The next morning broke soft and silver, the mists of dawn still clinging to the forests around Raventree Hall. The ravens stirred early, their calls echoing over the valley as the household slowly began to wake — but not everyone within the Blackwood halls was asleep to begin with.
Down a quiet corridor, two girls slipped from their shared chamber, cloaks pulled tight against the chill. Bellatrix moved with practiced ease, her dark curls wild even in the low torchlight, her pale grey eyes glittering with mischief. Behind her, Narcissa followed reluctantly, her steps hesitant, her face pale and composed as always, though her fingers gripped her sister's sleeve.
"Bella, this is madness," Narcissa whispered. "If Father catches us—"
"He won't," Bellatrix interrupted with a grin that bordered on feral. "And neither will Uncle Corvin. I've seen them do it every week — Sirius, Regulus, slipping off into the woods before sunrise like ghosts. I want to know where they go."
"You want to get killed," Narcissa muttered, though she followed all the same.
"Oh, please," Bellatrix scoffed, pushing open a narrow door that led out to the courtyard. "If our cousins can vanish for hours and come back in one piece, so can we. Besides, don't you want to know what they're hiding? It has to be something good."
"I want to stay alive," Narcissa said flatly. "That's what I want."
But her protests fell on deaf ears. Bellatrix moved like a shadow — barefoot, quick, alive with the thrill of disobedience. The moment she saw two cloaked figures darting across the outer yard — Sirius and Regulus, exactly as she'd predicted — her grin widened.
"There," she whispered. "Told you."
Narcissa followed her gaze and exhaled through her nose, both frustrated and afraid. The brothers were already slipping through the side gate, their forms barely visible in the dawn haze.
"Bella, we can't—"
Bellatrix was already moving.
With a sigh that sounded too much like resignation, Narcissa hurried after her.
The two sisters kept to the shadows, careful not to make a sound as they followed their cousins beyond the walls and into the treeline. The woods were damp, the ground soft beneath their boots, and the rising sun filtered through the leaves in pale bands of light. Bellatrix moved with reckless confidence; Narcissa, constantly glancing behind them, half-expecting to hear their father's voice at any moment.
The further they went, the quieter the forest grew.
From ahead came the faint sound of laughter — Sirius' sharp and full of life, Regulus' quieter and composed. The girls crouched behind a fallen log and peered through the branches. Their cousins were a short distance away, moving fast but not hurried, speaking in low tones.
"Do you hear that?" Narcissa whispered.
"They're going somewhere," Bellatrix said, eyes bright. "And we're going to find out where."
She started forward again, ignoring the mud clinging to her skirts. Narcissa muttered a curse under her breath and followed, careful not to step on twigs.
Neither of them noticed the other set of riders moving slowly through the forest — black horses, cloaked men, and one figure at the front whose presence chilled the morning air.
Lord Corvin Blackwood rode in silence, his expression grim, eyes sharp as steel. His cloak brushed against his mare's flank as he scanned the ground, his men riding in formation behind him, quiet and alert.
Tracks were easy to follow in the soft soil — two sets of smaller boot prints, followed by two more. He recognized his sons' strides instantly. The lighter steps beside them… those were not unfamiliar either.
One of the men leaned closer. "My lord, should we call for more men?"
"No," Corvin said softly, never taking his eyes off the trail. "If I'm right, we won't need them. I just want to see what they're hiding."
He urged his horse forward, careful to stay just out of sight, following the narrow winding path that led deeper into the woods — toward the rise of ancient oaks where something unseen waited.
Ahead, Bellatrix crouched behind another tree, her wild grin returning as she spotted a patch of disturbed ivy along the ground. She nudged her sister. "Look. They're going underground."
Narcissa stared, wide-eyed, as Sirius knelt and brushed aside the vines, revealing what looked like a small wooden door cleverly built into the roots of a massive oak. Regulus checked the surroundings once, then helped his brother lift the latch. The door creaked open, and both boys slipped inside, vanishing into darkness.
