Kol's POV
Night had crept back by the time I returned.
The sanctum still stood — its sigils dim but alive, glowing faintly in the dark like embers that refused to die. The forest was silent around it. No wind, no insects — just that still, watchful quiet that only places heavy with old magic ever held.
I'd told them I was going home.
I lied, of course.
There was something here — something old enough that even I didn't recognize it immediately. And that alone made it worth the detour.
I stepped into the clearing, boots brushing through grass gone dry from the day's heat. The air still hummed faintly with power — familiar, but buried. Like the echo of a song I used to know.
Inside, the air was warm, thick with the residue of their spellwork. The girls had done well — far better than I'd expected. The place pulsed with life. But beneath that warmth, beneath the hum of new creation, there was something else.
Older. Quieter.
And when I reached out, I felt it — a heartbeat.
Not mortal.
Not ancestral.
But tethered to me.
"Ah," I murmured, a slow smile curving my lips. "So that's what you were hiding."
I drew a rune in the air — old, deliberate, the kind she taught me. It glowed softly, then sank into the floor, lighting the sigils beneath the structure. The hum deepened. The air thickened until even the shadows seemed to breathe.
Then came the voice.
Soft. Steady. Familiar.
"You still play with fire, Nikola."
I froze.
For a moment, I thought it was memory — the kind that likes to crawl out of the grave when you least expect it. But then I turned, and there she was.
Ayana Bennett.
Not a shade. Not a trick of the light. Something in between — woven from the same power that bled through the sanctum itself. Her eyes were dark, calm, unyielding. Just as I remembered.
And even now, centuries later, that look had the audacity to make me feel young.
"Still giving lectures from beyond the grave, are we?" I said lightly, though my smirk didn't quite reach my eyes.
Her lips curved faintly. "And you're still pretending you don't need them."
"Pretending?" I walked closer, slow and careful. "Love, I stopped listening to lectures the century you died."
She tilted her head. "And yet you built this place exactly as I taught you."
I stopped.
Her tone wasn't accusatory — just observant. But it hit harder than I expected.
"I improved on it," I said finally. "You'd be proud."
"Pride was never the point, Kol," she said softly. "You remember that, don't you?"
I sighed. "You always did ruin my fun."
Ayana stepped closer — her presence colder than I remembered, though not unkind. "You're meddling with forces you barely respect."
"Barely respect?" I raised a brow. "I created a sanctum on sacred Bennett ground and tied it to their bloodline. That's not disrespect — that's brilliance. You should be happy. I haven't done this for any of my apprentices in over a thousand years."
"Arrogance," she corrected gently. "You've always blurred the line."
That one landed deeper than I liked.
"And you," I countered, "always blurred the line between balance and betrayal. The least you could do is pretend to be impressed. The girls did well. Especially Bonnie."
Something flickered in her eyes. "Bonnie."
"Yes. The descendant who carries your gift — and your curse."
Her expression softened. "She carries more than that. There's a strength in her you don't yet understand."
I folded my arms. "A thousand years later and you still don't speak straight."
Her gaze sharpened. "The Bennett line doesn't just bind magic, Kol. It binds blood and intent. Every spell, every sacrifice — the earth remembers through them. That's why this ground called to me when you worked your spell. It wasn't the place that answered. It was the blood."
Something in her voice tightened, faint but unmistakable.
"You tied yourself to it again."
I hesitated. "…Accidentally."
Ayana smiled — a small, sad curve of her lips. "You never do anything by accident."
Silence. The sanctum pulsed softly around us, listening.
"I didn't come here to be scolded," I said at last. "Just wanted to make sure the foundations didn't collapse."
"And instead, you found me."
"Seems you're as difficult to get rid of as ever," I said. "My mentor — the witch who betrayed my peace by giving my mother the spell that started it all."
Her chuckle was low, warm, and fond. "And you're still the same impulsive child I bought from your mother's womb in the New World. Always chasing knowledge, never asking why it's forbidden."
"Forbidden things are the most fun — and the most free."
"That's what you said before you tried to raise the dead in my house."
I grinned. "Ah, good times."
Her gaze softened, nostalgic and sad. "You could have been great, Kol."
That one hit deeper than I cared to admit.
"I was great," I said quietly. "You just didn't like how I got there. Or that you were afraid of what I'd become."
She stepped closer, her form flickering faintly, and for a moment, she looked heartbreakingly alive.
Her voice softened — not kind, but knowing.
"The great Dragon Slayer," she murmured, almost to herself. "I remember that fire in you — the hunger to destroy, to prove yourself against gods and monsters alike. But power, Kol… power means nothing if it burns everything you touch. You still haven't learned that."
Kol's jaw tightened. He met her eyes, and for a heartbeat, the centuries fell away — he was young again, reckless, standing before her with soot-stained hands and wild defiance in his heart.
