Chapter 3

The days after Erik's return were a blur of emotion and adjustment. His siblings had grown—Freya had always been the thoughtful one, but now, there was a sharpness to her wisdom. Niklaus, ever the unpredictable and passionate soul, had matured, though his temper still flared with little provocation. Elijah, who had always been the calming force, now had an edge to him, as if the burdens of leadership weighed heavier on his shoulders.

And then there was Esther, his mother. She had welcomed him with open arms, though her eyes held a trace of wariness, as if she knew, even now, that Erik had changed. He wasn't the child she had lost. He wasn't just the firstborn—he was something more.

They all sensed it. The raw power that thrummed beneath his skin. But none of them spoke of it, perhaps afraid of the darkness it suggested.

Mikael, as always, kept his distance, his silent judgment heavy in the air. He did not approve of Erik's magic. No matter how powerful it made him, Erik knew his father's affection was reserved for the warriors of their family, not for those who relied on witchcraft.

Erik never let it bother him. After all, he had known from the beginning that his magic was a gift—one that no one else in the family could claim. And it was growing stronger every day.

The first few weeks were spent in quiet adjustment. Erik would often wander the forests surrounding their family's estate, his footsteps light and deliberate. He was no longer the boy who had been taken from his family all those years ago. No, he had learned to control his power, to harness it in ways that made him both more dangerous and more useful.

He spent long hours studying, practicing with blades in the quiet corners of the woods. Cold iron, silver, and steel—these weapons were his refuge. He was not just a warlock; he was a warrior. He had inherited his mother's cunning, but his skills with weapons came from another place. Perhaps it was from the blood of the Witchers, that strange heritage bestowed upon him by God, a power he still didn't fully understand.

And as his powers grew, so did his awareness. The world had become a different place in his absence. Dark forces were rising, things that even his magic might not be enough to fight.

It was in these moments, standing before a mirror in the early mornings, watching the sun rise over the horizon, that Erik began to understand the weight of his existence. He wasn't just a son of Mikael and Esther. He wasn't just the firstborn of their children. He was a force in his own right, a being with the power to shape the world around him.

It was during one of these solitary training sessions that Erik first met her—Astrid.

She was standing at the edge of the woods, watching him with cautious eyes. Her presence was unmistakable—a werewolf, though not one like the others he had encountered. There was something about her that felt... different. Wild, untamed, yet controlled, as if she had mastered both the beast within her and the world around her.

Erik stopped, his hand stilling midair as he sensed her approach. "You're not from here," he said, his voice low, steady, not betraying the curiosity he felt.

Astrid took a step forward, her eyes scanning him with interest, though there was no fear in her gaze. "I could say the same about you," she replied, her voice laced with a subtle but undeniable confidence. "But you're right. I'm not from around here. I was... sent."

"Sent?" Erik repeated, raising an eyebrow. "By whom?"

Jules didn't answer immediately. Instead, she seemed to be studying him, her sharp senses taking in every detail, every movement. "I'm here on business," she finally said. "I've heard whispers. Whispers about you."

Erik narrowed his eyes, wondering what exactly she had heard. "What whispers?"

She smiled, a small, secretive curve of her lips. "That you're more than you appear. That you're not just another Mikaelson—another son of a witch. You're... something different."

Erik studied her carefully, wondering what she knew. "What if I told you I was the firstborn son of Mikael and Esther?" he said, his tone casual, but the weight of the statement hung between them.

Astrid tilted her head slightly, her gaze never leaving his. "I would say that explains a lot. But it doesn't answer my question. You're not just a warlock, are you? You're... something more."

Erik smiled at the astuteness in her words. She was perceptive, perhaps more than most. He hadn't expected her to catch onto the fact that there was more to him than met the eye. But there was something about her, something that resonated with him on a deeper level. She wasn't like the other wolves he had encountered. She wasn't afraid of him. And in turn, he didn't feel the need to hide anything from her.

"You're right," he said after a moment. "I am more. I've... been given certain gifts, and I intend to make the most of them."

Astrid stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. "I can tell. But there's something else, isn't there? You didn't come back just for your family. You came back for power."

Erik didn't flinch at her accusation. She was right, of course. But that wasn't all there was to it. "Power is a tool," he said carefully. "It's not the end goal. It's how you use it that matters."

She smiled again, this time more warmly, though there was still something guarded in her eyes. "I like that," she said. "Maybe we can help each other then. I'm here for a reason too, you know."

Erik raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What reason?"

"I'm looking for something," Jules said, her voice low. "Something... or someone. And I think you might be able to help me find it."

Erik's curiosity piqued, but he kept his expression neutral. "And what, exactly, are you looking for?"

Astrid hesitated for a moment before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. "A cure."

Erik's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't let it show. "A cure? For what?"

She met his gaze, her eyes hardening with resolve. "For the curse that binds me. A cure for the werewolf gene."

Erik was quiet for a long moment, considering her words. He had heard of such things, of course, but to find a cure for a curse like that would require power beyond his own knowledge, something deeper, older. And if Jules was asking for his help... that meant she knew he was the one capable of providing it.

He stepped closer to her, his eyes narrowing with interest. "And why would I help you? What's in it for me?"

Astrid didn't flinch at his question. Instead, she met his gaze head-on, as if daring him to challenge her. "Because you're not like the rest of them," she said softly. "Because you see things differently. And because I think we can both benefit from this."

Erik regarded her silently for a moment before nodding slowly. "Perhaps. I'll think about it."

As Astrid turned to leave, Erik felt a strange pull in his chest, a flicker of something unfamiliar. It was more than just a sense of duty or the opportunity for a powerful ally. No, there was something about her, something that felt... right.

And for the first time in a long time, Erik felt a glimmer of something beyond the power he had fought so hard to claim.