The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The wind whistled softly through the branches as Ayanna stood in her doorway, the weight of Ivar's presence pressing against her like an unseen force. The flickering light from within her home cast long, shifting shadows across her sharp features, emphasizing the tension that had taken hold of her. For a moment, she said nothing, her arms still crossed tightly against her chest as her silver-streaked hair swayed gently in the cold breeze.

"If it's your magic you're here for," Ayanna finally said, her voice low and measured, like a blade waiting to strike, "then you're wasting your time. I can't give it back to you. The seal is permanent."

At her words, Ivar's smile twisted, a mixture of derision and amusement flashing across his face. He shook his head slowly, a soft scoff escaping his lips. "You think I want you to lift the seal?" His voice held the faintest touch of mockery, cutting through the still air like ice. "I already have my magic back."

Ayanna's brows furrowed, a flicker of shock breaking through her composed demeanor. Her piercing gaze searched his face for answers, her arms dropping just slightly as her posture shifted from defensive skepticism to wary disbelief. "How?" she demanded, her voice sharp and accusing. "How did you—"

"None of your business," Ivar cut her off coldly, eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, his shadow creeping further over the threshold. There was no humor in his tone now, only raw, simmering purpose. "I didn't come here for this," he said, his voice lowering. "I don't want things to escalate, Ayanna. I'm giving you a chance to come with me willingly."

Ayanna's face hardened, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly. She stood her ground, her hands flexing at her sides, fingers twitching as if she were resisting the urge to cast another spell. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she said firmly, the edge of her voice carrying more than just defiance—there was a warning in it, a promise.

Ivar's lips curled into a slow, sinister smirk, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. The look sent a ripple of unease through Ayanna, though she masked it with a carefully neutral expression. Ivar tilted his head just slightly, his gaze flickering past her into the house. "Is that so?" he said quietly, his tone deceptively calm. Then, with a casual gesture, he raised his hand and pointed further inside. "If you're not coming… then I'll just take her."

Ayanna stiffened. Her eyes darted to where Ivar pointed, her breath catching as she spotted the figure of a young girl—her daughter—standing in the shadows of the room. The girl's wide, frightened eyes reflected the faint glow of candlelight, her small form partially obscured by the darkness.

Ayanna's entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Her gaze snapped back to Ivar, her silver eyes now blazing with fury. "You dare—" she hissed, her voice like a crack of thunder. Without warning, her hands shot forward, fingers splayed as ancient words spilled from her lips in a rapid, guttural chant. A sharp pulse of energy surged toward Ivar, the air itself trembling under the force of her spell.

But as the magic struck him, Ivar didn't flinch. He didn't stagger. The spell dissipated like smoke around him, leaving him entirely untouched. The realization hit Ayanna like a physical blow, her expression faltering for the briefest of moments as her eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible…" she whispered under her breath.

Ivar's smirk deepened, a cruel satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Did you really think that would work on me?" he said softly, his voice dripping with contempt. And then, before Ayanna could react, he vanished.

It was a blur of motion, a vampiric speed that left the air shuddering in his wake. In the span of a heartbeat, Ivar was past the threshold, a cold rush of wind swirling into the house as he reappeared beside the girl. His large hand gripped her shoulder—not harshly, but firmly enough to halt any attempt to flee. The girl let out a soft, fearful gasp, her wide eyes snapping to her mother.

Ayanna spun around, her hair whipping across her face as she raised her hands again, power building at her fingertips. But the look Ivar gave her stopped her cold. His eyes held an unyielding edge, a dark finality that froze her in place. He pulled the girl slightly closer to him, his grip careful but unmistakably possessive, like a predator claiming its prize.

"Your daughter," Ivar began, his voice calm but laced with venom, "would be remarkable under my tutelage." His words were measured, deliberate, his tone almost… reasonable. "Why don't you let me have her? I promise you, Ayanna, she'll return to you safe and sound."

Ayanna's breathing grew shallow, her hands trembling as she kept them raised, unsure whether to strike or plead. Her expression was a storm of emotions—rage, desperation, helplessness—all battling for dominance. "You think I'll let you take her?" she spat, her voice breaking slightly. "You've lost your mind."

