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The dawn breaks softly, gilding Mystic Falls in a warm light that casts lingering shadows across the village. The forest sways gently with the breeze, carrying the earthy scents of dew and pine. Emerging from the woods, Ezekiel’s grin stretches wide across his face, his energy buzzing. The thrill of last night’s full moon lingers on his skin, a sensation still alive in his bones.

It's a beautiful morning in Mystic Falls. The chill of dawn clings to the village, a faint mist hanging over the thatched huts and quiet forests. Ezekiel emerges from the woods, a glimmer of wildness in his eyes and a faint grin tugging at his lips. Last night had been a full moon—perfect for running free under the open sky. He feels the weight of fur and fangs, the rush of strength only possible now that he is a fox, the thrill sensation still alive in his bones. Out there, hidden beneath the shroud of trees, he met Hanuel. His real father. The only one who truly understands this secret half of his soul.

Now, Ezekiel strides into the village, the air bracing and alive as the sun peeks through heavy clouds. His sister, Rebekah, is up ahead, playfully chasing Henrik, their youngest brother, across the frost-tipped grass. Their laughter fills the morning like birdsong, and Ezekiel's chest swells with a familiar warmth. His siblings are his heart and purpose, each one a tether that keeps him grounded.

Rebekah spots him from a distance, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Zeke!” she calls, drawing closer with a knowing glint in her eye. Henrik bounds over to Ezekiel, gripping onto his waist with a playful gleam in his eyes.

Ezekiel chuckles, ruffling Henrik’s messy hair. “You’re getting too big for me to be swinging you around, you know that?”

Henrik grins, unbothered. “Oh, come on, Zeke! You can’t be that old yet!”

With a laugh, Ezekiel twists them both in a circle, his grip firm but careful, making sure Henrik’s feet don’t hit any stray roots or rocks. Henrik’s laughter rings out, bright and uninhibited, the sound pulling Ezekiel out of his own bitterness for a moment.

“Where were you last night?” Rebekah asks, crossing her arms with a playful smile, though her gaze is razor-sharp.

Ezekiel lifts Henrik up with ease, swinging him onto his hip. “Out on a grand adventure,” he replies with a mischievous smirk, hoping the comment is enough to disarm her. Henrik squeals with delight, oblivious to the tension building between his elder siblings.

But Rebekah’s expression remains undeterred. “Don’t lie to me, Ezekiel. You went to meet him, didn’t you? You went to see Hanuel.” Her voice drops, caution laced with something softer, something that sounds like fear.

Ezekiel’s grin fades, his shoulders sagging in silent surrender. “I did,” he admits, slowing the twirl, setting Henrik down with a pat on the shoulder. “He’s my father, Bekah.” His gaze warm as he watches Henrik catch his breath, cheeks flushed with laughter.

Rebekah frowns, glancing around to ensure no one overhears. “If father finds out… if he even suspects where you’re sneaking off to, he’ll—”

“I know what he’ll do,” Ezekiel interrupts, bitterness flashing in his eyes. “But I won’t live in fear just to appease a man who can barely stand the sight of me.”

Henrik tugs on his sleeve, distracting him just long enough for Ezekiel’s frustration to ease. He scoops his younger brother into his arms, hugging him tightly. Henrik giggles, twisting around to watch as Rebekah sighs, looking at him with that same mixture of pride and worry she always holds for her brothers.

Before Ezekiel can respond, he notices Klaus and Elijah several yards away, locked in a mock sword fight. Their movements are quick and practiced, each strike and parry filled with tension just beneath the surface. Rebekah’s eyes light up, and she grabs Ezekiel’s hand, pulling him forward with Henrik trailing close behind.

They stop a few feet from the sparring brothers, watching with growing excitement. Elijah casts a sidelong glance, catching their arrival. His smile is calm, self-assured, eyes sparking with a confidence that Ezekiel envies.

“Oh look, our sister has arrived to watch my fast-approaching victory!” Elijah taunts, a smirk pulling at his lips. Henrik’s excitement bubbling over as he scrambles up to get a better view.

The group laughs, though Klaus flashes an amused, devilish smile. “On the contrary, Elijah…” He swings his sword with sudden vigor, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. His strike lands true, severing Elijah’s belt clean off his waist and sending it clattering to the ground. “She’s come to laugh at you!”

Rebekah laughs, clapping her hands in delight. Ezekiel can’t help but chuckle, feeling the warmth of shared joy despite the sharpness he knows lingers between his brothers. But just as Klaus turns to throw another boast, their laughter stills, draining as a familiar presence approaches.

