The Boy King's Journey in TVD/TO As A Mikaelson

The cave, once a place of refuge and solace, now felt like a tomb. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the bitter remnants of the battle. The fire had dimmed, casting long shadows that flickered and danced like specters across the stone walls.

The soft rustle of wind outside and the distant howls of wolves in the forest beyond only deepened the sense of unease that clung to the family. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to unfold.

Henrik lay unconscious, his small body wrapped in blankets and his injured arm still wrapped hastily with strips of cloth. The wound, though not fatal, was deep enough to worry the family, its edges crusted with blood. His pale face was tense, his brow furrowed in pain even in his sleep.

The other Mikaelson children gathered near the fire, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and worry. Niklaus, his usual bravado tempered by fear, sat with his arms crossed, his gaze distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He kept glancing at Henrik, his thoughts tormented by what could have happened in the forest if Vali hadn't arrived in time.

Elijah, ever the mediator, sat beside Niklaus, his eyes dark with concern but with a composure that barely hid the storm beneath. His mind raced with questions -- how had the wolves found them, when that never happened before? Why had they been so aggressive tonight? The danger had been close, too close. His instincts told him this wasn't just a random attack. There was something more to it. But what?

Rebekah sat on the opposite side of the fire, her knees drawn up to her chest. She watched Henrik with quiet sorrow in her eyes, her heart aching for her youngest brother. But even as she tended to his wounds, a flicker of rage gnawed at her. Why had they been so reckless? Niklaus had been the one to lead Henrik out there in the first place. And why hadn't Vali been there to stop them before things got so far?

Vali, who usually kept to the edges of the group, sharpening his axe or disappearing into the wilderness to brood, was even more distant tonight. He sat apart from the others, his sharp eyes scanning the entrance to the cave as if waiting for something -- anything -- to happen. But his mind was elsewhere. He could feel the mark on his arm pulsing faintly, a quiet whisper that warned him of an impending storm, something far worse than any battle they'd faced before. He could feel it in his bones, deep in his soul, like the steady hum of an ancient drum.

Vali's hand gripped the edge of his axe, his knuckles white. The thought that something was off had been growing stronger throughout the evening, a strange sensation like someone watching from the shadows. The others had been so focused on Henrik's injury and their own fears that no one seemed to notice the quiet shift in the air.

It was then that the silence was broken by footsteps echoing from outside the cave. The sound was muffled at first, but quickly grew louder. The brothers exchanged wary glances.

"Father..." Niklaus began with a whisper, his voice tight with apprehension. "What is Father doing?"

Rebekah, who had been whispering comforting words to Henrik, looked up sharply, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

But it was Elijah who answered, his voice low. "He's been acting strange tonight, hasn't he? Haven't you noticed it?"

Niklaus nodded slowly, though his thoughts were elsewhere, torn between the urgency of Henrik's injury and the strange, unsettling feeling that had settled in his stomach. They had all known their father to be ruthless, but tonight there was something different -- something cold and calculating in the way he had looked at them earlier, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Vali's jaw tightened, but his gaze remained fixed on the entrance to the cave. He knew something was wrong. The mark on his arm burned now, the sensation sharp and unfamiliar. It felt as though something ancient was stirring, something that was not of this world. He had always trusted his instincts, but tonight they screamed at him, warning him of a danger that was beyond anything he had ever faced.

The cave door creaked open slowly, the hinges protesting under the weight of the darkness. In stepped Mikael, his tall form silhouetted against the moonlight that spilled through the cracks in the stone. His eyes -- those cold, unfeeling eyes -- swept over the gathered family, but there was no warmth in his gaze. No relief. Only something darker, something more sinister.

The family tensed at the sight of him. Elijah's eyes narrowed, his hand subtly reaching for the dagger at his waist, while Niklaus instinctively straightened, his jaw set in a firm line. Rebekah glanced at Vali, her eyes wide with a mixture of worry and confusion. Even Henrik, still unconscious, seemed to sense something in the air, his brow twitching, though his eyes remained closed.

The air in the cave was thick with tension, the usual warmth of the fire flickering eerily in the silence. The siblings stood in a tight, uneasy circle, their gazes darting from one another to their father. Mikael stood before them, an expression of resolve carved into his features, though his eyes flickered with something softer -- a flicker of love veiled beneath the coldness of his actions.

