Achieving that goal required understanding the power he was about to gain, and the world he was now in. He knew the Original Vampire powers – super strength, speed, healing, senses, compulsion. He knew the weaknesses – wood, sunlight (initially), decapitation, heart extraction. He knew about the white oak stake, the only true way to kill them permanently. He also knew about the nuances, the loopholes, the unique abilities – Klaus's hybrid nature, the sire lines (eventually), the Originals' connection, their susceptibility to specific magical objects or lineage spells.
He had three years as a human to prepare. Three years to train his body, train his mind, learn everything he could about this era, this magic, this family, and the world around them. Three years to position himself.
A soft voice broke through his thoughts. "Luãn? Are you awake?"
He turned towards the sound. Rebekah stood in the doorway, framed by the hazy light. She looked... younger, smaller than he remembered from the show, her blonde hair braided neatly, her eyes wide with innocent concern. She was probably only eleven or twelve. Seeing her so young, so vulnerable, knowing what she would go through, stirred something in him – a protective instinct that wasn't just from Luãn's memories, but from years of watching her character on screen, wishing she could find happiness.
"Yes, Rebekah. I am awake," he replied, his voice sounding like a stranger's in his own ears – higher pitched, younger, a different timbre. He tried to keep his tone steady, calm, drawing on the composure he admired in Elijah.
"You slept in late," she said, stepping into the hut. She wore a simple tunic and leggings. "Mother said not to wake you, but you seemed… troubled when you came back from hunting yesterday."
He remembered that now – Luãn had stumbled back, exhausted and shaken, claiming he'd seen something in the woods. He'd collapsed shortly after. It was likely the shock of the transmigration that had caused it.
"Just a bad dream," he said, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "I am fine now."
She didn't look entirely convinced. She walked closer, her brow furrowed slightly. "You look pale. And your eyes… they seem different."
'Damn it. She can tell.' Rebekah was always observant, especially when it came to her family.
"Perhaps the dream lingered longer than I thought," he hedged. "Or maybe I am simply hungry. Has Father returned from the hunt?"
He needed to get outside, to see the village, to ground himself in this new reality and start assessing his environment and the people in it.
"Not yet," she replied, seemingly accepting his explanation for now, though her gaze remained sharp. "Mother is preparing the morning meal. Come." She reached out a hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he took it. Her hand was small, warm, and trusting.
As he stepped out of the hut with Rebekah, the cool morning air hit his face. The village was small, nestled near a forest and river, surrounded by rolling hills. Simple wooden and mud huts dotted the landscape. Villagers were starting their day – fetching water, tending to animals, working the forge. It looked exactly as he'd pictured it from the show's flashbacks, albeit less stylized and more ruggedly real.
And then he saw it. Or rather, felt it. The subtle shift in atmosphere as he and Rebekah walked towards the central clearing where the fire pit and cooking area were. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Eyes, mostly belonging to adults or older children not part of the immediate Mikaelson circle, lingered on him for a moment longer than on Rebekah. There were whispers he couldn't quite make out, sidelong glances. Some faces held a flicker of fear, others outright disdain or suspicion, quickly masked when Mikael or Esther were around, but present nonetheless.
'Ah, there it is,' he thought, a familiar ache blooming in his chest, a ghost of Leon's past experiences overlaying Luãn's. The racism. It wasn't just the children. It was the ingrained prejudice of the time, directed at the "outsider," the boy who didn't look like the rest of them, brought into the heart of their community by their powerful leaders.
He'd seen it in Luãn's memories – the playground taunts, the mothers pulling their kids away, the general sense of being 'othered'. It had hurt Luãn. But for Leon, who had navigated racial prejudice in 21st-century America, this felt… different. More overt, perhaps, less insidious than systemic racism, but raw and constant. It wasn't surprising for 11th-century Europe, but experiencing it firsthand, within his new family's community, added another layer to his complex situation.
He tightened his grip slightly on Rebekah's hand, not out of fear, but a sudden surge of resolve. Let them whisper. Let them stare. Their fear, their prejudice, meant nothing. Not compared to the power he would wield. This ostracism, this feeling of being an outsider even within the village, would only fuel his desire for strength. When he was the strongest, they wouldn't dare look at him like that. They wouldn't dare whisper.
