Hope Mikaelson

Hope Mikaelson stood on the Wickery Bridge, watching the reflection of the approaching full moon in the dark waters of Mystic Falls. Being the world's only tribrid meant that silence was never truly silent; she could hear the flutter of a bat's wings from miles away and the pulsing blood of the civilian residents in the town square.
But tonight, the air carried something different: an ancestral magical signature she hadn't felt since her family's fall in New Orleans.

The Encounter at the Mystic Grill
Determined to investigate, Hope walked toward the center of town. The Mystic Grill was surprisingly quiet, except for a table in the back. There, an ancient grimoire lay open, and the candles in the room began to flicker violently as she stepped through the door.
The Threat: A lineage of local witches, resentful of the decades of chaos the Original vampires had brought to the town, 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 town, 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 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 who carries 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 extended. With a quick movement of her hands, she whispered:

Phasmatos Tribum, Incendia.

The flames around the altar turned a deep blue, responding to her master magic. She didn't need to shed a single drop of blood; the mere demonstration of a Mikaelson's power was enough to break the channeling spell and force the witches to retreat.