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 32
Two months had passed since everyone moved into the prison. The once-cold hallways and bleak concrete walls were now alive with color and warmth. Hope's magical touches and a budding sense of community had transformed the drab interiors—vines of painted ivy and scenes of rolling farmlands adorned the corridors, turning them into makeshift murals that told the story of perseverance and rebirth. It was a bright, sunny February afternoon, unusually warm for the season, and the courtyard buzzed with peaceful routine.
In the freshly mowed yard, Hope stood barefoot on the grass, demonstrating precise fighting maneuvers to Beth, Carl, Sophia, and Pedro. Her stance was firm, each strike fluid, like a dance she'd practiced her whole life. Pedro imitated her carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Beth managed a swift jab with her small dagger, a satisfied grin crossing her face when she landed the move correctly. Carl and Sophia sparred in the corner, each one's eyes gleaming with a determination that came from finally having hope. Rafael, still bound by his curse, rested in his wolf form nearby, muzzle resting on his paws. His keen gaze never left Hope, as though ensuring he'd spring to action at the first sign of trouble.
Just outside the tall interior fences and magical fortifications that protected the inner courtyards from the livestock and vegetables, Rick tended to the garden with practiced ease, checking on the raised beds they'd painstakingly built, with the greenhouse covers he and Daryl had constructed. There was a wood-burning stove that sat in the middle with heat piping that went to all of the beds, warming them on the colder nights and days. Even through the fencing, one could see the vibrant green sprouts pushing up through the soil—proof that their new home truly thrived.
Carol, making her rounds, passed from cell to cell with an armful of laundry, nodding hello to the few folks who stayed inside to rest or read. Meanwhile, Lori and Hershel lounged in mismatched lawn chairs they'd set up in a patch of sunlight near the guard towers. Lori cradled her eight-months-pregnant belly with a serene smile, while Hershel quietly reflected on how far they'd all come.
Hope stood on the soft grass near one of the prison's interior courtyards, the makeshift training area dappled in late-winter sunlight. A faint breeze ruffled her hair as she adjusted her stance, gesturing for Carl, Beth, Sophia, and Pedro to gather around.
"Okay," she began, her voice clear and purposeful, "today I want to go over a few new techniques—stuff you'd see in mixed martial arts. We're not here to become pro-fighters overnight, but these moves might help if a walker or unfriendly decides to grab you."
Beth nodded eagerly, while Carl cracked his knuckles, and Sophia tugged self-consciously at her shirt. Pedro stood close by, glancing every so often at Rafael, who lay in his wolf form under a nearby bench, watchful eyes never straying too far from Hope.
