The days after the wolf encounter solidified Luãn's purpose.
The fear hadn't been a weakness; it had been a catalyst. Protecting his family, the people he now lived among, breathed with, fought alongside – that was inextricably linked to his goal of being the strongest. He needed power not just for personal dominance, but as the ultimate shield.
The next two years were a blur of relentless, self-imposed training. Mikael's regimen, already demanding, became the baseline from which Luãn pushed himself further. He woke earlier than Finn and Elijah, running through the pre-dawn forest, pushing his lungs and legs to their absolute limits.
He practiced with his bow until his fingers were raw and aching, aiming at impossible distances, moving targets, perfecting his draw and release until it was second nature. He sparred endlessly with wooden weapons, not just with Finn and Elijah, but challenging Klaus and Kol, forcing them to take it seriously, coaching Rebekah on basic defense, even sparring with Mikael himself when the opportunity arose.
"Faster, Luãn!" Mikael would bellow, his own movements shockingly quick for his size. "Do not just parry, counter! Strike!"
Luãn would sweat, grunt, and sometimes cry out as Mikael's training stick found a rib or a thigh. His body transformed.
The lean frame of a fifteen-year-old boy hardened, muscles coiling under his skin, his reflexes sharpening, his stamina increasing daily. He learned to move silently, to track with uncanny accuracy, to anticipate attacks, to read the subtle shifts in an opponent's weight or gaze.
'This is it,' he'd pant after a grueling session, collapsing by the riverbank, his body screaming in protest.
'Building the foundation. Every ache now is strength later.'
He didn't just train his body. He trained his mind. He listened intently to Mikael's boasts of battles past, filing away strategies, tactical errors, and the psychology of fear. He observed Esther, asking seemingly innocent questions about her herbs, the properties of different plants, the traditions of the village, the meaning behind certain symbols or practices.
He learned about the spirits they appeased, the folklore that governed their lives, the power that flowed through the earth around their village. He learned just enough to understand the potential of magic in this world, the rules it seemed to follow, the ways it could be used and countered.
His relationships with his siblings deepened, evolving beyond the basic familiarity of shared childhood memories. With Rebekah, he was fiercely protective, a silent guardian. They would still fetch water or gather berries together, and she confided in him in a way she didn't with her older brothers.
One afternoon, sitting by the river, she sighed. "Sometimes I wish we lived somewhere else. Somewhere where there aren't wolves, and everyone doesn't look at us so strangely."
Luãn skipped a stone across the water. "They look at us strangely because we are different, Rebekah.
Stronger. More... destined, perhaps." He chose the word carefully, hinting at the future without revealing it. "Their fear is their weakness, not ours."
He met her gaze, offering a genuine, warm smile. "Wherever we go, we will be together. And I will not let anyone harm you. Ever."
Rebekah leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, a gesture of simple, trusting affection that resonated deep within him. 'This little girl.
She just wants to be loved. She deserves peace. If I have to burn the world to give it to her, I will.' The fierce protectiveness was no longer just an intellectual exercise based on character analysis; it was a bone-deep certainty.
With Elijah, the bond was one of mutual respect and shared discipline. They would often spar together, pushing each other, Luãn learning from Elijah's innate grace and technique, Elijah perhaps surprised by Luãn's relentless drive and unorthodox moves (incorporating hints of martial arts forms his human self had learned).
"Your focus is unwavering, Luãn," Elijah remarked during a break. "Father is… impressed.
It is not easily earned."
"Your example is a worthy one to follow, Elijah," Luãn replied sincerely. 'If only he knew the thousand years of honor and self-denial that lay ahead. Maybe I can help him avoid some of that pain.' He couldn't give away the future, but he could reinforce the positive traits he admired.
"Discipline brings its own reward."
His interactions with Kol and Klaus were more complex. With Kol, it was often playful banter, sparring matches that devolved into wrestling, and shared moments of mischief, though Luãn guided the mischief away from anything that could draw unnecessary attention or anger Mikael.
He saw Kol's hunger for excitement, his clever mind, and his underlying insecurity.
"You're becoming a brute, Luãn!" Kol complained one day after Luãn had pinned him easily during sparring. "Where's the fun in fighting you now?"
"Fun is for after the fight is won, Kol," Luãn retorted, releasing him. "Practice makes victory easier." But he clapped Kol on the shoulder, a rare, easy gesture. "Though perhaps we could test our speed against each other later? See who can fetch water fastest?" A simple challenge, a way to engage Kol on his terms, keeping him close.
With Klaus, it was trickier.
Luãn saw the artist beneath the hunter, the longing for approval constantly thwarted by Mikael's disdain. He saw the spark of defiance, the simmering rage. Luãn couldn't fix Mikael's abuse, but he could be an alternative source of validation. He would praise Klaus's tracking skills, genuinely admire his carvings, listen to his wilder stories without judgment.
"Father hates it," Klaus muttered one evening, whittling a bird figurine by the fire. "The carving. Says it's women's work."
"It requires skill," Luãn said, examining the delicate wings. "Patience. A steady hand. These are useful in hunting and fighting as well, Niklaus." He met Klaus's surprised gaze. "Your eye for detail is sharper than anyone else's in the family. It makes you a better tracker. A better observer. Father simply doesn't understand that strength comes in many forms."
Klaus looked at the carving, then back at Luãn, a flicker of something akin to gratitude, mixed with confusion, in his eyes. Luãn knew their bond would be tested, fractured by the hybrid curse and centuries of conflict, but maybe, just maybe, he could build a foundation that wasn't entirely based on rivalry or fear.
The village remained the backdrop, and the prejudice a constant hum. Luãn became a figure of reluctant respect among the villagers, if not affection. His skill as a hunter brought much-needed game. His quiet competence and Mikael's obvious, if gruff, approval meant fewer dared to openly mock him.
