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Prologue.
Within The Shadows

New Haven, Connecticut
September 19th, 1786

THE room was dimly lit by a candle burning at the windowsill, covered in cobwebs. There was nothing but a small wooden table adorned with a plastic bucket and knives spread out next to it. Debris and scattered papers littered the pine floorboard. At his knees, blood pooled around him in a circle, acting as a barrier to one he could not escape from.

There were no doors close to him. The only escape was up a creaky, broken staircase behind the devil who had captured him.

He hung his head low and coughed, blood splattering against him.

Naya remained as she was, her back against the wall, watching him with low eyes. She folded her arms over her chest, trimmed nails digging into her skin.

"Do you remember your name?" Naya asked, boredly.

He softly heaved, careful to not put any more pressure on his lungs. Everything pained him. There were no external wounds. Only the bones and organs within ached endlessly.

His pain was all that mattered to him at the moment. It made him delirious. Unaware of what was being said, and who was present in the room. The fog in his head held steady. It was thickening and harbored itself as a storm in a dark night. He prayed he would die with that fog, that no lighthouse would make itself known in his solemn hour.

Because it was not ale nor beer he suffered from.

It was her.

He shook his head, refusing to see the burning light through his stubborn fog. Her voice had cut through him. It was the light beginning to search for him on his stranded boat. It waned and it illuminated. Soon enough, he was in its line of sight. The eye of the storm.

"—Your name," she demanded.

He could not escape her voice any longer.

"...It is Adam," he croaked.

"Do you know what day it is, Adam?"

Adam shook his head. "I am uncertain."

She hummed, mockingly.

He could envision the pout on her lips. How the corners of her lips would shape into a smirk.

How pitiful.

"A shame. Your language was far more colorful days ago. If only you had the tongue now that you held days ago," Naya remarked. She picked herself off from the wall and stretched. Showing no sign of the importance of what was at hand.

"I had hoped your strength was stronger than this... After all, he spoke so well of you and your character. I felt it was well overdue that we met." She continued while she stretched, now facing Adam. "Now look at you."

He was bound against the oak cross, arms stretched on either side, knees pressed to the ground, head bowed in lament. The flickering candlelight casted an eerie glow against his face, illuminating his golden hair. Blood trickled from his chin, resting on the contours of his chest. Adam was leaner than other men, but he held muscle and possessed great strength. What a strange thing for a man of his stature to be presented in such defeat.

Naya stared at him with a mixture of contemplation and disdain. She eyed him as a toy, something worth fawning over for the moment. But, her amusement dwindled the more she looked at him. Soon, he would be tossed aside like all her other toys— broken, discarded, and bound to collect dust even faster. 

"Your reputation..." Adam coughed again, fresh blood coating his lips. He strained his neck to peer up at Naya. "It certainly precedes you."

"Does it indeed?"

Adam hummed.

"I must confess," Naya said, holding her hand over her non-beating heart. "I hadn't the faintest clue. You must enlighten me of the details that precede my character."

"If it pleases you greatly."

"It does," she grinned.

At the sight, Adam rolled his eyes and lowered his head. He desperately wanted more than anything for Naya to finish her cruel games. It tired him.

Naya lifted the hem of her silk skirt and walked over to the table to retrieve a two-pronged blade. She caressed the grip, feeling the craftsmanship of wood over leather, before running her finger down the sharpness of the blade. It made a small cut on her skin, drawing forth a droplet of blood.

"Do you know what else would please me?"

"I do not care."

Naya wanted to laugh at him. She desired nothing more than to strip Adam of his dignity, to reduce him to insignificance. But, her face remained blank. No smile. No laughter. Only intense hatred harbored in brown eyes.

Merely belittling Adam was not enough. She had taken his will to live and had stripped him of his manhood, but now there was only acceptance in death. That would be too easy of a fight. It would be too kind of a gift.  Naya needed him to suffer.

With a twisted smile, Naya spun the pronged blade in her hand. "If you must know it is the 19th of September."

Adam's eyes widened in fear.

"What?" he fretted, using the last of his strength to fight back against the leather bounds. The light from the candle began to feel more like heat searing against his skin. Another trick of magic. "Do not try to trick me! It is not! You are a liar—"

But Naya's smile had only widened.

She listened as Adam's heart pounded loudly against his tightening rib cage. The more he began to fret, the closer his ribs constricted against his organs. It was a creative way of torture that she liked. Naya had found new means to gather what it was she desired. If he would not talk, she could find something else equally as desirable to punish him with. Less blood on her clothes. More pain to her victims. Double the win on her behalf.

Naya stepped forward, knees bent. "Why would I lie? It would serve me no purpose to deceive you about a day as significant as this. Your coven—"

"—Speak nothing of them," he grunted.

This time Naya laughed at him.

"Or what?" she taunted, tilting her head. "You are in no position to issue commands, least of all to me."

She then drove the blade deep into the taut side of his flank and watched as Adam screamed in anguish. It was a low, guttural sound. Similar to that of an animal being hunted. Naya eyed him cooly and thought to herself how it best fitted their occasion.

