Here is Chapter 4 – Return to New Orleans, Part 1 of 5 (~2,000 words). The rest will follow in sequence.
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Chapter 4 – Return to New Orleans
Part 1: The Shadow Behind the Crown
Set during Season 1 of The Originals
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Present Day — New Orleans
The jazz was loud, the liquor rich, and the streets of the French Quarter bled temptation.
But in the darkness between alleys, perched atop the shadow of an abandoned chapel, stood a man dressed in obsidian-black. His eyes glowed faintly crimson under the moonlight. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to warn the night itself.
Elijah Mikaelson had returned.
Not the brother Klaus once knew. Not the gentleman vampire or the noble warrior. This Elijah had spent centuries shedding his old skin in pursuit of something greater: freedom from the cage of nature.
The Tribrid wasn't just an evolution.
It was a rebellion.
From the rooftop, he watched as Niklaus drank with Marcel's vampires, the delicate dance of politics unfolding in taverns and alleyways. Klaus was trying to reclaim the city—ruthlessly, impulsively.
And yet…
Still lonely.
Still broken.
> "Some things never change," Elijah murmured. His voice carried the edge of sadness.
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Five Days Earlier — The Catacombs Beneath Rome
Elijah stood in the depths of an ancient crypt, gathering the final sigils for a cloaking spell that would allow him to walk among his family undetected. He was preparing—not for war, but for silence.
In his hand was a blood-forged ring, not unlike the daylight rings of old. But this one was made with his own blood, mixed with wolfbane and ash-wood dust.
The spell was clear:
> "To stand beside my kin without their knowing, to walk in shadow but guard in light."
He slipped the ring onto his finger.
The transformation was instant. His energy dropped, masked to resemble a regular Original vampire. To the world, he was no more powerful than Klaus.
To anyone untrained in the deepest of magic… he was invisible.
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New Orleans – Present
Elijah stepped into Rousseau's, the old haunt of witches, vampires, and mortals. His hair was slicked back, his beard slightly longer than before, his suit as immaculate as ever.
But his presence?
Darker. Heavier.
He moved through the bar like a phantom, avoiding notice, observing. A young witch passed by him—Genevieve's apprentice. She didn't sense him. Good. The spell held.
He ordered bourbon. Sat quietly.
And waited.
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A Familiar Voice
"I don't believe it."
The voice belonged to Rebekah. She stood at the bar, expression frozen somewhere between disbelief and fury. She had not sensed him, but she'd seen him in the mirror behind the bartender.
Elijah smiled. "You always were the perceptive one."
Rebekah stormed over, grabbing his wrist. "You vanished. For a century. No word. No letters. Not even a body to bury."
Elijah's voice lowered. "And yet here you are, still searching for me."
Her lips trembled. "Because you're my brother."
His smile faded. "No, Rebekah. I'm something else now. Something… I can't yet explain."
She tried to compel him.
His eyes flared gold. The compulsion shattered like glass.
"I don't need to be compelled," she whispered, stunned. "You're stronger than before."
He looked at her with love. "And you're still my heart. But I cannot reveal myself to Niklaus yet. If he knew what I've become, he would see it as a threat—not a gift."
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Elsewhere — Klaus's Compound
Klaus was painting. His strokes were violent, full of frustration. The city resisted him. The witches schemed. Marcel whispered rebellion in every alley.
And then, a presence.
"Who's there?" Klaus barked.
A whisper on the wind.
> "You're not alone, brother."
Klaus's eyes darted around the room. Nothing.
But something in his bones stirred.
> He's here.
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Back at Rousseau's
Rebekah finally composed herself. "You came to protect him. Didn't you?"
"Yes," Elijah answered. "But not just from witches or wolves. Something darker stirs beneath this city. Something… ancient."
He glanced toward the back of the bar, where an old woman sipped wine alone.
"She's a descendant of Dahlia's first bloodline," Elijah said softly. "Her family dabbled in soul-weaving magic. Something is waking in her dreams."
Rebekah blinked. "How do you know this?"
"I've seen her in the Mirror of Purity. And I've felt her aura twist in my presence."
Rebekah's voice lowered. "What are you planning?"
Elijah's answer was quiet.
> "A war only I can fight."
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Flashback — 1450s, The Syrian Desert
Elijah knelt before a sacred flame, surrounded by five wolves, three witches, and the bones of an Original hunter.
He had been mastering his hybrid nature for centuries—but witchcraft was different. It demanded sacrifice. Not blood. Not pain.
But identity.
In that fire, he burned the name Elijah Mikaelson. And in its place, took on the title whispered by spirits:
Hollowborn.
He did not lose who he was—but he became more than that name.
The transformation took days. When he emerged from the cave, lightning split the sky, and the stars bowed.
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Present — Garden District Graveyard
At night, Elijah walked among the dead. This was where the witches of New Orleans held their ancestral rituals.
He knelt before a stone marked with sigils only the Hollowborn could read.
He whispered a prayer in Old Norse, casting his magic into the earth.
In response, the soil trembled—and a vision entered his mind:
> A child screaming.
A coven breaking.
Klaus bleeding from the eyes.
A fire consuming the French Quarter.
It wasn't a future. Not yet.
But it could be.
Elijah stood. "Not on my watch."
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To Be Continued…
In Part 2, Elijah will confront his first major adversary in New Orleans