Mikael strides toward them, his gaze sharp, his jaw set in that unyielding, unforgiving way Ezekiel knows too well. He watches his father’s face, reading the disdain hidden behind the mask Mikael always wears. Esther is close behind, her brow creased with concern as she notices Mikael’s grim expression.

“Relax, Mikael,” Esther murmurs, touching his arm gently. “Niklaus means well.”

Mikael barely spares her a glance. “That is precisely my problem,” he mutters, cold as stone.

The air grows heavy as Mikael steps between Elijah and Klaus, reaching for Elijah’s sword. He pulls it from Elijah’s grasp, its weight barely an effort in his hands, before he turns to Klaus, his gaze calculating and hungry.

“So, why don’t you teach me that trick, young warrior?” Mikael challenges, his voice laced with a dark undertone.

Klaus hesitates, his confidence crumbling. “Father, we were just having fun—”

“We fight for survival,” Mikael snaps, swinging his sword with relentless force. “And you find time for fun? I want to have fun! Teach me! Come on!”

“Father, it was nothing…” Klaus barely finishes his plea before Mikael strikes, his blow unyielding. Within moments, Klaus is disarmed, collapsing to his knees with a gasp, terror etched across his face.

Ezekiel’s fists clench at his sides, fury boiling within him as Mikael looms over Klaus, cold and unfeeling. “You are foolish and impulsive, my boy. What? No more laughter? Some days, it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” Mikael sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. “It won’t be long before an enemy stands before you, and you turn into this… pathetic version of yourself.”

The last of Ezekiel’s restraint snaps. Heart pounding, he picks up Klaus’s sword from the ground, stepping forward until he stands face to face with Mikael. He raises the sword, pointing it at his father with unwavering determination. “Not if I’m alive and breathing.”

Mikael’s eyes darken, anger twisting his face. “It seems we have a warrior full of bravery. I ought to change it.”

Their swords clash with deadly force, Ezekiel’s mind racing as he fights to hold his own. Hanuel has taught him much, made him strong, but even now, he knows he is no match for Mikael’s brutal experience. A swift strike from Mikael’s blade slices across Ezekiel’s brow, sending blood trickling down his face. Ezekiel falters, a pained whimper escaping his lips as he clutches the wound.

“It’s just a little blood. Be a man about it,” Mikael hisses, his voice laced with scorn. He swings again, his strikes relentless, forcing Ezekiel to defend himself with whatever strength he has left.

The fight ends as Mikael slams Ezekiel onto his back, the ground cold and unyielding beneath him. Mikael presses the blade to his throat, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Think of this moment before you turn rebellious enough to stand against me again.”

“Enough, Mikael.” Esther’s voice rings out, stern and unyielding. “You’ve made your point.”

Mikael’s gaze flicks to her, and for a moment, his presses harder before he finally releases Ezekiel, leaving him sprawled on the ground, blood trickling down his face. “Not quite.” He towers over Ezekiel, his voice sharp. “Where were you last night?”

Ezekiel meets his gaze, voice steady despite the pain and blood blurring his vision. “I went to bed early.”

Mikael’s eyes narrow, his suspicion flaring. “Do not lie to me, boy!”

“I was with him, Father,” Elijah’s voice cuts in. Ezekiel turns, surprise flickering in his eyes as Elijah steps forward, his posture calm but determined. “He wasn’t feeling well last night.”

Mikael scowls, his anger briefly tempered by Elijah’s intervention. With a grunt, he stabs the sword into the ground beside Ezekiel’s head before storming off, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

The siblings immediately rush to Ezekiel’s side, helping him to his feet, their faces etched with worry. Klaus’s eyes are wide, guilt twisting his features as he clutches Ezekiel’s arm. “Ezekiel, I—”

Ezekiel smiles, gripping his brother’s shoulder. “I’d do it again for you. Don’t worry.” His words are soft, but there’s a fierce loyalty in his gaze, a quiet reassurance for Klaus that he isn’t alone.

Henrik clings to Ezekiel, his small frame pressed against his older brother’s side, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I was scared, Zeke,” he whispers, voice trembling. His fingers clutch Ezekiel’s tunic tightly, unwilling to let go.

Ezekiel wraps an arm around him, pulling him close, his hand resting protectively on Henrik’s back. “I know,” he murmurs softly, a steady warmth in his tone. “But I’m here. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Henrik nods, burying his face into Ezekiel’s shoulder, finding a moment’s peace. The others close in, the five of them wrapped in the solidarity only they understand—a bond forged in the fire of Mikael’s wrath, stronger than any sword or wound.

