CHAPTER 5: THE HOLLOW'S BARGAIN
Midnight transformed Alaric's office into something that belonged in a Gothic novel. The fluorescent overheads had been switched off in favor of the warm glow of desk lamps, casting long shadows that turned familiar furniture into crouching shapes. The crossbow collection seemed to watch from the walls like silent sentinels, and the forbidden grimoires whispered secrets in languages that predated human civilization.
Hope sat across from Alaric's desk, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. The events in the forest felt surreal in the telling—the Hollow's violent emergence, Alen's impossible command that had frozen reality itself, the ancient spirit's terrified retreat into the deepest corners of her consciousness.
"And you're certain it was afraid?" Alaric asked for the third time. His voice carried the careful neutrality of a man trying to process information that challenged everything he thought he understood about supernatural threats.
"Terrified," Hope confirmed. "I've been carrying this thing for months. It's never shown fear of anything—not the Mikaelsons, not ancient magic, not even death itself. But the moment Alen touched me, it ran."
Alaric leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he processed the implications. "The Hollow is one of the most powerful entities we've ever encountered. For it to fear a teenage siphoner..."
"Suggests that teenage siphoner is more than he appears," Hope finished. "Yeah, I noticed."
Without preamble, Alaric reached for his phone and began dialing. "I'm calling Freya. If anyone can make sense of this, it's her."
The phone rang twice before a crisp voice answered. "Alaric? It's rather late. Is everything alright?"
"Freya, I need your expertise. I'm putting you on speaker." Alaric pressed a button, and Freya Mikaelson's voice filled the office with its elegant cadence. "Hope's here with me. We have a situation involving the Hollow."
A pause. "What kind of situation?"
Hope leaned forward. "Hey, Aunt Freya. The Hollow is afraid of Alen Saltzman."
Silence stretched across the connection for several heartbeats. When Freya spoke again, her voice carried the careful precision of someone trying to maintain professional detachment in the face of impossible information.
"I'm sorry, you're saying a siphoner scared the Hollow? That's impossible."
"I felt it," Hope said firmly. "The thing was screaming in my head, telling me to stay away from him. It's never done that before."
"Describe exactly what happened."
Hope recounted the forest encounter—the Hollow's violent emergence, Alen's intervention, the ancient spirit's terrified retreat. She left out the part about reality freezing when Alen shouted his command, some instinct warning her that particular detail might complicate an already complex situation.
"Fascinating," Freya murmured when Hope finished. "Siphoners absorb magical energy. The Hollow is essentially concentrated dark magic given consciousness. In theory, a siphoner's touch could threaten its existence—like a black hole encountering matter."
"In theory," Alaric repeated. "But you've never seen it work in practice?"
"The Hollow has never encountered a siphoner powerful enough to pose a genuine threat. Most couldn't absorb more than fragments of its essence without being corrupted or destroyed."
A new voice cut across the connection—deeper, more dangerous, carrying the weight of centuries and the barely contained violence of an apex predator.
Klaus Mikaelson had joined the conversation.
"This boy should be nowhere near my daughter," he said, and Hope could picture him perfectly—pacing like a caged wolf, hands clenched, ready to tear apart anyone who posed even a theoretical threat to his child.
"Dad—" Hope began.
"Don't 'Dad' me, Hope. Three years ago this same boy ran from me like a frightened rabbit. Now suddenly he's powerful enough to suppress an ancient evil? That level of transformation doesn't happen naturally."
"He's right to be suspicious," Freya said, though her voice carried reluctant agreement rather than enthusiasm. "Magical development follows predictable patterns. What you're describing suggests either years of intensive training that no one noticed, or external enhancement."
Hope felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She'd sensed the change in Alen—the confidence where there had been insecurity, the power where there had been weakness. But she'd attributed it to natural growth, to the kind of transformation that came from facing your fears and choosing to become something better.
The possibility that his evolution had an external source was disturbing on multiple levels.
"External enhancement like what?" she asked.
"Possession," Klaus said bluntly. "Magical artifacts. Demonic bargains. Take your pick. Sudden power always comes with a price."
"Niklaus," Freya's voice carried the sharp edge of someone who'd reached the end of her patience. "You're letting paranoia override logic. The boy might be the only thing keeping Hope alive."
"Or he might be another threat wearing a familiar face."
