, but the paralysis had taken complete hold. His chest ceased to move, his throat began to close, but his mind... Klaus’s mind screamed at him to get up. To find Caroline. To save his daughter.
His wolf howled desperately in his ears, as if struck by a sword and bleeding on the ground.
It was the violent whimpering of a wounded animal on the verge of death. Incapable of stopping the bleeding, incapable of clinging to life to protect its broken pack.
How could Klaus, a born strategist, a man capable of legendary feats, the undefeated grandmaster who could calculate his enemies' every move on the board as if watching it unfold, allow himself to be struck down like this? To let Caroline be struck down like this?
If anything happened to her or their daughter...
Klaus could not fathom it.
No.
There were still pieces to move. There was still a way...
It was then that an unconscious body was thrown toward him. Klaus raised his eyes, his throat almost entirely desiccated, meeting the dark brown irises of Katerina Petrova.
“Drink.”
The sweet scent of blood hit Klaus’s nostrils, and his throat burned with thirst. His fangs snapped out, and he did not hesitate to sink them into the unconscious human beside him. His golden eyes flickered, the glow flaring and fading, growing steadier as the blood coursed through his body and warmed his skin.
His arms began to move, then his torso, and finally his legs. Breathing was still difficult, his veins still burned, but Klaus managed to stand once more. Fury stiffened every muscle in his body, the incandescent gold of his irises locking onto Katerina.
“Why are you here?” Klaus spat.
Katerina stepped back, though she held her chin high.
“Your brothers are covered by werewolf bites.” Klaus knew that the concern of someone like Katerina was far from being about Kol. “I need your blood.”
Well, Klaus would not be the one to thank her.
She offered a glass bottle, and Klaus did not hesitate to bite into his own wrist. His blood ran until it filled half the container. He handed it to Katerina, not gracing her with another glance before vanishing into the night.
He needed to find Caroline. He needed to expand his senses, catch her scent, and find her.
It was a necessity. An urgency. A plea.
There was no other outcome. Klaus had to find her, and he had to save her.
There was no other choice.
____
Just a little longer turned into long minutes, and then into hours.
Hours of agony. Hours in which Caroline drifted between consciousness and forgetfulness while the altar became drenched in blood.
For a second, she thought she heard Klaus’s voice in her ear, felt his supernatural warmth against her skin, and wondered if this was the price she was paying for throwing herself into the abyss of loving him. Was this the long-awaited fall that would destroy her from within, irreversibly? Was this the price to pay for her fleeting happiness?
Maybe tragedy pursued her like a plague. Maybe this was what she deserved for hoping to build a family with Klaus Mikaelson.
Her dreams were sweet, but confined to illusions. Memories of the past mingled with the present as her blood loss reached dangerous levels.
“A summer. I will take you anywhere you wish to go.”
The voice offered relief in her agony, a balm to her exhausted mind.
“Paris. Rome. Tokyo. We can see the most beautiful landscapes and eat the most renowned dishes. We can see the art that makes the world a beautiful place to live.” Klaus continued softly. “Allow me to show you the world, Caroline.”
“Caroline, if you don’t start pushing, your baby is going to die.” Genevieve’s voice sounded distant, her face blurred by the semi-consciousness brought on by exhaustion.
“No.” she managed to whisper, weak and trembling.
Another wave of agony struck, and blood soaked her feet, her clothes already drenched.
“She’s dying.” one of the witches noted.
Caroline’s eyes closed again, and she could imagine him beside her, holding her hand and promising to protect her. Promising that everything would be alright.
“Say you won’t leave me.” Klaus whispered in her ear.
“I won’t leave you.”
“Caroline, if you don’t push right now, your daughter will die.” Genevieve warned, gripping her legs firmly.
Caroline blinked back into consciousness, dizzy. She swallowed hard and wondered why giving up on breathing felt like such a tempting option.
“I can’t.” she murmured, the words slurring on her tongue.
“Yes, you can.” Genevieve insisted, meeting Caroline’s eyes. “Just push. Come on.”
“Mom,” Caroline wept against Liz’s shoulder, the two of them embraced on the sofa of her childhood home.
