The wind whipped through the small settlement, rattling the wooden shutters and carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
Kora Mikaelson stood in the doorway of her family's home glancing above to see the smoke curl lazily from her mother's hearth.
Even at thirteen, she felt older than anyone around her—not because of the burdens of her body or her position in the family, but because of the memories she carried. Memories of another life, another world, and the knowledge that she had been chosen for something far greater than this simple frontier existence.
Her mother, Esther, was muttering under her breath over a simmering cauldron, a swirl of lavender smoke rising to mingle with the chill of the morning air. Her hands moved with practiced precision, stirring and chanting, weaving spells that seemed ordinary to the rest of the settlement but were laced with quiet power. Kora had long since learned to watch her mother at work, copying gestures in secret, practicing in shadows, preparing.
Mikael, her father, paced nearby outside. His voice carried across the yard, sharp and abrasive. "Klaus! Stand still for once, boy! You think the world owes you a thing?" Niklaus was only pacing in imitation of his father, desperate to imitate him in hope of approval.
Kora flinched as the boy froze under Mikael's glare. The cruelty in her father's tone never failed to ignite a fire in her chest. She wanted to intervene, to protect Niklaus, Henrik, Rebekah—but knew the world had rules even magic couldn't bend.
Kora shifted her gaze to her little sister, Rebekah, who was carefully stacking firewood nearby.
Eleven, bright-eyed, always curious.
Rebekah had been the first to whom Kora had confided her past life. She had sworn it a sacred secret, a bond between them that no one, not even the rest of the family, could breach. The memory of revealing it still made Kora smile softly: how Rebekah had gasped, eyes wide, then nodded in solemn understanding, never questioning the impossibility of it.
"Do you… ever wish you weren't here?" Rebekah asked suddenly, breaking Kora from her reverie.
Kora moved away from the doorway, away from her mother's hearing range and towards her sister.
Her lips twitched in a small, rueful smile. "Every day," she admitted softly. "Sometimes I wish I could go back to where I came from. But… then I remember why I'm here and how I wouldn't want to leave you behind. It's still early, I can't leave yet." She crouched down, brushing a stray lock of hair from Rebekah's face. "And I have a plan. Something I've been preparing for my entire life."
Rebekah's brows knitted in curiosity. "A plan?"
"Yes." Kora took a deep breath. "You know I told you about my other life, right?"
Rebekah nodded, clutching a piece of firewood like it was a talisman.
"Well… the reason I told you that is because there's more. Something extraordinary is waiting for me—and for us. I have something called a system. It's… complicated, but think of it as a helper, a guide that can give me… well, anything I need to survive and travel." Kora's eyes flicked to the edge of the forest. "And long before I was born here, before I ever arrived, I—well, I spent a lot of energy from my past life to prepare for it. I even… bought something very special."
Rebekah's eyes widened. "Bought something?"
"The TARDIS," Kora said, almost in a whisper. "It's a box. Small on the outside, bigger on the inside. And it can take us anywhere—any world, any time. I also asked for one ability… something to help me control magic and powers, not just for me but… for others too. I wanted it to keep us safe."
Rebekah blinked, a mix of awe and fear. "You're… serious?"
Kora nodded. "I've been waiting for this moment my whole life. And now… it's almost time." She cast a quick glance toward her parents.
Her stomach twisted at the thought of Mikael's temper or Esther's future cruelty. She knew what Esther would do—the vampire transformation, the control, the regret. And Mikael… he had never cared about anything but dominance and order. She would not let them shape her siblings into monsters. Not her brothers, not her sister, not Henrik.
Speaking of Henrik, he had been quietly observing the conversation from behind the shed, clutching his favorite wooden toy sword. Ten years old, the littlest, yet brave enough to ask questions when no one else did. Kora crouched to his level.
"Henrik," she said gently, brushing his hair from his forehead, "you're going to have to trust me. Very soon, things will change. I'll keep you safe… and you'll learn, little brother. One day, you'll be able to help too."
He blinked, lips parted, and then nodded. "I… I trust you, Kora."
A shiver ran down Kora's spine, she felt it then—the familiar pull. The system. Its energy brushed against her consciousness like a gentle hand, waiting, calling. It was time. Her heart pounded in anticipation.
The air shimmered, faint symbols flickering in and out of view. A soft hum filled the clearing, rising in pitch until it was almost a song. Kora's fingers tingled, and she felt the first thread of the system weaving into her mind, ready to awaken fully.
Finally she realized that her life—the settlement, her siblings, her parents, even the memories from her past existence—was about to explode into something far larger, far more dangerous, and far more wondrous than anything she had ever imagined.