The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The wind howled low as Ivar and Ayanna approached the modest wooden home perched on the edge of the settlement. Snowflakes had begun to fall, swirling softly through the air, though neither of them paid any attention to the chill. Ivar's long coat snapped behind him, like the shadow of a predator closing in on its prey, while Ayanna's silver-streaked hair glistened faintly under the dull light, her sharp eyes locked on the figure standing in the doorway ahead.

Dahlia was waiting for them.

She stood like a queen in her modest domain—tall, imperious, with a face lined by age but untouched by weakness. Her pale features seemed almost otherworldly against the gray sky, her piercing gaze fixed on Ivar as though she'd been expecting him for centuries. Her lips curved into a knowing, sardonic smile, though there was no warmth in it.

"Ah, nephew," Dahlia said, her voice silken and cool, a snake's hiss masked by a gentle tone. "When you were little, you were completely devoid of magic, yet now…" She stepped forward slightly, her sharp gaze sweeping over him, as though she could see the torrent of power crackling just beneath his skin. "Now you are brimming with magic, but not the magic of the firstborn. It's strange, isn't it?" Her smile sharpened, like glass about to shatter. "As if you were never supposed to be the firstborn at all—but sweet little Freya."

Ayanna shot Ivar a quick glance. For a moment, she expected him to smirk, to play into his usual theatrics—but there was nothing. The playful edge he often wore like armor was gone, wiped clean. Instead, his expression turned cold, a mask of deadly calm sliding into place. Ayanna knew this face well: the face of Ivar, the God of War.

He took one step forward, the crunch of snow beneath his boots like the strike of a hammer. His gaze pierced through Dahlia like a blade, his voice low and unyielding. "Where is my sister, Freya?"

Dahlia tilted her head, the smile never leaving her lips, though there was something unnerving about it now—something fragile and deliberate, as if she were dancing on the edge of a knife. "Oh, the pitiful sap is crying for losing a child. My child, according to the deal your mother struck with me." Her words were like venom, laced with cruel amusement.

Ivar's frown deepened, and for a split second, his eyes darkened as if a storm had passed over them. So it has already happened, he thought, a faint flicker of frustration passing across his expression before it vanished entirely. When he looked at Dahlia again, his focus was sharper, colder.

"Since she is okay," he said, his voice like ice, "I can kill you."

The words barely left his mouth before he was gone—vanished from the spot like smoke in the wind. Ayanna flinched, though she wasn't surprised; she'd seen his speed before, but it always left her breathless. Dahlia's eyes widened, her smile dropping as she spun around, the first traces of panic flickering across her face. Ivar was behind her now, his fangs bared, his hands outstretched like claws as his breath brushed against her neck.

"If you kill me, she dies!" Dahlia screamed, the words tearing from her throat in desperation. "I linked us together!"

Ivar froze, the sharp tips of his fangs hovering dangerously close to her throat. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. That's also there, he thought, the frustration behind his controlled expression subtle but undeniable. His grip on Dahlia's arm tightened ever so slightly as his gaze bore into her, searching for any trace of deceit—but she wasn't lying. He could feel it.

The pause was all Dahlia needed. With a sharp flick of her wrist, magic surged from her, a dark wave of energy rippling through the air as she cast her spell. Ayanna took a half-step back, her instincts screaming, but Ivar didn't move. The magic hit him head-on, crashing against him like a tidal wave.

And then… it vanished.

The dark energy dissolved the moment it touched him, as though it had been swallowed by an abyss. Dahlia's expression shattered, her composure breaking as raw disbelief spread across her face. "What—?" she breathed, her voice trembling, her eyes wide with panic.

Ivar's smirk returned, slow and deliberate, though it was devoid of humor. "You're a fool, Dahlia," he said, his voice soft but lethal. "To think I would brazenly walk into a powerful witch's den without any precautions." The satisfaction in his tone was as sharp as a blade. He leaned in slightly, his gaze drilling into her terrified eyes. "Your time is up."

"No!" Dahlia screamed, her hands coming up to conjure another spell, but it was too late. Ivar's hands snapped forward, grabbing her shoulders in a vice-like grip. He pulled her toward him with a force that stole the breath from her lungs, and before she could utter another word, his fangs sank deep into her neck.

Dahlia's scream died in her throat as the life was drained from her, her eyes widening in disbelief and pain. Her hands clawed uselessly at Ivar's chest, trembling violently, but her strength was already fading. Her magic sparked faintly at her fingertips before sputtering out like a candle's flame.

Ivar didn't let go. His grip was unrelenting, his expression calm and almost serene as he fed, his eyes glowing faintly with dark satisfaction. Ayanna watched in silence, her silver eyes cold and unreadable, though a faint flicker of something—perhaps awe, perhaps unease—passed through them.

When it was done, Ivar released Dahlia's lifeless body, letting it fall to the ground with an unceremonious thud. Blood smeared his lips, though he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his expression as composed as ever. He turned slightly, glancing at Ayanna, who had remained still throughout the ordeal.

"I'll link Freya's life to mine," Ivar said casually, as though discussing the weather. "She doesn't need her anymore."

Ayanna raised a brow, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks. "Convenient," she said dryly, though there was no mistaking the sharp approval in her tone. "But next time, give me a warning before you vanish like that."

Ivar turned his head slightly, a flicker of his playful arrogance returning as he met her gaze. "Where's the fun in that?"

For a moment, the two stood in silence, the wind whipping around them as snow continued to fall. Dahlia's lifeless form lay between them, her power and schemes extinguished. Ayanna exhaled softly, watching Ivar with a calculating expression, her fingers flexing faintly as if to remind herself of her own strength.

"Let's go," Ivar said at last, his voice low, commanding. He turned toward the settlement, his movements fluid and purposeful, like a wolf stalking away from a fresh kill. "We're not done yet."

Ayanna followed, her silver hair streaming behind her like a banner, her eyes flicking once more to Dahlia's lifeless body before turning ahead. "No," she murmured to herself. "Not yet."