Chapter 11: The Story Told (Part 1)
The warehouse felt smaller with Elijah in it.
He sat across from me on a wooden crate, hands folded, spine straight despite the uncomfortable seating. Everything about him screamed control—from the perfect knot of his tie to the way he breathed at exact intervals.
But his eyes. His eyes were different. Shaken. Because I'd just demonstrated I could puppet him while he stayed conscious, and he was still processing what that meant.
"You mentioned another world," he said finally. "Explain."
Right. The transmigration. The part that made the least sense even to me.
"I died," I started. "Nineteen years old, walking home from a party, got hit by a truck. Classic, right? One second I was alive, the next I was... somewhere else. Dark. Floating. And there was a voice."
"A voice."
"Offering me a choice. A wish." I rubbed my eyes, the memory still disorienting after all this time. "I was dying—or already dead, depending on how you count it—and panicking. So I wished for the first thing that came to mind: immortality. Power. I wanted to be Original before the Originals were even a thing."
Elijah's eyebrow raised. "And the voice granted it?"
"Yeah. Woke up in a different body, different world, Viking-age Mystic Falls. No idea how I got there. No memories of the host body's life before I... inherited it." I met his eyes. "I didn't choose this, Elijah. I was just a scared kid who didn't want to die. And I got exactly what I asked for."
"Careful what you wish for," he murmured.
"Exactly."
Silence settled between us. He was thinking, analyzing, trying to decide if I was lying. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the micro-movements of his eyes as he searched my face for tells.
"Continue," he said.
I took a breath. This was the hard part.
"The host body had been living in Mystic Falls for maybe a year when Esther and Mikael found me. Or it. However you want to phrase it." The names tasted bitter. "They were friendly. Curious. Esther said she'd never seen someone quite like me—eternal, unkillable, but not through magic. She wanted to understand how it worked."
"And you trusted her."
"I was alone in a world I didn't understand, barely nineteen mentally, and she seemed kind. So yeah. I trusted her." My hands clenched. "Mistake."
Elijah leaned forward slightly. "What did she do?"
"At first? Just asked questions. Took small blood samples. Said she was researching immortality, trying to protect her family from the dangers of their world. I believed her." I laughed, but it came out hollow. "Then the questions got more invasive. The blood samples got bigger. And one day, Mikael was there with chains."
The memory rose up like bile. I pushed it back down.
"They drained me," I said flatly. "Systematically. Every few days, they'd take more blood than I could heal from, wait for me to recover, then do it again. Esther was clinical about it. Took notes. Experimented with my blood, mixing it with herbs and magic and God knows what else."
"Creating the spell," Elijah said quietly.
"Yeah. My blood became the foundation. She needed something older than magic, something that couldn't die, to anchor the immortality spell she was building. I was it. The source."
"And Mikael?"
My jaw clenched. "He enjoyed it. Esther was doing science. Mikael was doing torture. He'd drain me just to watch me suffer. Called me weak for screaming. Said I should be grateful they were using me for something important."
Elijah's hands tightened on his knees. The only visible sign of emotion.
"How long?" he asked.
"Five years. Give or take. Time got weird toward the end."
"My God."
"After they perfected the spell, after they turned you and your siblings into Originals..." I swallowed hard. "They didn't need me anymore. But they couldn't kill me—I was the source, and killing me might unravel everything. So Esther sealed me in a coffin with a silver dagger through my heart."
"The same method she used on us," Elijah murmured.
"Except it worked differently. You desiccate. Go gray. Sleep. I stayed conscious." I met his eyes. "Every second. Every minute. For a thousand years."
His composure cracked. Actually cracked. "That's not possible. No one could survive that with their sanity intact."
"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" I smiled, but there was nothing happy in it. "But here I am. Talking. Mostly functional. So either I'm incredibly resilient, or I'm insane and just don't know it yet."
"The ocean," he said. "You mentioned drowning."
"They dropped the coffin at the bottom of the Atlantic. Sealed. Weighted. Buried under thousands of feet of water." I could feel the pressure even now, phantom sensation that never quite left. "The coffin leaked. Not enough to flood it completely, but enough that I spent a millennium experiencing drowning. The sensation of water in my lungs that were already dead. Over and over. Forever."
