Author's Note:
Hey everyone 💛
Before we dive into today's chapter, I just want to take a moment to thank all of you who've stuck with me over the past couple of months. I can hardly believe we've made it this far—100 chapters! When I first started writing this story, I never imagined it would grow into something this meaningful, both for me and for all of you who have been reading along. Writing has always been a way for me to escape, and at the time I began this journey, I was in a difficult place mentally. This story became my refuge, a space where I could pour my thoughts into something creative and connect with people in a way I hadn't before.
The support and interactions I've had with you all have truly helped me in ways I can't fully express. Seeing your comments, your thoughts, and your excitement about the story has been incredibly uplifting. I'm beyond grateful for every single person who has been here—whether from the beginning or just joining in now.
We're finally back on track now—with the house rennovation now complete, a cozy new space and a steady update schedule of 1 chapter a day, 3–4 days a week. I'm so excited to keep sharing this story with you, and even more grateful to have such an amazing group of readers along for the ride.
Now, let's get into it—enjoy the chapter!
~M
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Zabini Coliseum – Training Floor
The wand cracked against his wrist, jolting him into a sharp, low pivot. Even before his mind had fully processed the sudden movement, the counter-spell was already forming on his lips. In an instant, brilliant blue flame lanced across the training space, striking the dummy squarely and causing it to disintegrate into swirling tendrils of smoke.
Severus didn't pause to acknowledge his success; he summoned another target, then another, each conjured dummy demanding the same intensity and precision. His breaths became shallow, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic tempo honed through countless hours of relentless magical conditioning. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, yet he embraced the discomfort, reveling in the burn firing through his shoulders and the slight tremor in his fingers brought on by the overexertion.
He had no need for rest; only the pursuit of perfection drove him forward.
"Enough."
The word sliced through the charged air, sharper than any curse he could conjure.
Sofia Mariani stepped into his line of sight, lowering her wand with an expression that was unreadable, her dark eyes fixed on him as she approached. "You've passed every drill. You've shattered your own speed records and worn down five illusion cores."
Severus straightened, steeling himself for either approval or a command from her. Instead, she posed a question that caught him off guard: "Why do you want to win?"
He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You know why. The title. The leverage. The credibility. It's everything I've fought for," he replied, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping into his voice.
But she shook her head, her expression unwavering. "None of that matters the second someone stronger walks into the ring. None of it will hold when you are cornered, bleeding, or utterly alone. I don't care about the accolades. What I want to know is why you fight… especially when you've already lost."
Severus opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed to materialize. He felt a rush of confusion and frustration, grappling with the depths of her inquiry.
Without waiting for him to gather his thoughts, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him in a heavy silence. That silence hung in the air like a spell uncast, echoing with unspoken words and unresolved questions, as he wrestled with the weight of her challenge.
The owl-feather courier preened itself on the edge of the desk, its iridescent plumage shimmering in the light, before vanishing with a dazzling flash of gold. In its wake lay three letters, each distinct: one crumpled and folded into childish thirds, another sealed meticulously in silver wax, and the last wrapped in a rich, deep green envelope that seemed to pulse with secrets.
He picked up the letter from Julius first, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he unfolded it.
"I've packed snacks for the journey," it began, the familiar playful tone unmistakable. "I polished my mirror because someone has to record you looking dramatic. If you trip, I'm telling everyone you were hexed. Love, Julius."
Severus let out a quiet snort, the image of Julius gleefully documenting his misadventures bringing him a moment of warmth amidst the impending challenges.
Next, he turned to Eileen's letter, its tone more subdued and intimate.
"I've missed you terribly," she wrote, each word carefully chosen as if to wrap him in a comforting embrace. "If you don't feel ready, that's perfectly alright. You don't have to win for us to be proud of you. But I know you'll want to do your best anyway."
He lingered over that line, contemplating its significance, the weight of her unwavering support settling in his chest like a warm glow.
The final letter was from Professor Langford, its authoritative tone contrasting sharply with the others.
"The ICW is shifting," it warned, the words sharp and clear. "Too many older hands are pretending they are not afraid. They will expect precision. They will expect brilliance. But do not let them smell your doubt."
"Be better than what they expect. And worse than what they fear."
He folded all three letters carefully, ensuring each one was tucked away safely. After sealing them once more in the drawer, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead, and then turned to face the coliseum, ready to embrace the challenge.
