"DAD!"

The single word tore from Maya's lips, carrying a weight far beyond its syllables. Klaus didn't hesitate; he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a fierce embrace that felt like a lifeline to both of them. His arms encircled her frame protectively, as if he could shield her from every danger that had sought to harm her. The fact that she had called him Dad for the first time, that she had finally allowed him to hold her – both things he had silently yearned for – seemed insignificant in the face of his overwhelming relief. She was safe. She was here, in his arms, unscathed by the horrors she had endured.

His grip tightened just enough to let her know he was there, without hurting her. He was terrified that if he loosened his hold even a fraction, she might vanish again, swept away by the nightmares that had claimed her. In that moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. The dilapidated church, with its shattered stained glass and flickering candlelight, faded into the background. The monstrous snake that coiled around the defeated witch, the agents standing tense and alert, even Marcel's watchful gaze – all of it blurred into irrelevance.

All that mattered was his daughter, trembling in his arms, clinging to him as if he were her anchor in a storm.

"You're okay, Little Wolf," Klaus whispered, his voice rough with emotion, each word heavy with the love and relief flooding through him. He pressed a soft, trembling kiss to her hair, his lips lingering as if the contact could somehow reassure them both. "You're safe now… you're safe."

He wasn't sure if the words were meant more for her or for himself – a desperate mantra to convince his heart that she was truly out of danger. The weight of the last few days, the sleepless nights, the fear that had gripped his soul like a vice, all began to lift, but not entirely. His mind was still haunted by the thought of what could have happened, of what she had suffered while he was powerless to protect her.

Maya began to shake, her small body wracked by sobs that had been held in far too long. The sound of her crying, so raw and heart-wrenching, shattered something deep inside him. Klaus held her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head as her tears soaked into his shirt. He could feel her anguish, the unbearable weight of fear and terror she had carried alone. His heart broke for her, imagining the dread that had gripped her every moment since she had been taken.

If she needed to cry, he would let her. He would stand there, unwavering, holding her until she was ready to let go. He would absorb every sob, every shudder, because that's what she needed – and that's what he needed too. For as long as she needed him, Klaus would be her shield, her protector, and her comfort. He would guard her from the world, if only for this precious moment.

Klaus's sharp senses picked up the sound of soft footsteps approaching, drawing his attention from the fragile figure trembling in his arms. He glanced up and found Kamala approaching, her movements unhurried and calm despite the chaos that still swirled around them. Kamala's dark eyes, however, told a different story, reflecting exhaustion, anxiety, and the unmistakable relief that mirrored what Klaus saw in his daughter.

Her clothes were as dirty and torn as Maya's, her hair dishevelled, and her face streaked with grime. She looked just as worn and battle-weary, but like Maya, she was safe. That was all that mattered.

"Hello Mr Mikaelson." she said softly, her voice tentative, yet calm.

Klaus barely suppressed a sigh at the formal greeting, a strangled sound escaping Marcel nearby, hints of amusement mixing with shock and confusion.

Mr Mikaelson – it made him sound stuffy and boring like Elijah or Finn. For some reason, the name had become a source of endless amusement for Maya, who had convinced all her friends to adopt it, much to Klaus's chagrin. Despite his best efforts to correct them, to insist that they call him Klaus, the more formal address had stuck.

Kamala lingered a few steps away, hovering in uncertainty. Klaus could read the hesitation in her stance, the way she seemed to shrink into herself as though unsure if she was welcome. Her ordeal mirrored Maya's in more ways than one. Both girls had been kidnapped and held hostage, their innocence caught in the crossfire of those who'd decided to use them for their own gains. Maya had been taken because she was his daughter and Kamala because of the deep bond of friendship that had tied her to his daughter.

He studied Kamala for a moment, noting the exhaustion and vulnerability etched across her young face. She had been through hell, and yet here she stood, defiant and unafraid. It reminded Klaus of the quiet resilience Maya's chosen family and friends all seemed to possess. They were a stubborn bunch, loyal and strong in ways that still surprised him, even after all these months of knowing them.

Klaus didn't consider himself an openly affectionate person—at least not with anyone outside his immediate family. It was a defence mechanism born of centuries of betrayal and loss. But Damon's voice echoed in his head, a reminder that this girl had suffered because she was loyal to Maya, his daughter. If anyone deserved an exception to his aloofness, it was Kamala.

