A Mikaelson Diaries. - AU!

Greece,

1st Century B.C.

Our history begins, this time, around two thousand years ago, in the country of Greece.

In a little corner of the world, on a village forgotten by history, there once was a community of very special people, humans born with magic in their blood, blessed by nature herself.

Among these special people lived a man and two women.

The man, Silas, a powerful warlock of his own accord, came from an old and powerful lineage of warlocks and witches, his ancestors one of the founding fathers of their people.

The first woman, Qetsyiah, the most powerful witch to have ever been born among their people, like Silas, was also of noble standing, royalty among their people.

And, though their families were enemies, these unlikely two became quick friends since they were but little children. Much for the chagrin of their parents who did everything in ther power to separete them, alas, as they grew in power, it was inevitable that they couldn't do much, nor control them.

Alas, even with the friendship between them, it wasn't enough to clear the age old blood feud between them, and ultimately, after much provocation between both parts, accusations flew left and right, and their people were on the verge of an all-out war.

Silas' father, knowing that their family wouldn't be the one winning this war, proposed an alternative to Qetsyiah's father, who didn't fear losing but the destruction a war would leave behind. He proposed a way to connect their families as one and end the bad blood between them.

A wedding.

And so, they promised Silas and Qetsyiah to one another.

The woman was in love with the man and promptly accepted it, but Silas heart longed for another.

The second woman, Amara.

Maid to Qetsyiah and known for her beauty among their people, Amara also loved Silas, but as a commoner, she didn't have a voice in the matter, with Silas being of noble stand and now betrothed, their own laws forbid their love.

But love, as history would show it to be, was a force of motivation bigger than any other.

And not even death could stop it.

...

A handsome man in his late teens to his early twenties trailed the image of pleasure plaguing the face of the most beautiful woman in the world for him.

Her olive skin sparkled with sweat, dark brown hair sticking to it as the woman's brown eyes closed in pleasure as she held on to the man's thighs as if her life depended on it, riding him and moaning in pleasure.

Soon, the man's thrusts intensified, his dick throbbing inside the woman as her pussy clenched him, both releasing a moan of pleasure as both came together, the man releasing bursts of semen inside the woman who dropped on his chest, both exhausted.

The woman lifted her head, brown eyes slowly trailing the body of her lover as if painting a picture of him inside her brain, all the way from his strong jawline that flexed slightly with every deep breath he took, to his strong arms that held her naked body so closely, his muscular chest pressed against her full breasts as her almond-shaped doe eyes finally met his forest green ones that stared back at her, his dark blonde hair a shade darker because of sweat, sticking slightly to his forehead.

He was smiling at her. A smile that was so full of love and adoration that it took her breath away. But she returned it with equal intensity as the lovers once more shared a deep kiss.

Silas loved Amara with his soul and beyond, and Amara promised to love him to the stars and back, till death did them apart.

Which it shall never do, as the magic they could feel flowing in their now Immortal bodies promised that.

But what the two lovers, drunk in their love and lust, failed to notice as they basked themselves in carnal desire, was the figure of a woman watching them from afar, a black cloak hiding her face, the night acting as her cover.

And, faster than a blink, the shadows of the night swallowed the woman, her dark form vanishing in the night.

...

Later, as the weeks and months came and passed, the two lovers continued entrapped in their little picture-perfect world, and soon the woman became pregnant with their first child.

One day, Silas had gone to a nearby village for provisions, reluctantly leaving Amara by herself in their home.

Ever since they ran away from their families and people, Silas had been overprotective towards his love, something that both bothered her and yet made her feel loved. That was until he became even worse thanks to her pregnancy, to which she had to remind him they were now immortal and nothing could hurt her. The man calmed down, if ever so slightly, enough to leave her alone for a day or two.

Alone, Amara washed their clothes in a wooden basin as she hummed a song to herself and her baby. Distracted, her attention was soon picked by the sound of a breaking twig nearby, her enhanced hearing working at full gear to determine the cause, but when she turned to face where the sound had come from, the Immortal was greeted by the image of the one person she hoped to never see again, Qetsiyah.

In shock, the first thing Amara noticed was how her dark hair was disheveled and dirty when she knew her to be a clean freak, always wanting everything to be perfect and in order.

The second thing Amara noticed was the bags under her dark dorbs.