Garden Courtyard - Evie POV
The enchanted illusion launched another strike—a whip of searing white light that cut through the air with lethal precision, aimed directly for her ribs.
Evie dropped into a low crouch, twisting her body as she raised her wand, the light glimmering as it arched upward in defense. Her counter move was clean; the spell was sharp and true, her intentions clear. But just before the impending collision, an unexpected flicker of doubt coursed through her, causing her wrist to falter momentarily. A fleeting hesitation that broke her focus.
The illusion connected with her shoulder instead.
Not enough to truly wound her, but it left a painful bruise that throbbed in protest. She hissed through gritted teeth, her fingers instinctively rubbing at the sting as if that could soothe the discomfort. Her heartbeat drummed a rapid tempo in her chest, too fast, and her grip on her wand felt dangerously loose. She had trained for this; she should know better.
"Again," she snapped, irritation lacing her voice as she reset the training dummy with a flick of her wrist, her resolve hardening.
The garden enveloped her in a dim glow—the flickering torches swayed gently in the warm Italian breeze, their flames casting long, dancing shadows over the marble tiles and the fragrant rows of lavender hedges. The ambient sounds of the night were hushed, as if the world had fallen silent. Birds had long passed into the night, and Evie felt a sense of solitude wrap around her like a cloak. She was convinced she was the only one left here under the canopy of stars, focused entirely on her practice.
Or so she thought.
From beneath the dark archway, Benedetta emerged, her presence as silent and ethereal as starlight. The midnight-blue robe she wore wrapped around her like a shadow, her arms tucked calmly within its folds. For a moment, she didn't utter a word; she simply observed Evie, and that silence felt suffocating.
Evie ran a hand across her forehead, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had gathered there, and let out a frustrated murmur, "If you're here to tell me I'm sloppy, I already know."
Benedetta advanced a step closer, her penetrating gaze—ageless, wise, and shrewd—assessing the younger girl with the intensity of a blacksmith weighing steel at the forge. "Why do you hesitate just before you hit hard?" she asked, her voice as calm as the stillness that surrounded them.
Evie's shoulders twitched, taut with tension. "I don't know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Benedetta's eyes narrowed slightly. "You do know."
With a long, deliberate exhale, Evie allowed the weight of her thoughts to spill out into the air. "Because I keep picturing their faces. Alessandro. Severus. Ben…" Her voice faltered for a moment, the names hanging in the air heavy with emotion. "It's like I'm training to win, but deep down, I think like a friend. Like a teammate. And when I should strike without hesitation, part of me flinches. I don't want to hurt the people I care about or those who remind me of them."
Benedetta remained still, neither nodding nor smiling. Her attention was focused, observing as the truth settled within Evie like sediment in a still pond.
"And what if," Benedetta said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though sharing a secret, "one day, it's one of them falling beside you?"
Evie stared intently at her wand, her fingers tightening around its smooth handle, a wave of apprehension washing over her. "Then I'll lose them. Because I couldn't strike fast enough to stop it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.
A heavy silence settled between them, thick and oppressive.
Finally, Benedetta took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. "Loyalty is not a weakness, Evie. But remember, hesitation born of love can turn into grief amidst war. You must forge yourself into something sharper—something that doesn't have to choose between heart and instinct."
With a steady hand, she reached out, gently adjusting Evie's grip on her wand, ensuring it fit comfortably and securely in her grasp.
"Train until your loyalty transforms into your sharpest weapon, not your softest wound," Benedetta urged, her eyes fixed intently on Evie's face.
Evie remained silent, but her jaw tightened with determination. The fire within her began to kindle as she steeled herself for what was to come.
This time, when the illusion lunged—quicker, stronger, more ferocious—she moved without a moment's hesitation.
The air crackled as a bladed curse sliced through, swift and precise.
Direct. Clean. Final.
The training dummy collapsed immediately, unable to complete its attack, its form crumpling in the wake of Evie's decisive strike.
Benedetta's eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of her lips hinting at a smile of approval, yet she refrained from clapping or nodding.
She lingered a moment longer, an unspoken support surrounding them, watching intently as Evie stood resolute, refusing to flinch.
And Evie… didn't. Not once.
Zabini Private Quarters - Alessandro's POV
The door clicked shut behind him with a weighty finality. It was a heavy sound, solid and resonant—a type of closure that seemed more suited for the grand halls of castles than the intimate confines of a bedroom.
