The breakfast finished in a scattering of wooden bowls and a general movement towards the day's tasks. Mikael left with Finn and Elijah to check the traps and patrol the forest perimeter – the threat of wolves, though not constant, was a shadow that hung over their lives. Esther retreated to her hut, likely to tend to Henrik and her herbs. Kol and Niklaus, after a brief, playful chase, had disappeared towards the edge of the woods, probably planning some minor mischief. Rebekah, still holding Luãn's hand for a moment longer than necessary, asked him if he wanted to help her fetch water from the river.
"Perhaps later, Rebekah," he said, offering her another of the small, practice smiles he was trying to master. He felt a flicker of genuine fondness for her; she was the easiest to connect with in this younger form, her future struggles resonating deeply with his knowledge from the show. "I… I think I will help Mother first. See if she requires assistance with Henrik."
It wasn't a lie; he did want to observe Esther, understand her magic better, see the mother before the witch became consumed by power and fear. But mostly, he needed a moment alone to strategize, to put the morning's overwhelming revelations into a tangible plan.
Rebekah's face fell slightly, but she nodded. "Alright, Luãn. Find me by the river when you are done."
"I will," he promised, watching her skip off towards the water source, her bright, youthful energy a stark contrast to the grim future he knew awaited her.
He walked towards Esther's hut, but didn't enter immediately. Instead, he paused by the edge of the clearing, ostensibly watching the villagers go about their work, but his mind was racing. Three years. That was his timeline. Three years to go from this fifteen-year-old body, strong for the era but nowhere near the peak of human capability, to a physical specimen ready to absorb and maximize the power of vampirism.
He needed to become an expert hunter, not just for food, but for tracking, stealth, and understanding the environment. He needed to become a skilled fighter, proficient with the weapons of the time – knife, spear, bow, axe, maybe even simple hand-to-hand combat, although that was less common. He needed stamina, endurance, speed. He needed to learn everything Mikael knew about combat and survival.
He also needed to learn about magic. Not to become a witch, which he knew he couldn't, but to understand its principles, its limits, its vulnerabilities. Esther was the key there. Observing her, asking questions, showing interest – that would be crucial.
And he needed to watch his siblings. Understand their strengths. Elijah's discipline, Klaus's cunning and volatile potential, Kol's chaotic power and charm, Finn's quiet steadfastness, Rebekah's passionate will. He knew their future selves, but their current, human forms held clues to the foundation of those traits. He needed to know their tells, their motivations, the things they valued most.
'Mikael is the priority for physical training,' he concluded, pushing off the side of a hut. 'Esther for knowledge of this world, and its magic. And all of them… for understanding the family I'm now a part of. The family that is the key and the curse.'
He saw Mikael returning from the edge of the woods with Finn, both carrying game. Now was as good a time as any. He walked towards them, straightening his shoulders, trying to project a sense of purpose that felt alien in this younger body.
"Father," he said, his voice steady, trying to emulate Elijah's respectful but direct tone. "May I speak with you?"
Mikael stopped, his stern face turning towards him. He was a formidable figure even now, radiating authority and strength. Finn paused beside him, curious.
"What is it, Luãn?" Mikael asked, his voice deep and resonant. It lacked the outright cruelty of his future vampire self, but there was a perpetual hardness there, forged by the harshness of their life.
"I wish to train with you," Luãn stated, getting straight to the point. "Properly. I can track, yes, and use a bow well enough for small game. But I want to learn to hunt like you. To fight like you. To be as strong as you."
Mikael's eyebrows lifted slightly, a rare display of surprise. Finn looked interested.
"To be as strong as me?" Mikaal echoed, a hint of challenge in his tone. "That is a bold claim for a boy who collapsed from exhaustion yesterday."
Luãn didn't flinch, though a wave of residual fatigue flashed through him at the memory. 'Gotta own it. Can't seem weak, not to him.'
"That was… a momentary weakness, Father," Luãn said, choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps a result of the bad dream that plagued me. But it showed me my limits. And I wish to push past them. Our family… we face threats," he gestured vaguely towards the woods, towards the known danger of the wolves. "I wish to contribute more, to protect our family. I need to be stronger to do that."