"Father…" Elijah began, his voice laden with suspicion. His brow furrowed as he looked at the goblets in Mikael's hands, the shimmering liquid within them reflecting the dim light of the fire. The air around them seemed to pulse with a strange energy, one that made his instincts scream for caution.

"Father, what are you doing?" Rebekah's voice was fragile, laced with uncertainty. Her gaze, wide and apprehensive, shifted to the dark liquid in one goblet and the glowing light in the other, that their father for some reason has brought with him, directing it in their direction as if beckoning them to drink.

Mikael's lips curled into a small, affectionate smile as he looked at his children. His voice was warm, yet carried a sharp edge, a command veiled in the guise of concern.

"You've all been so brave. I've watched you grow stronger, each of you. But I cannot let you remain vulnerable any longer. You are my children. You must be more. Stronger. Unbreakable. I would not be a father if I let you fall behind." His gaze rested on each of them in turn, his eyes filled with a genuine but chilling care.

Elijah's expression hardened, suspicion growing as he stood tall, his body tense. "What do you mean, Father?"

"It is time for you to drink this," Mikael said softly, his voice now almost tender as he extended the goblets to his children. "It will make you stronger. It will protect you."

The firelight danced in the reflection of the goblets, casting the shadows of his family long and distorted. His words, though gentle, had the weight of finality.

"Father, I don't trust this," Elijah continued, his voice firm with uncertainty. He knew it must be some form of magic. But his instincts were telling him to run, yet fear also froze him.

Vali stepped forward, his gaze unwavering, and for a brief moment, his sharp instincts flared. "Father," he said, his tone laced with a silent warning, "What is truly in those goblets?"

For a moment, Mikael hesitated, as if struck by the question. Then, his hand clenched around the goblets, his eyes softened ever so slightly. "It is what you need, my son. What you deserve."

The silence stretched as Esther, standing at the edge of the chamber, met her husband's gaze. Her eyes were filled with a profound sadness, yet they carried a resignation, a silent agreement. She stepped forward then, her fingers trembling as she reached into the air. A soft, eerie glow began to form around her hands as she wove her magic through the room, an invisible force settling over each of her children.

"Mother," Rebekah whispered, her voice tight with fear. "What are you doing?"

"I am protecting you," Esther whispered, her voice barely audible, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I cannot let you resist him."

With a flick of her wrist, her magic spread through their bodies, binding them. The siblings stood frozen in place, their limbs stiff and unyielding. They were paralyzed, not by force, but by an overwhelming compulsion, their minds unable to break free from Esther's spell.

Mikael moved with cold efficiency, walking towards each of them with quiet steps. He reached first for Elijah, holding the goblet gently but firmly in his hand. His voice was steady, yet beneath it carried a deep, fatherly love.

"Elijah," Mikael said, his eyes softening, "This is for you, for our family. You must trust me."

Mikael moved with cold efficiency, his footsteps reverberating in the silence of the room like a grim countdown. The weight of the moment hung thick in the air, each breath more labored than the last. He had always been the force that held the family together, but today, he was the one who would tear them apart.

His movements were slow, deliberate -- every gesture carefully calculated, as though he were a man administering a final, necessary act, something to be done without hesitation or mercy. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched, but there was a flicker in them when they met Elijah's gaze.

Elijah stood with his back straight, though every muscle in his body screamed to run, to fight, to protect his family. The truth had already settled in his chest like a stone, but still, his heart thudded erratically against it. The man before him was both his father and the executioner, and it was too much to comprehend, too much to bear.

Mikael reached for the goblet with a sure, unshakable hand. His fingers tightened around the rim, the silver surface gleaming coldly in the dim light of the room. The liquid within shimmered ominously, its color dark and heavy.

For a brief moment, Mikael's gaze softened, and Elijah could see the smallest trace of something in his father's eyes -- something that might have been love, or regret, or perhaps the recognition of a family torn apart by years of pain. But that fleeting softness was quickly replaced by a steely resolve.

"Elijah," Mikael's voice was steady, yet beneath the harshness of his words, there was a tone that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. "This is for you, for our family. You must trust me."