With a slight shuffle, Klaus adjusted his hold on Maya, gently shifting her to the side. His arm extended toward Kamala, an unspoken offer. The girl hesitated, eyes flickering between his outstretched arm and Maya, still sniffling against his chest. Maya, sensing her friend's uncertainty, lifted her tear-streaked face just enough to reach out her own hand toward Kamala. It was a quiet invitation, a simple gesture of comfort that only those who had suffered together could truly understand.

That was all Kamala needed. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and with a soft, tentative breath, she slipped into the embrace. Klaus enveloped her in the same protective hold, drawing her into the warmth of his and Maya's shared sanctuary. For a moment, the three of them stood there, bound by the silent understanding of what they had endured, what they had survived.

Klaus, normally so guarded, found himself holding the two girls as if he could shield them from all the horrors of the world. He met Marcel's eyes and saw in them the expected shock and confusion, and a glimmer of pain – buried deep – guilt swept through him knowing he was the cause of that pain, he just hoped that his son would allow him to make amends. It wasn't something he deserved – not when it came to Marcel – but it was something he wanted, if he was allowed it.

Marcel wasn't sure how many more shocks he could take in one day. The entire scene unfolding in the church felt like something out of a fever dream, each moment more surreal than the last.

First, there was the snake—and not just any snake, but a massive, coiling behemoth of a serpent, its thick body far too large for the space, its eyes gleaming with a sinister intelligence. It was big enough to swallow any one of them whole in a single, casual gulp, and the sight of it sent a cold shiver down his spine. Sabine was caught in its suffocating grip, completely immobilized. Her face flickered between two expressions—furious defiance and a glimmer of fear. To see Sabine, normally so composed and in control, looking so vulnerable was a shock all on its own.

But the surprises didn't stop there. The next jolt had come in the form of Agent LaSalle. Marcel's eyes had narrowed in suspicion when he saw the wizard standing among them. The Wixen, a secretive group who had long kept to the shadows, adhered to an ironclad policy of non-interference in New Orleans' supernatural politics. They watched, observed, and stayed out of the affairs of vampires, witches, and werewolves—unless something threatened their own or the delicate balance of the statute of secrecy, they held dear. So, what in the world was LaSalle doing here, in the middle of this chaos? Marcel had no idea, and that unnerved him.

As if that weren't enough, a third shock had barrelled down the aisle of the old church in the form of a blonde teenager, sprinting toward them with a speed and desperation that hinted at something far more intense than mere panic. Marcel's eyes had widened at the sight of her. She was about the same age as Davina, but what struck him most was her face—a younger, female version of Klaus, almost his spitting image. Marcel had lived with Klaus for over a century, knew him well enough to recognise his features in the girl, the same nose, the same dimple, the same striking blue-green eyes. The girl was unmistakably Klaus's daughter.

But it wasn't her resemblance to Klaus that had truly caught Marcel off guard. No, it was the way she had flung herself into Klaus's arms with such desperate, raw emotion, as if the very idea of being in his embrace was the only thing keeping her grounded. Klaus, known for his cold demeanour and ruthless nature, had caught her without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce, protective embrace. He hadn't cared who was watching, hadn't paused to mask his emotions as he held his daughter as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

That, in itself, was a surprise Marcel hadn't expected, but it was the final shock that had truly left him reeling.

Klaus, the same man who had built walls around his heart so high that even his own siblings often struggled to break through, had pulled another teenager—a girl who was clearly not related to him—into his arms as well. Marcel had watched, dumbfounded, as Klaus had reached out to the other girl, offering the same fierce protection, the same affection. The gesture was so foreign, so unexpected, that for a moment, Marcel wasn't sure if he was dreaming or hallucinating.

In all the years he had known Klaus, Marcel had rarely seen him extend that kind of warmth to anyone outside his tight inner circle. And yet here he was, embracing not just his daughter, but her friend as well, as if they both belonged to him, as if they were both under his protection.

Marcel stood frozen, trying to process what he had just witnessed. In all the time he had known him, he had seen Klaus as many things—a ruthless leader, a cunning strategist, a dangerous foe—but never this. Never a father who could love so openly, so fiercely. And yet here he was, holding two teenagers as if the weight of the world had momentarily lifted from his shoulders, revealing a side of him Marcel hadn't even known existed.

A sharp, unexpected pain stabbed through Marcel's chest, the kind of ache that he hadn't felt in years. He had always told himself he was over it, that he had moved past the old wounds Klaus had left on his heart. Klaus had taken Marcel in as a child, called him family, named him as a son. But Klaus had never been this for him. Never this open, never this fatherly.