Alessandro stepped into the serene atmosphere of his private study, leaving behind the cacophony of sparring dummies, the acrid scent of burned wards, and the hushed compliments that never quite reached his heart. The quiet enveloped him, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of his teenage life.
His study was a testament to careful craftsmanship, with walls carved from rich, soft walnut, accented by intricate obsidian trim. It exuded refinement, a hallmark of the Zabini family legacy. There was no dust to mar the surfaces, no clutter to disrupt the carefully curated order—just an immaculate space where every item had its place.
And in the far corner stood the mirror, a solemn presence that seemed to have always belonged in the room. Towering and imposing, it was framed in twisted onyx and star-metal, shimmering faintly with an otherworldly allure. This mirror was not merely decorative; it contained ancient enchantments woven with rare magic—a tradition passed down to every heir of the House upon their sixteenth birthday. Its purpose was not to flatter or even to forewarn.
Instead, it unveiled the raw truth of one's nature, reflecting who you truly were when no eyes were upon you. It captured that moment when the carefully crafted masks fell away.
Alessandro took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he stepped closer to the mirror. It shimmered and danced like the heat rising off a sun-baked road before finally settling into clarity.
There he was.
He stood tall, his broad shoulders squared with confidence. The residual soreness in his muscles from a grueling training session lingered, a reminder of the effort he had poured into honing his abilities. Magic swirled around him like a protective armor—heavy, yet satisfying, a testament to his hard-won skills.
Yet, a shadow loomed behind him. Taller, broader, and more formidable than it had any right to be.
Tommaso Zabini.
His grandfather. A kingmaker in their world, known for his formidable presence and iron will. The very man who had instilled in him the principles of magic, teaching him his first disarming charm, while also drumming into his mind the harsh truth that failure was a weight carried by those less worthy.
The mirror reflected no features of his grandfather's face—only a dark silhouette. It was a figure shrouded in black and silver, an imposing presence with a hand placed firmly on Alessandro's shoulder, as if to remind him of the lineage he bore.
Alessandro stared at the reflection for what felt like an eternity.
He attempted to shrug off the palpable weight of expectation pressing down on him, just to see how the mirror would respond to such an act of defiance.
But it didn't budge.
Of course not, he thought bitterly, the realization setting in. You can't simply shake off the legacy of a name like Zabini with just one training match or a single well-aimed curse.
He didn't hate his grandfather. That would've been easier, a straightforward detachment that could be neatly wrapped up with bitterness. No—he respected him. Admired him even, despite the burdens of expectation that accompanied such feelings. But admiration was a chain, too, heavy and unyielding, especially when everyone around him expected him to wear it like armor against the world.
His fingers curled into fists, tension coiling within him.
"I'm not just your heir," he declared, his voice rising to fill the silence of the room. It cracked a little at the end—not from weakness, but from a deep-seated frustration. A pressure was building beneath his ribs, like a storm brewing inside his chest.
"I'll carry the name. I know what it means. I know all that you built—sacrifices, dreams, and legacy entwined. But I'm not you. I won't be."
The words did not echo as he had hoped; they just hung in the air, heavy and palpable, as if they were afraid to drop and shatter the silence around him.
Alessandro stepped closer to the mirror, drawn to the reflections that both mirrored and mocked him.
"I'll make it mean something new. Something mine," he asserted, determination solidifying in his voice.
He reached out and touched the surface of the glass, the coolness contrasting sharply with the warmth of his own skin. The shadow behind him remained, a constant reminder of the legacy he was bound to, but it instinctively stepped back.
Just half a pace.
Enough.
In that subtle acknowledgment, the magic pulsed gently in response, resonating with his resolve. The mirror didn't lie; its reflections were stark and unyielding. But sometimes, it was as if the glass itself… agreed with him.
Taking a step back, Alessandro breathed a little easier now, the air filling his lungs more steadily. The figure staring back at him still held his likeness, but for the first time, the space between him and the weight of the legacy felt negotiable—a shifting landscape where he could carve his own identity.
And for a seventeen-year-old boy struggling to define himself beneath the immense expectations of generations before him? That was nothing short of a win.
Zabini Estate – Midnight Terrace
The night was still, yet it was far from quiet. The wind danced over the hills, a soft whisper that carried the lingering scent of singed grass and ancient magic from the training fields below. In the distance, the estate lights flickered like ethereal stars, dim torches scattered across the coliseum yard, resembling celestial bodies fading in and out of existence.