Elijah's breath hitched. His father's words struck like a blow, sharp and unexpected. Trust. Trust. How could he trust the man who had decided to end them? The man who had in Elijah's eyes never once shown mercy, never once allowed for understanding to seep into his cruel heart. There was no trust to be found here, only cold authority. Only a father who believed his children needed to be broken, molded into something else, something he could control.

"I can't," Elijah whispered, his voice trembling despite himself. His pulse raced in his ears, deafening him to everything else in the room. He could feel the eyes of his siblings on him, the weight of their fear pressing down on him, but he couldn't make himself look at them. His gaze was locked on Mikael, on the goblet in his father's hand.

Mikael did not respond, but there was no cruelty in the silence that followed, just an unyielding sense of inevitability. With a steady, practiced motion, Mikael tilted the goblet toward Elijah's lips, his grip firm, yet gentler than it had ever been in all their years together.

Elijah's body fought against the restraint of Esther's magic, every instinct screaming for him to pull away, to shout, to run. But his muscles betrayed him, stiffening under the weight of unseen forces. He could not move, could not break free. The goblet's rim touched his lips, cool and unyielding. The scent of the liquid was faint -- sweet, almost, but something darker lingered underneath, something foreign, something wrong.

"Please, Father," Elijah managed to whisper, though his voice broke. "Don't do this."

Mikael's expression flickered for a fraction of a second, and Elijah swore he saw something -- something like pity -- before his father's expression hardened once again, his face resolute.

The liquid slipped past Elijah's lips, cold and unforgiving. At first, there was nothing. Just the silence. The bitter aftertaste of the poison settled in his mouth, and for one brief, horrifying moment, Elijah thought he had miscalculated. That maybe, just maybe, his father was wrong.

But then it hit him. The cold spread first in his chest, then down to his limbs, an icy numbness that took hold of him with a brutal intensity. His heart fluttered unsteadily, like a bird caught in a cage, and every inch of him seemed to freeze under the assault. He gasped, eyes wide, his chest tightening as though invisible hands were squeezing the life from him.

"What- what have you done?" Elijah's words were choked, panic flooding his veins. He struggled to breathe, his breath coming in shallow, painful gasps.

Mikael's face remained stoic as ever, his gaze unwavering. There was no hesitation, no sorrow, only the cold resolve of a man who had made his decision.

"I love you, Elijah," Mikael murmured, his voice low, quieter now, as though trying to offer some comfort, some final assurance. But it was no comfort. It was in Elijah's eyes a final, final lie -- a justification that meant nothing in the face of his agony. The poison was working its way through him faster now, seizing his limbs, filling his throat with a burning, suffocating heat.

"No... no, you can't... love me," Elijah gasped, his body convulsing as the poison set fire to his insides. He tried to speak, to shout at his father, to demand to know why, but the words caught in his throat, as though the very air around him had turned to stone.

Mikael's eyes softened, but it was too little, too late. His voice was quiet but resolute, carrying the weight of his unshakable belief in what he had done.

"This is the only way, Elijah." His words hung in the air like a death sentence, final and irreversible. "You will understand, in time. This is for our family."

Elijah felt his knees buckle, the force of the poison making his limbs betray him, and as he collapsed to the cold stone floor, his vision blurred, the world fading at the edges. Through the haze of panic and dread, he could hear the faint sound of his father's voice, but it was distant now, almost unreal.

"You will thank me someday," Mikael said, but Elijah didn't hear the finality in his words, didn't feel the sorrow behind them. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, slowing with each beat, until-

His world went black.

Next, he moved to Kol, his hands as gentle as before, though his eyes carried a shadow of something darker as he extended the goblet to his second son. Kol's lip curled, but he, too, was helpless against the restraining magic Esther wove around them.

"You can't do this, Father. We trust you -- how could you betray us like this?" Kol hissed, his voice defiant. 

Kol had always been the wild one. The one who didn't care for Mikael's orders, who thrived on chaos and defiance. Unlike Elijah, Kol had never been the protector, nor had he ever sought his father's approval in the same way. He resented Mikael's cruelty, resented the control he had over their lives, but deep down -- there had always been something else. Something he could never quite shake.

As Mikael stood before him, Kol couldn't help but feel the sting of betrayal. Mikael had always used them as pawns in some sick game, but now, to see his father acting with such coldness… it was unbearable.

