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Before 990 A.D. - Mystic Falls

A single oil lamp flickers on a rough wooden table, casting warm, wavering light across the humble Viking hut. The room is cramped, shadowed, as though even the darkness is watching. In the center stands Mikael, tall and imposing, his stern gaze fixed on his wife, Esther, who cradles their newborn son. The baby’s breaths come in short, painful gasps, and a look of desperate resolve hardens Esther’s face as she fights back the tears stinging her eyes.

Ayana, the village healer and trusted friend, kneels beside them, her brow furrowed as she examines the infant’s pale face. “The healing process is beyond the capabilities of a witch alone,” she whispers, her voice carrying a weight that sends a chill through the room. “I have tried everything… The child is too weak, and if his condition doesn’t improve soon…” Her voice trails off, unable to finish the thought that hangs in the air like a silent curse.

Mikael’s fists clench, his voice rough with urgency as he demands, “Then who can help?”

Ayana’s eyes flicker to the shadowed corner of the room. “You know who,” she replies, her voice laced with reluctance. Both Mikael and Esther turn, and from the darkness emerges Hanuel, a figure both familiar and otherworldly. His long red-brown hair falls past his shoulders, his eyes a steady brown that seem to pierce through the gloom. He is a werefox, but more than that—he is a spirit touched by ancient magic, a deity of nature who has kept himself hidden in the lands surrounding Mystic Falls, hunted by dark shamans for the power that flows through his veins.

Hanuel steps forward, his very presence filling the room with an aura that is almost tangible, a mix of wild energy and calm serenity. “I heard you calling,” he says softly, his voice carrying a lilt of amusement despite the gravity of the situation. He looks down at the struggling infant in Esther’s arms, and a hint of sadness flickers in his gaze. “It seems you have a problem I can solve.”

Mikael’s jaw tightens, his wariness evident as he narrows his eyes at the fox spirit. “You’re known to always seek something in return for your favors,” he growls. “What is it you want, fox?”

Hanuel’s lips curl into a slight smile, but his gaze is unwavering. “A life for a life,” he responds, his tone firm. “I will save your child, but in exchange, I wish to place one of my own within your family. An offspring, who will be raised as your own son.”

For a moment, there is silence. Then Mikael’s face twists with anger. “How dare you demand such a thing—”

“It is a fair bargain,” Hanuel interjects calmly, his eyes meeting Mikael’s without a hint of fear. “You would do anything to save him, wouldn’t you?”

Esther’s voice, trembling but determined, cuts through the tense atmosphere. “We cannot lose Niklaus,” she says, her grip on the infant tightening as if she could somehow shield him from fate itself. She looks up at Mikael, her eyes full of pleading. “My love… we have to do this.”

Mikael hesitates, a battle waging within him as he glances from his wife to the fox spirit. Finally, he relents, his voice low. “Very well. Do what you must.”

Hanuel steps closer, his hand hovering over the baby’s small form. “I will need a drop of my own blood,” he explains, and picks up a silver dagger in his hand. He slices a small cut on his palm, allowing a single crimson drop to fall onto the child’s lips. The moment the blood touches him, the baby gasps, drawing in his first deep breath since the sickness began. His color returns almost instantly, his breathing becoming steady and strong. Relief floods the room, and Esther collapses into Mikael’s arms, overcome by emotion.

Seven and a half months later, Esther gives birth to a son, a boy born early but stronger than anyone had expected. They name him Ezekiel, as Hanuel had requested. The child grows quickly, his health surprising even Ayana. As the years pass, his appearance changes; what was once blond hair darkens to a rich auburn, the tips remaining blond. His eyes, bright and curious, reflect the wild spirit that resides within him. There is a gentleness to Ezekiel, a kindness that sets him apart from his siblings. He loves the forest, the creatures that dwell there, and spends as much time in nature as he can, feeling a strange connection he cannot explain.

As he reaches adolescence, Ezekiel becomes aware of his true origins. He meets Hanuel in secret, drawn to the fox spirit by an instinct deeper than blood. It is during these clandestine encounters that Ezekiel learns of the world beyond Mystic Falls, a world filled with magic and danger, where dark shamans hunt those like his father. Yet, there is also warmth in these moments—a bond forged not just by lineage but by love.

On the night of the first full moon after Ezekiel’s nineteenth birthday, the village seeks shelter in the caves to avoid the threat of feral werewolves. But Ezekiel, restless and curious, slips away to meet Hanuel in the forest. He finds the fox spirit seated beneath a towering oak tree, its ancient branches casting long shadows across the moonlit ground.

Hanuel looks up as his son approaches, a gentle smile touching his lips. “You always find me, don’t you?” he says, his voice carrying a warmth that eases the chill in the air. He motions for Ezekiel to sit beside him, and as the boy does, Hanuel’s gaze drifts to the fireflies that begin to gather, their tiny bodies glowing like fallen stars.

Ezekiel watches in awe as the fireflies dance around them, his laughter bubbling up. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers, reaching out a hand as if to catch one.

“They’ve come to welcome you,” Hanuel murmurs, his eyes soft as he looks at his son. “You have a way with the natural world. It senses you, embraces you.”

Ezekiel’s smile falters slightly as he notices the empty vial in Hanuel’s hand. “What’s that?” he asks, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

“A tonic,” Hanuel replies, setting the vial down with a sigh. “Your mother prepared it so that I can stay with you during what comes next.” He meets Ezekiel’s gaze, his expression suddenly solemn. “The time has come, Ezekiel. You’re about to experience your first transformation.”

The words barely leave Hanuel’s lips before a sudden, searing pain shoots through Ezekiel’s leg, causing him to cry out and collapse to the ground. “Papa—!” he gasps, clutching at the dirt as if it could somehow anchor him.

“It’s beginning,” Hanuel says, his voice calm but edged with worry. “Focus on your breathing, my son. Let the earth guide you. The first time… it’s always the hardest.”

The agony is unlike anything Ezekiel has known, as though his bones are being shattered and reformed by some cruel, unseen hand. “How long…?” he chokes out, his face twisted with pain.

“It could take hours,” Hanuel answers, his voice steady even as his heart aches for his son’s suffering. “But if you embrace the change, let it flow through you, then you will emerge stronger. You must let it consume you, Ezekiel. Don’t fight it.”

The young man clenches his teeth, his eyes blazing a fiery orange as the transformation continues. It feels like an eternity, each second stretching into minutes, every bone snapping and twisting in a torturous rhythm. Yet, through the haze of pain, he hears Hanuel’s voice, grounding him, urging him forward.

And then, with a final, desperate howl, Ezekiel’s form shifts. He rises on four legs, his red-brown fur glistening under the moonlight, streaks of silver threading through his pelt. His senses awaken, the world around him exploding into vivid detail—the scent of the earth, the distant rustling of leaves, the heartbeat of the forest.

Hanuel kneels beside his son, his eyes glowing with pride as he strokes the soft fur. “You did well,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Run, Ezekiel. Run wild and free. Nature is yours to command.”

With a joyful bark, the young fox leaps into the night, his form a blur of red and silver as he disappears into the shadows. Hanuel follows closely behind, his own fox form taking shape. Together, they bound through the forest, their laughter and howls echoing through the trees, a father and son bound by blood, love, and the wild magic of the night.