Chapter 10: Elijah's Investigation
I was practicing control when he arrived.
Five days since the first transformation. My hybrid abilities had stabilized at maybe fifteen percent—enough to shift partially without losing my mind, not enough to be useful in a real fight. I'd spent the last two days forcing transformations, getting used to the pain, learning to maintain consciousness while the wolf took over.
Progress. Slow, agonizing progress.
I was in the main warehouse floor, shirtless, eyes flickering between human and gold, when I felt him approaching.
An Original. Not Klaus—the signature was different. Calmer. More controlled.
Elijah.
My chest tightened. Of all the Originals, Elijah was the one I'd admired most in my previous life. The noble monster. The one who maintained dignity despite centuries of violence. He'd been my favorite character, the one I'd rooted for even when he made terrible decisions.
And now he was here. Real. Walking toward my warehouse because I'd been stupid enough to leave a trail.
I grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, then walked to the door.
He was already there. Standing in the afternoon light, wearing a suit that probably cost more than the entire warehouse, hands clasped behind his back. Composed. Patient.
He looks exactly like the show.
Dark hair. Sharp features. Eyes that missed nothing. Even his posture screamed "I'm civilized but I could kill you without wrinkling my suit."
He knocked. Polite. Formal. Despite being able to tear the door off its hinges.
"I believe we should speak," he called out, voice carrying that British accent I'd heard a hundred times through a TV screen.
I opened the door.
We stared at each other for a long moment. Him assessing me—probably cataloging threat level, power, intentions. Me trying to reconcile the character I'd loved with the son of the people who'd tortured me for years.
The cognitive dissonance was brutal.
"Elijah Mikaelson," I said carefully. "This is earlier than I'd hoped."
His eyebrow raised. Just one. The trademark move. "You know me. Interesting."
"Everyone knows you. You're kind of famous."
"Among the supernatural community, perhaps. But you say it with familiarity." He tilted his head slightly. "Have we met before?"
In another life, through a television screen, when you were fictional and I was dying in a different world.
"No," I said. "But I know your family. Your history. Enough to recognize you on sight."
"Then you have an advantage. Because I know nothing about you, save that you're old, powerful, and have been protecting a young witch from her coven." His eyes narrowed. "And that you can manipulate blood in ways I've never encountered."
Sophie. She must have talked. Or Marcel had, despite saying he wouldn't.
"You want to come in?" I asked. "Or should we have this conversation on the doorstep?"
"Inside would be preferable."
I stepped back. He entered, moving with that supernatural grace Originals had perfected over centuries. His eyes swept the warehouse—taking in the stolen furniture, the laptop, the general disaster—and I saw him mentally cataloging every detail.
"Spartan accommodations," he observed.
"I'm working with what I have."
"Which raises the question: why are you here? In New Orleans, specifically."
"Long story."
"I have time."
I gestured to the crates I used as chairs. He sat, somehow making a wooden crate look dignified. I took the one opposite, keeping distance between us.
"Before we start," I said, "I need to demonstrate something. With your permission."
"Demonstrate what?"
"My power. So you understand what you're dealing with."
His expression didn't change, but I felt the tension spike. "I would prefer not to fight."
"Not a fight. Just..." I searched for the right words. "Proof. That I'm telling the truth about what I am."
Elijah considered. Then nodded once. "Very well. Show me."
I met his eyes.
Compulsion rolled out like a wave, that familiar tug on the bloodline connection that made vampires obey. But with Originals, it was different. Harder. Like pushing through concrete instead of air.
"Take one step backward," I said quietly.
Elijah's body moved.
One step. Precise. Clean. His foot lifted, placed itself behind him, and returned to position.
But his face. His face.
Horror. Pure, undiluted horror as his mind stayed conscious throughout, aware that he was being puppeted, unable to stop it.
I released him immediately.
"I can compel Originals," I said. "You stay conscious, which is mercy your parents never showed me."
Elijah's composure cracked. He stood abruptly, backing away, one hand raised as if to ward off an attack. "My parents?"
"Esther and Mikael." The names tasted like ash. "You want the full story? Here it is: They found me over a thousand years ago. Befriended me. Then drained me systematically, used my blood to create the spell that made you and your siblings into the Original vampires. When they were done, they shoved a silver dagger through my heart and dropped me in the ocean in a sealed coffin."
Silence. Complete, absolute silence.
Elijah was staring at me like I'd grown a second head. His legendary composure, the control that had been perfected over a millennium, was just... gone.
"That's not possible," he said finally. "We were the first—"
"You were the first Originals. I predate you by a thousand years. Your mother needed a source of immortality that was older than magic. She found me. Used me. And left me to rot at the bottom of the ocean for a millennium."