"Father," Kol muttered, continuing, but there was no respect in his voice. "This is madness. You can't honestly believe that this is the right path. We've done everything you wanted. We've suffered for you, and for what? To drink death at your hands?"

Mikael's gaze hardened, and Kol saw it in his father's eyes -- nothing had ever mattered to Mikael more than control. Nothing had ever mattered more than power. And now, it seemed, Mikael believed this to be the ultimate way to solidify his family's fate.

"You always were the wild one, Kol," Mikael said, his voice cold but tinged with something else -- frustration? Regret? "Too rebellious. Too defiant. You never understood discipline. You always fought against the one person who tried to give you the guidance you so desperately needed."

Kol let out a hollow laugh, bitterness in every syllable. "Guidance? You call this guidance? You're nothing but a tyrant who never cared about us. You've never been a father. Not once."

Mikael's jaw clenched at Kol's words, but he did not respond. He had made his decision, and Kol was to pay for every act of defiance in his life. Kol had never feared death, had always mocked it, but now, with Mikael standing before him, goblet in hand, he could taste the inevitability of it. The poison was not just in the goblet. It was in everything his father had ever done to them.

"No more speeches, Kol," Mikael said with finality, his hand gripping Kol's jaw, forcing his head back.

Kol struggled against the invisible magic holding him in place, but his body could not resist. His breath quickened, panic rising, but it did no good.

"Father, I'm not your puppet," Kol spat, his voice hoarse with a mix of anger and fear. "I won't drink that."

But it was too late. Mikael's hand was steady as he tipped the goblet, forcing the liquid past Kol's lips. The moment it hit his mouth, Kol felt his body rebel against him, the poison sinking deep into his veins, spreading like wildfire. He felt it all -- the burn of betrayal, the cold grip of death creeping in, and the sickening realization that there was no escape.

Kol's body went rigid, and his knees buckled as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor. His breath came in shallow, labored gasps, and his eyes burned with the agony of what his father had done.

"Why, Father?" Kol whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief. "Why did you have to do this?"

Mikael's expression softened for a moment, just a moment, before he turned away, unable to meet his son's gaze. "You'll understand, in time, Kol."

But Kol didn't care. He was fading fast, his body succumbing to the poison, the world around him slipping away. All he could feel was the sting of abandonment, the coldness of his father's love -- a love that had always been conditional, always had a price.

Mikael turned towards Rebekah, his gaze softening just for a moment as he saw the flicker of fear in her eyes. She had always been the most fragile, the most vulnerable, the one who needed protection, yet he knew that this act -- this poison -- was something that would grant her the strength she had always yearned for.

"Rebekah," he said, his voice unusually gentle, "I know you have always longed for something more than what you've been given. You will have that strength now, I promise you."

Rebekah shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. "Father, please -- please, don't make me drink that." Her voice cracked, the terror in her eyes clear as she struggled against the invisible binds of Esther's magic. "I don't understand. What is this? What are you doing?"

Mikael's expression remained steady, but there was a flicker of sorrow, of something that could almost be mistaken for regret. "I'm doing this because I love you, Rebekah. I've always loved you. This is the only way to ensure your survival, your strength. You will be stronger for it."

Rebekah's eyes welled with tears, her lips trembling. "You're my father, you're supposed to protect me, not… not do this. Please, I don't want this. Don't make me."

The desperation in her voice pierced the air, but Mikael's grip on the goblet tightened, his resolve unwavering. He stepped closer to her, his voice unwavering, though there was a sadness in it that could not be masked.

"You have always been my little girl, Rebekah. And it is because of that love that I must do this," he said softly, though his hands were firm as he tipped the goblet to her lips.

"Please, Father," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper, her face streaked with tears. "I don't want to die. I don't want to lose myself."

The poison already simmered in the goblet, dark and dangerous. Mikael's hands were steady as he pressed the rim to her lips, his face an unreadable mask. "You will not die. You will live, Rebekah. But you must be strong. You must be more than what you are now. For our family. For me."

Rebekah, still locked in place by her mother's magic, felt the pressure of her father's hand against her chin, the cool touch of the goblet pressing into her skin. She fought the urge to gag as the liquid touched her lips, the warmth and the sharpness of it making her stomach twist.

