"What's the real curse?" She then asked.

Elijah exhaled, his shoulders falling as if the weight of the truth rested heavily upon him. He stood from his chair and walked to sit beside her on the couch. She shifted slightly to give him room, though the closeness between them felt natural.

"When we turned into vampires," Elijah began, his voice low and measured, "we learned that Klaus was not my father's son.

Amalie blinked, started by the revelation. "What?"

He inclined his head, his tone turning colder, as if recounting a long-buried pain. "Our mother had an affair with a man in the village. When Klaus made his first kill as a vampire, he triggered the werewolf gene inherited from his biological father. The next full moon, he transformed into a werewolf."

Amalie stared at him, absorbing the information. The pieces clicked together, making sense of so many things she hadn't understood until now. "He's a vampire and a werewolf?" She asked, her voice laced with quiet disbelief.

"Yes," Elijah confirmed with a slow nod. "A hybrid. The first of his kind."

She leaned back slightly, her brow furrowed in thought. "So that's what sets him apart from the rest of you," she murmured.

"Precisely," Elijah said, his eyes lingering on her. "And the curse...it was placed on him to suppress his werewolf side entirely, to ensure he could never reach his full potential."

Amalie's lips parted slightly in surprise. "Who would do that?"

"Our mother," Elijah said, the bitterness in his voice faint but unmistakable. "She cast the curse herself after his first transformation. She bound the werewolf part of him to the moonstone, ensuring it would remain dormant unless he broke the curse. I apologize for not telling you sooner."

"That's alright," Amalie said. She understood why he didn't tell her. "I get there's gonna be things that come out down the line. I'm not going to be crazy and make you tell me everything about you all at once."

Elijah smiled at that. He was beginning to understand more and more why she was made just for them.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Amalie shifted slightly, a flicker of curiosity lighting her expression.

"You know," she began, glancing at him, "there's one thing that I forgot to ask you when you first told me about everything."

Elijah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's that?"

"That picture, the one of me," she said, leaning forward. "How did you guys know what I looked like?"

###

Late 1200s

The flickering light of the fire danced across the stone walls of the abandoned chapel, casting shadows that swayed like restless spirits. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the warped shutters, but inside the air was heavy, thick with the earthy scent of herbs and candle wax.

Rebekah, Kol, Klaus, and Elijah sat in a loose circle on the cold, uneven floor, their elegant, weatherworn cloaks pooled around them. The siblings rarely reunited like this anymore—decades had a way of pulling even the closest family apart—but Kol's return had brought them together, each intrigued by the news he had carried from distant lands.

Near the center of the circle, the witch moved with practiced grace, arranging objects for the ritual. She couldn't have been older than twenty, her dark eyes calm and calculating as she worked, her hair twisted into intricate braids that fell down her back. She murmured softly to herself in Quechua, her words unintelligible but rhythmic, as if they held a power of their own.

Kol leaned back on his hands, watching her with an amused grin. "I must have forgotten to mention she was such a lovely creature," he said to Klaus, his voice dripping with mischief.

The girl glanced at him briefly, unimpressed, before resuming her preparations.

Klaus rolled his eyes. "Focus, Kol. You're the one who insisted this was worth our time."

"It is worth our time," Kol said with mock indignation. "I've spent decades meeting witches, shamans, and so-called seers who promised to help us. All frauds. But this one..." he gestured lazily toward the witch. "She's the real deal. And she says she can help us find our soulmate. Or have you already lost interest?"

Rebekah, sitting cross-legged beside Elijah, huffed impatiently. "Can we just get on with it? I didn't travel halfway across the continent to listen to you prattle on about how brilliant you are, Kol."

Kol shot her an exaggerated pout. "Always a delight, sister."

"Enough," Elijah said, his voice calm but firm. He sat perfectly upright, his back straight despite the chill of the stone floor. His gaze settled on the witch, his expression measured. "How does this work?"

