CHAPTER 16: BLOOD AND MEMORY - PART 2
POV: Alen
Alen channeled sixty percent of his magical reserves into his voice, feeling power build like pressure behind a dam. The Word of Command required absolute conviction—doubt would weaken the effect, hesitation would ensure failure. He had to believe, completely and without reservation, that reality would bend to accommodate his will.
Elijah watched with polite confusion as golden light began to emanate from the teenager's throat. "Young man, are you quite—"
"REMEMBER."
The word detonated.
Golden radiance erupted from Alen's vocal cords with the force of cosmic authority, engulfing Elijah in light that rewrote fundamental laws of existence. The command carried power that transcended normal magic—not suggestion but absolute imperative, reality itself compelled to obey regardless of logical impossibility.
The basement filled with harmonics that shouldn't exist, frequencies that made stone walls vibrate while dust danced in patterns that hurt to perceive directly. This wasn't just magic—this was the universe being told how to function by someone with sufficient will to make it listen.
Elijah screamed.
A thousand years of memory crashed into his consciousness simultaneously—Viking childhood and vampire transformation, centuries of family loyalty and betrayal, love affairs and political machinations and wars fought across continents. Every conversation, every choice, every moment of joy and anguish compressed into seconds of neural overload that would have destroyed lesser minds completely.
Alen felt his throat tear under the command's pressure, blood pouring down his chin as magical strain exceeded physical limitations. His vision blurred, magical reserves depleting catastrophically while cosmic forces used his body as conduit for impossibility made manifest.
"It's working," he realized through agony that felt like drowning in liquid fire. "The memories are returning. I can see them—fragments of Elijah's identity reassembling themselves, magical obliteration reversed by cosmic authority. But the cost—"
He collapsed beside Elijah, consciousness fragmenting as power expenditure pushed him beyond safe limits. Hope's voice reached him through growing darkness, desperate and terrified: "Alen!"
But Elijah's eyes snapped open with sudden recognition, centuries of accumulated wisdom flooding back like dam burst releasing stored water.
"Niklaus..." The name came out like prayer, like confession, like absolution for sins neither brother had been able to forget. "Hayley..."
Klaus, stunned: "Brother?"
POV: Elijah
Memory cascaded through Elijah's consciousness like waterfall given form—every moment of his existence restored in precise detail. His rebirth as vampire, Klaus's hybrid transformation, their millennium of running from Mikael while protecting family that kept growing despite impossible odds.
And Hayley. Beautiful, fierce Hayley Marshall who'd captured his heart despite centuries of emotional armor. Their love affair conducted in shadow and secrecy, passion constrained by family politics and supernatural dangers that made happiness feel like borrowed time.
He saw her dying and moved with Original speed, crossing the basement in heartbeat that lasted eternity. Memory provided context—cursed magic eating her from within, dark power fueled by fanatic hatred and shaped into weapon specifically designed to destroy everything he valued.
"Drink." He bit his wrist without hesitation, forcing ancient blood into her mouth with desperate precision. "Please."
Original vampire blood—thousand-year accumulation of power concentrated into healing elixir that could resurrect the recently dead, cure supernatural curses, and reverse magical damage that would prove fatal to lesser beings. But would it be enough? Had they found her in time?
The curse fought against his intervention, dark magic recognizing threat to its completion. But Original blood carried authority that predated most supernatural laws, healing power refined through centuries of violence into something approaching medical miracle.
Hayley's color began to return. Gray skin flushed with restored circulation while labored breathing eased into natural rhythm. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on his face with recognition that made his dead heart attempt to beat.
"Elijah?" Her voice held wonder and relief in equal measure.
"Always and forever," he whispered, the family motto carrying weight of absolute commitment. Whatever had been done to him, whoever had tried to erase their connection, love proved stronger than magical manipulation.
Klaus watched his brother and the mother of his child reunite, something in his ancient heart softening at the sight. For a moment, the Original Hybrid allowed himself to feel hope—genuine emotion that had been dangerous luxury for too many centuries.
His gaze shifted to the unconscious boy who'd made this miracle possible. Alen Saltzman lay motionless, blood staining his shirt while magical exhaustion kept him beyond normal awakening. The teenager had risked everything—his sanity, his life, his accumulated power—to restore what Greta had stolen.
