The display window of the small clothing shop in the French Quarter offered a brief sanctuary from the afternoon sun. Inside the establishment, the air conditioning was running at full blast, bringing a small mercy to Ethan, whose skin still felt as though it were burning slightly.
They began browsing the clothing racks. Ethan searched for something that wouldn't make him suffocate during the ceremony, while Hope inspected the hangers with a critical eye, looking for a piece that balanced lightness and elegance for a Mikaelson family wedding.
After dismissing several heavy jackets and thick fabrics, Hope pulled out a perfect combination: a crisp white long-sleeve linen shirt with a neatly structured collar, paired with straight-cut dark trousers and remarkably comfortable dress sneakers.
"This one will work," Hope said, handing him the hanger. "The fabric is light; you can roll the sleeves up to your forearms and it won't look messy."
Ethan examined the outfit in his hands, running his fingers over the light texture of the fabric.
"Yeah... actually not bad," he admitted, heading toward the fitting room.
A few minutes later, the curtain pulled back. Ethan stepped out, adjusting his collar with his sleeves neatly folded to his elbows. The dark trousers fit his tall frame impeccably, and the dress sneakers gave it just the right casual touch without losing an ounce of class.
Hope stared at him for a few seconds, taking in the result. The light color of the shirt contrasted with his skin tone, highlighting his athletic build without appearing overdone. She gave a slow, approving nod.
"That looks really good, Ethan. Seriously."
Ethan offered a crooked smirk, adjusting his collar in front of the mirror before turning his head toward her.
"To tell you the truth... anything would look good on me," he teased, flashing her a quick, easygoing wink through the reflection.
Hope couldn't hold back her laugh. She shook her head from side to side, letting out an amused sigh.
"Pfft, my God, you are so full of yourself!" she replied, smiling as she shook her head.
Ethan let out a soft chuckle at her reaction and then paid for the clothes at the register.
"Alright, alright, I'll stop," he said, still wearing a playful smile before looking at Hope's simple attire. "What about you? What are you wearing to your aunts' wedding?"
"I have clothes at home," Hope answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
They began walking back to the Mikaelson compound. Ethan trailed a step behind Hope, watching the street traffic, when his eyes locked onto the back of her neck. The dark, branching veins of the Hollow's corruption were visible beneath her fair skin.
Ethan frowned, immediate concern wiping away any trace of banter.
"Hope... are you really okay?" he asked, his voice dropping.
Hope didn't turn around, keeping her eyes fixed on the pavement ahead.
"I can handle it, Ethan," she replied in a curt tone that made it clear she didn't want to get into the subject right now.
Ethan chose not to push and fell silent. Before they could take another step, a female voice called out from right behind them:
"Hope!"
Both of them turned. It was Davina Claire. The witch walked briskly up to them, stopping a few paces away. Her eyes shifted from Hope to the boy beside her, and she arched an eyebrow, examining Ethan with curiosity.
"Is he Ethan?" Davina asked.
"Yeah, he is," Hope replied, making an introduction gesture. "Ethan, this is Davina. Davina, this is Ethan."
In her mind, Davina thought that the boy standing before her looked remarkably like him.
Ethan was genuinely surprised as he looked at the girl in front of him. Given her history and everything Hope had told him about her being a legendary witch and former Regent, he had expected someone older, but Davina didn't look a day over twenty-five. She was stunning, with striking features and an authoritative gaze that commanded instant respect.
"It's a pleasure, Davina," Ethan said, letting out a friendly little laugh. "And with all due respect... you're very beautiful."
Davina let out a light laugh at his spontaneity.
"Thank you, Ethan."
In the exact same second, Hope delivered a quick, firm pinch to Ethan's waist, making the boy stifle a groan of pain and shoot her a glare. Despite her laugh, Hope noticed there was still a deep shadow of grief in Davina's eyes. Josh's death had truly shattered her inside. Respecting the witch's pain, Hope chose not to bring up anything about it.
"Hope... do you mind if I talk to Ethan alone for a minute?" Davina requested.
Both Ethan and Hope were caught off guard by the sudden request. Hope hesitated for half a second before nodding.
"Alright. I'll wait on the corner over there," Hope said, stepping far enough away to give them privacy.
Davina gestured for Ethan to follow her into the mouth of a quiet alley nearby, well away from curious eyes. The moment they were out of earshot of human ears, Davina's expression turned serious and focused.