Rebekah seemed oblivious to the subtle tension, or perhaps she was just used to it, having witnessed it growing up. Or maybe she was just focused on breakfast.
As they reached the communal fire, Esther was stirring a pot over the flames, her long dark hair tied back. Finn was helping lay out wooden bowls, while Elijah was sharpening a knife nearby, his movements already displaying the disciplined grace he would carry into eternity. Kol and Niklaus were roughhousing playfully at the edge of the clearing, while young Henrik sat quietly beside Esther, watching the fire.
Esther looked up as they approached, offering a warm smile. "Ah, Luãn. You are finally awake. Come, eat. You need your strength." Her voice was kind, gentle, full of maternal affection. It was surreal, seeing the powerful Original Witch, the woman who would curse her children, looking so warm and human.
He managed a polite nod, still holding Rebekah's hand. Elijah glanced over, a hint of concern in his steady gaze. "Are you recovered, brother? You looked unwell last night."
He looked at Elijah, really looked at him. The noble, honorable brother. The one who always strove for redemption. He saw the potential for greatness, and the potential for immense pain and self-denial.
'Elijah. My new brother. He's canon fodder in my old world, but here… he's just my brother. A real person.'
"Yes, Elijah. I am well," Luãn said, releasing Rebekah's hand and walking towards the fire. "Just a restless night."
He needed to observe them all, individually and as a family unit. Understand their current dynamics, their strengths and weaknesses before the change. Klaus, small and wiry, still human, not yet burdened by his hybrid nature or Mikael's relentless abuse. Kol, full of mischief and energy. Finn, quiet and devout. Rebekah, yearning for love and normalcy. Henrik, fragile and innocent. And the parents – Mikael, the fierce protector, the hunter; Esther, the loving mother, the powerful witch.
He took a bowl of stew from Esther, murmuring his thanks. He sat slightly apart from the others, observing. Kol and Klaus's playful fight escalated into a minor scuffle, drawing a sharp word from Finn and an amused shake of the head from Elijah. Esther sighed, but there was affection in her eyes. Mikael arrived then, carrying a small deer over his shoulder, his presence immediately commanding attention.
'This is it,' Luãn thought, taking a careful sip of the hot, slightly bland stew. 'This is my life now. A human boy in 11th-century Norway. Son of the Original family. Three years away from becoming something else entirely. And I have to navigate all of this, with centuries of knowledge from another world, a goal forged in the chaos of my rebirth, and the reality of who I am in this time and place.'
He felt the subtle stares again as Mikael clapped him on the shoulder, asking about his rest. Even with Mikael's approval, the villagers' eyes still held that wary distance. It was a constant, low-level pressure.
He stood up, bowl in hand, and walked towards the river to clean it, intentionally walking past some of the villagers who had been staring. He met their eyes directly, not with defiance yet, but with a calm, unwavering gaze. He heard a few whispers cease abruptly as he passed.
'They don't know who I am,' he thought, watching the water flow past, clear and cold. 'They don't know what I am going to become. Let them think what they want for now. Soon, their opinions won't matter.'
He had a lot to do. A thousand years of history to live through, enemies to face, and a destiny to forge. The path to becoming the strongest started now. And it started with surviving the next three years as Luãn, the adopted son, the boy who was different, in a world that feared difference.
He gripped the wooden bowl tightly for a moment, then rinsed it clean and placed it carefully on a rock to dry. The forest loomed in the distance, ancient and full of unknown dangers. The village felt both like a refuge and a cage. His new family was both a source of comfort and the origin of future conflict.
'No turning back now, Leon,' he mused to himself. 'It's all on you, Luãn. Be strong. Be smarter. Be fiercer.'
The morning sun, just beginning to climb higher, felt warm on his skin. A warmth he knew would one day burn him. But that was in the future. For now, he was human. And he had work to do.
Let me know how those feel as two separate chapters! We can continue from here, focusing on Luãn's first steps in preparing himself and interacting with his new family and the world around him over the next three years.