The first thing I felt was cold. The kind that seeped into my bones, numbing everything. The kind that told me I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

The second thing? Pain.

Not the sharp, fleeting kind. No, this was deeper—like my very soul was being rewritten. Like my existence itself was being forced into a body that wasn’t mine.

Except… it was mine.

I woke up gasping, lungs burning like I had been drowning. My hands trembled as I reached up, touching my face—my new face. My skin was pale, my features unfamiliar, but the worst part? The overwhelming flood of memories that weren’t mine.

I knew who I was.

Charlie Mikaelson. Twin to Kol Mikaelson. A Original vampire.

A heretic.

Panic was an understatement. This wasn’t just a dream, wasn’t some elaborate hallucination. I had been reborn into the world of The Originals, a world of power, blood, and betrayal. A world where family was everything, but also the thing most likely to get you killed.

I tried to fight it at first—to resist the instincts, the knowledge, the magic that now hummed beneath my skin. But there was no denying what I was. What I had always been.

Kol was the reckless one, the wild storm that no one could tame. I was different. Gentler, quieter. But that didn’t make me weak.

And when we turned, when he lost his magic and I kept mine, I realized just how much of a difference that made.

I wasn’t just an Original. I was something more.

And no matter what happened, no matter how many times Klaus daggered me, no matter how much pain this family caused me, I wouldn’t abandon them. Because despite everything, despite all the chaos, all the heartbreak—

The Mikaelsons were my family.

And family is forever.