"Listen, Ethan. I'm trying to find a solution—some magic formula or spell to save Hope," Davina began, getting straight to the point. "I heard from Klaus about the two of you and the effect your touch has on the Hollow inside her. That isn't normal. I need a sample of your blood to run a few tests, to figure out what all of this is and if it can somehow help cure Hope."
Ethan listened in silence, processing the gravity of the request. For him, there was nothing to think about if the goal was to protect Hope.
"Sure," Ethan agreed without hesitation. "If it helps get that demon out of her, take as much as you need."
Davina pulled a small, sterilized syringe from inside her coat and expertly drew a small sample of Ethan's blood, carefully securing the vial.
"Thank you, Ethan," she said with a sincere look. "Before I go, I want to ask you something about your father. I know you never met him, but tell me: did your mother ever mention if he had any kind of precognitive powers?"
"What? Did you know him too?" Ethan asked.
"Yes, I actually met your father when I was a teenager," Davina replied, recalling the past.
Ethan frowned. "Why are you asking if he had that kind of power?"
"Because I have a painting your father made many years ago—of Hope, long before he could have ever known her."
"What?" Ethan asked, even more confused. "How is that possible?"
"It's exactly what I said, Ethan. Your father drew the fifteen-year-old Hope we're looking at right now, right in front of me. Can you believe that? He even said she would be very important to all of us, which means he had some ability to see the future. Though, from what I know, that was the only time he ever did anything like that."
My father could see the future? Ethan thought to himself, staring at the ground. How many powers did this guy actually have?
"Anyway, if you don't have that kind of power, Ethan, it's fine. I've just always wondered how he knew about Hope; it always bugged me. But if you don't know anything, that's okay," she said, offering him a smile. "I'll call Hope over."
Davina then signaled to Hope with a wave of her hand.
"I have to go now, Hope. I have a few things to settle before the ceremony," Davina said to the tribrid. "I'll see you at the wedding."
"Alright. Bye, Davina," Hope waved, watching the witch walk away with quick steps.
As soon as Davina disappeared around the corner, Hope turned to Ethan with her arms crossed and a suspicious glare.
"What did she want with you in private?"
Ethan swallowed hard, knowing that if he mentioned the blood, Hope would worry and refuse to cooperate with the research. Besides, if Davina had approached him personally, she clearly didn't want Hope knowing, so it was best to keep his mouth shut.
"Nothing much... She just wanted to ask about my dad, figure out where I came from."
Hope eyed him for a few seconds, skeptical of the simple answer, but chose not to push. The day was already too tense to start another argument.
"Right..." she muttered, turning around. "Let's just get home."
In an old, quiet house in the French Quarter, the scent of dried herbs and beeswax candles filled the air. Davina Claire carefully arranged her tools across a dark wooden table, setting the altar for a complex ritual.
Kol Mikaelson leaned against the doorframe watching his wife, twirling a crystal vial between his fingers as he studied the concentric circles drawn on the parchment.
"I don't recognize this," Kol said, stepping closer and knitting his brows at the symbols on the table.
"It's a transcription spell," Davina explained without looking away from her work. "We know the Hollow's magic is consuming Hope from the inside out. I'm using the magical impression of her tears to see if I can find an antidote."
Kol gestured with his chin toward the small, sealed glass container resting beside the candles.
"And this other vial?" he asked.
"That's Ethan's blood—Hope's friend," Davina answered, looking at the thick red liquid. "You know he has a connection to Hope, and whenever he touches her, the Hollow's power recedes or goes dormant. I want to see if there's any chance he could be the cure to all this, or if the answer lies in Esther's grimoire."
Kol nodded slowly, his eyes filled with warmth and admiration for his wife's resolve. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a warm, comforting hug from behind.
"You're far too clever for your own good, do you know that?" Kol murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of Davina's head tenderly.
Davina smiled, leaning into the comfort of the gesture, but quickly refocused on the table. She extended her hands over the ingredients, closed her eyes, and began an incantation in an ancient dialect. Her soft voice echoed through the room as the candle flames flickered.
At first, nothing happened. The silence remained absolute.
Davina took a deep breath, channeled her energy, and tried again, raising the pitch of her chant. Suddenly, the open grimoire in front of her burst into flames, dark fire climbing rapidly across the ancient pages. At the exact same moment, Ethan's blood inside the vial began to bubble violently and spilled across the table, surging against the fire and extinguishing the flames instantly, halting the dark magic in its tracks.
However, the Hollow's magic embedded in the tear impression was far too dense and overwhelming; the shadow fire flared up once more with fury, consuming the entire book into ashes.
