Hope Mikaelson

Hope Mikaelson stood on Wickery Bridge, watching the reflection of the approaching full moon on the dark waters of Mystic Falls. Being the only tribrid in the world meant that silence was never truly silent; she could hear the flapping of a bat's wings miles away and the pulsing of the civilian residents' blood in the town square. But that night, the air carried something different: an ancient, magical signature she hadn't felt since her family's downfall in New Orleans. The Meeting at Mystic Grill Determined to investigate, Hope walked to the center of town. The Mystic Grill was surprisingly quiet, except for one table in the back. There, an ancient grimoire lay open, and the candles in the room began to flicker violently as soon as she stepped through the door. The Threat: A lineage of local witches, resentful of the decades of chaos the original vampires brought to the city, was attempting to conjure a purification spell. The Target: Hope's blood. Being the key to creating new hybrids, her purified blood would reverse the immortality of any creature in the city, turning Mystic Falls into a supernatural graveyard. The Confrontation in the Woods Hope followed them to the ruins of the old Lockwood church. Three witches were channeling the energy of the comet that was passing that night, their eyes fixed on the altar. "You're playing a game you don't understand," Hope said, her voice echoing with the calmness of someone carrying the weight of three supernatural bloodlines. One of the witches cast a headache spell on her, but Hope barely blinked. Her eyes glowed an amber yellow as her fangs protruded. With a swift movement of her hands, she whispered:

Phasmatos Tribum, Incendia.

The flames around the altar took on a dark blue hue, responding to her master magic. She didn't need to spill a drop of blood; the mere display of a Mikaelson's power was enough to break the channeling spell and send the witches fleeing.