The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The days following Mikael's discovery of their newfound limitations were marked by mounting frustration and unease within the family. The once-celebrated invincibility of the Mikaelsons had begun to crack, revealing vulnerabilities that none of them had foreseen. The realization hung over them like a shadow, a constant reminder of the consequences of Esther's dark spell.

Henrik, ever curious and restless, was the next to uncover their weakness. The early morning sun peeked over the horizon as he stood by the door, gazing out at the settlement bathed in warm golden light. His expression was calm, almost wistful, as if he longed to feel the sun on his skin like he once had. With a deep breath, he stepped forward, his usual playful confidence carrying him toward the light.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, an agonizing hiss escaped his lips. His pale skin began to blister, smoke curling upward as though the sun itself were branding him. Henrik staggered back into the shadows, clutching his arm as his face contorted in pain and disbelief.

Esther was there in an instant, her movements graceful yet hurried, a mask of calm over her motherly concern. She reached for Henrik's hand, inspecting the angry burns marring his skin. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flicking between her son and the sunlight with a mixture of guilt and determination.

"I'll fix this," she said softly, her voice firm despite the weight of her remorse.

Henrik, cradling his arm, shot her a look of disbelief, his boyish charm momentarily replaced by something sharper, more cynical. "Fix it?" he scoffed, though his voice trembled. "You're the one who did this, Mother."

His words stung, and Esther's shoulders stiffened, her composure cracking ever so slightly. But she said nothing, turning away to begin crafting the rings that would grant them freedom under the sun.

The family gathered in Esther's dimly lit workshop as she worked. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, weaving ancient spells into the gemstones that would protect her children. The room was silent save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft hum of her incantations.

Klaus paced restlessly, his frustration evident in the sharp movements of his shoulders and the occasional glance toward the window. Elijah stood stoic near the wall, his arms crossed, though his furrowed brow betrayed his unease. Rebekah sat perched on a stool, her posture deceptively relaxed, but the way she tapped her nails against the wood betrayed her impatience.

As Esther completed the rings and handed them out, her expression was serene, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil within. "These will protect you," she said, her voice steady but lacking warmth.

Henrik slipped his ring onto his finger, flexing his hand as if testing its power. He gave his mother a curt nod, and walked away.

Rebekah discovered their aversion to vervain purely by accident. She had been tending to the small herb garden outside their home, her delicate hands moving gracefully among the plants. When her fingers brushed against the bright green leaves of vervain, a sharp sting shot through her hand. She yanked it back with a gasp, staring in horror as angry red welts began to spread across her skin.

Her usual poise faltered, her lips parting in a gasp as she cradled her injured hand. A flicker of panic crossed her face, quickly replaced by anger. She stormed into the house, her movements quick and purposeful, her skirts swishing around her legs.

Klaus was the first to notice her fury. "What happened?" he asked, his tone more curious than concerned as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Vervain," Rebekah spat, holding up her hand as evidence. "It burns us."

Her eyes flared with indignation, her jaw tightening as she glared at Esther. "What else haven't you told us, Mother? How many more weaknesses are we going to discover?"

Esther's expression didn't change, but the tension in her shoulders was unmistakable. "I didn't foresee this," she admitted quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Rebekah scoffed, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "Of course not," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You didn't foresee anything, did you?"

Without waiting for a response, Rebekah whirled around and strode outside. Klaus followed, his curiosity piqued. Soon after, the family began uprooting and burning every vervain plant in the settlement, the acrid smoke rising into the sky as a silent testament to their growing frustrations.

When Ivar decided to burn the white oak tree, the entire family gathered around to witness the act. The tree stood tall and majestic in the center of the settlement, its ancient branches stretching toward the sky like a monument to immortality.

Ivar approached the tree with deliberate steps, his expression calm but resolute. In his hand, he carried a torch, the flames casting flickering shadows across his chiseled features.

Rebekah was the first to break the silence. "Ivar, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and alarm.

Ivar paused, his piercing gaze sweeping over his siblings. "In the spell Mother used to turn us," he said, his voice low but commanding, "she called upon this tree to grant us immortality."

He turned to face them fully, his broad shoulders squared and his expression unyielding. "The thing that gave us our immortality can also take it away. If we are to truly be invincible, this tree must burn."

Klaus tilted his head, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Clever," he murmured, his tone tinged with admiration.

Rebekah, however, looked aghast. "You can't destroy it!" she protested, her voice rising in pitch. "It's part of our history—our legacy."

Ivar ignored her, his jaw set in determination. He stepped closer to the tree, holding the torch high. The flames reflected in his eyes, making him look almost otherworldly.

As the fire caught, the family watched in silence, the crackling of the flames filling the night air. Ivar stood motionless, his expression unreadable, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as the tree began to collapse in a shower of embers.

Rebekah turned away, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, while Klaus's smile widened, his gaze fixed on the destruction with a gleam of satisfaction.

Ivar's voice broke the silence, low and steady. "This is only the beginning," he said, his tone carrying a chilling finality.