Legacies: The Mikaelson twins

8. The Weight of Silence

"Hope, do you ever wonder why Aunt Freya needed our blood?" Alec's voice broke the silence, soft but laced with a hint of curiosity.

Hope shrugged, her gaze distant, as if lost in thought. "Not really. Probably for some spell. Maybe a locator spell or something to keep track of us," she answered, her tone steady and confident, as though the weight of their experiences had made her wise beyond her years.

Despite the ease in their voices, the question hung in the air, unspoken but persistent. They both felt the absence of their parents—Klaus, Hayley—and Uncle Elijah in a way they couldn't shake. It had been too long since they'd been together as a family, too long since they'd felt the warmth of those bonds. They often thought back to when they were seven years old—the first time they'd met their father and uncles, Aunt Rebekah. At the time, they had been nervous, tentative, overwhelmed by the sudden weight of their legacy. The power and danger that came with being part of the Mikaelson family had been a foreign, unsettling thing.

But even then, amidst the chaos of the Hollow, there had been moments of peace. Small, fleeting pockets of happiness that they could never forget. That time, when they were together, was the closest they had ever come to truly feeling whole—like they belonged, despite the odds that always seemed stacked against them.

At school, Hope and Alec had always felt the weight of difference. Their presence in the halls seemed to stir a quiet unease in most of the other students. Many feared them because of their family's notorious reputation, while others resented them for the power they couldn't begin to comprehend. Despite the alienation, Hope and Alec wore their Mikaelson heritage like a cloak of pride. They were the living legacy of their family—unapologetically powerful, irrevocably bound by a history that shaped who they were. No matter how much they missed their parents, there was always a quiet pride in knowing their lineage.

An hour passed, the room heavy with the silence that seemed to wrap around them like a second skin. The occasional hum of the city outside was the only sound breaking the stillness. Then, the door swung open, and Alaric stepped in, followed by a boy Hope didn't recognize.

"You done? Perfect, let's go," the boy said, his voice sharp and impatient, a subtle edge to his words as he motioned toward the door.

Hope and Alec exchanged a quick glance, neither of them eager to ask questions, but neither willing to show hesitation. Without a word, they followed him out. They slid into the back of the car, settling into the leather seats as the boy took the passenger seat. Alaric settled into the driver's seat and started the engine, the soft hum of the car filling the silence of the evening.

"So," Alaric said, breaking the quiet as he glanced briefly at the boy in the front seat, "you still haven't told us your name. What is it?"

Hope, too, offered a brief nod in her own introduction. But as the car began to move, she leaned back against the seat, her exhaustion evident. She turned to Alec, her voice softer now. "Hey, can I lay my head in your lap?" she asked, a quiet vulnerability threading through her words. "I'm tired."

Without hesitation, Alec shifted, making space for her. "Yeah, sure," he responded, his tone gentle.

As Hope settled against him, her head resting on his lap, a faint, weary smile touched her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, the exhaustion pulling her under. Alec's hand moved instinctively, fingers weaving through her hair in a gentle, rhythmic motion. It was something he had done countless times when they were children, a small act of comfort when she couldn't sleep. The touch was more than a gesture—it was a promise, silent but unwavering, that no matter how much had changed, he would always be there for her. As the city blurred past the car windows, the hum of the engine felt like a fleeting moment of peace—a rare stillness in a life that had never been simple. The road ahead remained uncertain, yet for this moment, with the company of those who mattered most, there was a sense of quiet contentment.

"Why don't you tell each other a little about yourselves?" Alaric suggested, his voice soft, glancing briefly at the rearview mirror. His eyes didn't catch the soft rise and fall of Hope's breath, signaling that she had already drifted into sleep.

Alec hesitated, his thoughts lingering in that delicate space between truth and silence. He glanced at Hope, curled up against the seat beside him, and for a brief moment, the weight of his words seemed heavier. "Well, Hope is asleep, but I'll go first," Alec said, his voice steady, though a thread of caution lingered in his tone. "I'm Alec. My sister and I are twins, born in New Orleans."

His gaze flickered to Hope again, her face serene in sleep, before he continued, keeping his words measured. "We didn't exactly have the kind of childhood most people would call 'normal.'"

He paused, fully aware of the delicate balance they needed to strike with the truth. Some parts of their story were too raw, too vulnerable for strangers, not yet. It was a truth they could barely whisper to those they trusted, let alone to someone they hardly knew.

After Alec stopped speaking, Liam took a slow breath, gathering the courage to speak his own truth. "My mom died when I was young, and I never really had a bond with my dad," he said softly. His voice wavered with the weight of memories long buried, and the pain was almost tangible, hanging between them like a shadow.

He looked down, as if weighing the words before continuing. "When I was older, I triggered my curse... I killed a girl in a car accident. After that, I couldn't stay in New Orleans. I left everything behind—my home, my past. Haven't seen my dad since."

For a moment, Liam stared out the window, his eyes distant, lost in the heavy silence of his own history. The room seemed to close in around him, the gravity of his words sinking in.

Alaric gave him a moment, then spoke, his voice low and sincere. "I'm sorry about your mom," he said, offering a quiet understanding that carried more weight than words alone could express.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts, the kind of silence that only exists between people who have truly shared something. It lingered, allowing Liam the space to say more, if he chose.

Liam gave a small nod, grateful for the understanding, even if he didn't entirely know how to respond.

The night outside the car pressed in, its darkness suffocating and endless, as the roads stretched out like a ribbon into the unknown. The quiet hum of the tires against the pavement was the only sound that filled the space, a steady rhythm that matched the steady breathing of the passengers inside. Hope's face, peaceful in repose, rested gently against the window, her features softened in sleep. Alec, leaning back against his seat, finally allowed himself to relax, the weight of the past few hours lifting from his shoulders.

They had talked about everything—the pain, the scars, the empty spaces they carried with them—but now, the words had run dry. There was nothing left to say. The silence settled between them like a comfort, warm and familiar, as the exhaustion of the day began to seep into their bones. One by one, their bodies surrendered to the pull of sleep, the tension in their muscles unwinding.

Alaric, ever the steady presence, kept his eyes fixed on the road. His hands gripped the wheel with practiced ease as the headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating the path ahead. The miles stretched on, an endless expanse between them and the memories they had left behind. In the quiet of the car, the past faded into the night, leaving only the soft lull of their breathing and the road beneath them.