They had been hunting her for too long. The exhaustion of running had caught on to her. The feeling of being forced into a corner had infuriated her. But, she was not born to be hunted. No. Naya believed her purpose was far greater than what they wanted it to be. That fate was something she had to control within her hands. Any external forces were to be eliminated.

That was she would get back at him. At all of them— through Adam.

Naya fixated her eyes on the surge of blood pouring out of Adam's wound. She reached out to gently trace the droplets of blood, before pulling her hand away. Red. A beautiful, alluring, crimson shade of red. She thoroughly licked her pointer finger, blood coating the buds of her tongue. It only took a small restraint for Naya to not rip apart Adam's jugular.

The revenge she obtained would be sweeter than bloodlust.

"No more games then," she declared. "Tell me where it is. You know what I desire, and I know what troubles you. This hardly needed to be as afflicting as it is now."

"I... do not know of its whereabouts."

Naya seized his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "That is not what you said to me before."

Adam was quick to yank himself from Naya's grip, but her strength was steel-like. The strength of an original. The strength of magic. His power was only a shallow mimicry of Naya's own. It should have frightened him more, but the lingering possibility of there being a truth behind Naya's words was what terrified him. She should not have known such an important date.

He was not the only one in danger. His coven too would pay the price for his sins.

If only he didn't bite the apple.

"Do you care to remind me what it is that you said?"

"I do not know," he bared his teeth.

"Is that so?"  Naya tilted her head. She twisted the blade deeper into his flank. "Perhaps those are the words I will use when your coven questions you upon my visit—long overdue, I might add."

"I can help you—"

"There's no need," Naya smirked knowingly. "Your help would be the last thing I would ever desire. It's fascinating how much you care for your coven. But rest assured, they will soon join you. My cruelty does come with mercy after all."

She brushed her hands against the front of her skirt before standing up. Her eyes surveyed the room one last time, every detail etched into memory. Then, she turned her gaze to Adam, imprinting the image of his pleading eyes, his pounding heart, and the blade buried in his side— a sight she would never forget.

"When I encounter your coven... I will present them with your head, a token of your regards. But when I confront him— ... I will deliver what remains of you and your coven. And I will inform him that I, Naya Bane, happily extend my condolences."

With that, she picked up the candle on the windowsill and ignited the flame at the top of the cross. Watched as the fire inched itself down, and consumed Adam's writhing form.

"To new beginnings," she cheered.

England
March, 1492

It was a new morning once the sun rose again, but the weight of the night prior still lingered. Everywhere was quiet. The birds made no announcement of their presence. Servants in the castle were either ordered to leave or remain in their chambers. As Isaak looked outside his window, the clouds had darkened the skies, casting them gray.

Rebekah had come to him last night in hopes of assuaging his mood. However, her efforts remained trivial when Klaus barked orders at all of them to help him.

There was not anything they could do about it though.

Naya had left them. Left Nik.

He remembered his brother standing there alone at the altar, waiting for Naya to show herself. But Isaak had already known of Naya's intentions weeks prior. He was the one who readied her horse and the path she would take when she confided in him about his brother's actions.

All he had to do at the moment was play his part by feigning surprise.

Klaus was too smart for his own good. To make matters worse, he was disastrously paranoid but he would never have suspected Isaak for such a bold betrayal against him. A list of names always remained in Klaus' head, ready to be crossed off, but not his obedient, quiet, youngest brother who had always remained at the bottom of it— untouched.

Naya was to take the fall for the blame. With that, she happily accepted as long as she got what she wanted. Neither she nor Isaak would mention their small collaboration. Therefore, he kept his mask and continued to protect himself from Klaus' wrath.

Better you a liar than a comatose man, Naya had told him.

Isaak knew she was right.

At that, he rose out of bed and went to his desk. It was littered with many things— poems, paintings, and writings regarding nature and chemistry. Rebekah had complained to him once about cleaning his desk, but the complaint had fallen on deaf ears. He was more excited to collect rather than organize his belongings.

Perhaps he should have listened to her. That would certainly have given her a smile.

He searched his desk, tossing scrolls and pens on the floor, before sighting it— the blank, oak-colored paper Naya had given him. It was the only thing she gave him before leaving for good. Klaus wouldn't have suspected it to be anything important, so Isaak had graciously taken it, promising her she would write to him if he was safe.

Isaak cleared his desk once more, setting down fresh ink and a quill. Cautious of being caught, he sat to himself and listened for any voices or steps near his door before he began to write:

       My Dearest Bane,

       I hope this letter finds you well.

       I am more than certain you are beyond capable of defeating any obstacle that stands in your way. Lest in any case, the path I have chosen for you has been a nuisance. Do let me know. I wish to help alleviate any burdens you may have on your journey.

       My brother, Klaus, has not caught on to me. I am certain he never will. It seems his anger has been only directed at you for the time being. Elijah has done his best to act by his side, but I am afraid you have wounded him far deeper than my noble brother can attempt to heal.

       You and I both know he will be searching after you. Hunting you, even.

       But, I will do my best to stray his efforts away from you. Katerina is still his priority. Our father will be next again once she has been dealt with. I can only hope it would dissuade him from your case just slightly.

