His footsteps, though near-silent, echoed with the weight of history. Portraits of Mikaelson siblings adorned the walls, frozen in time, capturing moments of joy, strife, and immortal beauty. Niklaus moved with purpose, his gaze flitting from one painting to another, a silent conversation with the canvases that held the visual tapestry of his family's tumultuous journey. The soft rustle of curtains hinted at the night's breeze as Klaus approached the grand windows overlooking the city. His piercing blue eyes, a reflection of countless ages, surveyed the city he had influenced, manipulated, and protected. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips, a testament to the satisfaction that came with knowing he had shaped the destiny of New Orleans.