'The stares are still there,' he noted one morning, walking through the market. An old woman quickly averted her gaze. A group of children stopped their playing. 'But now there's less disdain, more… wariness. Good. Fear is a better deterrent than disdain.'
He sometimes sought out interaction with those who were less openly hostile, just to gauge the village's pulse. There was Olav, the blacksmith, a gruff but fair man.
"Your arms are strong, Luãn," Olav commented one day as Luãn watched him work, sparks flying. "Hard work."
"Yes, Master Olav. Father is a demanding teacher," Luãn replied respectfully.
"A good thing," Olav grunted, hammering metal. "This land is unforgiving. Need strong men to survive."
He paused, looking at Luãn, a flicker of that familiar wariness in his eyes, but also something else – grudging respect. "You track better than most men twice your age now."
'Small victories,' Luãn thought, offering a polite nod. 'Building my reputation, even just as a skilled hunter. It all adds up.'
As the years ticked by, the atmosphere in the village grew heavier.
Sickness swept through the community, taking lives. The winters felt harsher. And the wolves became bolder, their attacks more frequent, less about territory and more about... hunger, desperation. The uneasy truce was fracturing.
Luãn saw the worry lines deepen on Esther's face.
He noticed her spending more time in her hut, gathering specific herbs, chanting softly. He felt the subtle increase in magical energy around their home. He knew what she was preparing for. The ritual. A desperate measure to protect her family from the escalating threats, a perversion of nature to grant them unnatural strength and immortality.
He watched Henrik, frail and often ill, kept close by Esther's side. Luãn knew Henrik's fate was the final push, the tragic catalyst that would make Esther go through with the irreversible spell.
'It's coming,' he thought, lying awake one night, listening to the distant howls. 'The night everything changes.' He felt a knot of dread and anticipation in his stomach. He had trained for this.
Prepared for this power. But knowing the cost, the thousand years of bloodshed and pain that stemmed from that single act... it was a heavy burden.
He spent the final months pushing his training to a fever pitch.
Running longer, sparring harder, practicing with weapons until his muscles shrieked. He paid close attention to the wolf pack, learning their routes, their numbers, their alpha. He needed to know everything about the threat that would soon change their lives forever.
He also spent time with his siblings, trying to etch their human faces, their human laughter and worries, into his memory. He knew the vampires they would become. But he wanted to remember this – Rebekah's easy smile, Elijah's quiet wisdom, Kol's mischievous sparkle, Klaus's hidden vulnerabilities, even Finn's stoic loyalty. He knew, with chilling certainty, that these moments of simple humanity were about to be extinguished.
One cold, moonless night, the howls were deafening. Closer than ever before.
A full-blown attack on the village perimeter. Mikael, Elijah, Finn, Kol, and Klaus armed themselves, joining the few other villagers brave enough to fight.
Luãn was there too, bow in hand, moving with a speed and agility born of two years of relentless training. He moved like a ghost, like Elijah, but with a fierce, almost desperate edge. He picked off wolves with precise arrow shots, covering his brothers, moving like a shadow on the edge of the chaos.
He saw Kol get tackled, Klaus slash wildly with an axe, Elijah defending Finn with practiced movements. He saw Mikael, a whirlwind of lethal force, driving the wolves back. And then he heard it. A child's scream. High-pitched, quickly cut off.
'Henrik!'
He sprinted towards the sound, dropping his bow, drawing the hunting knife Mikael had given him. He burst through the edge of the woods and saw Henrik, lying still on the ground, near where Kol and Klaus had been fighting earlier. A large wolf stood over him, its jaws bloody.
Kol and Klaus were nearby, frozen in horror, their faces pale with shock.
Mikael arrived a moment later, his face contorted with rage. He roared, attacking the wolf with a savagery that made Luãn flinch. The wolf retreated, vanishing back into the trees.
Luãn reached Henrik first. Too late. The bite was deep, savage. The boy was gone.
Esther arrived, her eyes finding her youngest son, her scream tearing through the night, a sound of pure, agonizing grief. Mikael knelt, his face a mask of fury and sorrow. Klaus and Kol stood numbly, stained with blood that wasn't their own.
Elijah and Finn arrived, their faces falling as they saw the scene. Luãn stood apart for a moment, the knife clutched in his hand, watching the devastation. He had known this was coming. He had trained, had prepared, but he hadn't been able to stop this.
Henrik's death. The final push. 'It's time,' the thought was grim, heavy with inevitability. 'The ritual. The becoming.'
He looked at his family, broken and grieving around the body of their youngest. Their humanity, fragile and vulnerable, had just cost them everything.
He walked slowly towards them, sheathing his knife. He knelt beside Rebekah, who was sobbing silently, burying her face in her hands. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a small, comforting weight.
She leaned into his touch.
He looked up at Esther, tears streaming down her face, but her eyes held a dawning, terrible resolution. He looked at Mikael, his grief already hardening into vengeance.
At Klaus, his horror twisting into guilt and fear. At Elijah, his grief underscored by a grim understanding. He knew their pain. He knew what they were about to become.
And he knew, with absolute certainty, that the path to being the strongest, the path to ensuring theirsurvival in the brutal future that awaited, began now, in the face of this unbearable loss. He stood up, straightening his shoulders, a steely resolve hardening his gaze.
He was no longer just Leon, the fan from the future. He was Luãn Mikaelson, forged in hardship, tempered by knowledge, and ready to embrace the darkness to become something invincible.
The vampire ceremony was no longer a future event he knew from a show. It was necessary, imminent transformation. And he would go into it stronger, more prepared, and with a clearer purpose than any of his siblings.