IN WHICH - The last thing that Hope Mikaelson expected when she came out of Malivore was to still be alive, the second last thing she expected was to be disowned by most of her living family, and the final last thing she expected was some ancient be...
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THIRD PERSON POV
CHAPTER 17
The moment Lizzie Saltzman's boots hit the tarmac of what used to be Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, she realized how much the world had changed. The city that had once been full of bustling politicians, tourists, and monuments now lay in ruins. The acrid smell of decay was everywhere, and the skies were gray, heavy with smoke and ash.
She'd landed here months ago, far removed from the comforts of the Salvatore School and the friends she'd fought so hard to protect. The small portal she'd been shoved through had deposited her into this shattered world.
At first, Lizzie had believed it was some kind of test—a cruel magical trap she just needed to outsmart. But the truth hit her like a freight train when she saw the hordes of walkers shambling through the once-vibrant streets of the nation's capital. This wasn't a test or a game. This was another world entirely.
Lizzie had always been a fighter, though she'd never thought it would come to this. In the early days, survival had been a matter of wit and sheer dumb luck. She scavenged supplies from abandoned stores, dodged walkers in narrow alleyways, and relied on her siphoner magic to give her an edge when things got particularly dicey.
There were moments of despair when her magic wavered, when the weight of everything threatened to crush her. But Lizzie wasn't the kind of girl to roll over and let the apocalypse win. She formed fragile alliances with other survivors, using her charm and quick thinking to keep them alive.
Still, there were sleepless nights spent staring at the stars—or the smog-dimmed haze where they should have been—wondering if Hope was out there somewhere. Was she okay? Did she know that Lizzie was fighting to bring her back?
Those sleepless nights soon turned to her fighting to survive her mind, being alone, and everything happening around her.
Lizzie's journey to this world wasn't random. She'd been helping everyone at the Salvatore School find a way to bring Hope home when a strange woman appeared—a figure cloaked in shimmering robes, her presence commanding and otherworldly.
The Enchantress.
Lizzie recognized her immediately; this woman had been the one to rip Hope from their reality. The air had crackled with magic, Lizzie's siphoning instincts kicking into overdrive as the woman approached her.
"Relax, child," the Enchantress had said, her voice like a melody both soothing and terrifying. "I'm not here to harm you."
Lizzie had bristled, her hand instinctively reaching for the blade she now carried at her side. "Yeah? Then why don't you tell that to my friends? You tore Hope away from us and left us scrambling to fix your mess."
The Enchantress had laughed softly. "You misunderstand. I've not come to justify myself. I've come to tell you your destiny. Your heart, Lizzie Saltzman, does not lie in the world you left behind. It lies here."
Lizzie had blinked, stunned into silence. The Enchantress continued, her words sinking into Lizzie's chest like heavy stones.
"You will not find your way back to the life you knew—not yet. The path you must walk is here, where chaos reigns and survival is earned, not given. Your journey will intertwine with hers. In this world, Lizzie, you will find not only her but yourself. Be patient. Be brave."
And just as suddenly as she had appeared, the Enchantress was gone, leaving Lizzie falling directly through a portal that had appeared under her.
Months passed, and Lizzie adapted to this new world. She honed her magic, siphoning from every scrap of power she could find to stay ahead of the walkers and human threats. Her mission to find Hope burned like a fire in her chest, but she had no leads—no clue where to even begin.
In the meantime, she focused on survival and helping others where she could. Lizzie had never considered herself a "helper," but the faces of those she saved reminded her why it mattered. Hope would have done the same, she thought.
Still, the Enchantress's words lingered in her mind. Her heart was here, the woman had said. What did that even mean?
One day, while scavenging through an abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, Lizzie heard the unmistakable sound of a child crying. Her instincts flared—crying meant danger, but it also meant someone needed help. She tightened her grip on her blade and moved cautiously toward the noise.
In the middle of the street, a little girl no older than two sat surrounded by walkers. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears, and she clutched a battered doll to her chest.
Lizzie didn't hesitate. Her magic flared, siphoning energy from a cracked power line nearby, and she let it loose in a pulse that sent the walkers stumbling back. Blade in hand, she dove into the fray, taking down the reanimated corpses with swift precision.
"Hey, it's okay," Lizzie said softly as she crouched down in front of the little girl, who stared up at her with wide, terrified eyes. "I've got you now."
The child whimpered but didn't pull away when Lizzie carefully picked her up. "You're safe," Lizzie murmured, holding her close. "I promise."
Not long after, Lizzie was confronted by a small group of armed men. She'd been carrying the child, who had finally fallen asleep against her shoulder, and braced herself for a fight.
"Put her down and step away," one of the men barked, his weapon trained on her.
Lizzie scowled but stood her ground, rolling her eyes. "She's two years old, genius. Maybe point that thing somewhere else."
"Let's all calm down," came a voice from behind the men. A tall, imposing figure stepped forward, leaning casually on a bat wrapped in barbed wire. His eyes flicked to the child in Lizzie's arms, and his expression softened. "Lucille," he whispered.
The man—Negan, as he introduced himself—had been searching for his daughter for days. Lizzie handed the little girl over, watching as the hardened leader melted into a protective father in an instant.
Lizzie hadn't planned on staying with Negan and his fledgling group, but something about their dynamic intrigued her. They weren't just another ragtag band of survivors—they had a plan, a vision for survival that went beyond the day-to-day struggle.
Negan, for all his bluster and swagger, reminded Lizzie of what she'd heard about Niklaus Mikaelson: a protective leader who could be ruthless yet fiercely loyal to those he cared about. In moments when Negan softened—when he looked at his daughter or rallied his people with charisma and conviction—she saw shades of Hope too, the same unyielding determination and fire that had drawn so many to follow her.
Negan treated Lizzie like an equal. He admired her strength, her cunning, and the way she'd saved his daughter without hesitation. Over time, they formed an unlikely bond. Negan acted like an older brother to Lizzie, teasing her relentlessly but stepping in to defend her when needed.
"You're not half-bad, Saltzman," Negan said one day, tossing her a drink as they sat around a fire. "You've got a killer instinct. I could use someone like you."
Lizzie smirked, taking a sip. "You just like me because I saved your kid."
"Damn right I do," he replied, grinning.
Under Negan's guidance, Lizzie became his right-hand woman, helping him build what would later be known as the Saviors. She didn't always agree with his methods, but she couldn't deny that his vision gave her a purpose.
As the group grew stronger, Lizzie found herself thinking less about the life she'd left behind and more about the one she was building here. The Enchantress's words echoed in her mind: Your destiny lies here.
