The Quarter was alive. Lanterns glowed in warm reds and golds above crowded streets, music spilled from every corner—jazz and laughter, the heartbeat of New Orleans amplified by the holidays. Mortals celebrated in blissful ignorance, blind to the storm brewing just beyond the veil of their festivities.

From the balcony of an old townhouse overlooking Bourbon Street, Elijah Mikaelson stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back. His dark suit was immaculate as always, his tie perfectly aligned, as though the chaos of the world could never touch him. Yet behind his calm exterior, his mind sharpened on the war ahead.

Below, the streets danced with revelry. Children ran with sparklers, couples toasted with champagne, and the scent of spiced wine mingled with magnolia in the night air. Elijah’s gaze lingered on them a moment longer than usual—reminding himself why the Mikaelsons fought to hold this city.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” came Klaus’s voice from behind, smooth and sardonic. “The humans celebrating their fragile little lives, unaware their streets are about to be painted red.”

Elijah did not turn, but his voice was cool, deliberate. “That is precisely why we must contain this, Niklaus. New Orleans has endured our wars for centuries. If Lucien is allowed to spread unchecked, these streets will drown in more than music.”

Klaus stepped beside him, sipping from a glass of bourbon. His smile was razor-thin. “Containment is all well and good, brother, but Lucien has grown stronger than we imagined. He’s no longer the nuisance he once was. He’s a predator. One of ours, but… enhanced.”

“And predators,” Elijah replied softly, his eyes finally cutting to Klaus, “must be put down.”

Behind them, Rebekah crossed the room, her gown glittering in the candlelight. “While the two of you brood about philosophy, our enemies multiply. The witches won’t forgive us, the wolves certainly won’t. And now Marcel’s little army is their next target.”

At the mention of his name, Marcel appeared in the doorway, his tone edged with frustration. “You say that like I’m not standing right here, Rebekah. I’ve fought your enemies before, but this time? The wolves are out for blood, and the witches have Lucien on their side. If you think your family name is enough to stop them, you’re wrong.”

Elijah’s gaze moved from Marcel to the revelry outside. His expression betrayed nothing, but inside, the storm churned.

“This city,” he said at last, voice low but commanding, “has always been ours. And as long as we draw breath, it will remain so. Lucien’s power may eclipse what we’ve known, but he bleeds as all creatures do. Tonight, we gather intelligence. Tomorrow… we remind him why the Mikaelson name is whispered with fear.”

Klaus raised his glass in a mock toast. “Spoken like a true noble. Ever the diplomat, until the moment you decide diplomacy is beneath you.”

Rebekah sighed. “And here I thought the holidays might offer us peace.”