Chapter 3: The Rise of the Hollowborn
Word Count: ~3000
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1210 A.D. – The City of Shadows
The ruins of old Constantinople groaned with the weight of time and fire. But beneath its streets, in the catacombs where the Crusaders dared not tread, something else stirred—Elijah Mikaelson had returned.
He walked in silence through stone corridors lit only by blue flame. Cloaked in black, magic woven into every thread, his presence bent the air like gravity. This was not the Original Elijah, the noble diplomat in fine suits. This was something far more ancient, more focused.
He no longer needed a kingdom.
He was the kingdom.
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The Assembly of Power
They came at dusk, drawn by whispers and ward-etched invitations left in blood: witches from the East, wolves from the Alps, even vampires who had fed on the blood of kings.
They gathered in the Catacombs, hundreds deep.
Elijah appeared alone.
A wolf growled. "You dare summon us, abomination?"
The coven leader hissed. "You're not a god."
Elijah stepped into the light. His eyes glowed crimson and gold. Veins pulsed black. The air trembled.
"I summoned you," he said, "because whether you kneel or not… you will bow to what I've become."
A siphoner witch tried to cast a binding spell.
He didn't get past the first syllable.
Elijah crushed his heart with a thought. Magic rippled through the chamber, snuffing out half the torches. The silence that followed was sacred.
Elijah looked around slowly.
"I offer peace… or purpose."
He left the chamber that night with three bloodline oaths, a werewolf allegiance, and seven magical artifacts freely given.
The supernatural world had a new shadow on its throne.
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The Return of Klaus
News of Elijah's return spread like wildfire. In Florence, Klaus tore through a vampire den trying to get answers. In the ruins of Kiev, Kol tried summoning Elijah's name through a necromantic ritual—and failed.
But it was Rebekah who found him first.
She waited for him in a ruined chapel in Bruges, her hair damp from rain, her expression fractured between hope and dread.
"You've changed," she whispered.
"You always say that," he replied.
"This time… it's true. There's power around you. It's unnatural."
"No," Elijah said. "It's earned."
She stepped closer. "Why, Elijah? Why leave us?"
"I needed to break the curse of being what they made us. Our weaknesses—sunlight, vervain, white oak, compulsion limits, even the bloodlust—it's all design. I wanted to evolve beyond it."
"You think you've succeeded?"
"I know I have."
Rebekah's lip trembled. "Klaus misses you. We all do."
Elijah's eyes softened. "I miss you, too. But I cannot be your brother—not until the world is ready to accept what I've become."
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The Challenge of the Nine Fangs
In the Carpathians, a vampire cult known as the Nine Fangs held territory untouched by Mikaelsons for centuries. They had no loyalty, no fear. Their leader, a vampire named Lucien of the Black Veil, had slaughtered Originals before and laughed doing it.
When Lucien learned Elijah was hunting him, he sent an open challenge:
> "Come, Hollowborn. Bleed for us. Or run."
Elijah answered in person.
Nine champions awaited him atop a frozen cliff. Each had fed on blood laced with dark magic. They struck first.
Elijah didn't dodge.
He let the first hit land—just enough to shatter a few ribs—and grinned.
Then the real battle began.
He moved faster than their eyes could track. Magic exploded from his hands, siphoning spells midair, twisting curses back on their casters. He howled—and the werewolf in him answered, shifting his form partially, his fangs longer, his body stronger.
One by one, they fell.
Lucien fought last.
He was old, brutal, and smart.
But Elijah had evolved.
He impaled Lucien on his own cursed blade and whispered in his ear:
> "There is no throne. Only power. I am the beginning and the end."
Then he ripped out Lucien's spine and burned the Nine Fangs to ash.
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The Hollowborn Creed
Elijah began carving his rules into stone and magic alike:
1. No magic used against family.
2. No blood spilled in fear, only in law.
3. Power must be earned. Not inherited.
4. Never bow. Never beg. Never break.
These commandments became the spine of his growing empire.
Supernatural beings—outcasts, scholars, warriors—flocked to him. He trained them in secret, using ancient arts. He taught vampires how to resist compulsion. Witches how to forge magic into steel. Wolves how to shift at will.
He created a new order.
Not Originals. Not Hybrids. Something else.
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Mikael Returns… Again
By 1220, Mikael found him once more. This time in a monastery built on an ancient leyline in northern Syria.
"You are unnatural," Mikael roared, shattering stone with his blade.
"No," Elijah said, stepping from the shadows, "I am perfected."
They fought once more.
Elijah's strikes blended vampire speed, werewolf strength, and witchcraft precision. He caught Mikael's sword mid-swing, siphoned its enchantment, and used it against him.
"You were always running," Elijah said mid-battle. "From Klaus. From yourself. But I ran toward the truth. And I became it."
He left Mikael impaled, powerless beneath a blood-sealing rune, unable to die, unable to escape.
Not dead.
Just contained.
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A Glimpse of Love
In a village untouched by war, Elijah met her—Mira, a woman who could read the flow of magic in the wind. A siphoner, like he once was, but pure, untouched by greed.
She saw through him.
Not as a monster.
But as a man searching for balance.
He stayed for a year. Laughed. Loved.
But the world could not leave Elijah Mikaelson in peace.
One night, assassins came—sent by a witch cabal fearing a "Tribrid Dynasty."
Mira died protecting children.
Elijah found her killers and made the sky rain blood.
That night, he etched her name into a monolith of magic deep beneath the Earth, in a place only he could access.
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The Mirror of Purity
In his grief, Elijah crafted an ancient artifact using a cursed mirror and Druid bloodstone. The Mirror of Purity revealed the true nature of any being reflected in it.
He looked into it once.
What he saw: a man of war, bathed in blood, scarred by love, driven by control. But in the center of that reflection—hope.
That he was not lost.
That his power was not damnation, but choice.
And he chose to keep going.
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Final Scene – The Letter That Was Sent
Centuries later, as the supernatural world began to splinter again, Elijah sat beneath a bleeding tree in the Carpathians and finally wrote to Klaus:
> Niklaus,
I am not your brother as you knew me. I am something forged in blood, magic, and solitude. But I have not forgotten you. Not you, nor Bekah, nor even Kol.
One day, when the world is broken enough, and you are ready to see the truth beyond power... I will return. Not to reclaim my place in the family. But to protect it from what is coming.
Until then, know this: I still love you.
- Elijah
He sent the letter.
And for the first time in centuries…
He let himself hope.
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End of Chapter 3
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