"I've learned it," I said softly. "I just stopped caring. Power doesn't burn, Ayana. Weakness does."
Ayana's gaze softened with something like sorrow. "Then you've learned nothing at all."
That silenced her.
For a long moment, we stood there — two relics bound by the same old sin: curiosity masquerading as conviction.
Finally, she said, "The girl — Bonnie — she can restore what I began. But she'll need guidance."
"I'm already teaching her," I said. "Rather well, if I may add."
Ayana's eyes met mine, knowing. "You're teaching her your way. She needs more than that. She needs purpose."
"And I suppose you and your ghostly council of ancestors will be the ones to give it to her?"
Her smile was faint, fading like mist. "No. The ancestors will. I can only open the door."
The air thickened, her form dimming, the edges of her figure dissolving into the sanctum's light.
"Ayana," I said quietly. "Are you bound here?"
Her gaze lingered. "I was bound the day I was buried. The magic you used only called me from the other side."
That — that — left me cold.
"Be careful, Kol," she said, her voice distant now. "The past has long roots. And this time… you've planted them in your own blood."
Her image flickered once — twice — and was gone.
I stood in the silence she left behind, the sanctum's hum steady and alive around me.
Ayana Bennett — my first teacher, my first disappointment, and, if I'm being honest, my first real affection — still haunting me nearly a millennium later.
I looked around at the runes pulsing like a heartbeat that wasn't mine and let out a quiet laugh.
"Well, we shall see what happens, darling."
With a sneer in the general direction where her spirit had vanished, I turned and stepped outside the sanctum.
I stood there in the quiet, the echo of her voice still vibrating through the wood and stone, when I heard it — the faintest creak of the outer steps.
Three heartbeats.
Familiar ones.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. "You might as well come out, loves. Eavesdropping doesn't suit you."
There was a hesitant shuffle before Bonnie appeared at the doorway, candlelight flickering in her hand. Caroline and Davina followed, equally wide-eyed, equally guilty.
Kol arched a brow. "Couldn't wait till morning, could you?"
Caroline crossed her arms, chin lifting defensively. "You were glowing, Kol. Literally glowing. Excuse us for being curious."
Bonnie's eyes, however, weren't on me — they were scanning the air where Ayana's spirit had been moments before, still faintly shimmering with the residue of her presence. "Who was she?" she asked quietly.
I studied her for a moment, weighing what to tell her. "An old friend," I said at last. "Or a mistake, depending on the century."
Davina frowned.
Bonnie stepped further into the sanctum. The faint hum of ancestral energy tugged at her, wrapping around her like an unseen tether. "You knew her."
"Knew her?" I chuckled softly. "She taught me half of what I know."
That silenced them. The three of them exchanged quick looks — disbelief, fascination, a little fear.
I could almost hear the thoughts spinning in Bonnie's head — the realization that the man who'd just guided her through ancestral rituals once learned them from one of her own.
Caroline broke the silence first. "So… you were what? Her student? Her… witch sidekick?"
I gave her a flat look. "Hardly, sweetheart. She wasn't just some witch I picked up along the way — she was the midwife who brought me into this world. A family friend. Ayana Bennett, a traveler who sailed with our kin to the New World long before it had a name on any map."
My tone softened, but only slightly.
"I spent more time in her house than my own — learning her magic, watching her work, listening to her ramble about balance and consequence. Those were good times… before she decided to betray me."
Caroline frowned. "Betray you how?"
Kol's smirk returned, but there was no real humor in it — his eyes turning black and red. "By giving my mother the spell that made us. The same magic that damned us all."
The air in the sanctum grew heavy, the echo of his words settling between them.
He looked away, eyes briefly distant. "This is the first time we've spoken since that day."
Bonnie's brow furrowed. "You cared about her."
The question hung there, uncomfortably honest.
I tilted my head, voice quiet. "Once. She was… different. Power without arrogance. She believed magic was sacred — not a weapon, not a tool. I admired that."
I smiled faintly. "Until I realized sacred things break just as easily as the rest. And trust is cheap without oaths and vows."
Davina spoke softly. "She said something about blood — that you tied yourself to the Bennett line again."
I glanced at her, impressed. "Eavesdropping and interpretation. You're learning."
Caroline rolled her eyes. "Translation: you didn't deny it."
Bonnie stepped closer, her tone even but wary. "What does that mean, Kol? That this place — that we — are connected to you now?"
I met her gaze, and for a moment, the teasing fell away. "It means, little witch, that when I wove the sanctum's magic, I used the same root Ayana once had here in this place. Her essence was still bound to this ground — her spirit remembered me working magic here. When she answered, she tied us all together through that old bond."