The girl paused, turning to face them. She spoke with a thick accent, her voice steady and low. "The ritual will show you your soulmate. You will see what she looks like, but you will not know her name, nor when you will meet her. But there is a cost."

"There's always a cost," Rebekah muttered under her breath, brushing her golden hair away from her face.

The witch's dark eyes flicked to her. "You are immortal, so the cost is not your life, but your blood. A bond like this—one tied to your soul—requires a sacrifice."

"Blood we have plenty of," Klaus said with a smirk, tilting his head slightly as he studied her. "Take what you need."

The witch inclined her head slightly, then turned back to her preparations. She pulled out a small bowl carved from dark wood and placed it in the center of the circle. Around it, she arranged four small candles, each one marked with a different symbol.

"What do we do?" Elijah asked, his voice even.

The witch gestured for them to move closer. "Sit in the circle. I will light the candles, and each of you must give your blood to the bowl. Once the ritual begins, close your eyes and focus. You may feel... disoriented. That is normal."

Rebekah hesitated for a moment, her brows furrowing. "And how do we know this isn't some trick? That the visions won't just be illusions?"

"You'll know," the witch said simply. Her tone left no room for argument.

With a slight shrug, Rebekah moved closer, settling in beside her brothers as the witch lit the candles one by one. The flames cast an eerie glow, the flickering light illuminating their faces as they leaned forward.

The witch handed a dagger to Kol first. "Your blood," she said.

Kol grinned, always the one to embrace danger with open arms. He sliced ​​his palm cleanly and held it over the bowl. His blood dripped onto the dark wood, staining the carved surface. He passed the dagger to Rebekah, who rolled her eyes before doing the same, her movements sharp and efficient.

Elijah took the blade next, his expression unreadable as he made his offering, his blood mixing with that of his siblings. Finally, the dagger came to Klaus, who held it for a moment, his gaze fixed on the bowl. Then, with a swift motion, he cut his palm and let the blood flow.

The witch moved to the bowl, murmuring an incantation as she lifted it, her words growing louder with each breath. The flames of the candles rose higher, burning wildly, as if the fire itself were alive. The air in the room grew heavy, and thick with magic, and the Original siblings exchanged glances.

"Close your eyes," the witch commanded.

The four of them obeyed.

For Klaus, the world dissolved into darkness before the vision began to take shape. At first, it was faint, like an image painted on water, but then it sharpened, vibrant, and alive.

He stood in a forest, the air damp and cool, the ground soft beneath his feet. The trees around him whispered, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Ahead, a woman stood with her back to him, her silhouette framed by shafts of golden sunlight filtering through the canopy.

"Klaus," she said softly, her voice low and warm, with just a hint of amusement.

He felt his breath hitch. She turned slowly, and for the first time, he saw her face. Her features were striking—sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes that seemed to see straight through him. She wasn't smiling, but there was a softness in her expression, an unspoken connection that tied her to him in a way he couldn't explain.

She didn't speak again. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes locking onto him, and he felt something stir deep within him—a pull so strong it was almost painful. He reached out to touch her, but before his hand could meet hers, the vision shattered, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

Kol's vision came in fragments, flickering like the flame of a candle.

He stood in a dimly lit room, the air thick with incense and smoke. The woman stood across from him, leaning over a table, her hands moving with quick precision as she worked on something he couldn't quite see.

"Kol," she said without looking up, her voice teasing, as though she had caught him staring.

"Do I know you?" He asked, taking a step closer.

Finally, she lifted her head, her face coming into focus. She was beautiful—stunning, even—but there was more to her than her looks. There was a spark in her eyes, a cleverness, a sharpness that made him grin despite himself.

"You will," she said, her lips curling into a smirk that matched his own.

He laughed, charmed and intrigued, but the vision faded before he could say anything else.

Rebekah found herself in a vast meadow, the sunlight spilling over rolling hills dotted with wildflowers. She felt the warmth of the sun on her skin.

