New Orleans felt alive the moment Drake and Ciri arrived.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
The city breathed.
Magic flowed beneath the streets like blood through veins, ancient and restless and impossibly dense compared to Beacon Hills. Drake felt it immediately as the portal closed behind them in a ripple of gold light.
The French Quarter stretched around them glowing beneath midnight lanterns.
Music drifted through humid air.
Jazz.
Laughter.
The scent of alcohol, rainwater, old stone, and ancient magic layered together into something intoxicatingly alive.
For several seconds neither Drake nor Ciri spoke.
They simply stood there absorbing it.
Then Ciri broke first.
"…Okay," she admitted softly.
"This place has style."
Drake smiled faintly while scanning the crowded streets.
Humans moved around them unaware of the predators hidden among them.
Vampires.
Witches.
Werewolves.
Old things.
Powerful things.
Unlike Beacon Hills, where supernatural creatures hid nervously beneath the surface—
New Orleans embraced its darkness openly.
The city itself felt territorial.
Structured.
Like every inch belonged to someone.
Drake could feel centuries of conflict embedded into the foundations.
Magic soaked into brick.
Blood beneath cobblestone.
A kingdom disguised as a city.
"…Lucifer would absolutely love this place," Drake murmured.
"He did say the nightlife was incredible."
A trumpet echoed somewhere nearby while crowds flowed through Bourbon Street laughing loudly.
Ciri stepped closer beside him, eyes bright with excitement.
"So where do we start?"
Drake opened his mouth to answer—
Then a body exploded through a nearby bar window.
Glass shattered across the street.
Humans screamed.
Music cut off abruptly.
Ciri blinked once.
"…There it is."
A blonde woman crashed across the hood of a parked car hard enough to bend steel before rolling onto the pavement.
Vampire.
Very old vampire.
Drake recognized the supernatural pressure instantly.
Not just age.
Authority.
Power layered over centuries.
Before either of them could react further, another figure burst through the broken window after her.
Tall.
Immaculately dressed.
Calm despite the violence around him.
The man moved with impossible speed, grabbing another attacking vampire by the throat and slamming him through a brick wall effortlessly.
Elijah Mikaelson.
Though Drake didn't know his name yet.
Nearby pedestrians panicked and scattered while compulsion magic rippled subtly through the area from hidden vampires managing crowd control.
Efficient.
Then Drake noticed the real problem.
Three witches stood at the far end of the street.
Channeling dark magic.
Aggressive magic.
The kind fueled by fear and desperation.
Symbols burned faintly beneath their feet while energy twisted violently around their hands.
And all of it pointed directly at the blonde vampire.
Ciri's expression sharpened instantly.
"That spell feels wrong."
"It is," Drake answered quietly.
The lead witch raised both hands.
The street lights flickered violently.
Then black-purple magic surged forward like a spear aimed straight for the blonde woman's heart.
Everything slowed.
Drake moved before thinking.
Space folded around him instantly.
One second he stood beside Ciri.
The next—
Directly between the spell and its target.
The magic struck his outstretched hand.
And stopped.
Silence hit the street immediately.
The spell twisted violently against Drake's palm, dark energy snapping outward in unstable waves.
Then slowly—
The magic began unraveling.
Not blocked.
Not absorbed.
Erased.
Like reality itself rejected the spell's existence.
The witches froze in visible shock.
Even Elijah stopped moving.
Drake barely noticed.
Because the city itself had gone strangely still around him.
The magic in New Orleans reacted instinctively to his presence.
Ancient territorial energy suddenly uncertain.
Predatory instincts recognizing something older.
Something fundamentally wrong.
The blonde vampire stared upward from the pavement breathing hard.
Then slowly looked at Drake.
"…Well," she said after a beat.
"That's concerningly attractive."
Ciri snorted immediately.
Drake looked mildly exhausted already.
"You're injured."
"Darling, I'm immortal. It builds character."
Interesting response.
Elijah approached next.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Every movement controlled.
Drake noticed the tension immediately.
Not fear exactly.
Assessment.
Ancient predator instincts trying to understand whether Drake qualified as threat, ally, or apocalypse.
