Kol Mikaelson-The Wild Original

This chapter should be mainly dedicated to ThegamertagsPs, as he helped me with the direction for the chapter. I already had a draft for both directions, but it was satisfying to write this one. I feel freed, and I got a very good idea for the ball because of his suggestions

I would surely appreciate if you guys want to chat about anything regarding fics of mine 

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Kol's POV

It's been a few days since I've been trapped in this godforsaken town for the sake of my siblings. Lately, I feel like all I do is complain. But honestly, the amount of effort required to create this ritual to reconnect with my magic is absurd. Truly absurd. Between pestering Nik for rare ingredients and bickering with Bekah—which, I'll admit, has its entertaining moments—I've been drowning in preparations that are nothing short of grueling.

I may have nicked a bag of doppelgänger blood from Nik. He's going to be thoroughly pissed when he notices, but honestly, it's not like he's using it for anything other than siring his hybrid army—which, at the moment, isn't much. Still, it will be a valuable card to play. He's going about this whole thing wrong. What he needs to do is take those hybrids to the woods for a few days, learn how werewolves operate, and then rethink this idiocy he insists on perpetuating.

Back to the ritual.

The real issue is that our dear mother bound vampirism on three levels: physically to the doppelgänger's blood, spiritually to the white oak, and on a soul level to the sun. That cursed blood still carries echoes of her original spellwork, likely because of Silas and his lover, who just had to scorn a Bennett witch. And what did he do? Left her at the altar—if that's the correct expression.

Naturally, the woman became a raging lunatic and created the Other Side. Truly, she was a brilliant witch. In fact, she'd be considered a minor god if such beings existed—though, come to think of it, gods might very well be real in this world. I recall stories of Hope Mikaelson. Honestly, what an un-Mikaelson name for my niece. But what can you expect from Elijah and that ridiculous wolf he chose as her mother?

It seems the anchoring of altered memories has more consequences than I anticipated. I'm becoming scatterbrained.

Taking a deep breath, I enter a meditative trance. It takes some time to focus as I review the memories I need to anchor. I must consolidate the memories of this life, as there aren't many discrepancies, and integrate them with those of my mortal life in the other reality. It's harder than I expected.

Reliving all my lives—the one where I was killed by that idiotic gang, my mortal life, and now this existence—I marvel at the irony. The beauty of vampirism lies in the strength of my spirit, which will continue to grow with age. Yet, my spirit has been twisted in such a way that it's no longer properly connected to my soul when it comes to magic. Hence, the ritual.

To undo her binding, I need to incorporate the doppelgänger blood into the ritual alongside representations of eternity: the sun and the white oak tree, symbols my mother once used in her magic. For this, I've secured sunstone and white oak ash. Fortunately, when I burned Wickery Bridge, I had the foresight to store a hefty sack of white oak ash. Truly, a moment of brilliance.

Gathering the rest of the ingredients has been a nightmare. I've managed to acquire crushed moonstone powder, liquid silver distilled from moonlight, and ground frost lilies harvested during a full moon. All of it must be carefully combined with the doppelgänger's blood and a touch of my blood. This concoction will need to be meticulously applied while I inscribe runes on a freshly crafted daylight ring and also on my chest.

The runic tattoos present their own unique challenge. They must be carved with vervain—a painful but necessary precaution to ensure no witch can sense what I'm doing. Once the runes are complete, the mixture must be applied to bind the magic to both my body and the ring, allowing me to channel it freely.

As I sketch the runes, I consider the design of the tattoo. It needs to be inconspicuous—something that won't easily draw attention from witches or anyone else. Nik's curse is a constant reminder that even the smallest vulnerability can be exploited.

My magic feels like a dammed ocean, isolated from the world by an impregnable wall, raging relentlessly against those barriers. Since that wall is formed by my spirit, I have been in agony since the turn of the millennium. The magic our mother performed when turning us into vampires is nearly insurmountable, as it is etched into nature itself. She bargained with nature—not in darkness born of moral idiocy, but in darkness because the spell placed us directly under the scrutiny of the world's magic, which can be seen as the spirit of the world if nature is its body.

She invoked such profound magic by offering to bind us to objects inherently tied to nature—the sun and the white oak tree. As a believer in Norse magic, she also accounted for its principles, making our spirits unchangeable, akin to Yggdrasil: they can grow, but they cannot nurture. They possess magic, but they will not wield it for any purpose.

The runes and the ingredients for the magical paste I'm crafting are like a pipe and tap—a means to gradually access the flow of magic. However, inscribing them properly will require Nik's help—a fact that irritates me more than I care to admit.

