"Your dad says that because he has to be the Headmaster," Hope said softly. "I'm doing this because I'm a Mikaelson. They don't wait for permission to save the people they love."

Hope and Lizzie looked at each other. In a world of ancient curses and legendary monsters, the real legacy wasn't the power they held, but the fact that they chose to stand together.

"That's not a spell," Lizzie noted, her hand hovering over the light. "That’s a memory."

Lizzie’s sarcasm faltered. The Merge was a death sentence for one of the Saltzman twins, a dark legacy they had inherited from their coven. "My dad says we have time," Lizzie whispered, joining her at the table.

The moon hung heavy over Mystic Falls, casting long, silver shadows across the grounds of the Salvatore Boarding School for the Young and Gifted. Inside the library, the air smelled of old parchment and dormant magic.

Hope Mikaelson—tribrid, daughter of a vampire, a werewolf, and a witch—sat alone at a heavy oak table. Before her lay a leather-bound grimoire that hadn't been opened in decades. She wasn't looking for a combat spell or a way to close a Malivore pit; she was looking for a voice. "You’re brooding again," a voice echoed.