The woman stood at the edge of the meadow, her hair blowing in the breeze, her dress flowing around her like water. Rebekah took a step toward her, her breath catching as the woman turned.

Her face was kind, but there was a strength there too, a quiet resilience that spoke of someone who had endured much and yet remained unbroken.

"You're beautiful," Rebekah whispered, and the woman smiled softly.

"So are you," she replied.

Rebekah felt an ache in her chest, a longing she couldn't explain. She reached for the woman, but the vision dissolved into golden light, leaving her alone once again.

Elijah's vision was calm and serene. He stood in a grand library, the scent of old books and ink filling the air. The woman sat at a table near a large window, her head bowed over an open book. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her fingers traced the words on the page.

He moved closer, his footsteps silent, until he was standing beside her. She looked up, meeting his gaze, and his breath caught.

Her face was stunning, but it was her eyes that held him captive. They were deep and searching, filled with a quiet wisdom and a vulnerability that stirred something within him.

"Elijah," she said softly, her lips forming his name like it belonged to her.

He felt the pull immediately, like an invisible thread connecting them. He reached out, his hand brushing hers, and the contact sent a shock through him—intense, yet comforting. But before he could speak, the vision blurred and faded, leaving him alone in the quiet of his mind.

The candles flickered once more and then went out, plunging the room into sudden darkness.

When the siblings opened their eyes, they each sat in silence, the weight of the visions heavy on their minds.

"I saw her," Rebekah whispered, breaking the stillness.

Kol let out a quiet laugh, but it laced his usual edge. "So did I."

Elijah exhaled slowly, his gaze distant. "She's real."

The witch nodded, her expression calm. "You know her face now. When the time comes, you will know her soul."

The siblings exchanged a look, and for the first time in centuries, there was a quiet hope flickering in their hearts.

###

Amalie sat quietly on the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she processed what Elijah had just told her. It was a lot to take in, but after decades of living in the supernatural world, she wasn't exactly shocked. There was a certain inevitability to the twists and turns of this life—a world where curses, rituals, and ancient bonds seemed to govern everything.

Still, there were gaps in the story that nagged at her, and she tilted her head slightly as she looked at Elijah. "I thought you had four remaining siblings?" She asked, her voice soft but curious.

Elijah's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of sorrow crossing his features. He nodded solemnly. "Yes. Our eldest brother, Finn, was daggered during that time. He has remained so for centuries."

"Oh..." Amalie's voice softened, her lips parting slightly in sympathy. She could see the faint tension in his jaw, the sadness he carried for a brother who had been removed from their lives so completely. She wondered what kind of man Finn had been, what kind of pain it had caused to have him locked away for so long. But she didn't press further.

Elijah's gaze lingered on her, his eyes steady and searching, as if he were weighing his next words carefully. "There is something else I must tell you," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

Amalie straightened slightly, sensing the gravity in his voice. "What is it?"

"When I told Elena that I wanted Klaus dead," he began, his eyes darkening slightly, "that was not the full truth. I want him to pay. But he cannot be killed now."

The admission caught her off guard. Her brows knit together in confusion. "Why?"

Elijah exhaled softly, leaning forward, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. "Because of you," he said simply. His voice was low, tender, and weighted with meaning. "You change everything."

Amalie blinked, taken aback. She searched his face for an explanation, and when he didn't immediately elaborate, she tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Elijah straightened slightly, his gaze unwavering as he explained. "Since you are directly tied to us—our bond as soulmates—you are connected to our existence. If one of us were to be killed, you would also be killed."

Her eyes widened, shock rippling through her. "What?" She breathed, barely above a whisper.

Elijah nodded, his expression gentle but serious. "Your life is bound to ours. It is a consequence of the connection we share. That is why I cannot kill Klaus, no matter what he has done. Because his death would take you away from me as well."

