Reborn in originals

As the door to the Mikaelson mansion creaked open, Stefan and Damon stepped inside, their boots making soft thuds against the polished hardwood floor. The grand interior was dimly lit, the chandeliers casting a warm glow that flickered faintly, mirroring the tension etched on their faces.

Damon moved with his usual swagger, his hands slipping casually into his leather jacket pockets. His expression was unreadable at first glance, but his eyes glimmered with a faint mix of triumph and weariness. He glanced at Stefan, whose posture was noticeably stiff, his movements calculated and purposeful as though he were steeling himself for the conversation ahead.

At the far end of the lavish sitting room, Viktor Mikaelson stood near a roaring fireplace, his tall frame silhouetted against the flames. The Mikaelson brother exuded an air of authority, his piercing blue eyes glinting as they met Damon and Stefan's. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You've returned," Viktor said, his deep voice resonating through the room. He turned slightly, his tailored suit catching the light as he gestured for them to approach.

Damon was the first to break the silence, his smirk forming with practiced ease. "Mission accomplished," he drawled, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and spreading them out theatrically. "Grayson has the last piece. We even gift-wrapped it for him."

Viktor's smile widened fractionally as he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "You've done well," he said, his tone calm yet laced with a subtle undercurrent of approval. His gaze shifted to Stefan, studying the younger Salvatore intently.

Stefan returned the look, his jaw tightening. His shoulders were taut, and though he remained silent, his clenched fists betrayed his unease. He wasn't here to bask in Viktor's praise, and the flicker of doubt in his eyes spoke volumes.

"You don't seem pleased, Stefan," Viktor remarked, arching a brow. He stepped closer, his movements graceful yet imposing. "Is there something troubling you?"

Damon let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he moved to pour himself a glass of bourbon from a nearby decanter. "Oh, don't mind him. He's just upset that we had to play delivery boys." He raised the glass in a mock toast before taking a sip, his expression briefly darkening.

"It's not that," Stefan said, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. He met Viktor's gaze, his green eyes sharp. "It's Grayson. You're putting a lot of trust in him to handle this… responsibly."

Viktor's smile faded slightly, and his head tilted in a gesture of measured patience. "Grayson understands what's at stake," he said, his voice firm. "And now, he has everything he needs. If he chooses poorly…" Viktor's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression hardening. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Stefan's shoulders sagged just a fraction, a shadow of resignation crossing his features. Damon, meanwhile, downed the rest of his bourbon and set the glass down with a loud clink.

"Well, on that cheerful note," Damon said, flashing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, "our job here is done. Unless you've got another wild goose chase for us?"

Viktor chuckled softly, the sound low and almost mocking. "No, Damon. You've done your part. You're free to go."

Damon clapped Stefan on the shoulder as he turned toward the door. "Come on, brother. Let's leave the scheming to the professionals."

Stefan hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on Viktor. The eldest Mikaelson's expression remained composed, but there was an unmistakable weight in his eyes—a quiet warning that left no room for doubt.

Finally, Stefan turned and followed Damon, his footsteps heavy against the floor.

In the dim solitude of his study, Grayson Gilbert sat hunched over his desk, the faint light of a desk lamp casting long, wavering shadows across the room. The antique key Damon had given him lay before him, its intricate details glinting faintly under the light. Beside it were the other fragments he had painstakingly gathered over months—pieces of wood, metal, and stone, all bearing the same strange carvings and runes.

Grayson's hands trembled as he reached for the key, his breath shallow and uneven. His usually composed demeanor had given way to an uncharacteristic restlessness, his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight line. He knew this was more than just an artifact—it was a puzzle, one that carried a weight far greater than he could fully understand.

He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself, before picking up the first piece of the fragmented object. The cold, worn surface of the artifact felt heavy in his hands, as though it carried centuries of secrets. His fingers traced the grooves instinctively, his mind working through the intricate patterns and symbols.

With a deliberate slowness, he pressed the key into a slot on the largest fragment. It fit perfectly, sliding in with a faint, almost imperceptible click. Grayson exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing for a moment before he leaned forward again, scrutinizing the remaining pieces.

The process was methodical, almost ritualistic. He worked in silence, his movements precise despite the tension radiating from him. Each piece clicked into place with a soft, satisfying sound, forming a structure that began to resemble a larger object—a circular contraption, ancient and foreboding.

As the last piece neared completion, Grayson paused, his hands hovering above it. His jaw clenched, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. For a brief moment, doubt clouded his expression. What am I doing? What will this unlock? But then, the memory of Damon's smirk and Stefan's intense stare returned to him, hardening his resolve.

With a final push, he connected the last fragment. The completed object glowed faintly for a split second before settling into an ominous stillness. Grayson leaned back in his chair, his chest heaving as though he'd been holding his breath the entire time. His eyes, wide with a mix of awe and dread, fixated on the artifact now sitting on the desk.

The device was intricate and almost otherworldly. Runes etched across its surface seemed to shift subtly in the dim light, creating an unsettling effect. Grayson's fingers twitched, as though tempted to reach for it, but he hesitated. His mind raced with questions. What had he just unleashed? What did this thing do?

The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of his chair as he shifted uneasily. His face betrayed a storm of emotions—curiosity, fear, determination. Finally, with trembling hands, he reached out and picked up the device, cradling it as though it were a fragile relic.

His grip tightened, and his expression hardened into one of resolve. "No turning back now," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. His gaze flicked toward the doorway, his ears straining for any sound beyond the quiet hum of the house. But there was nothing—no Miranda, no Elena, no Jeremy. Just him and the weight of his decision.

Grayson set the device down carefully and leaned forward again, his hands pressing against the desk as he stared at it. The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deepening as though the artifact itself were drawing the light away. His breath misted faintly in the air, but he didn't flinch.

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing deeply. "If this is the only way," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "If this is what it takes to protect them…"

His words trailed off, swallowed by the oppressive silence. Grayson's shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment, he seemed so small—just a man burdened by choices too heavy for one person to bear. Then, as if summoned by some unseen force, the artifact began to hum softly, its runes glowing faintly once more.

Grayson's eyes snapped open, and though fear flickered in their depths, there was also a glint of determination. He leaned closer, his reflection staring back at him from the artifact's polished surface, and whispered, "Let's see what you're hiding."