Ivar's gaze darkened further, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his tone dipped into something chilling. "Believe me," he said softly, his words like a razor across her nerves, "this is a generous offer after what you did to me." He tightened his grip just slightly, the subtle motion causing Ayanna to tense further. "You sealed me. Because of you, my sister was taken. Anything I do to you now would be justified."

The girl's breath hitched audibly, her small fingers clutching at Ivar's wrist in quiet, terrified protest. Ayanna's expression crumbled further, her silver eyes shimmering with anguish as she stared at her daughter, then back at Ivar. Her hands faltered, the magic dissipating into faint sparks that fizzled out into the dark.

"I'm only asking for your daughter to come with me," Ivar continued, his voice low and coaxing, though the edge remained sharp as ever. "Now, is that really too much to ask?"

Ayanna's lips parted, but no words came out. Her hands slowly fell to her sides, her shoulders sagging as she fought to contain the torrent of emotions coursing through her. Her gaze lingered on her daughter—fragile, innocent—before snapping back to Ivar's cold, unrelenting stare. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind through the trees outside.

Ayanna's chest rose and fell unevenly, her breath trembling as the weight of the moment settled into her bones. She closed her eyes briefly, her face a mask of sorrow and resignation as she took a slow, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, the silver hue of her gaze seemed duller, the fire within dimmed.

"Let her go," Ayanna whispered, her voice soft yet clear, though there was a rawness to it that betrayed her pain. "I'll go with you. Just… let her go."

Ivar's expression shifted ever so slightly—his smirk fading into something more inscrutable, though a flicker of satisfaction lingered in his steel-blue eyes. For a moment, he regarded Ayanna in silence, as if appraising her willingness, relishing the small victory. Then, with a sharp exhale that almost sounded like a chuckle, he spoke.

"Gladly," Ivar said smoothly, the edges of his mouth curling into a crooked, almost amused smile. With a deliberate, measured movement, he released the girl's shoulder, his fingers uncurling one by one. His hand lingered in the air for a split second, as if savoring the moment, before dropping back to his side.

The young girl stumbled backward, her small form trembling as she stared at Ivar, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and confusion. Ayanna's gaze snapped to her daughter instantly, her sharp features softening with relief as she crouched slightly, extending a hand toward the girl. "Go inside, darling," she urged gently, her voice steady despite the storm raging beneath the surface. "Go now."

The girl hesitated for a split second, her tear-filled eyes darting between Ivar and her mother before she finally bolted toward the shadows of the room. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she disappeared deeper into the house, the candlelight flickering in her wake. Ayanna's shoulders relaxed just a fraction, but the momentary relief was crushed under the weight of Ivar's presence.

"It's really going to be stressful with a kid around," Ivar remarked, his voice light, almost conversational, though there was a sardonic edge to his words. He tilted his head slightly, studying Ayanna with an air of casual indifference that only made the menace beneath his calm more palpable. "Besides," he continued, his lips curling into another sly smile, "with you, I'll get where I'm going—and get things done—a lot faster."

Ayanna straightened slowly, her silver-streaked hair falling forward to frame her face as she rose to her full height. Her eyes burned with quiet fury as she stared at Ivar, but there was no defiance left in her posture—only grim determination. "You'll regret this," she said softly, the words escaping like a promise etched into stone.

Ivar's smile widened just slightly, his sharp features casting shadows across his face as the faint light danced around him. He didn't respond immediately; instead, his gaze lingered on her, as if daring her to act on that promise. Then, with an almost dismissive shrug, he turned on his heel and strode toward the doorway, the cold night air swallowing him as he moved.

"Now we move," Ivar said, his tone decisive, the command woven seamlessly into his words. He glanced back just once, his eyes narrowing as they met Ayanna's, his expression unreadable but heavy with unspoken intent. "Don't fall behind."

Ayanna hesitated for the briefest of moments, her gaze flicking toward the shadows where her daughter had disappeared. Pain flashed across her face—quick, fleeting, but unmistakable—before she forced herself to move. Her steps were deliberate, controlled, but there was a rigidity in her movements, her entire body taut with barely restrained anger.

"Now it's time to go. We're getting Freya back from our wicked, evil witch of an aunt."