Despite all the years and everything they had been through, Marcel couldn't deny the hurt that surged up now, seeing Klaus be the father he had always longed for—just for someone else.

The jealousy was a bitter pill to swallow. Marcel had spent years convincing himself that he didn't need Klaus's affection, that he had become his own man, forged his own path. But standing here, watching Klaus hold those girls as if they were the centre of his world, Marcel felt that old wound reopen, raw and exposed. No matter how much he tried to bury it, that part of him—the orphaned boy who had wanted nothing more than Klaus's approval, his love—still lingered.

It wasn't that Marcel begrudged them the affection they received from Klaus. He understood what it was to need that kind of love, that kind of protection. But the stark contrast between the Klaus he had known and the Klaus he was seeing now was like a punch to the gut. Marcel had once been that child, yearning for the same kind of warmth and care, but Klaus had never allowed himself to show it. Not like this; openly. Not then. Not to him.

The ground beneath Marcel's feet felt unsteady, as if everything he had known about Klaus, about their relationship, was shifting. This was a side of Klaus he hadn't even known existed—a father who could love so openly, so fiercely. It turned everything upside down, leaving Marcel reeling.

His heart clenched painfully, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. He was supposed to be past this. He was past this. But the truth was, seeing Klaus in this light—seeing him be the father Marcel had always wanted, yet never had—was a wound that had never fully healed.

As he stood there, trying to gather his thoughts, Marcel wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Everything he had believed, everything he had known, was shifting. And for the first time in a long time, Marcel felt truly uncertain of where he stood.

Shaking it off, he turned and looked at the person he was here for – Davina.

Davina's gaze flicked toward the massive snake as she cautiously edged down the stone stairs. Its presence was impossible to ignore—too large, too unnatural, more like something out of a horror movie than a creature she'd expect to encounter in real life. The image of it reminded her of the ridiculous B-movie she and Monique had once watched at Sophie's place, where a giant CGI snake terrorized clueless characters. But this wasn't a movie. This snake was real, terrifying in its sheer size and power, and it was currently coiled around Sabine, holding the witch completely immobile. Every fibre of Davina's being screamed that her caution was justified.

Yet, neither Maya nor Kamala had shown an ounce of fear toward it. In fact, Maya had talked to the snake, as if they shared some unspoken understanding. It made no sense, and the whole scene only added to the swirling confusion in Davina's mind. But Marcel was here now, and even in the face of the terrifying unknown, she felt a deep sense of comfort and safety knowing that. She had to reach him. Despite the looming threat of the snake, she was willing to bet it was less likely to attack her than Marcel. At least, she hoped so.

The last twenty minutes had been a whirlwind of chaos, one confusing revelation after another, each more baffling than the last. She had watched as Klaus Mikaelson—the Klaus Mikaelson, the Original Hybrid, the monster whose name every New Orleans witch had whispered in fear—had suddenly appeared just before Marcel. His presence alone would have been enough to send her into a defensive stance, but what came next had flipped her entire understanding upside down.

Klaus was Maya's dad.

The realization hit Davina like a tidal wave, explaining some things—like the strange energy she had felt whenever her fingers brushed against Maya's—but it left a thousand more questions in its wake. How could a thousand-year-old vampire have a teenage daughter? And she wasn't adopted. Seeing them together, the resemblance was undeniable. Maya was his—her features, her aura, everything screamed that she was Klaus's blood.

But that only deepened the mystery. What did Jane-Anne want from Klaus? Maya had said Monique's mother had kidnapped her because she wanted something from her dad, and now that Davina knew who Maya's father really was, her mind whirled with possibilities. Jane-Anne's plan had to be big—too big to simply be about Klaus himself. And Davina couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that whatever Jane-Anne wanted involved her and Marcel.

Her thoughts swirled, trying to piece together the puzzle, but then she saw something that made her pause. Klaus—the terrifying, ruthless creature of legend—had wrapped his arms around Maya, holding her close in a protective embrace. The way Maya had run into his arms, like it was the safest place in the world for her, had left Davina speechless. And then, when Kamala had followed, Klaus had opened his arms to her too, pulling her into the hug without a moment's hesitation.