"What in the seven hells…" Bellatrix whispered.
"Bella, we should go back," Narcissa hissed. "If they're hiding something from Father, maybe we're not meant to—"
Bellatrix's smirk grew. "Which is exactly why I am going."
Before Narcissa could stop her, Bellatrix moved toward the door, crouching low and pressing her ear against the wood. She could hear faint voices from below — laughter, echoing softly through stone and dirt. Her curiosity flared like fire.
"Bella," Narcissa whispered again, voice trembling now, "please—"
But Bellatrix had already set her hand on the latch.
Behind them, deep in the trees, the faint sound of hooves grew louder.
Corvin dismounted quietly, motioning for his men to spread out. His gaze locked onto the faint glimmer of movement ahead — two girls, one dark-haired and wild, one fair and hesitant. His jaw tightened.
Not just my sons.
He moved forward without a sound, each step deliberate, every sense sharpened. He had thought himself prepared for whatever he might find — a secret clubhouse, perhaps, a cave, a childish attempt at rebellion. But the moment he saw the ivy-covered door and the unmistakable Blackwood seal carved faintly into the wood, an unease crawled through his chest.
This was no child's plaything.
He raised a hand, signaling his men to halt. Then, slowly, silently, Lord Corvin Blackwood watched as his daughters' cousins disappeared into the earth—followed moments later by the two girls who should have known better.
The forest fell still again, save for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the soft, cold whisper of his voice.
"Seal the perimeter," Corvin murmured. "No one leaves these woods."
The men spread out, forming a silent ring among the trees.
As the morning light crept higher, filtering through the branches, Corvin stepped closer to the hidden door, the weight of dread and suspicion pressing on his chest.
Whatever waited beneath that hill, he would drag it into the light.
The faint morning fog still lingered in the forest when Corvin Blackwood reached the ivy-covered door again, his sword at his side and his men behind him. He motioned for silence, his cold eyes narrowing as he pressed a hand against the wood. From beneath the earth came muffled voices—familiar voices. He heard laughter, a sharp retort, the overlapping pitch of argument.
Corvin shoved the door open.
The heavy wooden hatch slammed against the roots, and the voices inside froze. The warm, flickering light of torches spilled out into the forest, illuminating the hidden world his children had built.
He stepped inside.
The underground hideout was far larger than he'd expected—reinforced beams, stacked crates, candles burning in glass jars. It looked like something out of a soldier's camp and a child's dream all at once. In the center of the chamber stood Sirius and Regulus, their faces pale with shock. Around them—Bellatrix, Narcissa, and two boys Corvin didn't recognize: a brown-haired commoner, and another with the unmistakable sigil of House Bracken sewn into his sleeve.
Corvin's gaze locked onto that sigil like a predator scenting blood.
"What," his voice cut through the room like steel drawn from its sheath, "is the meaning of this?"
The children froze. The only sound was the crackle of the torches and the heavy, measured rhythm of Corvin's boots striking the dirt as he advanced.
Sirius tried to speak, his voice catching. "Father, we were just—"
"Just what?" Corvin's tone snapped like a whip. "Consorting with Brackens? With peasants?!" His gaze burned into the boy kneeling near a stack of papers. "You—Bracken scum."
The boy's lips trembled. "My lord, please—"
But Corvin was already drawing his sword, the black steel whispering as it left the scabbard. His rage was cold and absolute, years of war and bitterness boiling beneath the surface. "No son of mine will share company with them. Blood remembers, even if children forget."
He raised his blade.
Sirius lunged forward. "Father, stop!" He grabbed his father's arm, the force barely slowing him, but enough to halt the swing before it met the boy's neck.
Corvin's fury turned on him instead. "You dare lay hands on me, boy?"
Regulus stepped between them, trembling but defiant. "He's right, Father! It's not what you think! They're our friends!"
