The estate rose from the hills like a living thing, stone and shadow intertwined, ancient walls veined with ivy that had grown thick and deliberate, as though even nature had learned to respect the authority that dwelled within. Lanterns burned along the iron gates, their light steady despite the night wind, illuminating the sigil of the Volturi carved deep into black marble pillars.
The procession arrived without spectacle, yet everything moved with quiet precision.
Death Dealers appeared at intervals along the grounds, already positioned before Sébastien and the Mikaelsons crossed the threshold. None needed instruction. None spoke. They simply shifted, subtly, to form a corridor of steel and leather that guided the guests inward.
Klaus took note of that.
He took note of everything.
"Efficient," he murmured under his breath as they walked.
Rebekah glanced at him. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"On the contrary, love," he replied lightly. "I'm appreciating it. There's a difference."
Elijah said nothing. His gaze moved across the estate with quiet intensity, taking in patrol routes, vantage points, architectural choices. This was not a home built for luxury alone.
This was a fortress.
Inside, the air shifted.
Warmth lingered within the grand halls subtle, deliberate. Velvet drapes framed tall windows. Dark wood floors gleamed like still water. Candlelight reflected off gilded frames that held centuries of art, sculpture, and artifacts gathered from across the world. Servants moved silently, human and vampire alike, every step measured, every expression composed.
It was not decadence that defined the space.
It was order.
And that unsettled them more than chaos ever could.
They were ushered down a long corridor into a private chamber furnished with carved armoires, plush seating, and a long table laid with folded garments.
Fresh garments.
Modern. Tailored. Immaculate.
A servant bowed her head. "If you would allow us, my lords, my lady."
Rebekah blinked. "Allow you to do what, precisely?"
"Tend to you."
The servants spoke without fear.
That, too, was strange.
Klaus laughed softly. "Well, I suppose it would be rude to refuse hospitality after we've tracked half the forest through his people's blood." He began shrugging out of his coat, unfazed. "Go on then. Impress me."
Rebekah shot him a look. "Niklaus."
"Relax, sister. If they wished us dead, we'd already be ash.... well, you two would be I cannot be killed. " He glanced toward the doorway. "Besides, I'm curious."
Elijah hesitated only a moment before following suit.
Servants worked with professional efficiency, cleansing wounds, removing damaged garments, and providing fresh attire. The Mikaelsons were unaccustomed to such treatment that did not carry undertones of fear or manipulation. This was neither reverence nor subservience.
It was protocol.
Rebekah smoothed her hands over the fine fabric of the dress provided to her, brows knitting. "This is absurd."
Klaus studied his reflection, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. "This is fascinating."
Elijah looked toward the door. "We should inquire about our siblings."
As if summoned by the thought, the door opened.
Amelia entered.
Her armor had been removed, replaced with tailored black attire that retained the same commanding presence. She inclined her head just enough to be respectful, not submissive.
"You are… presentable," she observed calmly.
Klaus grinned. "High praise, coming from our would-be executioner."
"If I had intended to execute you, you would not be standing," Amelia replied without heat.
A beat.
Then Rebekah cleared her throat. "Where is Sébastien?"
"Engaged." Amelia's gaze shifted between them. "However, there is a matter that requires addressing first. Your siblings."
Elijah's expression tightened. "They are not here."
Amelia tilted her head slightly. "Explain."
Klaus's smile returned, sharper this time. "They're in coffins. Resting. Punishment, you understand."
A lesser vampire might have flinched.
Amelia did not.
She studied him for a long moment, then inclined her head. "Location?"
Klaus blinked. Then chuckled. "You're not at all disturbed by that, are you?"
"My concern is operational, not emotional," she replied simply.
He regarded her with renewed interest. "Valencia. Eastern outskirts. Old crypt beneath the ruins of a chapel."
Amelia turned slightly, lifting two fingers in a brief signal.
Six Death Dealers emerged from the corridor beyond the doorway, already waiting.
"Retrieve them. Intact," she ordered quietly.
They vanished without another sound.
Rebekah stared. "You didn't even hesitate."
"Hesitation is death," Amelia replied, then turned toward the door. "You will be escorted to the main hall shortly."
She departed.
The room felt quieter after she left.
Klaus smirked faintly. "I like her."
Rebekah groaned. "Of course you do."
Elijah's gaze remained distant. "Prepare yourselves."
"For what?"
"For the weight of consequence." He straightened his cuffs. "We are no longer in our own domain."
Hours later, the coffins arrived.
Not dragged.
Not handled with mockery.
They were carried with deliberate care and placed gently before the Mikaelsons by four Death Dealers. The lids were sealed. No sound came from within.
The Death Dealers inclined their heads in unison, then departed without ceremony.
Kol's coffin bore faint scorch marks along the edge.
Finn's remained pristine.
Klaus studied them thoughtfully. "Well. That was efficient."
Rebekah approached Kol's coffin, placing a hand against the lid. Her voice was quieter. "We'll wake them when the time is right."
Elijah nodded once.
The living quarters reserved for them overlooked a wide internal courtyard. Moonlight pooled across marble fountains. Tall trees stood motionless, their leaves barely stirring despite the breeze beyond the walls.
Servants returned with chalices.
Blood, fresh.
Not animal.
Not bagged.
Human.
Curated.
Rebekah hesitated only briefly before accepting one.
Klaus raised his with a faint smile. "To unexpected hospitality."
Elijah inclined his head. "To survival."
They drank.
A door at the far end of the hall stood ajar.
Inside, lamplight flickered softly.
They approached.
And found him there.
Sébastien stood before a canvas, brush in hand, back turned to them. His upper body was bare, revealing skin etched with intricate tattoos, arcane symbols layered with geometric patterns, lines that seemed to shift subtly when viewed too long.
Mysticism woven into flesh.
Power was written like scripture across his back.
He did not turn as they entered.
The brush moved with unhurried grace.
Servants glided in behind them, offering chalices. The Mikaelsons accepted without comment, eyes never leaving Sébastien.
He continued painting.
Then, calmly:
"I hated you, for the first few decades."
The words fell into the room like controlled thunder.
Rebekah's breath hitched.
Elijah remained motionless.
Klaus's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"You most of all, Elijah," Sébastien continued quietly. "My sire. The man who promised that the power he gave me would mean I would never have to run again… and then compelled me to do exactly that."
The brush did not pause.
"I hated you too, Niklaus. You taught me to paint. To wield a blade. To strategize. To use chaos as a ladder rather than drown in it." A faint exhale. "And Bekah…"
He turned his head slightly, just enough for his profile to catch the light.
"You, I did not know how to feel about. Betrayal, yes. But also… confusion. Affection. Loss."
Rebekah swallowed hard.
"It mattered," she whispered.
Sébastien set the brush down.
He turned fully now.
His violet eyes met each of theirs in turn.
"It no longer does," he said softly. "I stopped thinking about all of that decades ago. When I began building this." He gestured subtly toward the estate beyond the windows. "Order. Stability. Purpose."
Silence lingered.
Not hostile.
Heavy.
Honest.
Klaus stepped closer, studying the canvas. A cityscape emerged upon it, Valencia rendered in dark tones and gold, structured and serene.
"You've improved," Klaus admitted quietly. "Your lines are cleaner. More deliberate."
Sébastien's gaze flickered to him. "You were a good teacher."
Klaus smiled, faint but genuine.
Sébastien moved toward a chair, gesturing for them to sit. They did.
He lowered himself opposite them with measured grace.
"So," he said calmly. "Regale me. What occurred while we were separated? And more importantly… why are you here in Valencia?"
The room waited.
History sat between them.
And the night listened.