Kol and Davina stood frozen, staring in shock at the smoking remains on the table.
"It's incomplete..." Davina said, her voice barely a whisper as she stared at the pool of Ethan's blood that had reacted against the magic.
"What's incomplete?" Kol asked, crossing his arms and looking at his wife.
"The blood," she answered, her trembling fingers touching the edge of the table. "It's as if something is missing from Ethan's blood. Like he's incomplete... missing a fundamental piece for this power to fully manifest."
Kol placed a hand over his mouth, resting his chin as he pondered deep in thought. Suddenly, a memory from a tense conversation he had earlier with his brother flashed in his mind.
"Did you hear Klaus mention the boy earlier?" Kol asked, his eyes brightening as he connected the dots. "He said Ethan never killed a human to trigger the curse and turn into a giant wolf. He just went into a coma after an accident, and when he woke up, he transformed. Could it be that... because he isn't a full werewolf yet, it's affecting his blood's reaction?"
Davina looked at Kol in surprise, her eyes wide at her husband's sharp deduction.
"Look at that... you're far too clever for your own good, too," she said, amazed by his reasoning.
Kol offered a playful smirk, trying to lighten the heavy mood:
"I have my moments."
However, Davina's face quickly returned to a grave seriousness. She looked at the ashes of the grimoire and the bloodstain on the wood, concern written across every line of her face.
"This magic is killing Hope from the inside out, Kol," Davina warned, her voice laced with urgency. "We have to do something, and we have to do it fast."
A few hours later, night finally fell over New Orleans. Warm string lights cast an intimate glow over the outdoor venue Klaus had arranged. It was an extremely private ceremony, free of crowds—just the Mikaelson clan, Davina, Marcel, and a small acoustic band consisting of a violinist and a drummer, who set a soft, moving tone for the evening.
Ethan and Hope stood side by side, watching the procession begin. However, noticing the limited space near the altar, Ethan took a few discreet steps back, keeping a respectful distance to leave the family in the spotlight. Hope stepped closer to Kol, taking her place as a bridesmaid.
Freya made her entrance looking breathtaking, walking slowly with a radiant smile as she held Elijah's arm on one side and Klaus's on the other. Reaching the improvised altar, Freya looked at Keelin and couldn't help a soft chuckle when she noticed the dress the bride had chosen.
"What happened to the other dress?" Freya asked playfully.
Keelin smiled back, her eyes sparkling. "What do you think? I'm not taking any chances tonight," she answered, drawing muffled laughs from her bride.
Kol took the lead of the ceremony, straightening his posture with his signature charm and irony.
"Beloved family... not that I want to make this about me, but we all know how families work. Some days are exquisite dinner parties, others..." Kol shot a meaningful look at Klaus, who stood next to Rebekah, "...are daggers to the chest. I don't know why we need tragic events like this to wake us up, to make us realize the beauty of the moment while we're in it, and to be grateful for what we have while we still have it. I am deeply grateful for today, and grateful for all of you."
Kol turned toward the bride, his tone turning genuinely affectionate.
"Keelin, when I first met you, I could have never predicted you'd become my sister. You are strong, beautiful, and deserve nothing less than the absolute best in this life."
Kol turned to the side. "Hope, the rings, please."
Hope stepped forward, holding the small cushion, and presented the rings to Kol. He held the jewelry out to the brides as he delivered the vows:
"Love isn't the absence of shadows, but the decision to walk through them together. May these rings serve as an unbreakable symbol of the promise you make today: to protect, honor, and love one another in every lifetime to come."
Freya and Keelin exchanged emotional glances, sliding the rings gently onto each other's fingers.
Kol opened his arms with a confident smile.
"Well... by the power vested in me by an 18th-century Franciscan monk, and by the internet a couple of hours ago just to be safe... I now pronounce you wives! You may kiss the bride!"
Freya and Keelin laughed at the comment and sealed their vows with a passionate kiss. Everyone present burst into applause and cheers.
In that exact moment, Hope took a step forward and closed her eyes, whispering a short, soft ancestral chant. Magic flowed smoothly from her hands, and as if by magic, dozens of white flowers decorating the altar detached from their stems and drifted softly into the air, transforming into glowing butterflies that fluttered around the brides.
The celebration was met with another round of applause and bright smiles, creating a magical, unforgettable moment amidst all the shadows surrounding them.
A little later, a large, elaborately decorated table was laid out in the center of the space. The feast was underway, accompanied by plenty of wine and glasses of champagne circulating among the guests.
