Erik was surrounded by silence. The kind of silence that hummed with an ancient, weighty presence. At first, he thought he was dreaming—his memories fragmented, his body oddly weightless. Slowly, he realized this was something far more profound. His mind, sharp and analytical even now, began piecing together the scattered fragments of thought.
He was dead. Or at least, he had been. And yet, he still existed, suspended in the void, feeling as if the very fabric of reality had folded him into a strange limbo. The void was endless, neither dark nor light. He floated there, detached from all things, until the silence finally broke.
"Erik," a voice called, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that shook him to his core. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once. He turned, and for the first time, something materialized in the void—a figure, cloaked in both shadow and light. Its form shifted constantly, as if existence itself couldn't decide how to define it. This was no ordinary being. This was God.
"You have wandered through countless lives, seeking purpose. Always driven, always yearning," the figure said, its voice neither male nor female but all-encompassing. "But the universe is not done with you, Erik."
He frowned, his instinctual wariness rising. "If the universe isn't done with me, why am I here? What is this?"
"This is a moment between moments. A crossroads," the being replied. "You stand on the precipice of rebirth. If you choose to walk forward, your soul will be placed into a new life—a life of consequence, power, and legacy. But it will not be without pain or sacrifice."
Erik straightened, his sharp mind evaluating the situation. "What do you gain from this... offer?"
The figure seemed to smile. "You are perceptive. I gain nothing, but I observe all. I am curious to see what path you will carve when given the means to transcend. If you accept, I will grant you one wish. A gift to shape your destiny as you see fit."
The offer was extraordinary, and yet Erik could sense its gravity. He had always been ambitious, his thirst for knowledge and power boundless. But this... this was beyond anything he had ever dared imagine.
"I'll accept," he said after a long pause, his voice steady. "But my wish... I want power—true, unyielding power. Not just to destroy but to create, to shape the world around me. I want magic that cannot be rivaled, something that grows stronger with time. And I want the strength to protect those I care about, even if it means defying fate itself."
The figure nodded. "Your wish is granted. But beware, Erik Mikaelson—power often comes with a price. You will be reborn as the firstborn of a family destined to change the world. You will carry the blood of demons, granting you immense magic. Your immortality will rival the greatest of hunters, yet you will bear the burden of isolation. And there will be but one thing in the world that can end you—an ancient Norse dagger forged from ake wood, a material long lost to time."
Before Erik could question further, the void shattered, the light engulfing him as his consciousness was pulled into the flow of time.
The air was heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. Erik's first memories were not of warmth but of the biting cold. He could hear voices, faint and muffled, their words blending with the crackle of a distant fire. Slowly, his vision focused, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the earthy aroma of herbs and smoke.
"Push, Esther," a man's voice commanded, firm but laced with worry. "He's almost here."
Erik's perspective shifted as if his awareness expanded. He realized with startling clarity what was happening—he was being born. The woman before him, her face pale with effort, was Esther Mikaelson. His mother.
Moments later, the cries of a newborn filled the room. The midwife wrapped him in a coarse linen cloth and handed him to Esther, whose exhaustion melted into awe as she cradled her firstborn. Her blonde curls framed her face as she whispered, "My Erik... my son."
Mikael, Erik's father, stood nearby, his imposing figure silhouetted against the firelight. His expression was stern, but there was pride in his eyes as he gazed at his firstborn son.
Erik's infant body felt frail, yet his mind remained sharp. He could feel the magic coursing through him, dormant but potent. It was a part of him, tied to the demon blood granted by his wish. He could sense its depth, an endless reservoir waiting to be tapped.
For a time, life in the Mikaelson household was peaceful. Erik's early years were filled with the laughter of his younger siblings—Finn, Elijah, and eventually Klaus, Kol, and Rebekah. As the eldest, Erik took his role seriously, often acting as both protector and guide.
But not everything was idyllic. Erik noticed the tension that lingered between his parents. Mikael's sternness bordered on cruelty, his expectations of Erik unforgiving. Yet, it was Esther who intrigued him the most. She was kind and nurturing, but her gaze often carried a shadow, as though she bore secrets too great to share.
It wasn't long before Erik began to understand the depth of those secrets. He was no ordinary child, and neither was his family. His own magic began to manifest in subtle ways—a flicker of flame in his palm, the soft rustle of wind that responded to his will. Esther noticed, her expression both proud and fearful.
One evening, as Erik sat by the hearth with a crude wooden sword in his lap, Esther approached him. She knelt beside him, her voice soft yet firm.
"You must listen carefully, Erik," she began, her gaze locking onto his. "You are special—more special than you realize. Our family carries a legacy, one that will shape the future of this world. But there are dangers that come with it."
Erik tilted his head, his young face calm but curious. "What kind of dangers?"
Esther hesitated, her hands trembling slightly. "There are those who will seek to control you, to use your power for their own ends. You must always be cautious, my son. Trust only your family."
Her words lingered in his mind, but Erik couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't telling him everything. His instincts proved correct when, one fateful night, everything changed.
The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the dimly lit cabin. Erik, now a young boy, sat quietly by the hearth, sharpening a small blade Mikael had given him. His siblings were asleep, their soft breaths filling the air.
It was then that she appeared.
Dahlila.
Her presence was otherworldly, her dark hair cascading like a river of shadows. She moved with an ethereal grace, her gaze piercing as she looked down at Erik.
"You are the firstborn," she said, her voice soft but commanding. "You belong to me."
Erik's instincts screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move. Dahlila raised a hand, and Erik felt an overwhelming force envelop him. Before he could cry out, darkness consumed him.
When he awoke, he was no longer in the Mikaelson village. The air was thick with the scent of incense and earth. Dahlila stood before him, a sinister smile on her lips.
"Your mother made a deal," she said, her tone dripping with malice. "Her firstborn in exchange for power. And now, Erik Mikaelson, you are mine."