"Friends?" Corvin roared. "You bring shame to your name—to your house—to your bloodline!" His blade swung again, not toward the boys this time, but to push his sons back. Sparks flew as the steel scraped the wooden beam beside them.
Bellatrix, who had been trying to shield Narcissa behind her, shouted, "Stop it! You're going to kill them!" She ran forward, trying to pull Corvin's arm away just as Narcissa stumbled after her—terrified but unwilling to let her sister face him alone.
In the chaos, Sirius shoved his father's shoulder to knock the sword aside—just as Bellatrix tripped on a loose board. She crashed into Narcissa, and the two tumbled straight into Corvin's legs.
The lord of House Blackwood fell hard, his head striking the edge of a support beam with a dull crack.
Everything went silent.
Corvin groaned, rolling onto his side. Blood streaked from a cut above his brow, but he was still breathing.
Sirius froze in horror. Regulus stared, pale as snow. Bellatrix covered her mouth, eyes wide, and Narcissa whispered, "Gods, what have we done…"
"Run," Sirius said suddenly, his voice sharp and low. "Now."
He darted toward the back wall, pulling aside a wooden crate to reveal a narrow crawlway shrouded by roots and darkness. "Come on!"
"But—Father—" Regulus stammered.
"He's alive," Sirius said, his tone breaking just enough to betray his fear. "If we stay, he'll kill us all."
Corvin stirred behind them, groaning as he tried to sit up. His hand pressed against the dirt, eyes unfocused.
"Run!" Sirius yelled again.
They obeyed. The six of them—Sirius, Regulus, Bellatrix, Narcissa, James Bracken, and Remus the commoner—scrambled into the escape tunnel, their footsteps echoing against damp stone as they fled into the forest beyond.
Moments later, Corvin blinked, his vision clearing. He tasted iron and rage.
"Seize them!" he bellowed, voice echoing up through the hideout. His men, hearing the command from outside, stormed the entrance like wolves loosed on a scent.
"Bring my sons back unharmed!" he shouted after them. "The girls too! But the Bracken and the peasant—hurt them if you must, but don't kill them. I want them alive."
The forest erupted in chaos — dogs barking, men shouting, steel clashing against branches. But the children knew these woods like they knew each other's hearts.
Sirius led the way, darting between the trees, mud splashing beneath his boots. Regulus stayed close, guiding Narcissa as she stumbled on a root. Bellatrix followed, wild grin gone, replaced by sheer determination. James and Remus brought up the rear, breathless but focused.
Behind them, the sound of pursuit grew louder.
"This way!" Sirius hissed, veering left toward a stream half-hidden by moss. "They can't track us past the water!"
They waded in, boots sinking into the cold current. Narcissa gasped at the chill, but Bellatrix pulled her along. The forest swallowed their forms, leaving only ripples behind.
When Corvin's men arrived at the bank minutes later, the tracks vanished into mist.
Far ahead, Sirius paused under a wide oak, chest heaving, his heart pounding against his ribs.
He looked at his cousins and his brother—mud-smeared, shaking, alive.
"We can't go back," Regulus said quietly.
"No," Sirius replied, voice hard. "We can't."
The six of them stood in the heart of the forest, fugitives now, bound not by house or blood, but by the secret they had tried to keep — and the one mistake that had just changed everything.
The forest was a blur of shadows and cold breath. Branches clawed at their cloaks as the six children ran — lungs burning, hearts hammering, feet slipping on wet leaves. Behind them, the shouts of the Blackwood men echoed like distant thunder, hounds barking as they tore through the undergrowth.
"Faster!" Sirius yelled, glancing back over his shoulder. "They're closing in!"
"We can't!" Regulus gasped. His legs ached, each step heavier than the last. They had been running for what felt like hours, and though the sun still hung low, exhaustion clawed at them all. James Bracken stumbled beside him, clutching a stitch in his side. Remus, pale and panting, dragged him upright again.
