The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The flames of the white oak still lingered in their memories, the acrid scent of its destruction hanging in the air days after its burning. The Mikaelsons had taken to testing their new powers in secret, each sibling uncovering their strengths and learning the limits of their cursed gifts. Yet, even as they grew more confident in their newfound abilities, an unspoken tension wove through their interactions like an invisible thread, tightening with each passing day.

The family compound was eerily quiet that evening, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. Ivar, always composed and deliberate, stood at the center of the gathering room. His posture was straight, his hands clasped behind his back, the firelight from the hearth dancing across his chiseled features. The silence in the room was palpable as the rest of the siblings entered, one by one.

Niklaus was the first, his restless energy betraying his attempt at calm. His sharp blue eyes darted around the room before settling on Ivar. "What's this about?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of impatience as he leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Rebekah followed, her steps brisk but graceful, her expression a careful mask of disinterest. She brushed her golden curls over one shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced between her brothers. "Is this another lecture about control, Ivar? We've had quite enough of those." Her tone was biting, but her movements were delicate, almost nervous.

Elijah entered last, his gait measured, exuding his usual calm. His hands rested lightly at his sides, but his watchful brown eyes were sharp, flickering with unspoken questions. He took up a position near the corner of the room, his stance relaxed yet poised, ready for whatever might unfold.

Ivar remained silent, his piercing gaze sweeping over each of them. His expression was unreadable, but there was an intensity in his eyes that stilled any further protests. Slowly, he unclasped his hands and took a step forward, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing softly in the stillness.

"I've gathered you all here because I've made a decision," he began, his voice low and steady, the weight of his words filling the room. He paused, allowing the tension to build, his gaze locking on each sibling in turn.

Niklaus straightened, pushing off the wall, his brows furrowing. "A decision about what?" His tone was sharp, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Ivar's jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, an almost imperceptible flicker of regret crossed his features. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual stoic resolve. "I'm leaving."

The words hung in the air like a physical blow, stunning the room into silence.

Rebekah's lips parted, her confident demeanor crumbling into shock. "Leaving?" she repeated, her voice cracking slightly. Her blue eyes widened, and she took a hesitant step forward, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "You can't be serious, Ivar."

Niklaus's expression darkened, his features tightening with barely restrained anger. "You're abandoning us?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step toward Ivar, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched. "After everything, you would leave?"

Ivar held his ground, his expression unflinching. "This isn't abandonment," he said calmly, though his tone carried a quiet authority that silenced Niklaus's retort. "It's necessity."

Elijah's voice cut through the tension, soft yet commanding. "Explain," he said, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes filled with concern. His posture remained composed, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a subtle shift in his stance that betrayed his unease.

Mikael, ever the imposing figure, stepped forward, his presence commanding the room without effort. The lines of his face were etched with an authority that no one dared challenge. His stern, ice-blue eyes locked onto Ivar, silencing the brewing storm between the siblings. His voice, deep and steady, cut through the tense air like a blade.

"Enough," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. His gaze softened just enough to show his curiosity. "What is this reason you speak of, Ivar? Why are you leaving your family behind?"

Ivar didn't flinch under his father's scrutiny. He straightened his broad shoulders, his jaw tightening as he met Mikael's piercing stare. His hands, which had been clasped behind his back, moved to his sides, fingers curling into fists before relaxing again. His voice was calm, almost unnervingly so, as he replied.

"The reason I've been training for since I was a boy," Ivar said, his words deliberate, weighted with meaning.

The room fell deathly silent.

Esther, who had been lingering near the edge of the gathering, stiffened visibly. Her sharp features twisted in an instant of panic before she regained her composure. The lines around her mouth deepened as she stepped forward quickly, her long skirts rustling against the stone floor. Her hand shot out, as if to physically restrain her son, though she stopped short of touching him.

"Ivar," she said, her voice low but urgent, laced with an uncharacteristic edge of fear. "That is not your path. Do not speak of this here."

Her pale fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the edge of her shawl, pulling it tightly around her shoulders, a protective gesture that belied her outward composure.

But before Ivar could respond, Finn rose from his seat with a quiet determination that immediately drew every eye in the room. His movements were deliberate, his expression unreadable at first—until he spoke, his words steady yet carrying an unmistakable resolve.

"He's going, and so am I," Finn said, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. His dark brown eyes burned with intensity, a rare passion that left no room for doubt. He crossed the room with a sense of purpose, his long strides bringing him to stand beside Ivar.

Esther turned to face Finn, her face a mask of disbelief and desperation. "No," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. Her pale hand reached out toward him, as if to pull him back. "You don't know what you're saying, Finn. This is madness!"

Finn shook his head, his jaw set, his expression firm. "I know exactly what I'm saying, Mother," he replied, his tone clipped but steady. His hands flexed at his sides, and he tilted his head slightly toward Ivar, his dark eyes shining with a fierce loyalty. "Ivar isn't doing this alone. Whatever he faces, we face together."

Niklaus, who had been silently watching the exchange with growing frustration, suddenly erupted, his voice sharp and accusing. "What is this nonsense?" He stormed toward the center of the room, his steps quick and agitated. His sharp features twisted with a mix of anger and confusion as he gestured toward Ivar and Finn. "What are you both hiding? If this is some grand scheme, we deserve to know!"

Elijah moved then, his usually calm demeanor cracking slightly. He raised a hand toward Niklaus, a subtle yet firm gesture meant to de-escalate the brewing conflict. "Niklaus," Elijah said, his voice low and steady, though his furrowed brow betrayed his growing concern. "Let them speak."

Rebekah, who had remained unusually quiet, took a step forward, her sapphire eyes flicking nervously between her brothers and her mother. "What's going on?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with unease. Her earlier confidence had faded, replaced by an almost childlike vulnerability as she clutched the edges of her skirt.

Ivar finally broke the tension, his voice calm but commanding enough to demand attention. "This is something I've trained for my entire life. It's something none of you would understand, and frankly, it's not something I wish to burden you with."

Niklaus let out a bitter laugh, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You speak in riddles, brother," he sneered, his voice dripping with frustration. "You claim this isn't a burden for us, yet you leave us to deal with the aftermath of your choices."

Mikael's cold voice interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he studied his eldest son. "You've spoken enough in riddles, Ivar. If this is truly your path, then explain yourself. Or do you intend to abandon us in silence like a coward?"

The word "coward" seemed to hang in the air, but Ivar didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he squared his shoulders, his expression hardening into one of quiet defiance.

"I do this because I must," Ivar said simply, his voice steady, yet carrying an unshakable resolve. "Not for myself, but for all of us. For our family."

"Then speak, boy. "