Bang!

The door flies open, and there's Nik, glaring at me with narrowed eyes. He takes one sniff of the air, and his expression darkens as recognition sets in.

"You stole the doppelgänger's blood, Kol," he growls, his voice dripping with fury.

"Well, you're not the only one cursed, Nik. We've all suffered because of turning in our own ways. Now, are you going to bloody help me, or are you just here to posture and sulk?"

His eyes flash dangerously, but after a tense moment, he relents. "Very well. For what did you need the doppelgänger blood?"

"What our mother did, in simple terms, was to bind our soul, spirit (or mind as it's recently called), and body to the sun, the white oak, and the blood of the doppelgänger. She used the flowing blood of a doppelgänger, and as we both know, doppelgängers appear every 500 years. Instead of our curse being rooted in a single crystal, it is now anchored to the sun, the white oak, and the blood of the doppelgänger. This makes the spell an acceptable bargain, as nature will create a doppelgänger whenever it is needed." I paused.

"Now, I am using some ingredients to make a paste, and by utilizing magical blood and inscribing this runic schema I've designed, I can align my spirit to my soul just enough to start accessing my magic again. I need your help engraving the runes on my chest while maintaining the mental image of creating a canal from a sea to a lake."

"So," I press, "will you help? You have until moonrise to perfect the design. After that, we're heading to the clearing where your wolf was freed to perform the ritual."

He sighs, his lips curling into a smirk. "Fine, Kol. But if this goes sideways, don't think for a second I won't remind you of it endlessly."

"Trust me, Nik. If it goes wrong, we'll have bigger problems than your gloating."

"And what would those be?" he raised his brows sarcastically.

"I am not particularly enthusiastic about your sarcasm at the moment, Nik."

Evening

Nik and I arrive at the clearing where he freed his wolf. The air is crisp and charged, a perfect setting for the magic I'm about to unleash. I begin arranging the ingredients meticulously, drawing a runic circle interwoven with other symbols that will guide the magic toward linking the runic schema to my essence and to my daylight ring.

I pause to scan the area for any signs of life, listening intently for heartbeats in the vicinity. Satisfied there are none, I call Nik over and remove my shirt, bracing myself for what's to come.

"Use the vervain extract I created," I instruct him, handing him the small vial. It contains a carefully prepared mixture that includes a drop of the doppelgänger's blood. "Apply it as you carve the runes. Be precise. A single mistake and this whole thing goes up in flames—quite literally."

Nik smirks, an annoying glint of amusement in his eyes. "And why, dear brother, did you decide to undertake this grand project now of all times?"

"This has been a project of millennia," I reply sharply. "Perfected over time by yours truly. I haven't shared it with anyone because we can't trust anyone outside this family, and the availability of the doppelgänger blood. I've only called on you because, well, I trust you the most among our brothers. And frankly, I'm out of options."

Nik's expression softens, just for a moment, before he shakes his head and starts carving. As the vervain cuts into my skin, I begin chanting softly, each word carefully chosen and dripping with power.

"Keep going," I snap through gritted teeth. "The runes must be finished before moonrise."

"Yggdrasil veitir, krafturinn flæðir. Sól og máni, eilífa hringrás. Blóð og aska, bundin í gleymsku. Ég kalla á máttinn, heill Yggdrasils!"

("Yggdrasil provides, the power flows. Sun and moon, eternal cycle. Blood and ash, bound in oblivion. I call upon the might, hail Yggdrasil!")

He returns to his work, and I pour the mixture of moonstone, silver, and frost lilies into the carved grooves of the circle. The incantations grow louder, the words thrumming with intensity as the power of the ritual builds:

"Ljósið leiðir, myrkrið geymir. Allt sem var, verður að eilífu. Blóð mitt, máttur minn, bundið hér!"

("The light guides, the darkness keeps. All that was, shall be eternal. My blood, my power, bound here!")

When Nik finishes the last rune, I apply the mixture to the runic schema and cover the ring in it. Then I step into the center of the circle, clutching the daylight ring tightly. The symbols carved into my flesh ignite with fiery light, each word of the chant strengthening the flow of power. The runes glow brighter, and a searing pain washes over me as the magic binds to my essence.

With one final shout, I raise my arms to the sky, my voice echoing through the clearing:

"Á mátt jarðarinnar og himnanna, gerið mig heill að eilífu!"

("By the power of the earth and the heavens, make me whole for eternity!")

The circle flares with blinding light, and the energy surges into me like a tidal wave. I collapse to my knees, gasping for breath, but I can feel it—magic, flowing freely once more.

I've done it.

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