It was a sight that didn't fit with the stories she had heard about Klaus Mikaelson. A monster, yes. A killer, certainly. But this? This father, who held his daughter and her friend with such love and tenderness? It was hard to reconcile the two images. And yet, despite the warmth she saw in his eyes when he looked at Maya, Davina couldn't help but remain wary. Klaus might be a good father to his daughter, but that didn't mean the rest of them were safe from his infamous wrath. The power coursing through Davina's veins surged as if in warning, reminding her that she was surrounded by threats, and if it came down to a fight, she would defend Marcel no matter what.

Still, she didn't want it to come to that. She didn't want to hurt Maya. Every instinct—every trace of magic within her—told her that Maya was a good person, someone who could become a great friend. But if it ever came to a choice between Maya and Marcel, there would be no hesitation. Marcel was the one who had saved her, given her a home and a sense of purpose when she had been lost. Her loyalty was to him. He was the dad she'd never had, and way better at being a parent than her mom had been, even with only a few months on the job.

With a deep breath, Davina steeled herself and moved toward Marcel, her eyes darting between the looming snake, Klaus, and the uncertain dangers around her. When she finally reached Marcel's side, his arms opened, and she slipped into his embrace, letting the tension ease from her body as he held her close.

"You okay, Little-D?" Marcel's voice was low, soft with concern, his hand resting on the back of her head as if shielding her from the chaos around them.

"I'm fine I just – I don't understand," Davina murmured against his chest, her words muffled as she pressed her face into the familiar warmth of his jacket. "They said Jane-Anne kidnapped them to get something from her dad, but if that's her dad—"

"We'll figure it all out," Marcel interrupted gently, his fingers brushing back a strand of her hair as he held her steady. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Davina's throat tightened with guilt as memories of the last few minutes flashed through her mind.

"They were scared, Marcel," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "Just like I was at the Harvest ritual. So, I gave them my phone. I should have called you."

"Shh, it's okay," Marcel soothed, his hand moving in slow, reassuring circles on her back. "You did the right thing, Little-D."

In that moment, with Marcel's arms wrapped around her and his steady presence anchoring her, the confusion and fear faded just a little. But even as she found comfort in his embrace, a part of her mind remained on edge, aware that the answers she sought were still out there, wrapped in the enigma of Klaus Mikaelson and whatever dark plans Jane-Anne had set in motion.

Maya had always imagined how the moment would go, how she would finally call Klaus Dad for the first time. She had plans—small, carefully considered moments—when she would test the word on her lips, and when she would allow herself to embrace him fully for the first time. But all those plans, those delicate little ideas, had evaporated the instant he appeared in the church. The past few days of uncertainty, fear, and anxiety had collapsed beneath the weight of overwhelming relief, replaced by an unshakable sense of safety the moment her dad materialized before her.

In that moment, nothing else mattered.

Without a second thought, she had flown down the stone steps, her feet barely touching the ground as she raced toward him. The dusty aisle of the old church blurred around her; the world reduced to the singular goal of reaching him. As soon as she collided with Klaus, flinging herself into his arms, the walls she had so carefully built over the last few days crumbled. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins since she'd first woken up in that terrifying place vanished under the weight of exhaustion, and in its place came a wave of emotion so intense it nearly knocked her breathless.

Her tears had started immediately, uncontrollably. Sobbing against his chest, she let all the fear, the terror, and the worry spill out in great, heaving waves. His embrace, solid and warm, anchored her in the moment, allowing her to finally release the fear that had gripped her for days. Each tear felt like a release, a flood of pent-up emotion that had been waiting for this moment of safety, of reassurance, to break free. And for the first time since the nightmare began, she didn't have to be strong. She didn't have to hold it together. She could simply be a daughter, safe in her father's arms.

Through the haze of tears and emotions, Maya wasn't surprised when Kamala joined them. Kamala had been a rock throughout the ordeal, a steady presence even when the fear had threatened to swallow them both whole. And now, Kamala deserved comfort just as much as she did. Maya glanced up through tear-blurred eyes to see her dad extend an arm, inviting Kamala into their shared cocoon of safety. It was a gesture that made Maya's heart swell with gratitude.

Without hesitation, Maya reached out her hand, her fingers brushing against Kamala's as she tugged her friend into the embrace. The three of them stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, forming a small island of shared comfort amidst the shattered remnants of the church. After days of terror, it felt like the first breath of air after being underwater for too long. The warmth of their shared embrace made the fear and pain of the last few days feel distant, a nightmare they were finally waking up from.

Maya squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head back against her dad's chest. In that moment, with Kamala by her side and her father's arms holding them both, she felt something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in days—peace.