The original family · Y/n story by @iron

The warehouse loomed in the midnight dark of New Orleans, a hulking silhouette of rusted iron and shattered windows. The air smelled of damp rot and old blood, the kind of scent that clung to places where terrible things had happened. Elijah was the first to step through the shattered doorway, his dark suit immaculate despite the years of abandonment. Klaus followed close behind, a predatory stillness in his movements, blue eyes scanning every shadow.

Klaus Mikaelson

Search every corner. Leave no stone unturned.

The command was cold, final. Klaus moved like a predator through the room, his fingers tracing over strange symbols carved into the walls, over steel tables stained with decades of dried blood. And then, in the far corner, half-hidden behind a wall of screens and tangled wires, there was something. A shape. A figure bound to a metal chair. Klaus froze. For a moment, no one moved. Rebekah's hand flew to her mouth. Elijah, usually composed, stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Rebeccah Mikaelson

That's... that's not possible.

It was barely a whisper, trembling with something that sounded like terror and hope, tangled together. Klaus took a step forward, slowly, almost reluctantly. The air was so still. So impossibly quiet. Then, from behind them, came a voice.

Aurora de Martel

I was wondering when you would finally find us.

Aurora stepped out of the darkness, her smile like a blade, as if she had been waiting for this moment. Beside her, Tristan de Martel stood with his arms crossed, a silent sentinel of cruelty. Their presence filled the room with an aura of menace, and the chains, the lab, all of it pointed to them as the architects of this horror. Klaus's eyes never left the figure in the chair. His voice was little more than a growl when he finally spoke.

Klaus Mikaelson

What have you done?