Bellatrix was still leading, wild hair tangled with twigs, her eyes blazing with stubborn defiance. "Keep moving! Don't stop!" she shouted, half to the others, half to herself.
But Narcissa—quiet, careful Narcissa—was falling behind. Her legs trembled, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Every sound of pursuit behind her made her flinch.
They broke through a line of trees and stumbled into a clearing where the Red Fork River glimmered like molten glass under the dawn light. The water was high, swollen by spring melt, and moved fast — swift, wild, alive.
Narcissa stopped dead, eyes wide. Then she saw it — a large fishing boat pulled up along the muddy bank, half-tethered and empty.
"There!" she shouted, voice trembling but fierce. "The boat!"
Sirius followed her gaze, hope flickering in his chest. "Go! To the boat!"
They sprinted, stumbling over roots and reeds. Behind them, the crash of pursuit grew louder — men shouting orders, dogs howling as they caught the scent.
"Push!" Sirius barked as soon as they reached the hull. The boat was heavy, slick with river mud, its underside grinding against the stones. They planted their hands and heaved with everything they had left.
Bellatrix gritted her teeth and shoved with a snarl. Regulus dug in beside her, his small frame shaking with the effort. Remus and James threw their shoulders against the wood, mud splattering their legs. Narcissa pushed too, her fine dress torn, her fingers slipping, yet she refused to stop.
The boat shifted an inch — then another.
"Again!" Sirius shouted.
They pushed once more, their muscles screaming, and the boat finally slid forward with a loud splash into the current.
"Get in!"
They scrambled aboard, Sirius and James pulling the others by their hands. The boat rocked dangerously, water slapping against its sides. Regulus fumbled for the oars, and Sirius grabbed one as well, plunging it into the churning river.
"Row!"
The water caught them instantly, the current strong and rapid, faster than any of them could have hoped for. The Red Fork seemed almost to be pulling them away, as if the gods themselves had decided to grant them mercy.
From the bank, the Blackwood men arrived too late. They shouted and waved their torches, dogs barking furiously at the water's edge, but the river had already taken the children.
Spray stung their faces, and the sound of rushing water drowned out everything else.
Bellatrix laughed breathlessly, a mix of terror and exhilaration. "We did it!"
"Not yet," Sirius said, tightening his grip on the oar. "We're not safe until we reach the main river."
The boat spun as the Red Fork carried them downstream, the world around them blurring into streaks of green and silver. Branches whipped by, and foam frothed around the hull as the current quickened.
Regulus leaned over, watching the woods vanish behind them — the only home they had ever known growing smaller with every heartbeat. "We can't go back," he whispered, voice barely audible over the rush of the river.
"No," Sirius replied quietly. "We can't."
And as the Red Fork River widened, its waters merging with the great Trident, the six children sat in silence — drenched, shaking, and free.
For the first time, they realized the truth: they weren't just running anymore.
They were leaving everything behind.
(timeskip)
The news spread through the Riverlands like wildfire. Within two days, every raven from Cross Hollow to Stone Hedge carried the same grim message — six children missing, last seen near the Red Fork. By the third dawn, the message reached both the Blackwoods and the Brackens, igniting two ancient houses into furious uproar.
At Raventree Hall, the great blackwood keep loomed beneath its weirwood tree, its pale roots glowing red in the morning mist. Lord Orion Blackwood, brother to Corvin and father to Bellatrix and Narcissa, read the letter twice before his trembling hands crushed it in fury.
His dark eyes, once soft with fatherly calm, now burned with a wrath so deep the air itself seemed to darken around him. "Gone?" he muttered, his voice cracking between disbelief and rage. "All four of them?"
Corvin stood across from him in the war room, face bandaged and jaw tight. He had not yet fully recovered from his fall, though his pride had suffered far worse than his head. "I failed to contain them," Corvin admitted. "They ran. Into the river. I sent riders along both banks, but the current was too strong. We found no sign of them."