"If this is true—"
"It is."
"—then why tell me? Why reveal yourself at all?"
"Because Klaus is investigating. Your sister's been asking questions. It was only a matter of time before one of you found me, and I'd rather it be you than Klaus."
"Why?"
"Because Klaus would attack first and ask questions never. You'll at least listen."
Elijah sat back down slowly. His hands were shaking slightly—barely visible, but I noticed. The compulsion had rattled him. Being aware while being controlled was a special kind of violation.
"I apologize," I said quietly. "For the demonstration. But you needed to understand what I can do. What I choose not to do."
"You could compel me to walk off a cliff. Stake myself. Attack my family."
"Yes."
"And yet you haven't."
"No."
"Why not?"
I met his eyes. "Because your parents' sins aren't yours to carry. You didn't know what they did. You were victims too, in a way—turned into monsters without choice, cursed to live forever."
"That doesn't explain why you helped Davina. Or why you're here at all."
"I helped Davina because I know what it's like to be someone's power source. As for why I'm here..." I shrugged. "I woke up a few months ago. Klaus breaking his curse weakened the dagger enough that I could escape. Now I'm recovering, building strength, and trying to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of eternity."
Elijah processed that. I could see the gears turning—brilliant mind working through implications, threats, opportunities.
"You said your name was Roy," he said finally.
"Roy Stark."
"And you're truly older than us."
"By a thousand years, give or take."
"Can you prove it?"
I held up my hand. Concentrated. Blood welled up from a cut I opened, then hardened mid-air, forming a small blade. It hovered between us, razor-sharp and wrong.
"Hemokinesis," I said. "Control over blood. I can manipulate my own, or the blood of any vampire in existence, because you all trace back to me through Esther's spell."
The blood blade dissolved. Dripped onto the floor.
Elijah stared at the puddle. "That's... unprecedented."
"That's because I'm the only one who can do it. The Proto-Original. The source."
"If you die—"
"Every vampire dies. Originals included. Your entire species is tied to my existence." I leaned back. "Which is why I've been very, very careful not to get myself killed."
"This is..." Elijah stood, paced, ran a hand through his hair. The perfect composure was gone, replaced by genuine shock. "This is extraordinary. And terrifying."
"Yeah. Welcome to my life."
He stopped pacing. Looked at me. "We need to have a very long conversation. About what my parents did. About what you want. About how this affects my family."
"I have a thousand years of grievances," I said. "This might take a while."
"I have time."
"So do I. Literally infinite time."
That got a ghost of a smile. Just a flicker. Then it was gone.
"One question before we begin," Elijah said. "Can I trust you not to compel me during this conversation?"
"You have my word. I won't use compulsion on you unless you attack me first."
"Fair enough." He sat back down, straightened his cuffs, and somehow regained most of his composure. "Now. Tell me everything."
And so I did.
We talked for three hours. About Esther's experiments. Mikael's cruelty. The silver dagger. The millennium underwater. My escape. The hybrid transformation Klaus had triggered.
Elijah listened. Asked questions. Took in every detail with that analytical mind.
By the time we finished, the sun was setting outside.
"I need time to process this," Elijah said finally. "And I need to decide what to tell my siblings."
"Klaus can't know. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because Klaus will either try to kill me or try to use me, and I'm not strong enough to deal with either option." I met his eyes. "I need time. To recover. To master these abilities. Give me that, and we can talk about revealing my existence to the rest of your family."
Elijah considered. "You're asking me to lie to my brother."
"I'm asking you to give me a chance to not die the moment Klaus decides I'm a threat."
Long silence.
"Very well," Elijah said. "But this is temporary. Eventually, they will need to know."
"Agreed."
He stood. Smoothed his suit. The diplomat mask was back in place, but I could see the cracks underneath.
I'd broken something in him today. Shattered his understanding of his family's origin. And he'd need time to rebuild.
"Roy Stark," he said formally. "I don't know what you are yet. Threat or ally. But I respect your restraint. And I'm... sorry. For what my parents did."
"It's not your fault."
"No. But it is my responsibility to acknowledge it." He walked to the door, paused. "We'll speak again soon. And in the meantime, stay hidden. If Klaus or Rebekah find you before you're ready..."
"I know. I'll be careful."
He left.
I stood in the empty warehouse, alone again, and tried to process what had just happened.
I'd met Elijah. My favorite Original. The noble monster.
And despite everything—despite the compulsion demonstration, despite the horror in his eyes—he'd listened. Believed me. Agreed to keep my secret.
Maybe this won't end in blood after all.
Or maybe I was deluding myself.
Either way, the clock was ticking. Klaus and Rebekah were still investigating. And sooner or later, they'd find me too.
I just had to be ready when they did.
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