The iron balcony groaned under Klaus's weight as he leaned into the New Orleans night. From this derelict mansion on the outskirts of the Quarter, he could see the glowing heart of the city he'd built. The memory was a physical ache—a phantom limb of power and belonging. He could almost hear the echoes of old music, smell the blood and perfume of a court that had feared and adored him.
A floorboard creaked inside the shadowed room behind him. Klaus didn't turn. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic entrance, brother," he said, his voice cutting through the humid air. "But I only feel one presence. Did the others not bother to come?"
Elijah stepped out of the shadows, impeccably dressed as always, looking as if he'd just left a board meeting rather than a crypt. He came to stand beside Klaus, his hands tucked into his pockets as he surveyed the same view.
"They are on their way," Elijah replied, his tone even. "Rebekah was in Milan. Kol was… somewhere causing trouble. They'll catch up. You know how they are."
Klaus gave a derisive snort. "What's a family reunion without a little chaos?" His gaze hardened, fixed on the distant lights of the French Quarter. "We built this, Elijah. From the mud and the blood. We gave it its soul. And that boy… that ungrateful whelp I pulled from the gutter… he presumes to crown himself king in my absence." His knuckles were white where they gripped the railing. "I will take it all back. Every brick. Every whisper. I will remind them why they feared the name Mikaelson."
He finally turned to Elijah, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire. "This time, we do not run. This time, we burn it all down if we have to."
Elijah listened, patient as stone. He let Klaus's declaration hang in the air, a battle cry waiting for an echo. Then, he spoke, his voice deceptively calm.
"There's something you need to know before you start lighting matches, Niklaus."
Klaus raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Have you already secured our victory, brother? Did you broker a deal?"
"In a manner of speaking," Elijah said. He turned fully to face Klaus, his expression unreadable. "It seems your return to New Orleans has… lasting consequences. There's a girl. A young woman named Hayley."
Klaus waved a dismissive hand. "I've met many girls. They're rarely a complication."
"This one is," Elijah stated, his gaze unwavering. "She's pregnant."
Klaus stared at him, the words not quite computing. The anger on his face melted into pure, unadulterated confusion. "What?"
"She's carrying your child, Niklaus."
For a long moment, Klaus was silent. The city sounds seemed to fade away. The scowl returned, deeper this time. "Is this a joke? Some pathetic witch's trick?"
"It is not a trick," Elijah said, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "The witches confirmed it. Their magic does not lie about such things. You have fathered a child."
The confusion on Klaus's face shattered. It didn't transform into joy, but into a stunned, disbelieving awe. A slow, real smile—one devoid of malice or mockery—spread across his features. It was a look Elijah had seen only a handful of times in a thousand years.
"A child," Klaus repeated, the word foreign and wondrous on his tongue. He laughed, a short, breathy sound of pure shock. "My child." He looked at Elijah, his eyes alight with a new, terrifying fire. "Where is she? Take me to her. Now."
"That," Elijah said, his tone shifting to one of cool practicality, "is the complication. She is with the witches. They are using her as leverage."
Klaus's joyous astonishment evaporated, replaced by instant, volcanic rage. "They dare?!" he snarled, his hybrid features threatening to break through. "I will tear their coven apart! I will string their entrails from the cathedral–"
"Niklaus!" Elijah's voice cracked like a whip, demanding attention. "Listen to me. One of them, a witch named Sophie, has performed a life-link. Her life is tied to Hayley's. If the witch dies, the girl dies. And the child with her."
Klaus froze mid-step, his body coiled like a spring. The raw, helpless fury in his eyes was a storm contained only by this new, impossible constraint. "You let them do this?" he whispered, the words dripping with venom.
"I was not consulted," Elijah replied dryly. "It was an act of desperate insurance. Which is why you cannot go in there, guns blazing. You would be signing your own child's death warrant."
"So what do you propose?!" Klaus roared, slamming his fist against the iron railing, which bent with a shriek of metal. "We negotiate? We bow to their demands?"
"We wait," Elijah said, his calm a stark contrast to Klaus's tempest. "For Kol. Or for Viktor. Even Freya, if she deigns to join us. One of them will be able to break the link. Their… particular talents far exceed my own in such matters. Once the girl is safely unlinked, once our heir is secure…" He met Klaus's wild gaze, his own eyes cold and promising. "Then you can do whatever you want to the witches. You can burn their world to the ground. But first, we must be smart."
Klaus turned away, his shoulders tense. He stared out at the city again, but it looked different now. It was no longer just a prize to be reclaimed. It was the future kingdom of his child. The stakes had just become unimaginably higher.
He gave a single, sharp nod, his back still to Elijah.
"Fine,"he gritted out. "We wait. But not for long." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes glowing with a predatory light. "Tell our siblings to hurry. The moment my child is free of those bitches, this city is going to remember what it means to have a king."