Kol Mikaelson-The Wild Original

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The massacre had left an indelible mark on Mystic Falls. The forest clearing where Kol had unleashed chaos now stood eerily silent, though the echoes of his destruction reverberated throughout the town. Kol Mikaelson had vanished, leaving behind broken witches and fractured plans in his wake. Wickery Bridge, once a town landmark, had burned to ash—erased by his hand, wiping out any trace of the white oak hidden there. Whatever stakes had survived were now locked away under a blood ward so potent that even another Mikaelson would struggle to break it without Kol's consent.

The Mystic Falls gang, however, remained in the dark. As far as they knew, Kol had gone on another rampage, taking pleasure in destruction for its own sake.

At the Salvatore boarding house, Elena gripped a mug of tea with trembling hands. Across from her, Stefan paced restlessly, frustration bleeding into every movement.

"Why would Kol go this far? It's like he wants to kill us all and be done with it, but he's just... holding back for his family," Stefan muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Maybe it's just Kol being Kol," Elena offered weakly. Her voice was distant, hollow—like she was trying to convince herself.

Damon groaned from his spot on the couch, nursing a whiskey glass with one hand while the bruises from their last battle still lingered on his skin. "That's his style—wreak havoc, make sure everyone knows he's a threat."

Stefan frowned, halting mid-step. "But burning Wickery Bridge? That wasn't random. There has to be a reason."

Damon shrugged, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. "We don't have time to psychoanalyze Kol Mikaelson. What we do need is a plan before he or his family show up again—for Elena's blood."

"But what plan?" Elena's voice cracked. "We don't have any daggers. The Originals are untouchable. And Kol—he can do magic now. He bound me with something, and we don't even know what it does." Her voice broke into a sob.

Damon swirled his drink, his expression darkening. "Then we figure out what Kol wants—and why he disappeared. That's our first move."

At the Bennett house, Bonnie hovered over her mother, Abby, who lay motionless in transition. Bonnie's hands shook as she fumbled for her phone, vision blurred by tears.

Caroline picked up after two rings. "Bonnie? What's wrong?"

"I can't do this anymore," Bonnie whispered. "Abby... she's transitioning. And it's my fault. The ancestors hate me. Now I'm losing my mom, too. I keep trying to fix everything, but... I can't, Caroline. I just can't."

"Bonnie, listen to me," Caroline said firmly, though her voice wavered with emotion. "You don't have to do this alone. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? We'll figure it out together."

Bonnie nodded, even though Caroline couldn't see her. For the first time in weeks, she let herself feel a sliver of hope.

Across town, Alaric Saltzman sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at a notepad scrawled with names of council members—people he once trusted. The names burned into his mind like a mantra.

The voice in his head grew louder with each passing day, feeding his paranoia, sharpening his anger.

"They're the enemy. They need to be punished."

Alaric gritted his teeth, fingers clutching the enchanted Gilbert ring. He couldn't tell where the voice ended and his own thoughts began. All he knew was that it was right.

At the Mystic Grill, Damon nursed another drink, the bruises from his last encounter still healing. He didn't look up when the door swung open, but the sultry voice that followed made him freeze.

"Well, well. Look who's still brooding after all these years."

Damon turned slowly, his expression guarded. Sage smirked at him from across the room, just as confident as ever.

"Sage," he said, tone measured. "What brings you to Mystic Falls?"

She slid into the seat across from him, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I heard the Mikaelsons were back. Thought you might need some help."

Damon arched a brow. "And what's in it for you?"

Sage leaned in, her smirk widening. "Let's just say I've got my own reasons for wanting the Mikaelsons knocked down a peg. You in?"

Back at the Salvatore house, Elena stood before her closet, staring at the flapper-style dress hanging inside. The upcoming 1920s-themed dance felt absurd in the wake of everything that had happened, but maybe—just maybe—it was exactly what they all needed. A distraction from the darkness closing in around them.

Her heart ached as her mind drifted to Stefan and Damon. How could she choose between them when everything else in her life was falling apart?

Downstairs, Damon poured himself another drink, mind spinning with thoughts of Sage and her sudden reappearance. For once, he had no snarky remarks, no clever plans.

The stakes—figuratively and literally—were too high.

He'd survived by the skin of his teeth twice in recent days, and the cracks were starting to show. What kind of future did he even have? Could he move forward after everything?

He needed a weakness in the Originals' armor. A way to fight back.

Maybe a stake like Mikael's.

But how the hell was he supposed to get his hands on one?

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