the legacy of A Past Life

Silence hung heavy in Alaric's office after Hope finished speaking, an uncomfortable emptiness that seemed to swallow the air between her and Ethan. The door still echoed the metallic sound of Alaric and MG leaving, taking Landon to the dungeon. Ethan stood still, his fists clenched, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on a random point on the table, the hum in his bones vibrating low, like an engine that wouldn't turn off. Hope stood with her arms crossed, the leather bracelet brushing against her dark coat, her blue eyes studying him silently, waiting for a reaction.

He took a deep breath, the flame of the fight still there, but now mixed with something he couldn't name—confusion, maybe, or just exhaustion from so many revelations. Clark, Tory, Virgil… it was too much to swallow all at once. The silence dragged on, and Ethan, who almost never joked, felt a strange urge. He snorted, breaking the tension with a forced half-smile, and looked at Hope. "So, you mean this place is like… what? A magic school? Are you going to teach me how to do wand tricks now?"

Hope blinked, surprised by his tone, but one corner of her mouth lifted, almost a smile. "Not quite," she said, her voice firm but with a hint of lightness. "There are no wands. Magic here is more… visceral. It comes from within, not from a piece of wood." She unfolded her arms, tilting her head. "Why? Are you trying to learn a spell, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

Ethan shrugged, the half smile still there, but his eyes shining with a curiosity he couldn't hide. "I don't know. If I'm this 'wizard' you think I am, what can I do? Like, shoot fire from my hands? Make things fly? Or is it just a bunch of useless Latin words?" He leaned back against the table, his heavy boots tapping on the wooden floor, testing it, but also intrigued.

Hope laughed softly, a short but warm sound, and took a step closer. "You're on the right track, but it's not that simple. Fire from your hands? Maybe, if you're good. Making things fly? More common than you think. But it's not just speaking Latin—it's intention, energy. Want to try?" She raised an eyebrow, challenging him back.

Ethan tilted his head, the buzzing in his bones pulsing a little louder, as if responding to her invitation. "Okay, show me then. What's the easiest trick? I don't want to burn the place down… yet." He crossed his arms, mimicking her without realizing it, his playful tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Hope picked up a pencil from Alaric's desk, holding it in her palm. "Levitation," she said simply. "Focus on the pencil. Imagine it rising, light, as if it weighed nothing. You don't have to say anything, just… want it to rise." She looked at him, waiting.

Ethan frowned, feeling a little ridiculous, but he reached out anyway. He stared at the pencil, his heterochromatic eyes narrowing, the buzzing in his bones vibrating louder. He tried, imagining the pencil rising, but nothing happened. The pencil sat there, motionless, mocking him. He huffed in frustration. "Okay, this is harder than it looks. It's not going to happen."

Hope took a step closer, her gaze softening. "Calm down, it's normal at first," she said, her voice firm but gentle. She reached out and placed her hand over his, her fingers warm against his, guiding him. "Try again. Feel the pencil, don't just think about it. I'll help you." Her presence was steady, almost magnetic, and the buzzing in his bones seemed to align with something coming from her.

Ethan took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the pencil, now feeling the warmth of her hand on his. He imagined the pencil rising, light as a feather, and this time the buzzing in his bones pulsed louder, almost in tune with Hope's. The pencil trembled, hesitant, and rose an inch before falling back into her hand. His eyes widened, his heart racing. "That… was me?"

Hope nodded, a gleam of surprise in her blue eyes as she slowly removed her hand. "It was you. With a little push from me, but it was you. See? It's not a trick. It's you." She set her pencil back down, her tone growing serious for a moment. "Not bad for someone who thinks it's all Latin."

Ethan snorted, the half smile returning. "Okay, I'm a magical genius with help, write that down." He paused, the playfulness holding for a moment longer, but then his eyes hardened, curiosity returning with a vengeance. He unfolded his arms, leaning forward a little. "But seriously… what do you know about Clark? My dad. And this Virgil, his twin brother. What's he like? Where is he?"

Hope was quiet for a second, her blue eyes narrowing as she assessed him. "Clark…" she began, her voice lower. "My father, Klaus, said he was unique in the world. Half witch, half werewolf—a different kind of werewolf, and also half vampire—a unique mix that no one back then had. Powerful, but unstable. My father said Clark was a force of nature, but too dangerous to be around." She paused, her gaze distant for a moment before returning to Ethan. "Virgil is a little taller than you, brown hair, blue eyes like mine. He's intense, a little wild at times. When my mother died, he couldn't handle it. He went out into the world, running from everything and everyone. It's been a while since I've spoken to him."

Ethan took a step closer, his heterochromatic eyes locked on hers, the buzzing in his bones pulsing in a way he couldn't ignore. "One of a kind, huh?" he murmured, almost to himself, before looking up at her. "And you? What are you, Hope? You talk about Clark being unique in magic, but I feel something coming from you. It's strong, like there's something inside you that's not yet awake. What are you really?"

Hope froze, her blue eyes widening for a moment before narrowing, as if he'd touched a nerve. "What am I?" he repeated, his tone firm but wary. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "I'm a Mikaelson. Daughter of Klaus and Hayley. A witch on my grandmother's side, but… there's more. Things I can't talk about right now. And if you're feeling something, maybe it's because you have a piece of Clark in you—or maybe I'm not as simple as I seem." She hesitated, her eyes fixed on his. "But it's not dormant. It's just… quiet."

Ethan was silent, processing her words, the buzzing in his bones still dancing as if he were trying to reach something. Hope took a step back, breaking the moment. "Come on," she said, her voice lighter now, almost an invitation. "Let's take a tour of the school. You really need to see this place." She opened the door, waiting for him to follow.

He hesitated for a second, but nodded, his boots echoing on the floor as he followed her out. The boarding school hallways were alive with students coming and going, and as soon as Ethan appeared, eyes began to turn to him. It wasn't just because he was new—he was damn handsome, with a presence that was impossible to ignore. His messy hair, his firm body beneath his jacket, and most of all, those heterochromatic eyes—one green, one blue—that seemed to glow in the dim light. Students stopped, some whispered, others just stared, curious or impressed.

Hope walked beside him, pointing things out here and there—"that's where the witches train, that's where the wolves gather"—but every now and then her eyes would slip to his. She would get lost in them, without meaning to. They weren't just eyes. Something in her was drawn to them, as if they were hiding more than Ethan knew—something special, something deep, that she didn't yet understand. She would look away quickly, trying to focus, but the feeling would stay, an invisible thread that tied her to him.

Ethan noticed the others' stares, but shrugged, the half smile returning. "What? Haven't you seen a guy with two different eyes before?" he joked, looking at Hope. She laughed softly, shaking her head, but didn't respond, her blue eyes returning to his for a moment longer before moving on.

In the dungeon, Landon woke, his head throbbing as if he'd been punched. The stone floor was cold against his back, the air damp and heavy. He sat up slowly, his brown curls falling over his eyes, and tried to focus on the darkness. "Where am I?" he murmured, his hoarse voice echoing off the walls. He saw iron bars on the door and a shadow on the other side—MG, standing guard. "Hey, man," Landon called, scrambling to his feet. "Get me out of here. I didn't do anything to deserve this."

MG turned his head, his bright eyes wavering. "I… I can't, Landon," he said, his voice low. "Dr. Saltzman's orders. But relax, it's just until he gets back." He shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable.

Landon huffed, leaning against the wall. "Relax? You guys knocked me down! This isn't normal." He looked around, his eyes adjusting, and noticed a scratch in the stone—a crooked symbol, like a cut-out circle. Something in him shivered, but he didn't know why.