Davina's eyes widened. "You mean—"
"I mean," I interrupted smoothly, "this sanctum now recognizes us as one circle. The Bennett line, the Claire line…the new forbes line and me. Congratulations, ladies — you're stuck with me.a 1000 years old vampire with magic"
Caroline let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, great. Eternal membership in Club Kol. This was the only thing left. Come on, Kol."
"Well, Sunshine, it isn't as if only you girls are bound. So am I," Kol replied dryly.
Bonnie wasn't laughing. She looked around, feeling the living pulse in the wood — the faint warmth of magic that now carried a whisper of him, of them. "You didn't tell us this would happen."
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Because I didn't know it would. Sure, it was a possibility — but this was the first time I've done anything like this for an apprentice since getting my magic back. Forgive me, darling, for my small mistakes."
Davina frowned. "So, you didn't care?"
I looked at her — really looked — and the humor drained from my expression.
"Care? Oh, I cared," I said softly. "But care doesn't change magic. Intent does. And when I cast that spell, I tied it to what mattered — to blood, to legacy, to balance. It remembered me, Davina. And now… it remembers you too."
The three of them fell silent. The sanctum thrummed faintly beneath our feet — a living thing, aware and listening.
Bonnie's expression shifted, a mix of unease and awe. "So this bond — it's permanent?"
I gave a small, wry smile. "Let's just say it's… enduring. The kind of tie that lasts until the earth forgets our names."
Caroline, arms crossed, gave me a sharp look. "You make it sound poetic, but I'm guessing there's a reason you needed me here. I'm not a witch, Kol. I'm just the glorified power socket in this setup."
I grinned, teeth flashing. "Not glorified, love. Essential. You're the constant that completes the arithmetic. Magic of this level requires balance — power, focus, and conduit. Bonnie and Davina provide the first two. You bridge them.
I wasn't supposed to be part of this — I'm just the mentor. But thanks to Ayana, you girls now have two conduits within the circle. Just don't use me as one," I warned, tone turning sharp. "You're not ready to channel me. You'd either implode or lose your mind."
Caroline frowned, skeptical. "Bridge them how? I don't exactly do spells."
"Not consciously," I said, stepping closer. "But your existence alone disrupts boundaries — between life and death, mortal and immortal, creation and decay. That paradox makes you a stabilizer. Magic keeps you alive — the same magic that was used on me and my siblings. A smaller, diluted version runs through every vampire's veins. Why do you think blood is such a great currency for magic?"
Bonnie blinked, realization dawning. "So… Caroline's not just a participant. She's the medium through which our power circulates."
"Exactly," I said. "Your magic needs symmetry — a trinity of intent. Two witches. One living paradox. You form the circuit. Without you, the spell collapses inward."
Caroline's eyes narrowed. "So, basically, I'm your magical grounding wire."
I smirked. "More like the lightning rod, darling. You don't stop the storm — you conduct it safely."
Davina bit her lip, glancing between us. "That's… actually kind of brilliant."
"Of course it is," I said smoothly. "I designed it."
Bonnie gave me a flat look. "You're still insufferable."
"And yet," I said, lips curving, "you keep showing up to my lessons."
She ignored the jab. "If Caroline's our conduit, does that mean she feels what we feel when we cast?"
"Partially," I replied. "Emotion translates through energy. She'll catch flashes — intent, pressure, the pull of the spell. It won't hurt, not unless you lose focus. But if either of you spiral…"
Caroline raised a brow. "Then what?"
"Then you'll burn like a fuse," I said lightly. "Temporarily, of course."
Caroline groaned. "Fantastic. Death by witch burnout. I knew I should've stayed home."
"Too late now," I said, a grin tugging at my lips. "You're part of the circle. The sanctum recognizes you, Caroline. You're as much a part of its bloodline now as any Bennett or Claire."
That made her still. "I don't have a bloodline."
Bonnie glanced at her, tone soft. "You do now."
The sanctum pulsed faintly in agreement — warm, rhythmic, and alive. Caroline flinched, hand brushing her chest as if she could feel it thrumming under her skin.
My smirk softened, just a fraction. "Don't look so shocked, love. You're the first vampire to ever be willingly accepted by ancestral magic. Consider it an honor."
"Feels more like a bad idea," she muttered.
"Most breakthroughs start that way," I said.
Davina exhaled slowly, glancing at the runes flickering beneath our feet. "So what now?"
"Now," I said, gesturing toward the center of the sanctum, "we see if the circle can hold."
Bonnie frowned. "You mean a test?"
"Precisely. You'll cast together — one spell, three sources. A simple amplification charm should do."
Caroline crossed her arms again. "Define simple."
"If you don't implode, it worked," I said cheerfully.
Bonnie groaned. "You're impossible."
"Darling," I said, smiling faintly, "I'm Kol Mikaelson. Impossible was a word invented to describe me."