The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

Ivar's body tensed at the sound of the voice, low and smooth, yet carrying a weight that silenced even the chirping birds. He turned slowly, his grip tightening on the wooden sword he still held. The air felt colder, the warmth of the sun suddenly muted as his eyes fell on the figure standing a short distance away.

Dahlia.

She stood at the edge of the field, her presence both magnetic and unsettling. Her long black hair cascaded in perfect waves down her back, catching the faint light in a way that made it seem like liquid shadow. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her crimson lips, curled into a faint, knowing smile. She was dressed in a sleek, dark ensemble—something timeless and elegant—that hugged her form without hindrance, giving her an air of both grace and danger.

Her eyes were the most unnerving—pale, almost luminescent green, like shards of ice, and they bore into Ivar with an intensity that made his stomach knot. She tilted her head slightly, the motion fluid, feline, and faintly amused, as though she could hear the thoughts racing through his mind.

"Well?" she asked, her voice laced with a teasing lilt that barely masked the underlying authority. "Which of you is the first to pop out? Surely, you know why I'm here."

Ivar swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. His instincts screamed at him to run, to hide, but he forced himself to stand his ground. He wasn't a witch, wasn't steeped in magic, and yet he was the firstborn of Esther. That alone made him a target, and Dahlia—Dahlia was here for him. He knew it.

His jaw tightened, and he straightened, sliding himself in front of Freya and Finn without thinking. Freya clutched Finn's hand, her earlier bravado replaced by wide-eyed fear. Finn, sensing the shift in the air, pressed closer to Ivar's leg, his tiny hands clutching at his trousers.

Dahlia's gaze flicked to the children, and a faint smile curved her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Protective, aren't we?" she mused, taking a single step forward. Her movements were deliberate, measured, like a predator sizing up prey. The grass seemed to bend under her heel, as though the earth itself recoiled from her presence.

Esther hearing the ruckus, immediately came out. The moment Esther stepped into the clearing, her breath hitched, and her heart sank. She recognized that figure immediately—the poised stance, the cold aura, and the commanding presence that had haunted her thoughts for years.

"Dahlia," Esther whispered, her voice trembling. Her hands instinctively went to her swollen belly, protectively cradling the unborn life within.

Dahlia turned her head, her icy green eyes narrowing as her crimson lips curled into a faint smirk. "Sister," she greeted, her voice dripping with mock affection. "You're just in time."

Esther's knees felt weak, but she forced herself to stand tall, her hands trembling as she stepped closer. "Please," she began, her voice cracking, "you can't take him. He's just a boy, Dahlia. He doesn't deserve this."

Ivar glanced at his mother, his jaw tightening as he saw the fear etched across her pale face. Her usually vibrant eyes were dull with worry, her movements hesitant, as though she were approaching a predator she had no hope of defeating.

Dahlia's smile faded, replaced with an expression of cold indifference. She tilted her head, her voice sharp and cutting. "Spare me your pleas, Esther. A promise is a promise. Or have you forgotten what you owe me?"

Esther shook her head frantically, tears welling in her eyes. "He's my son! Dahlia, please, I beg you. Take me instead. Take anything else—just not him!"

Dahlia's gaze darkened, and a low, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. "Anything else? What could you possibly offer that would be of equal value?" She took another step forward, the grass seemingly wilting beneath her feet. "Don't insult me."

Ivar watched the exchange, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mother's desperation filled him with a hollow ache, but he knew. Deep down, he knew this was a battle she couldn't win. He took a deep breath, the resolve hardening in his chest.

"It's better this way," he muttered under his breath, his voice so low only he could hear it. He took a step forward, his wooden sword falling to the ground.

"Ivar, no!" Esther's voice cracked as she reached out, but Ivar was already moving.

Dahlia's eyes flicked to the boy, her brows raising in mild surprise. "How noble," she mused, her voice tinged with amusement. "But entirely unnecessary."

Ivar stopped in front of her, his small frame stiff with determination. His blue eyes, so much like his father's, stared up at her with defiance. "Leave them alone," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at him.

Dahlia crouched slightly, bringing her face closer to his, her cold gaze scrutinizing him. Her lips twisted into a frown, and she tilted her head as though something about him puzzled her.

"You have no magic," she said flatly, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment. "Not even a spark."

Ivar blinked, confused, but remained silent.

Dahlia straightened, her attention shifting to Freya, who stood frozen beside Finn. Her lips curved into a cruel smile. "Ah, but she does," she said, her voice soft and sinister.

Freya's eyes widened, and she clutched Finn's hand tighter, her small body trembling.

"No," Esther gasped, stepping forward, her hands outstretched protectively. "Dahlia, please! Not Freya! She's just a child!"

Dahlia ignored her, her hand extending toward Freya. "A firstborn's magic doesn't care about who came out first. It flows in the bloodline, and hers...is potent."

Freya whimpered, her wide blue eyes darting between her mother and Dahlia.

Esther dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she begged. "Don't do this, Dahlia. Please, I'm begging you. Take me. I'll do anything. Just spare my children!"

Dahlia's gaze snapped to Esther, her expression cold and unyielding. "Your pleas grow tiresome, sister." She turned back to Freya, her hand curling as though summoning the child forward. "Come, little one."

Ivar moved instinctively, stepping in front of Freya. "No!" he shouted, his voice shaking but resolute. "You'll have to go through me."

Dahlia's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the air grew impossibly still. Then she laughed—a low, chilling sound that sent shivers down Ivar's spine.

"You're brave," she said, her voice almost mocking. "But bravery won't save her."

Freya, shaking but resolute, stepped out from behind Ivar. "Stop," she said, her small voice trembling but firm. "If it'll save Mama and Ivar, I'll go."

"Freya, no!" Esther screamed, her voice raw with anguish.

Dahlia's smile widened, and she stretched her hand toward the girl. "Smart choice," she purred.

As Freya took a hesitant step forward, Esther let out a heart-wrenching sob, collapsing onto the ground. Ivar's fists clenched at his sides, his heart pounding as he watched helplessly.

Dahlia's hand brushed Freya's shoulder, and the void-like chill in the air grew heavier. "You'll do nicely," Dahlia murmured, her smile curling into something far more sinister.