“Ezekiel, my love, follow me.” Esther’s voice breaks the moment, soft but insistent.

He follows her into their hut, sinking onto the stool she gestures to as she fetches a cloth and water. Her movements are gentle, each touch an unspoken reassurance as she cleans the blood from his wound.

“You must be careful, my love,” she murmurs, her eyes filled with sadness as she pats his brow. “Or one day, your father’s sharp sword will do more than just scar you.”

“Mikael is not my father,” Ezekiel replies, bitterness lacing his words. “Hanuel is.”

Esther’s expression tightens, and she presses a fresh bandage to his wound, her voice low but fierce. “Do not ever mention that in front of Mikael. Promise me that you won’t.”

He sighs, relenting, though the bitterness doesn’t leave his eyes. “I promise, Mother. But I won’t stand by and let him hurt Niklaus—or any of us—anymore.”

Esther’s fingers brush his hair aside, her touch as soft as her voice. “You have a gentle soul, Ezekiel. A heart that feels deeply for everyone around you. But that heart can be both strength and weakness.” She lingers on him for a moment, her gaze filled with a mother’s pride and worry.

A small smile tugs at Ezekiel’s lips. He has always felt safe around her, the only person who sees the boy he is. “I am careful, Mother. I promise.”

Esther lets out a quiet sigh, giving him a look that both reassures and chastens him. “Just remember, Zeke,” she murmurs, “it’s often the gentlest among us who carry the heaviest burdens.”

Later, as night descends upon the village, the warmth of celebration fills the air. Flames leap in a towering bonfire at the center, casting flickering shadows over faces aglow with laughter. People dance in circles, their movements wild and free, an ancient rhythm pulsing beneath their feet. Ezekiel joins in, pulling Rebekah into a spin, her laughter rising above the hum of voices. They move like children, momentarily free from the burdens of their world.

For a moment, Ezekiel is lost in the joy, feeling almost weightless, until he stops to catch his breath. As he wipes a bit of sweat from his brow, he spots Tatia standing near the edge of the firelight, her gaze locked on Niklaus, who reaches for her hand and pulls her close, planting a kiss on her lips. In the shadow beyond them, Elijah watches, his face darkened with jealousy and hurt.

A pang of bitterness tightens in Ezekiel’s chest. Tatia—a beautiful woman, no doubt, but also the wedge driven between his brothers, her affections split and fleeting. She may be seeking love again after the death of her husband, but she flits between Klaus and Elijah, keeping both of them tied to her whims. To Ezekiel, it’s an unbearable cruelty, turning his brothers against each other. He would rather face a thousand beatings from Mikael than see his family torn apart from within.

Kol sidles up beside him, his expression curious, eyes following Ezekiel’s gaze. “Pretty one, isn’t she?”

Ezekiel chuckles, masking his frustration with a smile. “I would be blind if I said otherwise.”

The younger brother’s curiosity grows. “So, do you like her?”

Ezekiel shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips. “She’s only brought strife between Elijah and Klaus. Why would I want that kind of woman to be my wife?”

Kol frowns, slightly taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected this reply. “But you think she’s pretty, don’t you?”

Ezekiel rests a hand on Kol’s shoulder, smiling warmly. “There’s more to a woman than her looks, Kol. One day, you’ll understand.”

Kol looks away, contemplating his words, while Ezekiel’s gaze drifts back to Rebekah, who’s spinning in the firelight with Henrik, laughter spilling from them both. She catches him watching and waves, a playful grin lighting up her face. He smiles back, lifting his hand in return, a warmth spreading through him despite everything.

Just then, Elijah approaches, his expression shadowed and sour. Ezekiel raises an eyebrow, nudging a cup of wine into his hand. “Come on, Lijah,” he quips, tone rich with mischief. “A face like that could curdle the wine.” Kol stifles a laugh, and even Elijah’s lips twitch, the tension melting as Ezekiel’s wit slowly works its charm.

The celebration stretches on, the fire rising high and wild, its warmth enveloping them all. But Ezekiel’s mind keeps drifting back to his promise—to his mother and to himself. He’s made a silent vow, forged in the heat of Mikael’s cruelty and solidified in the depths of his love for his siblings. Whatever comes, he will fight. For Niklaus, for Rebekah, for all of them. He’ll stand against anyone who tries to tear them apart, even if that enemy is Mikael himself.