“You are not a mistake, baby.” Liz repeated endlessly, her voice choked with tears. “No matter what your dad says, you are not a mistake. You are my little girl, and you always will be.”
Caroline knew enough about blood loss to realize she couldn't hold on much longer. She couldn't kill her daughter by preventing her from being born. She needed that child to live. She needed her daughter to have at least a chance to breathe. Just as Liz and Eddie had fought for her, Caroline needed to fight for her little girl’s life with every ounce of strength she had left.
Whatever it takes.
So Caroline gathered everything she possessed, every shred of energy, strength, rage, and pain. She tensed her muscles and pushed.
A scream tore from her raw throat, but the sound was lost to memory. The walls of the church blurred with the woods surrounding Mystic Falls.
“I can’t believe you’re a witch.” Bonnie said with a smile. “I finally have someone to practice with.”
Caroline frowned, a sorrowful expression marking her face, guilt weighing down her shoulders.
“Even though I killed someone?”
Bonnie placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“It was an accident. I almost hurt people when I first discovered my magic, too.” Bonnie granted, meeting Caroline’s eyes. “You’re my friend, Caroline, and I will never stop loving you.”
“I love you too, Bonnie.”
“One more time!” Genevieve yelled. “Come on! One more time!”
Caroline pushed, and the pain felt as though it would split her in two. It was so intense it stole her thoughts and clouded her perception.
“You are beautiful. You are strong and full of light.” Klaus said, the corner of his lips lifted. “What’s not to like?”
“I...”
The memory was shattered as the doors of St. Anne’s Church were thrown open with force. All Caroline could manage was to let her head fall to the side, where her eyes met Klaus’s gaze.
He was there.
His hair was disheveled and his hands were stained with blood, but he was there.
If this was a dream, Caroline begged not to be awakened. Maybe his presence was a final grace, a warm gift against the chill of death. Maybe he could whisper kind words in her ear, and Caroline could close her eyes in relief, knowing that someone had come for her. Knowing that her daughter might stand a chance.
Klaus charged toward the altar in a blur, but Genevieve shouted an incantation Caroline couldn't even comprehend. She raised her hand, and Klaus was hurled against the church wall behind Caroline.
He was shouting something. Threats? Unintelligible words? Caroline couldn't tell. She couldn't process it.
“One last time!” Genevieve shouted, her voice sounding distant to Caroline’s muffled hearing.
“We need to do this together.” she said.
“Alright.” Klaus agreed. “We’ll do this together...”
Then the wail of a newborn sliced through the air. Every other sound fell silent in her ears, and only that cry echoed. Vibrant, strong, and beautiful.
It was her little girl.
Her daughter.
“Let me hold her.” Caroline whispered, trying to move her arms, the chains clinking with the motion.
Genevieve brought the baby, wrapped in a white towel, close to Caroline’s face. She summoned strength she didn't possess to hold her daughter in her arms at least once.
And despite the exhaustion, the pain, and the despair, Caroline smiled. Her chest thawed into nothingness as she beheld her daughter’s tiny face, the soft wisps of reddish hair clinging to her head, her tiny eyes still squeezed shut.
“Beautiful.”
She raised her eyes to Klaus and saw in him the exact same emotion herself was feeling. That was all she needed. Her daughter had been born.
Maybe now Caroline could rest a little. Maybe she could look into Klaus’s blue irises and draw comfort from the feeling just one last time. Maybe she could...
Caroline felt the cold blade of a dagger against her neck a second before her throat was slit from ear to ear.
Her daughter was whisked away from her. Caroline tried to speak, but blood choked her mouth, spurting from the wound, filling her lungs.
Darkness arrived like a welcome relief from the suffering. Death embraced her with soft, cold hands.
At least she had been able to see them one last time.
At least she had been able to feel...
Caroline’s eyes slowly drifted shut, her head slumping to the side as life departed from her with a single sigh.
Klaus’s roar reverberated off the walls before Genevieve flicked her hand, snapping his neck.
The witches left the church, and Klaus’s body collapsed beside the altar.
The silence was deafening.