And the third thing that Amara noticed was that in Qetsiyah's hands rested a dagger and in another a vial of a blood-like liquid that visually brimmed with magic power.

The last thing Amara Petrova would ever see for millenia to come was the crazed smile her once friend gave her, head tilting to the side as a wave of magic left her.

Then, the world became black.

Darkness filled Amara's vision as the sound of her breaking neck filled her ears and unconsciousness finally consumed her.

...

Later that same day, as the sun died on the horizon and the moon rose in the night sky, Silas walked back to his home and his beloved.

The man held in one hand a basket full of the provisions they would need for the week and, in another, a bouquet of tulips, Amara's favorites. Already he was smiling to himself as he imagined the woman's surprised face, anticipating the happiness he knew it would bring her as he took a whiff of the scented flowers.

As he walked the last steps to his home, who he had seen in the distance, illuminated by the flames of their campfire but hidden by the thick folliage of the forest they resided, the why to them choosing this location, one thing made him stop dead in his tracks. Dread immediately filled him as cold sweat formed on his back.

In front of his house stood Qetsiyah, the woman he was once betrothed to, the woman he left at the altar after betraying and stealig from her, and the most powerful witch he ever knew, his co-creator in the immortality spell.

She just stood there, kneeling in front of the bonfire, washing her hands in a wooden basin, a frown on her face as if she couldn't get something off them.

Soon, her dark eyes found his green ones, and as the woman gave him a warm smile full of love and care, Silas couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine at the dangerous glint that shined in her orbs.

"What are you doing here?" he did not beat around the bush, voice steady as he tried to mask the fear in his heart by showcasing false bravery. But alas, she just smiled at him.

"No need for rudeness, my love. I came bearing gifts.", she announced with a sweet and innocent voice, his previous words and agressive tone falling in deaf ears.

"Qe-" he tried to talk but she interrupted him, holding a chalice made of gold and silver to Silas, who froze by seeing the item.

"The first gift, the chalice we should have drunk from at our wedding." as Silas stared at the cup, he couldn't help the pure terror that now filled every part of his being as he stared into the woman's crazed eyes, the fear in him obvious to the woman, and she felt joy in seeing it.

"The second one, and my personal favorite." She held a vial of a blood-like liquid to him, the item brimming with magical power that seemed to phisically hit him as he recoiled back, something in Silas felt fear as he stared at ir, "The cure for immortality."

At the woman's words, Silas's jaw fell, mouth agape, his face rapidly becoming a sickly pale. Until now, the man while afraid of the witch, wasn't worried about what she may do. After all, he was immortal, while she, as powerful a witch as she was, was pretty much mortal and a broken neck would do the trick just fine.

If only he were closer.

But now, as the man stared at the vial in her hands, he couldn't help but swallow the lump that formed in his throat.

"Th-that's not possible." he tried, voice coming off weak, barely above a whisper. His mind trying to convince himself that it was all a nightmare and soon he would wake up to Amara's kisses and warm smile.

But try as he might, Silas knew that this was very real.

"Oh, it is. I just used it in someone immortal and it worked just fine."

At the woman's words, Silas glanced at his and Amara's tent, and without caring for the witch's presence, ran to it as if his life depended on him getting there, when in fact, something way more precious did. He called for his beloved name, screaming and praying to every god in the heavens and above that she would be okay.

That their baby would be safe.

But as it seems, they would not hear his prayers.

The scene of his bed covered in blood was the first thing and only thing that Silas saw before his eyes forced themselves closed, the smell of it hitting him harder than anything ever could, his brain trying to convince himself that it could be from an animal, that Amara was safe, but his enhanced sense of smell told of a different story.

The blood was human and the smell and power of Amara radiated from it.

Silas shook his head non-stop, eyes opening and closing a thousand times as everywhere he stared, blood would be coating it. He took long steps backward, quickly exiting the tenting and tripping on his own feet, falling on his back against the hard ground, arms to weak to do anything if not covering his eyes as he muttered to himself non-stop.

"No, no, no.... this can't be real, can't be, can't be."

But it was.

Amara was dead.

Their child was dead.

He was alone.

What was the point of immortality if he was alone?

And among tears that flowed non-stop from his eyes as grief took him, one voice brought him back. Her voice. The voice of the woman that took from him everything he ever held dear and loved.

She was laughing at him.

He saw red.

