You deserve it, honey."
"Will I ever see you again?"
"No. And that's a good thing."
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
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''Vekja þessa sál úr svefni iterum vivere." Ayana Bennett chanted, her hands on the shoulders of young Henrik Mikaelson, her protege and nephew.
Henrik stared at her with wide, trusting eyes, the Other Side already in shambles around them.
Ayana channeled Esther Mikaelson's dark magic, the magic she used to revive herself, Kol and Finn. The Bennett witch wouldn't be willing to save Henrik otherwise.
"Vekja þessa sál úr svefni iterum vivere." Ayana repeated.
Henrik's eyes closed.
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When he woke again, he had no idea where he was. It was dark, and he was scared.
He pressed a hand to his throat, feeling a steady pulse beneath his fingers.
"It worked." He breathed, euphoria overcoming him. "It worked!" He examined his hands, allowing magic to seep into his fingers. White bursts of light made him giggle like a child.
"Welcome to Beacon Hills, California." He read off of a sign down the road. "Thanks, sign." He awkwardly saluted it.
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Alan Deaton did not expect to find a young boy wandering the streets so late at night.
The boy was dressed in a ratty blue shirt and light brown, shredded pants. His hair was a mess, hanging low in his face and tangled in knots.
The Druid pulled the car over onto the side of the road, and rolled the window down. "Are you alright?" He asked, cautious but concerned. On one hand, this could be a supernatural creature, on the other hand, he could be just a young boy, lost and alone.
The boy stared at the car, his eyes wide with awe and wonder. "I think so." He stammered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
Deaton noticed he flinched at the howl that pierced the air, and he watched the boy more intently. Scars littered the boy's skin, deep, long scars that weren't very old but weren't new either.
"Do you have a name?" Deaton asked gently.
"Henrik." The boy replied. That was a very odd name. "Henrik Mikaelson." He said it proudly, his eyes lively in a way that the rest of him wasn't.
"What are you?" Henrik (thank god he didn't have to keep calling him the boy) stared at Deaton, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. "You have magic, but it's not like mine."
Deaton decided to get out of the car. "Magic?" He echoed, feigning innocence.
"Incendia." Henrik said, holding a hand up, palm up.
A tiny flame flickered to life, and Deaton was amazed at how well the youth could already control his gifts. "I'm a druid." He confessed.
"I'm a witch." Henrik chirped, grinning. "Can you help me?" He asked, suddenly frowning and biting his bottom lip.
"I think I can." Deaton allowed.
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The End
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Notes:
Ayana's spell is a mix of Icelandic and Latin
Awaken this soul from sleep to live again
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