"Father, please…" Her voice was a strangled plea. "I beg you… don't-"

But Mikael was unmoved. His eyes were filled with something unreadable, but there was no hesitation in his actions. With a firm, unyielding hand, he tipped the goblet, forcing the liquid past her lips. Rebekah's eyes widened in terror as the poison slid down her throat, her body reacting immediately, her chest tightening with each painful breath.

"No! No, please-" Rebekah gasped, her limbs trembling, her voice rising in panic. "Father, you've-"

Her words broke off into strangled sobs as the poison coursed through her veins, turning her vision to darkness. The liquid felt like fire, cold and burning all at once, spreading through her body like a spreading ice storm. The ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble as her body went rigid, her chest constricting in agony.

Mikael stood before her, watching her collapse to her knees, the strength draining from her frame. His heart clenched at the sight, but his face betrayed no emotion, no regret. Only a calm, silent understanding.

"I love you, Rebekah," he whispered, his voice barely audible above her frantic gasps for breath. "You will be strong. You'll be unstoppable."

Rebekah's eyes fluttered, the poison pulling her into unconsciousness. The terror in her eyes remained as her words faltered one last time. "Father... why? I trusted you…"

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, the last trace of defiance flickering in her before she succumbed to the dark magic. Her body went still, the warmth of life draining from her as the poison took its hold, sealing her fate.

Mikael looked at her, his hand still outstretched, but his gaze hardened into something colder, something that could not be undone. "Trust me, Rebekah," he said quietly. "In time, you will see this was the only way."

Esther stood by, her eyes filled with anguish as she watched their daughter's suffering. She felt the weight of her husband's actions more deeply than anyone, but she was powerless to stop him now. It was done. There was no turning back.

Mikael's eyes moved to Niklaus next. The tension in the air thickened, as though the very earth was holding its breath. Niklaus had always been the wild one, the one who could not be easily controlled, the one who resented Mikael most for the punishments he had endured throughout his life.

"Father, no," Niklaus growled, his voice low and filled with barely contained fury. His hand flexed around the hilt of the dagger at his side, but it was useless against the magic that held him in place. He had spent years defying Mikael, years trying to escape his grasp, but now, here in this dark, twisted moment, there was no escape.

Mikael looked at his son with cold, calculating eyes. "Niklaus," he said, his voice eerily calm. "I've always protected you, even when you couldn't understand why. This... this is for your own good. For all of us."

Niklaus' heart raced, his mind swirling. He could feel the poison creeping closer, the bitter knowledge of what was to come settling like a stone in his stomach. His eyes flicked to Henrik, still unconscious and pale, and then to Rebekah, lying motionless on the floor. Panic clawed at his chest.

"You're not doing this," Niklaus spat, his voice thick with defiance. "I won't let you."

Mikael's grip tightened on the goblet, his jaw clenching. "You've always been difficult, Niklaus. Always questioning, always resisting. But this time, you'll obey me. You'll see that I've always known what was best for you. Always."

Niklaus' mind raced, the words biting at him like wolves snapping at his heels. He had never felt more betrayed in his life. He had always feared Mikael's anger, but now there was an emptiness in his father's eyes -- a coldness that no words could explain.

"You're nothing but a tyrant," Niklaus snarled, his voice breaking with the weight of all the years of torment. "You're no father to me. You never were."

Mikael stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. There was no mercy in them now. "I've given you everything, Niklaus. And you've never understood it. You're too blinded by your own anger, your own resentment. Drink this, and you will see the truth."

Niklaus struggled against the magic that held him, his limbs stiff and unwilling, but Mikael's power was stronger. With a cold, swift motion, Mikael lifted the goblet to Niklaus' lips, forcing it close, his hand firm around Niklaus' jaw.

"No!" Niklaus cried, his voice rising in desperation. He twisted his head, trying to break free, but it was useless. The taste of metal and poison filled his mouth as Mikael tipped the goblet, forcing the liquid past his lips.

Niklaus' eyes burned with rage, with a fury so intense it threatened to consume him. The moment the poison hit his tongue, the cold fire spread through his veins, and his body stiffened, an involuntary cry tearing from his throat. His vision blurred, and the poison, like a knife twisting in his gut, began to overwhelm him. The world spun, as though the earth itself was tilting beneath him, and the pain gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

He could feel it in every fiber of his being -- the burn, the slow suffocation of life. He gasped for air, but there was none to be found. His body felt heavy, sinking, his limbs betraying him. His voice cracked as he tried to speak, his words broken and distorted by the poison.