Orion slammed his fist against the table. "And you didn't think to tell me the moment they disappeared?! My daughters, Corvin!" His voice echoed through the stone chamber, sharp enough to make the maester flinch. "You swore to me you'd keep them safe while they stayed under your roof!"
Corvin's glare met his brother's. "I didn't expect your wildling of a daughter to follow my sons into the woods!"
"Watch your tongue," Orion snapped, stepping closer. "Your sons may have led them there, but you will not speak ill of my blood."
The room crackled with tension until the maester—sweating under his chains—cleared his throat timidly. "My lords… there is more."
Both men turned toward him.
"Word came from Stone Hedge this morning," the maester continued nervously. "Lord Roderick Bracken received the same raven. His son—young James—is missing as well."
Orion exhaled through his nose, his fury cooling to a low, deadly calm. "Of course he is."
Corvin's jaw tensed. "Then the feud begins again."
"No," Orion said, his voice soft but dangerous. "Not yet. I'll not have my brother's folly spark another century of blood between our houses."
But far to the south, at Stone Hedge, Lord Roderick Bracken was already pacing across his solar like a caged bear. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mane of brown hair streaked in gray, his face lined with years of stubborn pride and too many grudges.
"Gone," he growled, crushing the raven's parchment in his calloused hand. "My son—taken, no doubt, by those gods-damned Blackwoods."
A servant bowed low. "Shall I send word to assemble the riders, my lord?"
Roderick's jaw flexed. "Aye. Double patrols along the Trident. If the river spat my boy out anywhere, I want him found." His voice softened only slightly. "And if the Blackwoods had a hand in this…"
He turned toward the window overlooking his lands, where the Bracken banners—red stallion on gold—snapped in the rising wind.
"…then I'll burn their forest to the ground."
Back at Raventree, Orion gripped the edge of the war table until his knuckles turned white.
"Two houses," he said under his breath, "two bloodlines, bound by hatred and children's folly." He looked toward Corvin, eyes dark with a pain that only a father could know. "If anything happens to them—if they drown, or worse—it won't be the river that runs red."
Corvin bowed his head in shame. "I will find them, brother."
"You had better," Orion said coldly. "Before Roderick Bracken finds you."
Outside, the wind howled through the weirwood branches, carrying the whispers of old gods and old grudges. The feud between Blackwood and Bracken had slept for nearly a generation.
Now, it stirred again — woken not by war, but by six frightened children who had vanished into the river's swift embrace.
At Riverrun, the heart of the Riverlands, dawn broke through the stained glass of the solar with a cold, pink light. Lord Grover Tully, Warden of the Trident, sat alone at his oaken desk, the weight of years and duty heavy on his shoulders. The crackle of the hearth was the only sound as he unrolled the latest raven scroll.
He read it once, then again, and with each line his expression grew darker.
Six missing children. Two Blackwoods, two Blackwood nieces, a Bracken heir, and a peasant boy of unknown birth. The river carrying them gods-knew-where. And both houses already sharpening their words—and their swords.
Grover sighed, long and weary. "Seven save me," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Those damned woods and their cursed pride…"
He rose from his chair and crossed to the window, gazing out across the red-roofed towers and winding rivers below. The Trident gleamed faintly in the morning light, peaceful now, but he knew too well how quickly it could run crimson again. He had spent half his life mending the fragile truce between Blackwood and Bracken—mediating feasts, brokering marriages, tempering grudges with gold and wine.
And now, a handful of children might undo it all.
He turned sharply. "Maester Kylren!"
The elderly maester hurried in, scrolls clutched in his trembling hands. "My lord?"
Grover's voice was firm, commanding the weight of his years. "Send ravens to every bannered house in the Riverlands. To House Mallister, House Piper, House Vance, House Frey, all of them. Tell them Lord Tully commands that every patrol, every scout, and every fisherman along the Trident and its forks keep watch for the missing children."
Kylren hesitated. "All of them, my lord? Even the lesser bannermen?"