His strength returned to him as pure rage flowed through his veins like hot lava in an erupting volcano, and before Silas knew it, with speed impossible to a human being, he lunged at the woman, hands reaching for the witch's vulnerable neck.

But the woman, expecting a reaction and closely watching him, had her hands already raised as a wave of pure magical power exploded from her, knocking not only Silas down but the tent and the nearby trees as well, the shockwave of her telekinetic blast leaving destruction all around them.

As the Immortal fought to stand up, his broken body healing at an incredible rate, his skull suddenly felt as if it split open and someone poured lava in it, his brain melting and healing, locked in an eternal loop as a scream of pure agony left him.

"Now, that wasn't nice." Her tone was playful and had a hint of delight. As if the whole situation was pleasing to her.

The woman slowly walked towards the agonizing man, her hand touching the Immortal chin and raising it so their eyes could meet. His forest greens were bloodshot, red replacing the white as his blood vessels exploded and healed non-stop, the pain so great his body tried to shut down only to heal once again as a sick and pleasured smile made itself to the beautiful and stoic face of Qetsyiah, as she gripped Silas face, forcing him to stare at her.

"The pain you feel now is nothing when compared to the state you left me in. I was alone, laughed even by the peasants!" she raised her voice, an octave away from a full-blown scream.

"And my father-" now her voice broke, a lump she quickly forced down her throat forming, "You cannot imagine the extent of his rage when he discovered what I did for you."

"I betrayed everything our people ever hold dear for you! And this!" she got up, hand leaving his face as the Immortal dropped to the ground, Qetsyiah's eyes scanning the surroundings in disgust. "Was how you thanked me? By leaving me on the altar! Fucking my maid behind my back! Stealing from me!" with every word of her, a fresh cut opened in Silas' body, skin and muscles tearing as his bones broke nonstop.

"But," she began, her magic finally dying down as the feeling of his brain melting and body being crushed stopped altogether. "There is a way out of it." she once more dropped to Silas' side, hands reaching for his as she pressed the vial containing the cure on them.

"Drink it, my love, and then we can live long, human lives together far away from here! They will never find us. We could live in peace and leave the past behind!" there was genuine hope in her voice, as if the man could just forget the fact that she killed his wife and child in cold blood.

Silas only let one word out.

"Never."

And like a switch, the woman's crazy smile left her face, expression darkening.

"Well, I hoped you would come by choice. But I was also prepared to use force."

And the last thing Silas saw was her tilting head before the sickening sound of his breaking neck made itself present, his vision becoming black as he finally fell unconscious.

...

And so, the legend of the First Immortal beings ended.

Amara Petrova, unlike Silas thought, was not dead, but cursed by the witch Qetsyiah to become the door to the Other Side, a supernatural purgatory-like dimension created by the woman via a pact with the devil himself, where eventually all supernatural beings would end up at. Forced to feel the pain of their deaths and their resentment in their last moments, over and over and over.

Silas Coronis, born under the Raven, found himself dissected by a spell hand-crafted by the witch for him, now stood hidden from the world on an island in the middle of nowhere, trapped in a coffin of stone with the cure vial still clenched in his hands, a inch away from his mouth, a dagger alongside him.

Qetsiyah Bennett gave him a choice, to die and go to the Other Side to be with her or to stay tormented by eternity in a death-like state.

Trapped, weak, and alone.

As for the witch Qetsyiah, well, for her crimes against nature, her people, and the Nature itself by creating the Immortality spell, her people sentenced her to death and burned her at the stake. Death she took gladly and without resistance, still madly believing that Silas would take the cure and meet her at the Other Side, laughing as the fire burned her being whole.

But as most things go, not everything was according to plan.

When Qetsyiah and Silas created the Immortality spell, a shift in the balance could be felt by those specially powerful. One such being the head of what would one day become the Gemini Coven.

Quickly, rumours spread around the magical community of the sin Qetsyiah has comitted, and, in anger at her and in fear of any other with such power could come from her community, the head of the Gemini Coven, alongside other powerful practioners, cursed them, making so that they connection to nature became fractured, while also making so that none of them could ever come back for vengeance, for if any of ther community ever tried to band together, nature itself would come against them, natural disasters descending upon their homes.

Alas, before they ran, the Travelers came to obtain the body of Amara, the Immortal woman still alive and under rhe effect of Qetsyiah power.

