How Old Is Hope Mikaelson Novels & Stories

I tell her. “Then over there is where Lily brought the giants back to life, that’s another prophecy. Beyond that is where, I think, Hope went to live. She’s a hybrid who’s mother was experimented on when she was pregnant with Hope. Another long, sad story, but she’s here now. I’d like to go see her and say hi while we’re here if you don’t mind,” I say. I feel her shock and awe and I stop, looking down at her. “Is everything okay?”

"You should take advantage of the fact that ten years have passed and tell Hope the truth. She has the right to decide if she wants to live in the pack for real!" "You're right. Hope is almost fourteen now; she has the right to know that she's a werewolf. Lily will hide it from her for as long as possible... I will return, just to tell my daughter the truth, not to ask her to cure me," I said thoughtfully, convinced by my beta's argument.

"The way you navigated the diplomatic complexities suggested the measured approach to the Northern Alliance representatives... even Elder Pyraxis seemed impressed." "It was mostly instinct," I admitted, leaning into his touch. "And Hope's guidance, oddly enough. Her movements became very deliberate whenever important diplomatic points were being discussed." "Already influencing supernatural politics before birth," Maison observed with a hint of pride. "A true Diamond-Graystone." Hope fluttered gently beneath my hands, as if acknowledging her father's words. I smiled, placing both hands over the movement. "She's finally settling down for the night. Today's dragon energy had her quite worked u

"ahh, are we worried about a little competition brother?" "I honestly feel for whoever ends up with you as a mate Lil sis, you are a major pain in the ass!" "you still love me though so it's ok." she gives him a wink and any anger he felt quickly disappears, Elsa is only 1 year younger than him and they are incredibly close, her and Mia too.

Seraphina and Aurora, eleven, spent hours cross-referencing old files, their voices carrying fragments of conversations they weren’t supposed to overhear. Hope, six years old, had become the quiet axis around which everything turned. Her small footsteps approached now, light on the metal grating, the faint scent of lavender shampoo and berry juice trailing her like a shadow. “Mom,” Hope said, her voice soft but carrying an unnatural clarity. She slipped her warm, slightly sticky hand into Mia’s. “The voices are showing me the new ones again. Twenty of them. They’re cold. Waiting. They say I’m the one who can wake them up.”

Some could go years before they met theirs. "Happy birthday, Hope," I said to myself as I hugged my knees. I didn't want to give up, maybe I could talk to Orion, maybe I could find a way to stop all this. What was I thinking? I was better off dead. I was a pathetic wolf who hadn't even found her wolf at the age of 20. I had no parents and probably wouldn't find my mate as well. I was better off dead. Lucian had won.

“Should we talk to daddy about grandpa?” Hope and Faith were happy together, the only hurdle was that Mallory. Since Dallin had promised them that he will bring their mother home, they didn’t understand why Mallory was still around. As Hope’s powers were subsided by Monica’s spell, she would get her powers and shift into a wolf form when she turns 10 just like her twin sister or so she had been told. Which meant, she couldn’t use her powers to get Mallory out of their way.

Hope sits among the roses until dawn, gathering strength for whatever comes next. Because the fight isn't over. The Architect remains. Raven remains. Fifteen covert Iron Circle members remain. And somewhere in the darkness, extremism continues spreading. But Hope has allies. Has evidence. Has Council backing—even from Elders who initially opposed her. She has scars and trauma and grief. But she also has determination. And sometimes, determination is enough. Hope Silverclaw is fifteen years old. She's survived genocide attempts, demon summoning, fascist networks, assassination plots, and combat operations.

She shielded her from the art that was too loud. "It's okay," she whispered. "We can close our eyes." "I don't want to close them," Hope sobbed. "I want to eat it." Twelve Years Old. Present Day. The timeline snapped back to the present. The penthouse was quiet. It was 4:00 PM. Aurora opened her eyes. The door to the sunroom—now officially "The Studio"—opened. Hope walked out. She was twelve. She was lanky, awkward, wearing oversized hoodies and Converse sneakers covered in marker doodles. She had braces on her teeth and paint in her hair.