"Aye," Grover said. "Every lord with a boat, every peasant who casts a net. I don't care if they search the reeds themselves." He paused, his gaze hardening. "And make it clear: the boys and girls are to be returned safely—no matter whose crest they bear. If a single drop of blood is spilled over this, the one responsible will answer to me."
The maester bowed his head. "At once, my lord."
As Kylren shuffled out, Grover turned back toward the window. His reflection flickered faintly in the glass—old, tired, but still proud. The years had not dulled the steel in his eyes.
"Old ghosts," he muttered under his breath. "Blackwood and Bracken… will your feud ever die?"
He rested his hands on the stone sill, watching as a flock of ravens took flight from the rookery tower, black wings cutting across the pale morning sky. Each bird carried a sliver of hope—or warning—out across the Riverlands.
For now, all he could do was pray the gods would be merciful.
That the river would give the children back before blood and pride demanded they be avenged.
The boat drifted steadily down the Red Fork, carried by a current that churned like restless silver beneath the fading sun. The air was damp and cold, heavy with mist that clung to their clothes and hair. None of the six children spoke for a long while — the exhaustion, the fear, and the disbelief weighing too heavily on their small shoulders.
Sirius sat at the bow, eyes scanning the winding river ahead. His hands were blistered from rowing, but he didn't care. Every stroke was one more heartbeat of freedom between them and the men hunting them. Behind him, Regulus leaned weakly against the side of the boat, his pale face drawn and eyes heavy. Remus sat beside him, tending to a scrape on his leg with what little cloth he could tear from his sleeve.
Bellatrix was staring out across the dark water, chin resting on her knees, her wild curls tangled and her expression unreadable. Even now, the faintest glint of mischief lingered in her eyes — though there was fear there too, buried deep. Narcissa sat beside her, clutching her sister's arm tightly, whispering prayers under her breath.
And James Bracken, muddy, bruised, but still somehow defiant, leaned on an oar and looked back upriver. "Do you think they're still chasing us?" he asked, voice small but steady.
Sirius didn't look at him. "They'll search," he said flatly. "Blackwood men don't quit. But they don't know these waters like I do. The river bends east soon — we'll lose them before nightfall."
James frowned. "And after that?"
Sirius hesitated, glancing at his brother, then at the girls. "We find land. We hide. We wait until it's safe to go back."
Bellatrix snorted softly. "Safe?" she echoed, her voice sharp with disbelief. "Do you really think our fathers will just welcome us home with open arms? They'll have our hides once they're done tearing each other's throats out."
That earned a long, heavy silence. Even Sirius couldn't argue with her.
Narcissa's fingers tightened on Bellatrix's sleeve. "Then what do we do?" she whispered.
"We survive," Regulus said quietly, his tone soft but sure. "We made it this far, didn't we?"
Remus gave a small smile. "He's right. And we've got the river. The gods gave us that much."
The current carried them onward, faster now, the sound of rushing water growing louder as the river widened. The woods on either side seemed endless — tall, ancient oaks swaying in the evening wind, their branches reaching out like dark arms over the water.
As the light dimmed, the children huddled closer. Sirius and James took turns rowing, though both were nearly spent. Bellatrix, ever restless, tore a strip of fabric from her cloak and began tying it to the mast as a makeshift flag — a bold act for someone on the run.
When Regulus asked her why, she only grinned faintly. "So we'll be remembered," she said. "Even if we drown, someone will see this and wonder who we were."
"Bell," Sirius muttered, "we're not dying today."
"Maybe not," she said softly. "But if we do, at least it'll be our choice."
Narcissa turned away, hugging her knees tighter. "You talk like this is some grand story," she murmured. "But we're just… children."
Bellatrix smiled sadly. "Every war starts with children, little dove. We're just the unlucky ones who got caught in ours early."
The river curved sharply then, pulling them faster into the heart of the Trident, its broad waters gleaming with moonlight. The boat rocked dangerously, but Sirius held firm, steering them into the main current.