Knowing of the cure, they took her with them, hoping to one day find Silas, force them to take the cure, and than kill both, paying their debt to nature.

Though, what most shocked them, was how with time they noticed the woman belly, swollen with child, become bigger and bigger, until eventually she gave birth to a child, a human child, seemingly devoid of any magic.

Fearing the abomination that spawned, the Travelers opted to kill it, blaming the child for the sins of the father, but alas, Silas father, who became a reluctant leader to his people, could not bring himself to kill his innocent grandson who reminded him so much of a baby Silas.

So, later that same day, using the night as his cover, he fled from his own people, never to be seen again.

...

Europe.

5th Century.

Centuries later, descendants of Silas son had spread around the land, reaching far and wide around the known world.

But one special man, named Alexander Corvinus, resided in the country of Hungary, and that man, like his forefather Silas before him, would once again change history and the world.

It was unknown what caused the plague that struck the nobleman and warlord village, later Alexander would consider it a curse brought by the devil himself for his sins, but what was known is that it changed something inside him.

The only survivor, Alexander awoke eith a start among a sea of already rottin' corpses, body jolting awake like lighting struck him, deep and desesperate breaths reaching his lungs as his heart beat strongly on his chest. He was confused, the smell of death hit him harder than any physical blow he had ever received. And as he stared at his dead subjects all around him, Alexander felt fear.

Alexander Corvinus would go on to discover that the plague had indeed killed him, but it also awoke something hidden in his DNA, and the plague mutaded inside his body, reviving the man, and making him an Immortal.

No more could disease affect him, no more swords represented a treath to him, no more could death hold him in its grasp. He was stronger than a hundred man, faster than any warhorse, and could hear, see and smell prey kilometers ahead of him.

Decades later, once more a warlord with an empire mightier than most could ever hope to achieve, Alexander met Helena, and like the legend of Troy, the woman held a beauty so great it could start wars. He fell in love with the woman, who shared his sentiments, and so he made her his wife and with her he had three sons.

The first of his sons, the oldest and his firstborn, was named Marcus Corvinus, and as Alexander would later discover, he also shared the burden of humanity with his father.

The second was William, twin brother to Marcus but younger by a few minutes to his firstborn. William, much like his twin, also shared his curse. But alas, for it Alexander couldn't help but feel grateful, for if the bond of brotherhood shared between both was separeted by death... the man did not even dare to wallow in those thoughs.

The third of his sons was Ambrus Corvinus, which, ironically, was the only mortal among his sons. The Immortal didn't known the criteria for this plague that affected him and his sons, but he thanked God that he spared his youngest.

And for a time, Alexander was happy. That was until the decades came and passed, and he was forced to watch his wife and son die, while there he and sons remained, eternally burned by life.

One day, a century later, Alexander had gone into hiding along his Immortal sons, as legends of them already had begun to spred among his people, who mistankely thought of them as demons hiding behind human skin. Understanding that their stay would only bring fear and panic to their empire, Alexander and his sons left it all to his grandchildren and vanished in the night.

And, it was on one of those travels, among the frozen mountains, that a rabid wolf attacked them while they slept. Sensing danger and immediately awakening, Alexander was too late for the wolve had already gone for the kill, his prey being Marcus, who awoke only to stare ate rows of sharp teeth in fronto of him.

William acted.

Having slept closer to his brother, the Immortal immediately stuck arm whole inside the beast mount, who bit at the limbing, unable to cleanly tear at it thanks to William's enhanced endurance, but bringing him excruaciating pain in the process. In a moment, Alexander was already by his side, sword drawn and cleanly cutting the wolf's head off.

Though, to his surprise, the wolf became human. "What are you?" He muttered as he approached the fallen beast.

his son William, while healing from his wounds almost instantly, continued to writhe in agony on the ground.

"Brother!" Marcus shouted, reaching for his twin, securing him on his arms as the man trashed wildly, bestial screams of pain akin to roars lefting him. "Father do something!" He screamed for Alexander, but the man watched, fear and confusion clear as the full moon and the bonfire ilumminated his face.

That day William Corvinus became the first in a whole new race of Werewolves, and, lost in bloodlust amd rage, attacked a nearby village, his bitting proving infectious as whatever affliction plagued him, was spred among the few survivors, who became mindless beasts like him. Marcus ran after his brother, while Alexander stayed behind, forced to clean his rabid son mess, killing his beatly progeny.

