𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 ⚜️ ELIJAH MIKAELSON

[ The Resurrection ]

CHAPTER 41
[ New Orleans, 2013 ]

The morning light filtered weakly through the large windows of the compound, its warmth unable to touch the cold that had settled deep within its walls. Silence lingered, stretching between the cracks of old stone and worn wood, pressing down like a suffocating weight. It had been a long night, one filled with blood and betrayal, and yet, somehow, the sun still rose. The world still turned.

Klaus sat in the quiet, his arms cradling the only thing in this world that truly mattered. Hope slept soundly against his chest, her small fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, blissfully unaware of the storm that had torn through their lives. She was safe, untouched by the cruelty that had unfolded mere hours ago. But how long could he keep it that way?

His grip on her tightened slightly, just enough to ground himself, just enough to keep the thoughts at bay.

"What better life might have awaited you, were another man your father?" The words left his lips in a quiet murmur, spoken more to himself than to her. It was a question that had haunted him from the moment she was born, a thought he could never quite escape. How different would her life be, had she not been cursed with his blood, his name? Would she have known peace instead of war? Love instead of loss?

He let out a slow, measured breath. "All those who have loved me have lived to regret it." It was a truth he had come to accept long ago, a lesson carved into his very bones, he avoided letting people care — until his couldn't. Camille, Georgia, Marcel. Names that should have meant safety, but instead had become casualties of his existence. He had tried, in his own way, to be better. But no matter how far he ran, no matter how many times he swore to do right, he always found himself standing in the wreckage of what he had destroyed.

But Hope... she would be different.

"But I do know this, my littlest wolf. I will do right by you."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his eyes lingering on her peaceful face, on the soft rise and fall of her breath. She was his redemption, his salvation. He could not fail her, not as he had failed the others.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the stillness. Klaus did not turn, did not need to. He knew who it was before the first step had even fallen. Elijah carried himself the same way he always had—measured, careful, as if each movement was calculated to ensure he never faltered, never lost control. But Klaus knew the truth. He saw it in the way Elijah hesitated, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly, betraying the weight pressing against him.

"What do you want, Elijah?" Klaus's voice was quiet, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.

There was a pause—brief, but enough to be noticed.

"I'm not foolish enough to ask your forgiveness, so I'll say it again." Elijah's voice was steady, the same calm veneer he always wore, but Klaus could hear the strain beneath it, the quiet tremor of something Elijah would never name. "I had no choice. We protect this family at any cost."

At any cost.

Klaus let the words settle, let them coil around his mind like a vice. His grip on Hope remained gentle, but his jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he finally turned his head just enough to meet his brother's gaze.

"You think I'm not aware how heavy that burden is?" His tone was cold, controlled, but there was something else beneath it, something far more dangerous.

Elijah held his ground, but Klaus could see the guilt in his eyes, the silent war waging behind them. He had seen that look before, had worn it himself more times than he could count. But guilt did not change what had been done. It did not bring back the dead.