Elijah stood abruptly. Paced to the window. Stared out at nothing.
"You were in the box for ninety years," I said to his back. "Klaus put you in it, and you were aware but at least you slept. I was at the bottom of the ocean for a millennium. We're not so different, you and I. Both imprisoned by family. Both betrayed by people we trusted."
"My God," he said again, voice barely above a whisper.
"The only reason I'm free is because Klaus broke his hybrid curse a few months ago. The magical shockwave traveled through the bloodline, weakened the silver dagger's magic just enough that I could move. Barely. But it was enough." I stood too, joints aching from sitting too long. "So yeah. That's my story. Dead kid from another world, used as a battery for your mother's spell, imprisoned for eternity, finally free and really pissed off about it."
Elijah turned to face me. His legendary composure was in shambles. Eyes too wide. Jaw tight. Hands trembling slightly before he clasped them behind his back to hide it.
"If this is true—"
"It is."
"—then my family's entire existence is built on unprecedented cruelty. My mother, who I believed wanted to protect us, tortured an innocent for years. My father enjoyed it. And we—my siblings and I—never knew."
"You couldn't have known."
"That doesn't absolve us."
"I'm not asking for absolution. I'm asking for understanding." I took a step closer. "Your parents did this. Not you. Not Klaus or Rebekah or Kol or Finn. You were victims too, in a different way. Turned into monsters without consent. Cursed to live forever."
"But we lived," Elijah said sharply. "We walked the earth, experienced centuries of existence, while you were drowning in darkness."
"Yeah. And now I'm out. And I have choices to make about what comes next."
He studied me. "Vengeance."
"Part of it."
"Against my parents."
"Specifically against them. Not you. Not your siblings." I held his gaze. "Unless you get in my way. Then we have a problem."
"And if Klaus gets in your way?"
"Then Klaus and I have a problem."
Elijah paced again. Three steps to the window. Three steps back. His mind was working, calculating, trying to figure out how to navigate this nightmare.
"I need to verify your claims," he said finally. "Not because I don't believe you—your demonstration earlier was proof enough of your power. But because if I'm to help you, to ally with you against my parents, I need evidence. Something concrete."
"Esther kept notes. Grimoires. Probably hidden them somewhere your family hasn't found."
"I know where to look." He straightened his tie, that small gesture helping him regain some control. "But this will take time. And in the meantime, Klaus cannot know."
"Agreed. He'll either try to kill me or—"
"—or use you as a weapon," Elijah finished. "Yes. My brother is many things, but subtle is not one of them. If he learns what you are, what you can do, he'll see you as either an existential threat or a tool. Neither ends well."
"So we keep this between us. For now."
"For now." Elijah moved toward the door, then paused. "Roy Stark. I don't know what to make of you yet. But I know injustice when I hear it. And what my parents did to you..." He shook his head. "It cannot stand unanswered."
"I've waited a thousand years for revenge. I can wait a bit longer."
He left without another word.
I stood in the empty warehouse, alone again, and tried to process what had just happened. I'd told Elijah everything. The transmigration, the torture, the ocean. All of it.
And he'd believed me.
Or at least, he was willing to investigate. Which was more than I'd expected.
The sun was setting outside, painting the warehouse floor in orange light. I sat down where Elijah had been, in the same spot, and let exhaustion wash over me.
Talking about the imprisonment always took something out of me. Made the memories too fresh, too real. I could still feel the water, the pressure, the endless darkness.
But I'd survived. And now I had an ally. Maybe. Potentially.
If Elijah found the evidence he needed.
If Klaus didn't discover me first.
If I didn't lose control and do something stupid.
Too many ifs.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Failed. My mind kept circling back to Elijah's expression when I'd described the ocean. The horror. The genuine distress.
He'd cared. Actually cared about what had happened to me.
That was... unexpected. And dangerous. Because caring meant I might start trusting him. And trust was how you got a silver dagger through the heart.
But maybe—just maybe—this time would be different.
I had to believe that. Had to hope.
Because the alternative was staying alone forever. And I'd already done a millennium of that.
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