       The blood moon will be upon us. Be careful to avoid the followers of the Raven.

       Please write to me soon so that I may share with you my findings, and know that you are safe.

       Know that my heart and soul are tethered to you with love.

       Sincerely and deeply,
      Your steadfast friend, Isaak Mikaelson

Once he finished writing, the paper caught fire.

Atlanta, Georgia
July 17th, 2006

He spared a glance over his shoulder before walking in between a dark alleyway.

The walls were made of mismatched bricks, hastily assembled together as if rushed. Graffiti adorned the concrete floors, adding a splash of color. Yet, it was the walls that had taken up more of the expressive designs, a popular canvas for the younger artists who frequented the area. At the dead end of the alley, a flickering light bathed the area in a muted yellow. Trash was plastered everywhere but in the garbage disposal, which somehow managed to be the cleanest thing out of everything so far.

He bit back a grimace, deciding to continue walking down the alley before he saw him— a lone figure leaning against the walls, dressed in a thick, leather jacket despite the immense heat of the summer evening.

"Ah, Dante." The figure called out, greeting him with a small nod. "Took you long enough."

Dante nodded back. "Kaine."

He continued to walk until they were only a few feet across from one another. His eyes made no contact with the ground, avoiding the trash that had lingered around the both of them. A frown crowned itself on the corners of Dante's lips, but he decided not to say anything.

Kaine raised a brow at him, sending him a scrutinizing gaze.

"What?" He teased. "Dirty alleyways aren't your thing, princess?"

"Afraid not." Dante retorted as he rolled his eyes.

Kaine chuckled at him before he quickly collected himself. A lump in his throat formed, then followed by the pulse against his neck. An itch began to form within him, and soon he scrounged his pockets, desperate to relieve himself of it.

Dante watched him as he searched. He knew exactly what he craved. Kaine had been like that for years, always tense as if there was something that hung over him. He did his best to appear calm and keep the unnerved facade, but time has weathered onto him. It was only so long he could go without crashing. Dante was glad he was present to witness it.

He reached for the unopened cigarette pack in the back of his jeans pocket. Opening the box, he held it in front of Kaine, stopping him from looking any further. Kaine muttered a quick thanks as he grabbed a cigarette and put it to his lips. He turned his lighter on and sighed once the fire was pressed on the cigar.

Following suit, Dante selected a cigarette of his own. A small flame held itself over his finger to light the cigarette before he blew it away with a gentle blow.

Kaine took notice of Dante's use of magic, eyeing him unimpressed. He shook his head. Smoke billowed around him as he scoffed.

"Tsk— show off much?"

"I should be asking you that," he replied. Dante tapped the butt of the cigarette, pressing it to his lips. He took a lengthy drag, allowing the smoke to foster within him. It began to burn, but he leaned into the pain before expelling it out into the wind. "You run yourself dry already?"

"Didn't think I did." Kaine shrugged, his gaze drifting down the alley before returning to Dante, his expression serious. "Anyone see you come down here?"

"No."

"Good. What I say does not leave this meeting. Understand?"

Dante nodded in response.

Kaine stopped himself from taking another drag. He massaged the frown line beginning to form at the top of his head. Another migraine, Dante noted. The situation must have been more serious than Dante alluded to himself to believe. Kaine shook himself together and stepped closer to him. His eyes searched Dante's own, ready to witness the slight of a betrayal. But, there was none. Dante had presented himself as he always has— subdued and serious. Kaine could not count the number of times he had ever smiled, whether in front of him or anyone else. He would not have been Kaine's first pick as an ally, but times have changed. The people he could knowingly rely upon have thinned.

"The doppelgänger," he whispered. "She's in Mystic Falls... my men have been having their eyes on her for a while. They think she's legit. I have to believe it myself."

Dante took another drag, taking in Kaine's words. "You think she might be there then?"

He ignored the tension that arose in his body when he referenced her. It was centuries since she was last spoken of between them. No one had made the move to do anything further once she was last whispered about. But, now they are engaged amongst themselves, Kaine would use it against him if he saw that speck of emotion. It wouldn't fare well for any of the three parties.

Kaine bit his bottom lip repeatedly. He dragged the cigarette back to his lips, ridding the urge to entirely break his calmed persona.

"I don't fucking know! It's like Na—," he said, catching himself once her name was unable to be formed. "Fuck— it's like she disappeared. Ain't no one sure of where she is."

Dante stared at him with a hard glare. It was as if Kaine hadn't learned by now or maybe he hadn't cared to.

Kaine waved him off. "It doesn't matter though. She can't hide forever. Sooner or later she'll have to show herself."

"And then what?" Dante asked tiredly, snubbing the cigarette out with his shoe. "You barely have the strength to hold yourself together."

A slow smile began to form on Kaine's lips. He clasped Dante's shoulder, leaning in closer. "Oh, don't you worry about that, my friend."

"What do you mean?" Dante asked, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion as he eyed his smiling friend.

"When she shows herself... that's when the battle begins."

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author's note. this gave me sm trouble but it was so fun to write when i finally got it. hope u guys enjoyy

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