Behind them, the forest was fading — the last glimpse of home swallowed by distance and darkness.
"Where do you think it goes?" Remus asked quietly.
Sirius didn't answer at first. He looked up at the sky — at the stars slowly beginning to appear between the drifting clouds — and for a moment, despite everything, he smiled.
"Anywhere but back," he said.
And the river carried them on, deeper into the unknown.
The dawn came not as a gentle light, but as chaos.
The children were jolted awake by violent rocking — the boat pitching so hard it nearly threw Regulus into the water. Bellatrix shouted first, gripping the edge of the hull as freezing spray hit her face. "What in the hells—?!"
The river had turned into a roaring beast overnight. The Trident's current, swollen by the night's tide and early spring floods, now dragged them with terrifying speed. The little fishing boat bucked and spun as if it were nothing more than a leaf caught in a storm.
"Grab something!" Sirius yelled over the crash of the water, trying to steady the tiller, but the force was too strong — the oar wrenched from his grasp and vanished into the frothing torrent.
Narcissa screamed as the bow tilted sharply, water sloshing inside. Remus clutched her arm and braced his feet against the boards, his knuckles white. James, sitting up near the front, blinked through the mist and the blinding morning light — and then his heart froze.
"Look!" he shouted, voice breaking. "The river's ending!"
Ahead, the water widened — not gently, but violently — where the Trident emptied into the Bay of Crabs. The open sea stretched beyond, grey and merciless, its waves rising like the backs of giants. The river narrowed one last time before that, funneling its rage into a single, roaring mouth that would swallow them whole.
James' face went pale. "If we hit the bay, we'll be pulled into the sea! We'll drown before we even touch land!"
Sirius spun toward him, eyes wild. "Then grab the oars—"
"There are no oars!" Bellatrix shouted back, kicking at the empty rowlocks. The last of them had been torn loose during the night.
The boat shuddered again — a brutal jolt that threw them all to one side. The sound of splintering wood cracked through the air. Regulus clung to the edge, coughing up river water. "Sirius—what do we do!?"
Sirius' mind raced, but the river didn't care for thought or planning. It dragged them onward relentlessly, the current screaming as if eager to deliver them to the bay's hungry waves.
"The rope!" Remus cried suddenly. "If we can anchor to something—"
"There's nothing to anchor to!" James cut him off, gesturing helplessly. The riverbanks were gone now, swallowed by wide shallows and churning foam. They were already too far.
Water surged over the sides. The cold hit like knives. Narcissa gasped, clutching Bellatrix, who held her close with one arm, the other gripping the hull so tightly her nails bled.
Sirius tried to steady the boat, but the current caught them full-on. The prow dipped — hard — and for a heartbeat, they were airborne.
Then the river spat them out.
The little fishing boat shot through the mouth of the Trident, straight into the Bay of Crabs. The roar of the sea hit them like thunder — waves crashing, wind howling, salt burning their eyes. The sky opened above them, vast and merciless.
Regulus screamed something that was lost to the wind. James clutched the mast, staring in horror as the coast behind them disappeared — the last trace of land shrinking into mist.
For a brief moment, it felt as if the world itself had turned against them.
"The gods aren't with us anymore," Bellatrix muttered under her breath, her voice shaking, her defiance cracking for the first time.
And then the next wave struck — larger than the rest, breaking over the deck and swallowing their screams in cold, endless blue.
The river's mercy had ended.
The Bay of Crabs had claimed them.
(timeskip)
The sun hung high over a lonely stretch of coastline — an island forgotten by time, its beauty half-swallowed by decay. The beach curved like a crescent moon, its pale sand scattered with the bones of old tragedy. Half-buried skeletons lay entombed beneath dunes of windblown salt, their ribs jutting like the remains of a ship's broken hull. The wreck itself, once a proud vessel, now rested crooked and shattered at the far end of the cove — a monument to something long lost, claimed by the sea and silence alike.
