It had been several days since Cael's return from France, and much of that time had been consumed by grueling, isolated practice. Every morning, he returned to the same place—his private training chamber tucked beneath his estate, lit only by floating orbs of bluish flame—and attempted to master the spell Rose had taught him.
A spell that bent time itself.
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Spell: Visio Futura
Latin: "Vision of the Future"
• Pronunciation: VIH-see-oh foo-TOO-rah
• Wand Movement: A slow spiral ending in a sharp upward flick, as if drawing a silver thread from the void.
• Effect: Grants a 10-second glimpse into the most probable future.
• Risks: Dizziness, nausea, mental disorientation. Overuse may cause permanent damage.
• Nature: Probabilistic—the future can still change.
• Mastery: Extending the vision beyond 10 seconds is the work of decades—if not a lifetime.
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To most, it would sound like a fantasy—cheating fate. But to Cael, it was a doorway to possibility. A razor's edge of foresight that, if wielded correctly, could change the course of battle, of destiny… of war.
But it was excruciatingly difficult.
Each time he cast it, his vision clouded. His body collapsed. His mind rejected the experience like poison. The moment he reached for that shimmering thread of time, the spell would break, hurling him back into reality, gasping and disoriented.
Until today.
⸻
He stood shirtless, sweating, feet planted wide across the etched stone floor of the chamber. His wand moved in a perfect spiral, then snapped upward.
"Visio Futura."
His irises vanished in a flash of white-silver.
Darkness surrounded him.
And then—it appeared.
A silver thread, glowing faintly, floating in the void.
Cael reached out—not with his hand, but with his mind. He touched it.
This time, it held.
In the blink of an instant, his vision was thrown forward ten seconds into the future.
He saw it: an owl, gliding through the morning mist with a newspaper in its beak, coming straight for his window.
Then—
Snap.
The vision ended.
Cael collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, body trembling. A sharp ache stabbed behind his eyes.
And then he laughed.
A short breathless sound, half relief, half triumph.
"I did it," he whispered, still lying on the cold stone floor. "Ten seconds. I saw it. I actually saw it."
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He lay there, catching his breath, thinking of Rose.
She could see hundreds—no, thousands—of years ahead, he remembered.
She once told me she saw the future of the Muggles and called it… beautiful.
How did she do it? How far into time was she able to reach?
Cael sat up slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.
He wasn't there yet. But now, he had proof it was possible. If he could strengthen his magic—sharpen his mind—he might one day extend the spell to minutes… even hours.
He reached for a healing draught he'd brewed the night before. It wasn't particularly pleasant-tasting, but it dulled the fatigue. After draining the vial, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled to the front door of his home.
Just as the vision had shown, the owl was already gone, and a fresh copy of the Daily Prophet lay neatly folded on his doorstep.
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He picked it up, unfolded it.
BREAKOUT AT AZKABAN – SIRIUS BLACK ON THE RUN
Beneath the bold headline was a photo of a man—wild-haired, hollow-eyed, screaming wordlessly through the bars of his cell.
Cael narrowed his eyes.
"Well," he muttered, "so the cold-blooded mutt finally decided to get some fresh air."
He skimmed the article.
Sirius Black, convicted for the betrayal of the Potters and the murder of thirteen Muggles, escaped from Azkaban two nights ago. Authorities have no leads on his current whereabouts. The Ministry has proposed additional protection for James and Harry Potter, should they resurface, though insiders claim James Potter has refused cooperation.
Cael smirked.
"Of course he did. James never did trust the Ministry."
He continued reading.
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A second article caught his eye—half a page down.
MAGICAL DISCOVERY IN AMERICA
Wandlore teams and curse-breakers have uncovered ancient magical artifacts in the ruins of a lost structure believed to predate the Salem Witches. Runes carved into the metal suggest a magical civilization older than previously recorded—possibly linked to pre-Roman magical councils.
The photo showed an ornate object covered in intricate rune work—symbols Cael recognized instantly.
His breath caught.
"No… that can't be random."
Those runes weren't just ancient. They were Council markings.
This artifact had once belonged to one of the Six.
He stared at the page, stunned.
Then, from within the room, came a voice—calm and feminine, laced with teasing sharpness.
"Maybe it's a honey trap, Host," said his System's voice—the sentient presence bound to him since his rebirth in this world .
"You've broken into two hidden places tied to the old Council. Perhaps now they are looking for you."
Cael sat down, his mind already turning.
"You might be right. They're displaying it too openly. This artifact shouldn't be in a paper. Not unless someone wanted it seen."
His system's voice was thoughtful.
"So. What will you do?"
Cael stared at the page a moment longer.
"They'll be expecting someone to strike immediately. That's what they want."
He paused. Then smiled faintly.
"But I won't. Not now. Let them get comfortable. When they least expect it, then I'll go and retrieve it."
There was a beat of silence.
"You're still planning to steal it—even knowing it's a trap?" she asked.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming the table.
"Of course," he said. "That makes it more exciting. Besides… I'm almost certain it's a clue. The next step to finding the third member of the Council."
His System didn't reply.
He looked back at the newspaper—the photo of Sirius Black snarling behind bars now hauntingly empty.
The past was catching up to them all.
And the future?
He smiled faintly.