On the stone terrace overlooking it all, three figures sat with their backs against the cool stone wall. Their futures hung heavy around their shoulders, enveloping them like invisible cloaks woven from uncertainty and hope. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, and they remained silent for what felt like an eternity. It wasn't discomfort that held them in this quietude; rather, it was a profound sense of compression. This was the kind of silence that descends when too much is felt at once, where words would spill forth too quickly, threatening to shatter the fragile moment.
Finally, it was Alessandro who broke the stillness. His voice emerged not with dramatic flair or booming resonance, but with a quiet sigh that seemed to hold the weight of the world. "Do we say it out loud? Or just pretend we're not all thinking about the same damn thing?"
Evie didn't look at him, her focus directed instead toward the flickering torchlight casting soft shadows against the ornate marble railing. "I want it," she declared, her voice steady and unwavering. It held a fierce intensity, the kind that soft things acquire when forged under the weight of pressure.
"Not for glory. Or legacy. Not even for the medal. I want to stand before that crowd, in front of that vast world—and know that I chose this path for myself. That I wasn't merely the girl who followed someone else's orders."
Severus leaned back against the cold stone, stretching his legs out before him, arms folded behind his head as if he had nothing left to lose. Yet the subtle twitch of his jaw betrayed a deeper turmoil within him.
"I want it," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with emotion. "Because I'm weary of merely surviving. I'm exhausted by people treating that as if it's enough."
He tilted his head upward toward the vast, star-studded sky, the brilliance of the stars contrasting sharply with the darkness around them.
"I want to win. Not because I have something to prove to anyone else, but because I've reached the end of my tether in letting others dictate what I'm allowed to desire."
They lingered in the silence that followed—no immediate response was necessary. The weight of their unspoken thoughts filled the air between them, a shared understanding that bound their aspirations together.
The silence that enveloped them was not devoid of meaning—it was steeped in acknowledgment.
Alessandro adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter as the firelight flickered and danced in his eyes, illuminating their depths. "Then let's make a pact," he declared, his voice resolute and steady.
Evie shot him a sideways glance, a hint of curiosity—and perhaps mischief—lighting up her expression. "A blood pact? A dramatic vow? Or something simpler?"
"Simple," Alessandro affirmed with conviction. His gaze swept between his two companions, a spark of intensity igniting in his eyes. "We fight. We give it everything we've got. And when we step into that ring—if we find ourselves facing off against one another—we don't hold back. Not an inch."
Evie nodded slowly, her mind processing his words. "You mean… no holding back. Even if it's one of us standing across the line?"
"Especially then," Alessandro replied firmly, underscoring the importance of their commitment.
Severus, who had been listening quietly, turned to regard them both now. His voice, usually sharp and guarded, was unexpectedly gentle. "And when it's over? What then?"
"No grudges," Alessandro declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "No bitterness. Win or lose—it all ends in the ring, right there."
Evie's lips curled into a small, encouraging smile. "And whatever happens, we walk out the same way we walked in."
"Together," Alessandro echoed, the word hanging in the air between them, heavy with promise.
They lingered in shared reflection for a moment, contemplating the weight of their bond.
Then, with an air of solemnity, Alessandro extended his hand, palm open and inviting. "Deal?"
Evie placed hers atop his, their palms connecting in a gesture of unity. "Deal."
Severus gazed down at their joined hands, lingering a breath longer than necessary.
He had crafted many deals throughout his life—bargains with mentors who had shaped him, trades with adversaries forged in conflict, and lies spun out of desperation to ensure his survival.
But this was different.
This was a promise stripped of conditions—pure and unadulterated truth.
With a quiet resolve, he placed his hand over theirs, solidifying their pact. "Deal."
And in the embrace of the night, beneath a timeless sky that had borne witness to centuries of wars and wonders, three teenagers.
Zabini Coliseum, At Dawn
He stood alone once more, the first light of dawn bleeding across the horizon in soft hues of orange and pink. The training dummies loomed before him, motionless yet poised, each one a silent testament to his struggles. He recalled Sofia's probing question echoing in his mind: "Why do you fight when you've already lost?"
He didn't vocalize his response, but the answer unfurled within him—a quiet storm, dangerous yet resolute, and undeniably final: "Because for one fleeting moment, I want to be undeniable. Not feared. Not celebrated. Just… undeniably enough to show that I still stand."
With newfound determination coursing through his veins, his wand moved with purpose. In an instant, the dummy shattered into splinters before it could even muster the strength to raise its hand against him.
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