"F-Father... why?" His voice was hoarse, each word a battle against the poison and the shock of betrayal that burned even more fiercely than the venom now coursing through his blood.

Mikael looked at him, his face an emotionless mask, yet there was a flicker of something in his eyes -- something almost imperceptible, like regret or sorrow. But it was fleeting, gone before it could be acknowledged. His hand was still firmly on the goblet, his grip unyielding.

"You will understand in time, Niklaus," Mikael said quietly, his voice almost distant, as if speaking from another world. "This is for our survival. For our strength. This is the only way."

Niklaus' body trembled, his skin cold, sweat beading on his forehead. The world around him was fading, his body buckling beneath the weight of the poison. He felt the ground beneath his knees give way as he slumped forward, unable to hold himself upright any longer.

"No..." he breathed, a broken whisper, his mind spinning with the sharp edges of reality and the dark promise of death.

But Mikael's grip never faltered, his hand lifting from Niklaus' face as he allowed his son to fall, collapsing like a ragdoll onto the floor. His breathing was shallow, ragged.

For a moment, there was silence. Mikael stared down at him, as though considering what had just transpired. His son, the one who had so often defied him, was now brought low by his own hand, by his love -- this twisted love that Mikael believed would save them all.

And yet, as he gazed at Niklaus, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, there was something in his eyes that could not be denied. A flicker of sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Niklaus," Mikael whispered, though he knew his son could not hear him. "But I must do this -- for you. For all of us."

Mikael's steps were measured as he approached Finn. There was no hesitation in his movements --only the quiet weight of his purpose. The ritual was nearing its end, and the air felt heavier with each passing second, each step that brought him closer to the final son he had to break. 

Finn stood tall, his eyes locked with Mikael's, unwavering. But beneath his defiant gaze, there was something else -- something strained, something fragile. He had always been the most sensitive, the most compassionate of Mikael's children save Niklaus. It was that very tenderness that made the task before Mikael the hardest, for unlike Klaus, Finn never let it become weakness.

If there was one child who might still look to him for guidance, for approval, it was Finn. And yet, here they were, standing on opposite sides, a gulf of betrayal and duty separating them.

Mikael stopped before Finn, the goblet held firmly in his hand, its contents shimmering with lethal intent. He could see the tremor in Finn's jaw, the silent battle waging behind his eyes. Finn's hands were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with the effort to contain his emotion. He knew what was coming. He had known it for some time. But that didn't make it any easier to face.

"Finn," Mikael spoke softly, the tone of his voice betraying a slight hesitation, the first sign of the father he had been, the father he had tried to be. But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow. Finn was no longer the child Mikael had once held in his arms. He had grown into something else, something Mikael had been unable to control, unable to bend to his will. 

Finn's voice was tight, barely a whisper, yet there was a clear defiance in it. "No, Father," he said, shaking his head, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his gaze unwavering. "I will not drink from that goblet. I will not accept this."

The sorrow in Finn's voice hit Mikael harder than any shout, harder than any curse. He had failed, in every sense, and yet the decision had been made long before they stood here now. There was no room for sentiment, no space for mercy. Not anymore.

Mikael stepped closer, his face inscrutable. He could feel the warmth of Finn's breath, the silent plea in the young man's eyes, and yet there was no room for that. His hand reached out, steady, and with one swift motion, he lifted the goblet to Finn's lips.

"I love you, Finn," Mikael said, and this time the words were heavy with a weight Finn could never have understood. The words were not meant to console, but to seal a final, unbreakable bond. This was the only way, the only chance to redeem them all. "This is for you. For our family."

Finn recoiled slightly, but he was held fast by Esther's magic, his body stiff and unyielding. He could feel the warm sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them down. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched fists betraying the battle between heart and mind.

"No," he said again, his voice breaking this time. "You've lost your way, Father. You've lost us all."

Mikael's grip on the goblet tightened, the cold silver of the cup pressed firmly against Finn's lips. The poison inside shimmered, deadly and irrevocable. Finn could feel the cold metal against his skin, the finality in it.

