The witches should have stopped.
Any intelligent supernatural creature would have.
Because the moment Drake spoke—
Reality itself reacted.
"No more spells."
The words weren't loud.
They didn't explode outward dramatically or shake the compound with visible force.
In fact, for half a second, nothing happened at all.
And somehow—
That silence terrified everyone more.
Then every active spell in the courtyard died instantly.
Hexes unraveled midair.
Dark magic collapsed into harmless sparks.
Protective circles shattered across the compound floor.
Candles extinguished themselves.
The glowing symbols burned into the witches' hands faded like dying embers.
Even the lingering ancestral energy woven throughout the estate recoiled sharply away from Drake.
The entire courtyard froze.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Because this wasn't stronger magic.
It wasn't magic at all.
It felt like authority.
Like reality itself heard Drake speak and decided compliance was the safest option.
The lead witch stared at her trembling hands in disbelief.
"No…" she whispered.
Another witch tried casting instinctively.
Nothing happened.
Panic flashed across her face immediately.
The compound grew colder.
Klaus Mikaelson slowly lowered the vampire he'd been holding by the throat moments earlier while staring openly at Drake.
And for perhaps the first time in centuries—
Niklaus Mikaelson looked genuinely uncertain.
Interesting.
Drake stood at the balcony edge quietly while crimson-black energy flickered beneath his skin in thin fractures.
Tiny distortions spread through the air around him before healing instantly.
The universe correcting itself nervously.
Ciri watched him carefully from nearby.
Not afraid.
Never afraid.
But attentive.
Because this version of Drake rarely surfaced anymore.
The thing beneath the humanity.
The ancient predator hidden behind restraint and quiet kindness.
Drake exhaled softly.
Then stepped off the balcony.
Not jumped.
Stepped.
Space folded beneath him like invisible stairs as reality bent smoothly around his descent.
He landed silently in the center of the courtyard.
The impact made no sound.
But pressure rolled outward anyway.
Several vampires staggered immediately.
Even Elijah's posture tightened slightly.
Every supernatural instinct in the compound screamed the same warning:
Do not provoke this thing.
The witches backed away instinctively as Drake approached.
He didn't move aggressively.
That somehow made him worse.
No anger.
No visible effort.
Just calm certainty.
The lead witch swallowed hard before forcing herself to stand her ground.
"What are you?" she demanded shakily.
Drake looked at her quietly.
And for the first time since arriving in New Orleans—
He stopped pretending completely.
His eyes darkened slowly.
Not glowing.
Not supernatural.
Wrong.
Like staring into something ancient wearing human shape incorrectly.
The courtyard lights dimmed around him.
Tiny cracks spread briefly through nearby space before snapping shut again.
Everyone felt it.
Age.
Not years.
Not centuries.
Something deeper.
Like standing beside the memory of extinction itself.
Drake tilted his head slightly.
"…Complicated."
Klaus barked out a sharp laugh from the balcony above.
"Oh, I absolutely adore him."
"Elijah," Rebekah muttered quietly beside her brother, "is this what our family looks like to normal people?"
Elijah didn't answer immediately.
Because honestly?
The comparison felt disturbingly accurate.
The lead witch suddenly raised a trembling hand toward Drake.
Desperate.
Fearful.
And despite her magic no longer responding—
Dark energy flickered weakly around her fingertips.
Drake's expression sharpened instantly.
The air pressure doubled.
"I asked politely."
His voice remained calm.
That was the frightening part.
The courtyard shook softly beneath everyone's feet.
Windows cracked across the compound walls.
Several younger vampires instinctively lowered their gazes.
Not compelled.
Instinct.
Predators recognizing something higher in the hierarchy.
Klaus noticed that immediately.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The witch lowered her hand quickly.
Fear won.
Smart decision.
Elijah stepped beside Drake then, posture elegant and lethal as always.
"You attacked my home," he said quietly.
"You endangered my family."
His tone carried absolute certainty.
No theatrics.
No rage.
Which somehow made Elijah just as dangerous as Drake in that moment.
The witches looked trapped now.
Cornered between an Original vampire and something infinitely harder to understand.
Then one younger witch finally broke.
"You don't understand," she whispered desperately.
Drake looked toward her.
"Then explain."
Silence stretched.
Rain began falling lightly beyond the compound walls.
The younger witch glanced nervously toward Drake before answering.
"There's something beneath the city."
That changed everything.
Marcel arrived through the compound gates at that exact moment with armed vampires behind him.
But hearing those words stopped him instantly.
Even Klaus' amusement faded slightly.
Because in New Orleans—
Ancient things beneath the city were never good news.
The older witch pointed toward Drake shakily.
"When he arrived…"
Her breathing grew uneven.
"…it woke up."
The courtyard fell silent again.
Drake frowned slightly.
Because now that she mentioned it—
He could feel something too.
Deep beneath New Orleans.
Far below the streets and cemeteries and ancient foundations.
Something vast shifting slowly in the dark.
Watching.
Aware.
Ciri moved closer immediately.
"You didn't mention sleeping horrors under the city."
Marcel looked offended.
"You say that like it narrows things down."
Fair point.
Elijah's attention sharpened fully now.
"The ancestral plane reacted to his arrival?"
"Yes," the younger witch answered quickly.
"The dead became restless immediately."
Fear cracked through her voice now.
"Magic is unstable. The ancestors are… scared."
That got everyone's attention.
Because the ancestral plane in New Orleans didn't fear things.
It judged them.
Used them.
Controlled them.
Klaus folded his arms thoughtfully while staring directly at Drake.
"Well."
Pause.
"That certainly complicates matters."
Drake looked deeply exhausted already.
"…I literally wanted one vacation."
Rebekah snorted.
"You came to New Orleans. That was your first mistake."
Suddenly—
The ground beneath the compound trembled softly.
Everyone froze.
A low sound echoed upward through the city.
Not exactly a voice.
Not exactly movement.
But undeniably alive.
The witches backed away immediately in terror.
Several vampires looked around uneasily.
Marcel swore under his breath.
And Drake—
Drake slowly looked downward.
Because unlike the others—
He understood the sound.
Recognition.
Something beneath New Orleans had noticed him noticing it.
Ancient pressure rolled upward through the streets like distant thunder.
The city lights flickered.
Magic surged wildly for several seconds before stabilizing again.
One witch whispered a prayer in French.
Another outright fled the compound.
Klaus' grin slowly returned.
Dangerous.
Excited.
"Oh," he murmured softly.
"This is becoming interesting."
Elijah looked profoundly tired already.
"Why is it always ancient supernatural catastrophes?"
"Because," Ciri answered dryly, "we attract emotional instability and cosmic horror equally."
"Accurate," Drake muttered.
Then—
The thing beneath the city laughed.
Softly.
Only Drake heard it clearly.
Ancient amusement curling through his mind like distant echoes underwater.
His expression shifted instantly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
And for the first time in centuries—
Drake felt genuinely unsettled.
Because whatever slept beneath New Orleans…
It felt familiar.
Very familiar.
The buried entity whispered one final thing before silence returned completely.
Little Wanderer.
Drake went perfectly still.
Ciri noticed immediately.
"What?"
Slowly—
Very slowly—
Drake looked toward the ancient cemetery visible beyond the compound walls where black mist now curled unnaturally between tombstones.
Then he spoke quietly.
"…Something knows me."