Authors note: by the way, he will have powers inherited by his being an original heretic, so if you read something that you know isn't true related to jaspers heretic powers, just think of them like the originals being able to compel other vampires.
Also, I'm trying a 3rd pov writing style to see how I like it.
3rd POV
Time did not pass for Jasper Fontaine the way it once had.
It eroded instead—cities blurring into forests, languages into habits, centuries-old wards into little more than inconveniences. He learned quickly that immortality was not measured in years, but in patterns.
By the time the seasons had turned twice the scared boy in grief over his fathers death and his subsequent transformation no longer existed.
Jasper traveled mostly at night, moving through places where magic lingered like old perfume—abandoned monasteries, war-scarred villages, borderlands where superstition had teeth. He fed sparingly, carefully. Hunger was a problem to be managed, not indulged.
Control mattered.
It always had.
Magic answered him differently now.
As a siphoner, he had once known only absence—power borrowed, never held. Now magic clung to him, circulated through him, fed by the vampiric curse that animated his dead flesh.
The revelation came slowly, through trial and error.
He could siphon spells from talismans without destroying them.
Drain wards without triggering alarms.
Pull magic from enchanted blood as easily as breath.
But the true discovery—the one that changed everything—was this:
He could siphon himself.
The vampire spell that had made him what he now was was vast and powerful. Jasper had begun learning how to dip into the surface of it without destabilizing it.
For the first time since learning of his siphoning nature he thought of himself as a conduit, not a parasite.
After getting a bit of a handle on his new abilities Jasper decided to go toward the east across the Atlantic. He had almost 600 years before the events he remembered in the Forrest that day are set to occur, might as well enjoy some of it and learn.
And so he went:
In Prague, he tested containment sigils against compulsion
In Marrakesh, he unraveled a curse woven before Rome fell.
In a nameless stretch of forest in the Carpathians, he learned how far he could be pushed before the body protested.
The answer, it turned out, was very far.
There were limits even he did not yet understand.
Spells misfired if overworked. Wards twisted strangely around his presence, as though reality itself were unsure how to categorize him.
Abomination.
Anomaly.
Necessary correction pending.
Jasper took note of it all, recorded everything in journals bound with animal skin and silence. Knowledge, he had learned, was the only form of immortality that could not be taken.
On a cliff overlooking the Aegean, he stood one night and watched the sun rise without flinching, protected somehow by his hybrid nature.
He smiled faintly.
The world was wider than his coven had ever allowed him to believe.
——
Elijah
The jungle had a way of discouraging haste.
Even immortals learned to move with care beneath its canopy, where roots caught at the unwary and the air itself seemed to watch. Elijah Mikaelson followed the pull of the disturbance without urgency, allowing it to guide him rather than chase it down.
Whatever waited for him did not flee.
That alone made it interesting.
He reached the ruins near dusk—old stone softened by time, carved figures half-consumed by moss. A fire burned there, small and deliberate, tended by a solitary man seated beside it.
The man looked up as Elijah approached, not startled, not alarmed.
"Good evening," the stranger said politely, as though this were a roadside inn and not the edge of something ancient.
Elijah smiled despite himself. "Good evening."
He stopped a respectful distance away, taking in the man's posture. Young features, old eyes. European, though the accent was softened by travel. There was something composed about him—still, but not rigid. Alert, but not tense. A contradiction Elijah had learned to take seriously
Most telling of all: the magic.
It did not radiate outward as witchcraft should. Nor did it sit dormant, as it did in vampires. It circulated, contained within the man's body like a closed system. His magical senses aren't incredible, but anyone with even a slight magical sense would feel this presence.
Fascinating.
"You've been the subject of some concern," Elijah said lightly, stepping closer to the fire. "Among the local covens, I mean."
The man glanced down at the flames. "I was hoping they'd grow tired of whispering."
"They rarely do," Elijah replied. "But I must commend you. You've unsettled them without alarming them."
The man smiled faintly at that. "I try to be considerate."
Elijah chuckled, genuinely amused, and sat opposite him, smoothing the front of his coat.
"My name is Elijah Mikaelson," he said.
The man nodded once. "Jasper Fontaine."
"You knew who I was," Elijah observed.
"Yes."
"No hesitation?"
"I prefer to recognize storms before they arrive."
Elijah liked that answer.
They sat in silence for a moment, the jungle filling the space between them.
"You're a vampire," Elijah said at last, conversationally.
"Yes."
"And yet," Elijah continued, eyes intent but warm, "you carry magic."
Jasper did not deny it. "I was born with it."
Elijah leaned back slightly, intrigued. "A witch turned vampire loses their connection to magic."
"I was never a witch," Jasper said. "Not in the traditional sense."
"How long have you been like this?" Elijah asked.
Jasper considered the question. "Long enough to know when I'm being observed."
"And yet you stayed."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Jasper glanced at the fire. "Because if the world insists on noticing me, I'd rather choose who speaks first."
Elijah studied him more closely now, allowing his senses to sharpen.
"You are not drawing from the land," Elijah continued thoughtfully. "Nor from spirits. And yet your magic replenishes itself."
Jasper's gaze sharpened. "You can see that?"
"I can feel it," Elijah replied. "It's… elegant."
That word surprised them both.
"I was born with magic," Jasper said after a moment. "But not the kind witches seem comfortable acknowledging."
Elijah nodded slowly. "There are many things witches prefer not to name."
"I survived being turned," Jasper continued. "Whatever spell animates me did not extinguish what I already was. It adapted."
Elijah leaned back, thoughtful rather than alarmed.
"You are not an accident," he said. "You are a consequence."
Jasper studied him carefully. "Most people don't find that distinction comforting."
"I am not most people," Elijah replied with a smile.
You're not threatened," Jasper said.
"I am curious," Elijah replied. "There is a difference."
"You won't try to destroy me."
Elijah met his gaze steadily. "No. I reserve destruction for those who lack restraint. You have shown considerable discipline."
Jasper absorbed that, something in his posture easing.
"You know my family will eventually sense you," Elijah added gently.
"I assumed," Jasper said. "Your brother, in particular."
"Yes," Elijah said fondly. "Klaus does have a way of noticing anything that refuses to fit neatly into the world."
"And when he does?"
Elijah considered. "I suspect he will want answers."
Jasper's mouth curved slightly. "So will I."
Elijah stood, brushing dirt from his coat. "Then we shall allow time to do what it does best."
"And what's that?" Jasper asked.
"Complicate things," Elijah replied.
He paused, then added, "You are something new, Jasper Fontaine. Not a category. Not a mistake."
Jasper held his gaze.
"A beginning."
Elijah inclined his head once, a gesture of respect rather than warning, and turned back toward the jungle.
As he vanished into the trees, he felt a familiar sensation settle into his thoughts—the awareness that history had quietly shifted.
Behind him, Jasper returned his attention to the fire, aware that the world had not rejected him this night.
It had merely taken note.
And that, he suspected, would prove far more dangerous in the centuries to come.
———
Authors note: that's the end for today guys. May post another this weekend but I don't know. Enjoy!