His breath hitched as Mikael's eyes softened for the briefest of moments, but the softness was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. Finn could not look away from the goblet, could not escape the inevitability. The father he had once known was long gone. There was no escape from this moment. There was only the poison, the darkness waiting.

With a swift motion, Mikael tilted the goblet, and the liquid slid past Finn's lips. The coldness of the liquid made his body shudder, his chest tightening in protest. For a moment, there was only the sensation of it -- a cold, burning presence that seemed to linger on his tongue, bitter and wrong. But then the poison took hold.

Finn's body froze, his muscles locking up, and a deep, bone-chilling cold rushed through his veins. His heart faltered, skipping a beat, then slowing, as though his entire existence was being siphoned away, piece by piece. The edges of his vision blurred, the air thickened, and he gasped for breath, though it felt as though his chest were being pressed in by an invisible weight.

"Father," Finn gasped, his voice rasping, desperate, but Mikael only stared down at him. His face was calm, almost serene, as though he had made peace with the decision. But Finn could see it now -- the conflict, the love that still lingered, even as it was buried beneath layers of conviction.

"I love you, Finn," Mikael repeated, his voice softer now, though it didn't ease the pain. "You will understand, in time. This is the only way to protect you, to protect us all."

Finn wanted to shout, wanted to scream in defiance, to demand that Mikael see what he had done to them all, what he had destroyed. But the poison continued to tighten its grip, and his voice failed him, the words dying in his throat.

"You are my son," Mikael continued, his tone quieter now, softer -- like a whisper of regret that would never be heard. "And you are part of this family. You always will be."

But Finn could no longer hear the words. His vision dimmed, the edges of the world folding in on themselves as the poison consumed him. His limbs went numb, his body sagging under its weight, and as the last breath left his body, he crumpled to the floor, his eyes finally closing in the painful silence.

Mikael stood over him, his expression unreadable, as he watched his son collapse. It was done. The family was breaking, one by one. 

But the mission would not waver.

"Rest now, Finn," Mikael murmured quietly, almost to himself. "Rest, for the family."

And as he turned toward Vali, the final child, Mikael's steps were resolute. There was nothing left to lose.

Mikael's steps were heavy as he finally approached Vali, his third born, the son who had always been the most loyal, the most steadfast in their shared cause. For years, Mikael had believed that his bond with Vali was unbreakable, that this son, the warrior, would be the one to carry his legacy. But now, in the face of his children's demise, everything had become distorted. The world had shifted, and Vali was the last piece that remained.

Vali's eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze locking onto his father's with an intensity that was unwavering. The tension in the air was thick, palpable. He could feel his father's sorrow, but also the finality that Mikael had come to terms with. There was no escape. 

"You will make me proud, Vali," Mikael said, his voice quiet, yet the words carried a weight that hung heavy between them. "I have only ever wanted to make you strong, to ensure our survival."

Vali's chest tightened, frustration coursing through him. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, to understand why his father was doing this. But the power of Esther's magic had bound him, and his body refused to move. The words caught in his throat, his breath shallow as he fought the urge to break free.

Mikael's expression was unreadable as he reached for the goblet, his hands steady as he tipped it to Vali's lips. He said nothing more, but his actions spoke volumes. 

The liquid slid down Vali's throat, but nothing happened. There was no immediate reaction. Vali's body fought the poison, the effects slow to take hold. His rage intensified as he glared at his father. He finally began to start to overpower the hold of his mother's magic through sheer rage.

Esther's voice soon rang out, sharp and filled with urgency.

"The poison isn't working! You need to kill him yourself, Mikael!"

The words cut through the thick silence like a knife, but Vali barely registered them. His gaze was fixed on the carnage that surrounded him -- his siblings, one by one, collapsing to the ground as the poison tore through their bodies. The horror of their deaths was unbearable, and Vali's heart pounded with disbelief.

"Why?" Vali gasped with rage as he continued to break free, the question more to himself than anyone else. His mind was reeling, the loss of his siblings washing over him like a storm. The weight of it was so overwhelming that the Mark, which had guided him through every moment of his life, fell silent for the first time.

Vali was distracted, his focus torn between his father and the horrific scene unfolding before him. He barely noticed Mikael's hand, already drawing his sword, until it was too late.