"Enough." Alaric's voice cut through the family argument with the authority of someone who'd spent years managing supernatural crises. "We can debate Alen's motivations later. Right now, we need to focus on the immediate situation. Hope has an ancient evil living in her chest, and for reasons we don't fully understand, proximity to my son suppresses its influence."
"Which brings us to the obvious solution," Freya said. "Until we can find a permanent way to remove or neutralize the Hollow, Alen stays near Hope. Physical proximity appears to suppress its manifestations."
"Absolutely not," Klaus snarled.
"You don't get a vote, Dad," Hope shot back, anger flaring hot and bright in her chest. "This is my life. My choice. My burden to bear."
"Hope—"
"No. I've spent months fighting this thing alone. If Alen can help, if he can give me even a few hours of peace, then I'm taking that help. End of discussion."
POV: Alaric
Alaric studied his son, who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation. Alen sat in the chair beside Hope's, close enough that their proximity had indeed kept the Hollow dormant, but far enough apart to maintain the careful distance of two people navigating complex emotional territory.
This is my son, Alaric thought, but the certainty that had once accompanied that knowledge felt strangely fragile. The boy I've raised since birth, taught to throw knives, helped with homework, worried about through every supernatural crisis this school has faced.
But when had the nervous teenager become this? Alen sat with the stillness of someone comfortable with silence, his green eyes tracking the conversation with an analytical intensity that seemed older than his years. His right hand bore fresh bruises from siphoning the Hollow's energy, but he showed no sign of discomfort or concern.
Alaric's memory provided context—Alen at fifteen, pale and shaking after Klaus's threat, withdrawing so completely that Caroline had flown home from Brussels to check on him. Alen at sixteen, throwing himself into research as if knowledge could somehow armor him against the supernatural threats that surrounded their family. Alen at seventeen, growing quieter and more distant, as if he was preparing for something the rest of them couldn't see.
And now, at eighteen, he was casually discussing strategies for suppressing an ancient evil that had terrorized supernatural beings for millennia.
When did you become this? Alaric wondered. When did you stop being afraid and start being... whatever you are now?
The rational part of his mind whispered possibilities he didn't want to consider. Klaus was right—this level of transformation didn't happen naturally. People didn't go from cowering before Original vampires to confidently facing cosmic horrors without some external catalyst.
But the paternal part of his mind, the part that remembered teaching Alen to ride a bike and helping him through nightmares, rebelled against the suspicion. This was his son. Different, perhaps. Changed, certainly. But still family.
"Trust but verify," he decided. Give him the benefit of the doubt, but watch carefully. If something has influenced him, if some external force is shaping his development, I need to know about it.
"Alright," he said aloud, cutting through Klaus's continued protests. "Here's what we're going to do. Alen will accompany Hope to classes, meals, and any school activities. For her safety," he added, shooting a warning look at his son. "This is a medical accommodation, not a social arrangement."
"How romantic," Lizzie's voice drifted from the hallway, and Alaric realized they'd attracted an audience. Both twins appeared in the doorway, Josie looking concerned and Lizzie practically vibrating with excitement.
"Elizabeth," Alaric said wearily. "How long have you been listening?"
"Long enough to realize this is the best entertainment we've had all semester." Lizzie bounced on her toes, blue eyes bright with mischief. "Oh my God, forced proximity trope! This is better than reality TV."
Josie elbowed her twin. "Lizzie, be serious. Hope's dealing with something dangerous."
"I am being serious. Seriously entertained." Lizzie's gaze darted between Alen and Hope, cataloging the careful distance they maintained and the way they avoided direct eye contact. "Three years of tragic pining, and now cosmic forces are literally pushing them together. It's like the universe has a sense of dramatic irony."
"The universe," Klaus's voice carried through the phone speaker with dry menace, "is about to have a sense of paternal wrath if this arrangement puts my daughter at further risk."
"Dad, I can take care of myself," Hope said, but there was affection under the exasperation. "And Alen isn't a threat. If anything, he's the first person who's been able to help with the Hollow situation."
"Because his motivations are completely pure, I'm sure," Klaus replied. "Teenage boys are renowned for their selfless concern for ex-girlfriends."
"We were never—" Hope began, then stopped, color rising in her cheeks.
Alen finally spoke, his voice quiet but carrying complete conviction. "I'm not doing this for romantic reasons. I'm doing it because Hope doesn't deserve to fight this battle alone."
Something in his tone gave Klaus pause. When the Original spoke again, his voice had lost some of its hostility.
