WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

2:14

| THE STAND:
CHAPTER FOURTEEN |

"They're waking up!" Hayley's voice rang out as the two witches began to stir on the stone courtyard floor. Her tone was urgent but relieved, and she immediately moved to Rhea's side, her hands gentle as she helped the weakened witch sit upright.

Rhea's head lolled forward slightly, her hair clinging to her damp forehead. She was clammy, pale, and trembling, but alive.

Elijah knelt beside Freya, steadying her with one hand on her back. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and soft, concern woven tightly through every syllable.

"I feel..." Freya paused, catching her breath between each word. "Weak." Her voice was thin, her usual sharp composure lost beneath the weight of whatever had struck them down.

Jackson, standing a few feet away, frowned as he surveyed the scene. "Those vampires must've stabbed her with something," he said, gesturing toward Freya.

Rhea shook her head slowly, a faint crease forming in her brow. "Nobody stabbed me," she murmured, her voice still hoarse.

Hayley looked over at her, her expression firm. "We're certain they had someone link you to Freya. It was the only way to take you both down at once. They did it to weaken our defenses."

Rhea closed her eyes and exhaled shakily. Her muscles ached as if she'd run miles barefoot through broken glass. Every part of her body felt unsteady—like a shell that hadn't quite decided if it wanted to hold itself together.

Elijah stepped back, pulling out his phone with a frown etched deep into his features. "So... The Strix are fond of slow-acting poisons," he said as he began dialing. "There is an antidote, if I can get my hands on it."

He turned and walked off, the phone pressed to his ear, leaving the others to regroup.

Rhea gently took Rebekah's wrist in her hands, examining the cursed mark. The skull-like symbol was darker now, pulsing slightly with unnatural energy.

"For this..." she said quietly, "we'll need a pure silver knife. And some white muskroot."

Hayley nodded and turned immediately. "I'll get the knife."

Jackson gave a short nod. "I'll track down the root."

As they split off to begin their respective tasks, Hayley paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes swept over the two witches—both drained, unsteady, barely upright.

"You two can barely float a feather right now," she said gently but firmly. "Let alone save the world."

Freya's eyes flashed as she took in a slow breath, pushing herself upright. "We'll channel Finn."

The words dropped like a stone.

Rhea's head snapped up at the suggestion, and the world tilted violently. "No, we won't," she said sharply, her voice laced with fury and fear, even as a wave of nausea rolled through her and nearly knocked her flat again.

Rebekah scoffed from the bench, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn't lose them. "Oh, lovely. My fate rests in the hands of our black-sheep brother—who we've trapped in a necklace. I'm sure he's just dying to help."

Freya turned to her with a flash of steel in her eyes. "He's the only other powerful witch we've got. And we're out of options, sister."

"I'm sorry," Rhea said, forcing herself to her feet, her limbs shaking beneath her. "But I can't. I won't be anywhere near Finn. Spirit or not."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she began to chant under her breath, hands flickering with light as she pushed the last of her strength into severing the magical tether between her and Freya. A warm ripple moved through her body as the connection snapped. Instantly, her breathing evened, the nausea lifted, and the burning ache in her limbs vanished—as if the poison and its residual effects had never touched her.