The night smelled of blood.
Kol stepped over a twitching vampire, his hand dripping red. Beside him, Henrik exhaled, shaking the last drops of crimson from his fingers. Around them, bodies littered the ground—former enemies who had returned from the Other Side, only to die again.
Kol wiped his hands on his coat, tilting his head slightly. "You know, I almost feel bad for them."
Henrik scoffed. "Do you?"
Kol smirked. "No."
The last vampire gurgled, still trying to crawl away. Henrik rolled his eyes and stomped on the back of his neck, the sound of bones shattering breaking the eerie silence. The body went limp.
Then—nothing but the whisper of the wind.
Henrik glanced at Kol, his expression unreadable. "So, you're telling me… every supernatural we killed over the centuries is coming back?" His voice was calm, but there was something dark in his eyes.
Kol nodded. "Mmm. Looks that way."
Henrik's gaze flickered to the bodies around them, then back to his brother. "Which means…" He exhaled sharply. "The Guardians. Mom. Dahlia…"
Kol chuckled, shaking his head. "Yes, yes, all our lovely family reunions waiting to happen."
Henrik folded his arms. "And you don't seem worried."
Kol grinned. "Should I be?"
Henrik narrowed his eyes.
Kol sighed dramatically. "Look, brother. I don't think they'd be foolish enough to come after us again. Especially the Guardians." His smirk widened. "I believe they'll let their little grudge go."
Henrik raised a brow. "You believe? That's not exactly reassuring."
Kol shrugged. "Well, they have a bigger problem now, don't they?"
Henrik frowned. "What do you mean?"
Kol turned, looking up at the sky, at the heavy clouds swirling overhead. His voice dropped to something almost amused, almost mocking.
"Their dear brother, Lucifer."
Henrik stiffened.
Kol's smile was sharp. "He's out of his prison."
The wind howled, sweeping through the field.
"And I know," Kol continued, eyes glittering, "he'd be more than happy to have his revenge on them."
Henrik didn't respond right away. He just watched his brother, his mind turning.
Then, slowly—
He smirked.
"Well," Henrik murmured, cracking his knuckles, "this just got interesting."
The air was thick with the scent of death. Blood stained the grass, bodies lay scattered, and the night stretched on, silent and heavy.
Then—
Footsteps. Slow. Steady.
Kol and Henrik turned just as Rebekah emerged from the darkness.
Her dress was torn, her blonde hair wild, strands sticking to her blood-smeared face. But the real sight was in her hand—the severed head of a man.
Alexander.
Her former lover.
The one who had betrayed her centuries ago.
She tossed the head onto the ground between them, her expression unreadable. "He begged," she said flatly. "Said he regretted everything."
Kol smirked. "And?"
Rebekah wiped a hand across her cheek, smearing more blood. "And I carved his heart out before he could finish."
Henrik whistled low. "Brutal."
She rolled her eyes. "Spare me the judgment. He deserved worse."
Kol chuckled but then stretched his arms, shaking out his wrists. "Well, now that you're done with your little revenge tour, we have bigger problems."
Rebekah raised a brow. "Such as?"
Henrik sighed, rubbing his temple. "Freya. How's she doing with the spell? Because honestly, I don't think I can stand killing them over and over again." He kicked a nearby corpse. "It's making me crazy."
Rebekah glanced at the carnage around them, then wiped her bloody hands on her dress. "She's working on it," she said, exasperated. "But it's not exactly easy, Henrik. We're talking about undoing whatever idiotic magic those witches used to break the veil."
Kol scoffed. "Oh, come on, sister. It's just a little necromantic disaster. Freya loves a challenge."
Rebekah shot him a look. "Do you want me to rip your tongue out?"
Kol grinned. "Only if you buy me dinner first."
Henrik groaned. "Enough, both of you." He exhaled, looking toward the distance, where the town's lights flickered. "We need that spell done soon." His voice dropped lower. "Because if Freya fails…"
Rebekah followed his gaze.
The town was waking up.
And not just the living.
Kol hummed, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. "Then we'll have a real mess on our hands."
Henrik cracked his neck. "Bigger than this?"
Kol grinned, sharp and wicked. "Much bigger."
A cold wind swept through the field, carrying the whispers of the dead.
And somewhere, far beyond the town—
Something was coming.
The wind howled, carrying the scent of blood and death. The town in the distance flickered with uneasy life, but here, in the ruins of battle, something else stirred.
A shadow moved.
Slow. Unrushed.
Ivar stepped forward, his boots crunching over broken bones and torn earth. His face was blank, eyes dark, unreadable.
And there—standing before him, illuminated by the pale moonlight—
Esther.
Their mother.
She looked the same as she always had. Regal. Serene. Her dark dress billowed slightly in the wind, and when her lips curled into a soft smile, it was almost… warm.
"Ivar," she whispered, as if tasting his name for the first time in centuries. Her eyes shimmered. "My son… how I've missed you."
Ivar didn't stop walking.
Didn't pause. Didn't blink.
He simply stepped past her, moving like she wasn't even there.
Esther's smile faltered, her fingers twitching slightly at her side.
"Ivar," she called again, more insistent this time.
He stopped.
The silence stretched, heavy and cold.
Then, without turning, without emotion—
"What."
A single word. Flat. Distant.
Esther exhaled softly, a small, sad smile forming on her lips. "Is that all you have to say to your mother?"
Ivar still didn't turn. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable.
And then—he let out a quiet chuckle.
Low. Amused.
But empty.
"Mother?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that what you are?"
Esther's eyes darkened, but she kept her composure. "I did what I thought was right," she said gently. "I only ever wanted to protect you all."
Ivar finally turned his head, just slightly, enough for his gaze to flicker toward her. His eyes, sharp as a blade, met hers.
"Protect?" His voice was almost playful, mocking. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Esther didn't waver. "I know you're angry."
Ivar's smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Angry?" He let the word hang in the air for a moment before shaking his head. "No, mother."
His voice dropped lower, colder.
"I don't feel anything for you at all."
The wind picked up, swirling around them.
Esther's smile didn't falter, but something in her gaze shifted. A flicker of something deeper—something unreadable.
"I see."
Ivar turned away again, already walking. "Good talk," he muttered.
Esther watched him go, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
Then—
"You will, one day," she said softly.
Ivar didn't stop this time.
Didn't turn.
Didn't look back.
The night swallowed him whole.
He couldn't care less for because even if they were to reconcile, she is not here to stay and as soon as the veil is back on, she would return back to the other side.