Mikael's instincts overtook his grief. With swift efficiency, he lunged forward, driving the sword into Vali's chest. The blade cut deep -- through muscle, bone, and the very essence of their bond. Vali's eyes widened, shock and pain flashing across his face as the steel tore through him. Blood spilled from his mouth, splattering across Mikael's shoulder as the blade sank deeper.

But Vali did not fall -- not immediately. He remained standing, his hands trembling at his sides, his breath ragged as his body fought to hold on.

"Father…" Vali whispered, his voice weak, the shock evident in his eyes as he looked at Mikael. His body was rigid, but his mind was reeling, struggling to process what had just happened. The betrayal was too much to comprehend.

Mikael stood motionless, his sword still embedded in Vali's chest. The grip he had on the hilt was firm, but his heart was breaking. For the first time in his life, Mikael truly saw his son not as the warrior he had raised, but as a boy who had trusted him completely, only to be let down in the most unforgivable way. Vali's bloodlust had fallen away, replaced by confusion, disbelief, and a sorrow so deep it threatened to drown them both.

Vali's gaze locked onto Mikael's, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping his lips despite the agony that wracked his body. The words came slowly, but with such venom that they felt like daggers.

"So... so this is it, then?" Vali rasped, each word a struggle. "You've decided to finish it yourself? Finally decided to join mother in her quest to kill me? All these years, her poisons and curses failing... and the one person I thought loved me most is the one who kills me."

Mikael's heart twisted, but his grip on the sword remained unyielding. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his son, from the raw pain in his expression. For a moment, Mikael felt as if he were drowning in grief, unsure of where his emotions ended and his duty began. His mind confused by his son' words.

Vali, however, wasn't done. With a final surge of strength, he pushed against the sword, forcing it deeper into his chest, as if seeking the release that only death could bring. His body trembled violently, his blood pooling beneath him as he sputtered, his voice thick with pain.

"I was the abomination… wasn't I?" Vali's words were barely more than a whisper, but they cut to the core.

Mikael's breath hitched, his own heart breaking at the question, the pain in his son's voice unmistakable. Vali's eyes widened, filled with both pain and confusion, as he met Mikael's gaze.

"What about them? What did my siblings do? What was their crime, Father? They were innocent…"

Mikael's throat tightened, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. The words of his son reverberated in his mind, but his mouth was dry, his response nothing more than a whisper. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be... Vali."

The realization that the poison had failed, that his son had resisted death when the others had succumbed, filled Mikael with a quiet horror. He had wanted to end this quickly, but now he was caught in a moment of uncertainty. This wasn't what he wanted. He hadn't wanted to kill Vali with his own hands, yet here he was, unable to stop.

"I didn't want this," Mikael said, his voice cracking, the sorrow breaking through the facade he had kept so carefully intact. He hadn't wanted this for his children. He hadn't wanted to be the one to end their lives.

But there was no other choice. There never had been. The sword had to remain in place.

Vali's breathing grew slower, weaker, each gasping breath more labored than the last. His body began to grow still, the fight draining from him as his final moments stretched on.

With a final, guttural sigh, Vali's body went limp in Mikael's arms, the light draining from his eyes as life left him. Mikael stood over his son's lifeless form, the sword still buried in his chest, and for the first time in his life, he could not reconcile the person he had been with the person he had become. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, suffocating him in a way nothing else had ever done.

Finally, he pulled out his sword and moved to Henrik, the youngest. The boy, still too young, was untouched by the poisoned goblet. But was made to drink from the other one. One where the effect will take place far in the future. Mikael held his son gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

"You are too young, my Henrik," he whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I will protect you until you are ready."

With that, Mikael stepped back, looking over his children. His gaze lingered on each of them, his love for them evident, even as the poison claimed their lives. They would be stronger. They would survive.

But the cost was one he could never undo.

As his children succumbed to the magic, Esther's heart twisted in her chest. She could feel their essence changing.

"Forgive me," she whispered, but the words were lost in the weight of what had been done. The price of their immortality had been sealed in blood and magic.

And now, there was no turning back.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! Over 7000 words! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Do tell me how you found the reactions of the Mikaelsons? I wanted to dedicate a chapter to it, because most of the time, in other fanfics I always see it glossed over for the most part when it is one of the most traumatic things possible.

So, yeah, please do comment and review. I put a lot of effort in this chapter and I would very much appreciate feedback.

Well, see you all later,

Bye)