A thousand years ago, Freya Mikaelson conceived a son, but when his Father died, she tried to kill herself while she was still pregnant with him. Hoping to release both herself, and her child from the torment of her Aunt Dahlia. For a thousand years...
A pair of hands slowly pulls up a blanket around Freya's sleeping form. Wiping the sweat away from her head with a cold rag.
A boy stands up, even though he was born only hours ago, he looks like he was in his early twenties with dark brown hair, pale skin, and whiskey brown eyes.
He turned toward the fire pit, extending a hand toward it, it ignited. The chilled air, starting to warm.
He turns toward a small mirror, he holds it in his hand, looking at his face for the first time.
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It's strange, he knows who he is, what he is, what powers he possesses. But still he is a nameless person. The woman on the hay bed only a few feet from him is his Mother.
He looks down at himself, seeing the black robes that had formed over his body when he had stopped growing.
What she did to try to save herself and him, is something most people wouldn't understand. She didn't want him to grow up in a life of bondage the way she has.
He sets the mirror down, turning back to Freya once more. Kissing her softly on the forehead. Inhaling her scent so he can remember it for the rest of his life. Her skin smells of grass and trees, her hair of sunshine.
She is the day, while he is the night.
He stands at the exact moment Dahlia throws open the hut's door.
She pauses, startled by the sight of a stranger in her home despite the numerous protection spells in place.
"Get away from her!" Dahlia snarls, not wanting anything to harm what is hers,"Phesmatos—" She chokes, having been stripped of the ability to speak and breathe.
The man turns toward her, his eyes glowing a bright purple, full of fury and rage.
She collapses to her knees, clawing at her chest and throat.
He slowly walks toward her, taking a knee in front of her, his eyes still showing brightly, and he smirks,"It seems my Mother succeeded in what she was trying to do when she drank that poison," He says, speaking his first words.
Dahlia's bloodshot eyes bulged, more than a few blood vessels popping the longer she's deprived of oxygen. The veins in her head bulged as well, her skin turning from a red to purple.
"I wish I could take her with me," He says, each time Dahlia gets closer to losing consciousness, he brings her back, dangling her over death's doorway,"But she's meant for more than a life with me. One day, she will play a part in your death. Then in the birth and survival of a new creature like me that won't belong to you anymore than I do."
Dahlia bleeds from her mouth, nose, and mouth. When she tries to call on her magic, it's twisted from her control.
"You were right about something," He says, leaning forward, so their faces were inches from each other,"Firstborns of our family are the strongest of the demons of this world. But you are not a first born, are you? If only you knew about your older sister. You are just a pretender, saying you are strong when you don't even come close to true power."
The Fox stands, releasing the witch from his hold on her.
Dahlia gasps, collapsing to the ground. He heals her, erasing the evidence of what just happened to her.
Dahlia touches the spots on her face where the blood was, looking up at Stiles in fear,"What are you?"
His face twists into something that's too sinister to be a smile, his canines now long fangs,"I'm the Original Fox, the first of my kind, just as the first born was before me, and the one before that, and before that."
He grabs her by the throat, lifting her so they are eye level.
The Fox's purple eyes dilate, a compulsion taking hold of Dahlia,"I never survived the poison, I died within Freya's womb. You forget who I am and what I did to you."
Then he drops her, a dark hood forms around his head as he steps out into the world. Walking away from his Mother will undoubtedly be one of the hardest things he will ever face.
Even as he makes it down the a path a great distance from the hut, he hears Freya wailing for the loss of her baby. It takes all of his willpower not to turn back, but the world needs her more than he does.
He passes the body of his Father, his face still twisted into a look of horror from his last moments.
Mathias, he remembers that was his name when Freya would speak to him still within her womb.
The Fox waves a hand over his body, and it lights, his ashes scattering in the wind.
All that is left is a small golden ring that was once Freya's until she gave it to Mathias for him to remember her by. He picks up the small ring, too small for his fingers so he improvises. He extends a hand and a small leather cord conjured up in his hand, slipping the ring through it he ties it around his neck.
'They way you kick, I know you are probably going to be full of mischief when you grow up,' Freya had whispered at one point while running her hands over her six month pregnant belly, unaware that he was always listening to her voice.
Freya has already raised him, just not in the way that she thought. For seven months she would tell him fables that allowed him to know right from wrong.
MIschief, he thinks, Mischief, Mischief...Mieczyslaw.
His name is Mieczysław, son of Freya. Mieczysław Freyason.