Mikael studied him, his gaze intense. Luãn held it, projecting determination, resilience, everything he knew Mikael valued. He saw a flicker of something in Mikael's eyes – approval? Interest? It was hard to read the man who would become the Destroyer.
"Strength is not given, boy, it is earned," Mikael said slowly. "It requires discipline, dedication, and pain. Are you prepared for that?"
"I am," Luãn affirmed, his voice firm. 'More prepared than you know, old man.'
Mikael finally gave a curt nod. "Good. You will join us tomorrow morning before the sun rises. Finn, ensure he is awake. We will see if your ambition is matched by your will." He turned and continued towards the village center, Finn following, though Finn cast a brief, assessing look back at Luãn.
'Okay. Step one. Training secured.' Luãn felt a surge of satisfaction, quickly tempered by the realization of how brutal Mikael's training would be. He wasn't just learning to hunt; he was learning from the man who would spend a thousand years hunting his own children. This wasn't going to be pleasant.
The next few weeks blurred into a grueling routine. Wake before dawn, run through the forest until his lungs burned and his legs ached. Practice with the bow until his fingers were raw. Learn to track, reading signs in the dirt and broken branches with Mikael's sharp, often impatient, instruction. Sparring with wooden weapons against Finn, and sometimes Elijah, who, even at his young age, moved with a natural grace and efficiency that Luãn envied and studied intently.
"Your stance is sloppy, Luãn!" Mikael barked one morning, smacking his leg with a training stick. "Keep your center low! You sway like a drunken sailor!"
Luãn stumbled but recovered, tightening his core, trying to remember the basic combat stances he'd seen in movies and adapted from Luãn's ingrained familiarity with simple weapons. It was frustrating. His body felt clumsy, weak compared to the effortless power he wielded in his old life (even just lifting groceries was easier there). But every ache, every bruise, every gasp for air was a reminder of his goal. This was the foundation. The human maximum he needed to reach before the transformation.
He pushed himself relentlessly. When Mikael and the older boys stopped, Luãn would often continue, running extra loops, practicing his bow drawing until his arms trembled. He ate everything Esther gave him, needing the fuel. He slept deeply, body recovering from the day's exertion.
Through the physical exhaustion, he kept observing. He saw Mikael's pride in Elijah's skill and Finn's obedience, his veiled frustration with Klaus's wandering eye and softer nature, his gruff affection for Kol and Rebekah, his quiet concern for Henrik. He saw Esther's attempts to keep the peace, her love for her children, and the subtle hints of the magic she practiced in secret – the way plants seemed to thrive around her, the knowing look she sometimes gave the wind.
He interacted with his siblings more naturally now that the initial shock had worn off. He practiced bowmanship with Klaus, finding a surprising camaraderie in their shared enjoyment of the hunt, even if Klaus was easily distracted.
"Did you see that rabbit, Luãn?" Klaus whispered one afternoon, pointing excitedly. "Fast little thing. Think you can hit it?"
Luãn sighted, adjusting his aim slightly for the distance. He pulled back the string, feeling the familiar tension. He released, and the arrow zipped through the air, hitting the rabbit with a clean shot.
"Nice one!" Klaus grinned. "You're getting good, adopted brother. Father's training seems to be working."
'It is,' Luãn thought, retrieving the game. 'And I'm not just doing it to impress Mikael.'
He sometimes sat with Elijah in the evenings, watching him carve wood or sharpen weapons. Elijah was quiet, thoughtful, already possessing a maturity beyond his years.
"Father is pleased with your progress," Elijah commented one night, not looking up from his carving. "You work harder than any of us."
"Just trying to keep up," Luãn replied, though they both knew it wasn't true. He was trying to surpass. "You move like a ghost when you hunt, Elijah. Almost silent."
Elijah finally looked at him, a small, rare smile touching his lips. "Practice. And patience. The forest gives its bounty to those who respect it."
They would talk sometimes about the village, the forest, the future. Luãn steered conversations subtly, probing for information about the wolves, the village elders, the growing tensions. He learned the name of the alpha of the local pack – Gregor – and the uneasy truce that existed.
He also continued to experience the subtle, simmering prejudice from the villagers. It was a constant undercurrent. Serving food, he might find a bowl pushed slightly away. Playing games with the younger children, their parents might call them back with sharp glances towards him. Walking through the village, conversations would cease, eyes would follow