"I misjudged him," Klaus admitted silently. "Threatened him as weakness when he was gathering strength. Dismissed him as child when he was becoming something far more dangerous and useful. Perhaps it's time to reconsider my position regarding Hope's… attachments."
POV: Alen
Consciousness returned in fragments, awareness building slowly through layers of exhaustion that felt like climbing out of deep water. Alen's throat burned with each breath, magical strain having damaged vocal cords beyond simple healing. His reserves felt emptied, cosmic power expenditure leaving him magically deaf and emotionally hollow.
The compound's guest room materialized around him—ancient stone walls and modern amenities combined in testament to Mikaelson family adaptation. Afternoon light streamed through tall windows while voices murmured from beyond closed doors.
Hope sat beside his bed, relief flooding her features as his eyes opened. "Thank God. We thought—Caroline was ready to drag you to a hospital."
Caroline. His false mother's voice reached him from across the room, tight with maternal fear that felt genuine despite manufactured origins. "You could've died. Do you understand that? What you did—whatever you did—it nearly killed you."
"Worth it," Alen managed, the words emerging as barely audible croak. Speaking felt like swallowing broken glass, but the satisfaction was worth physical discomfort. "Hayley?"
"Alive because of you," Hope said, emotion thick in her voice. "Elijah is himself because of you. My family is whole because you risked everything."
The door opened and Klaus entered with characteristic dramatic presence, though something in his expression had shifted since their first meeting. The Original studied Alen with new appreciation, predatory calculation replaced by grudging respect.
"The boy has my gratitude," Klaus announced, his tone carrying weight of absolute sincerity. "A dangerous thing to possess, but earned nonetheless."
"I've earned Klaus's respect," Alen realized with deep satisfaction. "The same man who threatened to kill me three years ago now acknowledges me as ally. That changes everything—Hope's protection, family acceptance, political position within supernatural community. This is what I've been working toward."
Alaric appeared in the doorway, paternal concern warring with professional curiosity. "That word... what you did... I need to understand your limits."
"So do I, Dad." The admission felt like confession, acknowledgment of power that exceeded his own comprehension. "I've been studying ancient magic—Words of Power. Theoretical until now."
The explanation was thin but plausible. Mikaelson acceptance would provide cover for more detailed questions, Klaus's gratitude functioning as shield against deeper investigation.
But Freya's analytical mind wouldn't be satisfied with surface answers. Her skeptical expression suggested future conversations that could prove more challenging.
"Bridge to cross later," Alen decided. "For now, I've achieved primary objectives—Hayley saved, Elijah restored, family debt established. Everything else can be managed."
POV: Alen
Evening in New Orleans carried different weight than twilight in Virginia—jazz music drifting through French Quarter air while supernatural politics hummed beneath surface civility. The Mikaelson compound hosted family dinner with Alen included among legends, awkward positioning that felt like anthropological study from inside the exhibit.
Hayley moved with restored vitality, werewolf healing having erased cursed damage once Elijah's blood broke the magical foundations. She caught Alen's eye across the table and nodded once—acknowledgment between warriors who'd faced death and emerged victorious.
Klaus raised his glass with ceremonial precision, Original authority lending weight to simple gesture. "To the siphoner who proved me wrong."
The toast felt like recognition and warning combined—acknowledgment of worth paired with reminder that disappointment would carry consequences. But it was acceptance, and that mattered more than underlying threats.
Hope's hand found his beneath the table, fingers intertwining with careful pressure that avoided his injured throat. The Hollow remained dormant, ancient whispers reduced to barely audible muttering in response to his proximity.
"I can fight for Hope openly now," Alen realized as conversation flowed around them. "Klaus's respect provides political cover while family debt ensures protection. The foundation is established—time to build something lasting on it."
But underneath satisfaction lay deeper currents of anticipation. Greta Sienna remained at large, her larger plans still unfolding. The soul harvest opportunity would come, and when it did, he'd be ready to claim what cosmic justice demanded.
"One battle won," he thought, watching legends treat him as equal. "Many more to come."
Outside, New Orleans pulsed with supernatural energy, and somewhere in that ancient city, enemies planned retribution against the boy who'd dared to challenge their vision of cosmic order.
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