Reasonable concern.
"You're not from New Orleans," Elijah observed calmly.
Drake glanced toward him briefly.
"No."
The witches recovered first.
The lead woman narrowed her eyes aggressively.
"Who the hell are you?"
Before Drake answered, Ciri stepped forward beside him casually spinning one dagger through her fingers.
"People you should probably stop threatening."
One witch launched another spell immediately.
Poor decision.
Drake caught this one too.
But this time—
The street warped around him.
Crimson-black energy spread outward in slow waves.
Not intentional.
Instinctive.
Reality bending subtly beneath the pressure of his annoyance.
Windows cracked nearby.
Streetlights dimmed.
And suddenly every supernatural creature in a three-block radius felt something ancient looking directly at them.
Elijah's expression shifted for the first time.
Small.
But noticeable.
Recognition.
Because he'd met monsters before.
Ancient vampires.
Witches old enough to reshape kingdoms.
Things buried beneath oceans and sealed behind magic.
But Drake felt different.
Contained catastrophe.
Like standing near a sleeping predator large enough to devour cities if it ever truly woke up.
And somehow—
The restraint made him more frightening.
Drake finally looked directly at the witches.
"You're done."
Simple sentence.
No raised voice.
No threat.
But absolute certainty sat behind the words like cosmic law.
The witches hesitated.
Then backed away instinctively.
Smart.
One muttered something under her breath before all three vanished into the crowd quickly.
Silence settled over the street afterward.
Humans nearby slowly resumed movement as compulsion spread through the area cleaning memories efficiently.
New Orleans adapted fast.
Rebekah Mikaelson stood slowly while brushing glass from her jacket.
Despite the injuries and blood, she carried herself like royalty.
Ancient confidence.
Sharp eyes immediately studying Drake and Ciri with open curiosity.
Then she pointed directly at Drake.
"Right then."
Her accent sharpened slightly.
"You're either incredibly attractive or deeply horrifying."
Ciri laughed immediately.
Drake pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…I'm beginning to regret traveling dimensions."
"Oh no," Rebekah continued brightly.
"We're absolutely keeping him."
Elijah sighed softly beside her.
"Rebekah."
"What? He caught witchcraft with his bare hand. That's interesting."
Fair point.
Elijah finally stepped forward fully and extended one hand politely.
"Elijah Mikaelson."
Drake shook it once.
The moment their hands touched—
Elijah felt it.
Not power exactly.
Depth.
Age.
Something impossibly old hidden beneath human skin.
For the briefest instant Elijah's instincts screamed at him to let go immediately.
He ignored them gracefully.
Years of practice.
"Drake."
"And your companion?" Elijah asked.
"Ciri."
Ciri offered a small wave.
"Nice city."
Rebekah grinned immediately.
"Oh, I like her already."
"Debatable," Drake muttered.
"I heard that."
Elijah observed the interaction carefully.
Interesting dynamic.
The girl grounded him.
That much became obvious immediately.
Every time Drake's attention drifted too deeply into the city's supernatural currents—
His gaze returned instinctively toward her.
Anchoring behavior.
Humanizing behavior.
Important.
Then suddenly a new presence entered the street.
Powerful.
Chaotic.
Wild.
A vampire appeared atop a nearby balcony overlooking the scene.
Dark skin.
Sharp smile.
King-like confidence wrapped around dangerous intelligence.
Marcel Gerard.
He took one look at Drake and immediately frowned.
"…Why do I suddenly feel like New Orleans just got significantly more complicated?"
Rebekah laughed loudly.
"Oh, you have no idea."
Drake glanced around slowly while tension built beneath the city around them.
He could feel it now.
Faction wars.
Ancient grudges.
Power struggles ready to erupt.
And somehow—
He and Ciri had arrived directly in the middle of it.
Ciri leaned closer beside him.
Quiet enough only he could hear.
"We're doing the thing again."
Drake sighed softly.
"…What thing?"
"The accidentally joining supernatural wars thing."
Pause.
"…In our defense," Drake murmured, "we were here less than ten minutes."
"That might actually be a new record."