Reincarnated as Elijah Mikaelson: A Power Beyond Klaus

Chapter 8: A Fractured Alliance

The Mikaelson estate was unusually still, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Elijah sat at the grand dining table, flipping through an old tome detailing magical artifacts. His thoughts churned as he searched for anything that might give him an edge against the witches.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke his concentration. Klaus entered the room, his usual swagger accompanied by a sly grin that spelled trouble.

"Busy, are we?" Klaus drawled, pouring himself a drink without waiting for an invitation. "You've been playing the diligent scholar quite often these days. Should I be concerned?"

Elijah looked up, his expression calm but sharp. "Concern is an unusual sentiment for you, Niklaus. What is it you truly want?"

Klaus chuckled, raising his glass. "Nothing so sinister. I merely wish to understand why you've taken such an interest in our enemies as of late. Surely you're not intimidated by a coven of witches?"

Elijah leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "Underestimating one's enemies is a dangerous habit, Niklaus. I'd advise against it."

Klaus smirked. "And I'd advise you to remember who you're speaking to. I've dealt with witches for centuries—they are pests, nothing more."

Elijah's voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it. "These 'pests' have managed to thrive in your absence. That alone should give you pause."

The tension between them hung thick in the air, but Klaus only shrugged, his grin unfaltering. "Very well, brother. Play your little games. But don't forget who holds the reins in this family."

With that, Klaus left the room, leaving Elijah to his thoughts.

Later that night, Elijah found himself walking through the French Quarter, his senses heightened as he navigated the labyrinth of streets. The witches' presence was growing stronger, their magic a tangible force that seemed to seep into the very air.

He reached a secluded alley, where a familiar figure awaited him—Marcel.

"Elijah," Marcel greeted, his tone neutral but wary. "What brings you here? Don't tell me Klaus sent you to deliver another ultimatum."

Elijah stepped closer, his posture relaxed but commanding. "I'm here on my own accord. I need information."

Marcel crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "Information? About what?"

"The witches," Elijah said simply. "I assume you've been keeping tabs on them."

Marcel's eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you anything? Last time I checked, you and Klaus were the ones stirring up trouble."

Elijah's gaze didn't waver. "Because, Marcel, if the witches succeed in their plans, they'll come for you next. And I doubt even your considerable charm will save you."

Marcel hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his options. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Alright. I've heard whispers—Sophie's gathering power. She's looking for something, but I don't know what."

Elijah frowned, his mind racing. "Something... or someone?"

Marcel shrugged. "Could be either. All I know is, she's determined. And when Sophie's determined, things tend to get messy."

Elijah inclined his head. "Thank you, Marcel. Your cooperation is appreciated."

Marcel smirked. "Don't get used to it."

Back at the estate, Rebekah was waiting for him in the courtyard, her expression a mix of irritation and concern.

"Out for another midnight stroll?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Elijah approached her, his voice steady. "Gathering information. The witches are planning something significant, and we can't afford to be caught off guard."

Rebekah sighed, her frustration evident. "Why do you always insist on doing everything alone? We're a family, Elijah—start acting like it."

Elijah's expression softened, but his tone remained firm. "I appreciate your concern, Rebekah. But I must do what's necessary to protect us."

Rebekah shook her head, her voice quiet but cutting. "You're so focused on protecting us that you're forgetting what it means to be one of us."

She turned and walked away, leaving Elijah alone with the weight of her words.

The night deepened, and the city seemed to hold its breath. In the shadows of an old church, Sophie and her coven prepared for the next stage of their plan.

"This will work," Sophie said, her voice resolute as she placed a small, glowing artifact on the altar. "It has to."

The witches around her exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke. The power radiating from the artifact was palpable, a reminder of the risks they were taking.

As Sophie began to chant, the air around them crackled with energy. Whatever they were planning, it was only the beginning—and Elijah knew it would soon force his family into a battle they weren't ready for.

The storm was coming, and this time, even Elijah wasn't sure if they could weather it.