"You sound different, boy. Three years ago, you could barely speak in my presence."
"Three years ago, I was a coward," Alen replied evenly. "People change."
"Indeed they do. The question is whether you've changed for better or worse."
Alaric cleared his throat. "Klaus, with all due respect, this conversation can continue at another time. Right now, we have a practical problem that requires a practical solution. Alen and Hope will maintain proximity until we can find a permanent resolution to the Hollow situation."
"Fine," Klaus said, though his voice suggested the conversation was far from over. "But I'll be watching, boy. Closely."
The call ended, leaving the office in tense silence.
POV: Alen
Alen watched Hope from the corner of his eye, noting the way her shoulders had relaxed now that Klaus's voice was no longer filling the room. The Hollow remained dormant in her presence, a malevolent whisper reduced to barely audible muttering in the deepest corners of her consciousness.
This is working, he realized with a mixture of relief and trepidation. Whatever these powers are, whatever the Entity did to me, it's actually helping her.
But the arrangement came with complications he hadn't anticipated. Constant proximity to Hope meant constant exposure to the false memories of loving her, to the guilt over sins he'd never actually committed, to the weight of knowledge he couldn't share.
It also meant Klaus Mikaelson would be watching his every move, looking for signs that he posed a threat to his daughter. And Klaus, unlike the others, had the power and willingness to act on his suspicions with lethal efficiency.
One problem at a time, Alen told himself. Help Hope first. Deal with the consequences later.
"So," Lizzie said, breaking the awkward silence. "When do you two start your romantic comedy montage? Study sessions, shared meals, meaningful glances across crowded rooms?"
"Lizzie," Josie said sharply. "This is serious."
"Everything's serious around here. Can't I enjoy one tiny bit of entertainment?" Lizzie's expression grew more thoughtful. "Besides, this might actually be good for both of them. Hope's been carrying that thing alone for months, and Alen's been..." She paused, studying her brother. "What have you been doing, exactly? You've been different lately."
I've been remembering what it feels like to have power, Alen thought. I've been learning what I'm capable of when I stop being afraid. I've been planning how to save everyone I care about, starting with the girl sitting three feet away.
"Growing up," he said instead.
Josie's expression remained troubled. "Are you sure this is safe? For either of you? I mean, if the Hollow is as dangerous as everyone says..."
"The Hollow is contained as long as I'm nearby," Alen said with more confidence than he felt. "And Hope deserves to have a normal life, or as normal as anything gets around here."
"Nothing about this is normal," Hope muttered, but there was no real complaint in her voice. "But if it works..."
Their eyes met across the space between their chairs, and for a moment, Alen glimpsed the girl he remembered from the false memories—curious, hopeful, willing to take risks if they might lead to something better.
I can do this, he thought. I can help her, protect her, maybe even find a way to remove the Hollow entirely. I just need to be careful not to let the proximity arrangement become something more complicated than it needs to be.
Even as the thought formed, he knew it was probably impossible. The manufactured memories of loving her felt as real as anything else in his experience, and spending every day in her presence was going to test his emotional control in ways he wasn't prepared for.
But Hope needed help, and he was the only one who could provide it.
Everything else would have to wait.
"Alright," Alaric said, his voice carrying the tone of a man making peace with an impossible situation. "I'll notify your teachers about the new arrangement. You'll attend classes together, eat meals together, and maintain reasonable proximity during all school activities. Any problems, any signs that this isn't working, you report to me immediately."
Alen nodded. "Understood."
"And Alen?" His father's voice carried a warning that was both paternal and professional. "Don't make me regret trusting you with this."
"I won't."
As they filed out of the office, Hope fell into step beside him. The hallway stretched ahead of them, empty and quiet in the late hour, lit by emergency lighting that cast long shadows across the polished floors.
"If you're doing this because you feel guilty—" Hope began.
"I'm doing this because you matter," Alen interrupted, the words coming out with complete sincerity.
Hope's breath caught, and for a moment, neither of them looked at the other. They walked in silence toward the dormitory wing, maintaining the careful three-foot distance that kept the Hollow dormant while avoiding the appearance of intimacy.
This is going to be complicated, Alen thought. But maybe complicated is better than impossible.
Behind them, the Hollow whispered its displeasure into the darkness, but its voice was weak and frightened—the sound of something that had learned to fear the thing it couldn't understand.
For now, that was enough.
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