The night after, while he and his son Marcus continued to follow the path of destruction left by William, Marcus too was attacked by a rabid animal, this time a bat, the animal bitting through his caordid artery. And, to Alexander surprise, the bite changed something in Marcus too, and while he remained mostly human in appearence, bright blue eyes and fangs now addorned his son, and a lust for blood struck him, who immediately attacked Alexander, going for his neck much like the bat had for his, but Alexander was able to fight him off, injuring the man who ran away, following the path to his beastly brother.

Standing there in shock for his only remaining sons had become the demons his people once feared they were.

Coming back to his old empire, Alexander enlisted the help of his grandchildren and the holy men of the church, creating what would one day be known as The Cleaners, a secret organization determined to hunt and contain the destruction his sons caused, while mantaining the secret of their existence from humankind as best as they could.

...

10th century.

978 A.D.

There is a legend back home, a story, a fable told from mouth to mouth among the old folk and the druid people.

They say that long ago when the Earth was barren and lifeless. When no man existed and even the gods were yet to be born, Mother Nature, Gaia, took her first breath upon this world and walked her first steps upon the raging fire.

And as she looked upon that burned land where no life could thrive, where she knew her to-be-born children would die, where she was dying even though she was but just born, she cried.

And from her tears, the first rain fell, and from her sobs, the first storm.

She cried for days, weeks, and months turned to years with no end in sight till one day, the fire was no more.

Every piece of land but the mightiest of mountains drowned under her tears, and so were born the oceans and the world.

As a believer in the Old Gods, Mikael Thorvaldson didn't take this story as truth. But, as the warrior looked with his hazel orbs at the angry sky above him, the grays clouds surrounding him like a hunter would a wounded prey, the howling winds piercing his skin like needles would cloth, the waves crashing against his ship in an attempt to drown it, Mikael could not help the seed of fear that was born in him along with a growing doubt, who had angered Mother Earth?

Soon, a feeling of helplessness washed over him for Thor must have sensed his wavering faith, and as a punishment thunder raged on the open sea, the striking lighting making his hair stand up as he stared at the raging ocean in front of him, he and his men fighting against a literal force of nature to maintain control of the longship.

He was tired.

It was visible by the way his body swayed as he fought against the storm that he was slowly losing his strength. His body was heavy, eyelids weighing a ton and a half, sight blurry from the salty water that kept on washing over them, but he carried on nonetheless, determination clear in his eyes as he screamed at the top of his lungs at the sky, forcing his body to cooperate at the thought of his newborn son, little Elijah, whose cries echoed in the ship just as loud as the thunder in the sky, fueled him with a strength he never knew he had.

Distracted, the man failed to hear the snapping sound of a shattered rope, its path seemingly predetermined as it slashed for him, the sound of something cutting through the wind masked by the storm when suddenly, it halted mid-air, frozen in time. Sensing, and hearing, the rope cutting the air rippling against his ears, the warrior looked over his shoulder to see the frozen rope, confusion clear on his face when, a little further, he saw the witch Ayana staring at him, right hand stretched out as with the other she held on to the cloth-wrapped form of his newborn son.

Nodding in acknowledgment and thanks, Mikael ducked when the rope once more continued on its designed way.

Turning to look at a smirking witch, the warrior chuckled madly at this while he continued to shout orders left and right as he and the other sailors kept on their fight against the sea. "Steady, men! Stay strong! Row!" Looking to his right and left, he could see two other longships in a similar predicament, all the men and women in them echoing a battle cry as if they waged war against the heavens themselves.

"Ayana! How much more time do you need, witch?!" he shouted the question to the woman who found herself at the back of the longship, caring for his wife who had just given birth.

"Oh, shut up your mad fool!" she shouted back, making Mikael laugh loudly at her.

Chuckling along with the man, Ayana Bennett turned to stare at the face of a tired but highly amused image of Esther Ravenborn, her strawberry blonde hair one or two shades darker from sweat, clinging to her forehead and sharp cheekbones, her baby blue eyes bloodshot as she panted, clearly exhausted.

"Go. We'll be safe." She declared, eyes going from her to the cloth-wrapped form of Elijah, voice horse from all the screaming she did. Beautiful as a valkyrie she was, but she could scream like a wraith.