Amalie's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process the weight of his words. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out at first. Finally, she managed to say. "I mean...I guess that makes sense. " She hesitated, her thoughts racing. "When you were daggered—and when Damon stabbed you, the first time we met—I had this weird feeling in my chest."

Elijah inclined his head slightly, as though he had already suspected as much. "It is the bond," he said softly. "A thread that ties us to you, just as it ties you to us."

Amalie's throat felt tight, and she looked away for a moment, staring at the faint patterns of light filtering through the window blinds. She didn't know what to say. The idea that her life was tethered to theirs—so fragile, so intertwined —made her chest ache with an unsettling mixture of fear and vulnerability.

Elijah's voice broke the silence, gentle but insistent. "So you see, Amalie. I cannot kill my brother. Not just because he is my blood, but because losing him would mean losing you. And that, I cannot bear."

She turned her gaze to him, her heart aching at the tenderness in his tone. For a moment, she could only hold his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in her chest.

"But you're still upset with him," she said quietly.

Elijah's expression hardened slightly, his jaw tightening. "Yes," he admitted. "I've given some thought to what you said before, about Klaus bluffing when he claimed he threw my siblings into the ocean."

"And?" She prompted, her voice soft but steady.

"That is exactly Klaus' style," Elijah said, a faint bitterness coloring his tone.

Amalie sat up a little straighter, her eyes narrowing slightly. "So you think he still has them?"

Elijah nodded, his voice low. "Yes. I believe so. He is not so reckless as to destroy them outright. He keeps them close as leverage."

The room fell into silence, the gravity of his words lingering in the air. Amalie didn't know what to say—what could she say? Her thoughts were a jumble of Klaus, curses, and the strange bond that tied her life to the Mikaelsons.

For a moment, the two of them simply sat there, the quiet between them stretching into something intimate and unspoken. Elijah's eyes softened as he watched her, his expression quiet and thoughtful.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and tentative. "May I ask you something?"

Amalie blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "Sure," she said, her tone cautious but open.

Elijah hesitated, as though carefully choosing his words. "How did you turn?"

The question caught her off guard, and she froze for a moment. Her throat tightened as memories she tried not to think about clawed their way to the surface.

She looked down, avoiding his gaze. "It's...not a story I like telling," she admitted quietly.

"I understand," Elijah said softly. "You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to."

She glanced up at him, her chest tightening at the patience and kindness in his expression. She exhaled slowly, "No, it's okay. You've told me so much about your past...it's only fair."

Elijah nodded, his gaze steady and encouraging, and she began to speak.

###

1954

The hum of the jukebox filled the diner, its tinny sound spilling out a familiar tune as the needle danced over the record. The clink of dishes and the chatter of other patrons buzzed faintly in the background, but Amalie hardly noticed. She sat in a corner booth, her hands wrapped around the cold glass of her chocolate milkshake, her cherry-red lipstick leaving faint marks on the striped straw.

It wasn't how she'd planned to spend her Friday night, but plans had changed.

Katherine, her best friend, had ditched her earlier in the day with an apologetic smile and some vague excuse. And her brother, Oliver, had said something about his new girlfriend, Eleanor. Amalie hadn't pressed either one of them.

So here she was, alone in a sea of ​​people, absently stirring the whipped cream of her milkshake with the straw as her thoughts wandered.

The diner was lively, filled with teenagers crowded into booths, couples leaning close at the counter, and waitresses bustling between laughed tables with practiced efficiency. A group of boys in letterman jackets loudly near the jukebox, and across the room, a waitress balanced a tray of cheeseburgers as she weaved through the crowd.

Amalie sighed, her chin resting on her hand. It wasn't a bad night, really, but it wasn't what she'd hoped for, either.

"Mind if I sit here?"

The voice startled her out of her thoughts, smooth and low, with a hint of amusement. She blinked, glancing up—and she froze.

A boy stood there, tall and