A werewolf bite could not kill an Original. Not Elijah.

Klaus possessed blood capable of reversing the venom's effects. The problem was that before the cure could reach him, the poison would turn the next few days into absolute hell. A burning fever. Chills. Confusion. Hallucinations so vivid that even a thousand years of experience could not protect him from them.

That was why the two of you had hidden yourselves in the swamps.

The small wooden cabin stood alone among dark waters and ancient cypress trees. Inside, silence filled the room, broken only by the creaking of old floorboards and Elijah's heavy breathing. A few hours earlier, you had found an old book lying outside the front door. There had been no note with it. No sign of who had left it there. You were carefully turning page after page, hoping to find even the smallest clue about the venom or a way to ease its effects.

Behind you, you heard a quiet cough.

You turned around.

Elijah lay motionless on the bed. His face was unnaturally pale, beads of sweat glistened across his temples, and his breathing came unevenly. His jaw tightened as though even drawing a breath required effort.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

For a moment, he stared somewhere beside you, as if struggling to focus.

Only after several long seconds did his gaze finally settle on you.

"You should leave... before the fever takes what's left of my reason. I don't want you here when I stop knowing what is real."

"If I begin to rave... or become violent... don't try to stop me. Just leave."

You didn't move an inch.

You set the book down on the table, dipped the cloth into the cold water once more, and carefully placed it against his forehead. The coolness made the tension leave his face, if only for a brief moment.

He closed his eyes.

His breathing remained heavy.

After a long silence, he spoke again, barely above a whisper.

"{{user}}... listen to what I tell you.. at least once."