After making sure that Esther and the little Elijah were in good conditions, with the other midwives assuming control, the black woman made her way among the Viking men, stopping to look at the figure of the young Finn Mikaelson, the boy baby blues much like his mother's piercing into her dark-browns. Just 4 years old and already a sailor en route to a new continent, this boy's life would be anything but normal.

Ayana only hoped he had the strength of will and courage this would take off him. "Take care of your mother." And as the boy nodded, Ayana could see the determination in his eyes. "I promise."

Smiling, the witch continued to make her path to the front of the ship in a slow walk, the ride bumpy as she tried to not fall at every other step. Only stopping to pat Mikael on the shoulder and give him a smug smile that made the man roll his eyes.

Finally, at the ship's front, Ayana held onto the deck rails as if her life depended on it, because it did. Using of a spell to bind her feet to the wood under them, the woman stood tall, spreading her arms wide. Soon, the witch started a weird chant in an ancient language as the winds picked up around her and the waves seemed angrier than ever as they clashed against the ship's hull.

"Faster, woman! We cannot hold much longer!" one of the Viking men shouted, his whole body trembling from the force he was exercising. Ayana enveloped her arms around herself, her body arching down like she was trying to contain something in her stomach. She didn't hold long though, for as soon as the last word of her chant was spoken, Ayana screamed as her arms flung open, forced by an unseen force as a banshee-like scream ripped through the back of her throat as a visible wave of power that originated from her washed over the three longships, the sea under them and the sky above in a three-sixty for kilometers on end.

The sea, once angry and vengeful, with waves so big that threatened to swallow them whole, was now eeirely calm, only the odd dying wave hitting them if ever so slightly. The sky who before was a shade of dark gray as clouds full of thunder and the promise of divine punishment filled it, now found itself once more in its beautiful shade of blue, the sky devoid of clouds as they disappeared on the horizon, the wind carrying them.

Soon, the sound of low chuckles echoed all around Mikael, and little by little it grew until the people within the three longships were in a burst of full-blown laughter, the joy of once more knowing that they would live to see a new day overwhelming their once feeling of dread as they started in almost certain death.

Turning around, steel-blue eyes found baby blues as Mikael and Esther stared at one another, their eyes finding each other almost instantly, like magnets, and as the Viking warrior stared at the tired form of his wife holding his newborn son, a smile crept its way onto his tired face.

Mikael didn't know what they should expect of this supposed New World.

It was a new land with new dangers, and, as rumor has it, with men who turned into beasts on the night of a full moon. But, as the warrior shared a sweet smile with his wife, the sense of uneasiness slowly left his heart. He somehow knew that they would be okay, because they would be together.

Always and forever.

And, in that moment of newfound resolve, Mikael broke eye contact with Esther, his gaze once more draw to the horizon ahead of him.

The future may hide in a fog of uncertainty and unknowns, but he would be the shield and sword of his family, their guiding light through a dark night.

And poor may be any lost soul that crosses his path.

...

Mikael didn't know how much time he had been asleep. The physical exhaustion of fighting against the raging sea and howling winds, as well as the mental one of his son's birth and fighting for his and his family life against nature herself, finally caughting up to him. The warm embrace of Esther was way too inviting and Mikael was just way too tired.

But what Mikael knew was that he was waking up to the screams of the surrounding people, and if that wasn't bad enough, the cries of baby Elijah sounded soon after, the screams scaring him awake.

Mikael wanted to murder someone.

As the warrior woke up, slowly getting away from Esther's embrace as the woman too woke up from Elijah's cries, the man had fury clear on his face for all to see for they dared to scare his son, the sight of an approaching figure in the horizon made him pause. And for more that he fought against the desire to, he followed along, a shout of joy and relief leaving him.

"Land in sight!"

A full-blown cry of joy and heartfelt laughter spread across the three longships, the tension that had slowly grown to surround them now completely lifted with their cries of celebration. And as they stared at a whole new world ahead of them, his wife at his side, his newborn son in her arms, his eldest little hands clenching around his calloused one, Mikael couldn't help but reminisce about this brief journey of theirs.

Every odd thrown at them, they survived. They fought against the might of nature itself and survived. They had lost people on the way, friends, family. But now. Now, no more would they lose anyone. Now they wouldn't just survive.

They would thrive.