Ethan sat in one of the chairs near the back, slightly removed from the main crowd due to the uncomfortable heat that still ran through his body. From there, he couldn't take his eyes off Hope. She was in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, dancing freely and joyfully with Keelin. Hope looked truly radiant that night—her genuine laughter and the warm light reflecting off the champagne flutes seemed, for a brief moment, to mask every burden she carried.
Further away, Davina was dancing softly in Kol's arms, while Freya stood beside Klaus. The hybrid watched his daughter with a serious, analytical gaze, his mind turning over the revelations Rebekah had shared about the boy. Freya, however, noticed the intense, protective way Ethan's eyes followed Hope's every move. Recognizing the barrier his touch imposed on the girl due to their connection, Freya decided to give Ethan a gift that night.
The witch walked over to his table and placed a pair of dark, fine, magical linen gloves on the surface.
"So you can dance with her without triggering that effect," Freya said with a warm smile, winking at him.
Ethan looked at the gloves, genuinely surprised and grateful.
Freya then walked over to the center of the dance floor, gently interrupting Keelin and Hope's dance.
"If you'll allow me... I'd like to dance with my wife now," Freya said, smiling.
"Of course!" Hope replied with a light laugh. She was already feeling a bit lightheaded and cheerful from the champagne she had enjoyed.
Ethan stepped forward with calm, measured steps, carefully adjusting the dark linen gloves. He extended his hand to Hope, palm up, in a silent invitation.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, almost like a shared secret that made Hope's chest flutter.
Hope looked up at him, her blue eyes gleaming beneath the warm glow of the overhead lights. A genuine, radiant smile broke across her lips without a trace of hesitation. She rested her hand in his, feeling the soft texture of the fabric.
"And the gloves?" she asked curiously, tilting her head slightly.
"Your Aunt Freya gave them to me," Ethan explained, nodding in silent gratitude toward the newlyweds. "So I can touch you without worrying about putting everything at risk. So we can dance without a single care in the world, even if it's just for a few minutes."
At Freya's request, the violinist and drummer launched into a soft, slow, resonant melody. The notes of the violin seemed to float on the night air, wrapping the entire garden in an intimate, magical atmosphere.
Ethan pulled Hope closer with a reverence that was almost sacred, as if holding something infinitely precious. He placed his gloved hand on the curve of her waist, feeling the lightness of her dress, while his other hand intertwined firm and protective with hers. Hope took one more step into the center of his embrace, resting her forehead against Ethan's chest for a second and taking a deep breath. His scent and the steady warmth he radiated were her greatest comfort.
When she raised her face to look at him, the world around them simply collapsed and vanished.
There were no more dark whispers from the Hollow, no black veins crawling up her neck, no unbearable guilt over Bill, and no suffocating dread of what tomorrow would bring. In that small universe bounded by Ethan's arms, Hope found a peace she had long believed lost forever. It was as if his embrace built an unbreakable wall against all the chaos of New Orleans.
They moved to the slow, gentle rhythm of the music, never breaking eye contact for even a second. Ethan's gaze was a safe harbor—deep, sweet, overflowing with genuine protection and affection. Hope's reflected relief, surrender, and a love so pure it rendered words unnecessary.
"You look insanely beautiful tonight, Hope... seriously," Ethan murmured, his voice laced with a tenderness he made no effort to hide.
Hope felt her cheeks warm as a shiver ran down her spine. She offered a subtle smile, leaning her face in closer until she could feel Ethan's warm breath brushing against her skin.
"Thank you..." she whispered, closing her eyes for a brief second as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, letting him lead. "Thank you for being here, Ethan. With me."
"I'll always be here for you," Ethan replied softly, brushing his lips against her hair near her temple, sealing the promise.
Around the dance floor, beneath the golden lights and the glowing butterflies floating through the air, the Mikaelson family watched the scene in respectful silence. Kol and Davina shared a knowing, emotional look; Rebekah held her hands over her chest with a fond smile; and even Klaus, leaning a short distance away in his imposing posture, felt his armor yield for a split second. The Original Hybrid stared at the two in the center of the garden, and seeing his daughter truly happy and at peace in the boy's arms, a faint, exceedingly rare smile of genuine approval touched his lips... before he wiped it away immediately, returning to his usual guarded expression.
But for Ethan and Hope, there were no spectators, no witches, no vampires, and no threats lurking in the dark. There was only the rhythm of the dance, the secure touch of the linen gloves, and the devoted gaze locked between them, holding that perfect moment still in the middle of the storm.