Waves rolled lazily onto the shore, whispering through the wreckage. The cries of gulls echoed faintly in the air.
And then… movement.
Six figures lay sprawled along the sand — Sirius, Regulus, Bellatrix, Narcissa, James, and Remus — their faces pale, their clothes torn, their skin glistening with saltwater. The boat that had carried them from the Riverlands was nowhere to be seen; its remnants floated in pieces offshore, gently rocking with the tide.
For a while, the only sound was the rhythm of the sea — until a massive shadow swept across the beach.
It passed once.
Then again.
A sudden boom followed, the ground trembling under the weight of something colossal. Sand and debris scattered as a rush of freezing air rolled through the cove.
Out of the clouds, Nyx descended — her scales glinting like shards of midnight glass, veins of violet light pulsing along her spine. Her wings stretched wide, casting a blanket of shadow over the wrecked beach as she landed with a deafening crash, her claws sinking into the sand. Steam curled from her nostrils, and her tail dragged long scars across the dunes as she lowered her head, sniffing the strange scene before her.
Upon her back stood Jeanyx — his silver-blond hair tied loosely behind his neck, streaked black at the ends, his long coat fluttering in the sea breeze. The faint violet gleam of his eyes sharpened when he saw the figures below.
At first, he thought them corpses. Another lost crew. Another tragedy the sea had spit out for him to witness. But then he caught the faint rise and fall of breathing.
"...They're alive," he muttered, his voice low, wind-carried.
Without hesitation, Jeanyx leapt down, landing hard in the sand. His boots crunched over sea glass and fragments of bone as he sprinted toward the unconscious children.
The closer he came, the more the scene puzzled him. Their fine clothes, though soaked and torn, were of noble make — handwoven silks and embroidered leather, the kind only great houses could afford. But what truly made him stop cold was the sigils.
A raven stitched in black thread.
A red stallion stamped on the remains of a tattered cloak.
Blackwood and Bracken.
Together.
Jeanyx crouched beside them, brushing wet hair from Sirius' brow, then looking to the others — all so young, all far from home. His expression tightened. "Impossible…" he whispered. "Those houses would sooner kill each other than share a meal — let alone a boat."
He stood, scanning the beach — searching for signs of pursuit, a camp, anything. But there was only silence. Only these six, washed ashore by fate.
Behind him, Nyx let out a low, curious rumble, her slit-pupiled eyes narrowing as she examined the little ones. Her breath was cold enough to mist the air.
Jeanyx placed a hand on her snout without turning. "Easy, girl. They're children."
Nyx blinked once, then sat back on her haunches, watching as Jeanyx knelt again.
He pressed two fingers to Bellatrix's neck, then to James', then Narcissa's — checking each pulse in turn. "Alive," he murmured again, relieved but wary. "Barely."
A bitter laugh escaped him as he looked up toward the endless horizon. "The gods have a strange sense of humor…"
He glanced back at the children — the heirs of two feuding houses, tangled together by chance or destiny.
"...to wash these bloodlines onto my shore."
Jeanyx sighed and straightened, brushing sand from his coat. "Alright then," he said quietly, glancing toward Nyx. "Let's get them somewhere safe before the tide decides to drag them off again."
Nyx dipped her head low, allowing Jeanyx to hoist the children one by one onto the smooth slope of her neck. He handled them gently, his face unreadable — but his mind already racing with questions.
When the last of them was secured, Jeanyx climbed up after them, gripping the harness.
"Take us home, girl," he said.
With a deep rumble, Nyx spread her wings. The wind howled, the sand whipped up into spirals, and in a single powerful beat, the dragon lifted off — carrying Jeanyx and the six unconscious children away from the haunted shore.
Below them, the beach fell silent once more. Only the waves moved — washing slowly over the bones and wreckage left behind.
The sea had taken lives once before.
This time, it had given them back.