The vision of the Forbidden Forest began to tremble, the trees flickering like candlelight in the wind.
Caelum turned to the echo of Aurelian Varnak, the last Patriarch of a fallen house.
"What happens now?" Caelum asked.
"We're not exactly in the most favorable situation."
Around them, the moonlit forest cracked like glass. The memory was unraveling, the ritual in the real world drawing toward its end.
"I have no power left to give you," Aurelian said solemnly. "Only knowledge. But… if you allow me—if you lend me your body—I can use your lifeforce to access your bloodline, just long enough to fight him."
Caelum narrowed his eyes. "But what's the cost?"
Aurelian's gaze was heavy.
"Forcibly unlocking your inheritance like this—even temporarily—will burn through your life force, shortening your lifespan. The force needed to break through the bind itself is already immense, and Lucian won't let us flee without a fight. If it goes too far… you will die."
A dry, bitter chuckle escaped Caelum's throat. "Well, what else is new? I don't like the idea of giving you my body, but I like dying at the hands of that bastard even less."
He took a deep breath. "Do it."
Aurelian nodded once. "So be it."
Then, before the ritual could surge forward, his voice quieted—weighty with finality.
"Caelum… this will be our last conversation."
He held Caelum's gaze. "I placed my soul imprint within the Grand Ritual more than three centuries ago, only as a safeguard. It was never meant to awaken unless a true heir stood on the edge between life and annihilation."
"The fact that I am here now—and not during any of the dark rituals Lucian forced upon the other Seeds—means you are more than a vessel. You are one of the true heirs of House Varnak."
He stepped closer, resting a hand near Caelum's heart, where fire simmered just beneath the skin. "What you choose to do with this legacy… is up to you. I will not control your path."
Aurelian's eyes dimmed slightly. "And remember—what you've read, or been told about our House… the accusations, the stories of corruption and monstrosity—are not necessarily the truth."
Straightening once more, Aurelian's voice echoed with quiet conviction.
"The Varnak blood and fire have deemed you worthy, Caelum."
"Trust them."
Then the light flared, searing and cold, and Aurelian's imprint surged forward—one last blaze of legacy and flame—before vanishing into Caelum's soul.
…
Ritual Chamber – Hidden Rosier Compound
Lucian Vortelan's incantation was nearing its climax. The blood rising from Caelum's wounds hovered in a spiral of crimson and flame.
But then—something changed.
The blood stopped.
Lucian's brow furrowed. "What—"
The spell formation pulsed once—then violently exploded outward in a ring of searing white-blue fire. Lucian was flung across the chamber, crashing into a pillar with a snarl.
And at the center of the circle stood Caelum.
No longer shackled.
His arms were wreathed in flame—Luxardent, the signature fire of House Varnak, roaring brighter than ever before. From his back unfurled wings of fire, bat-like and radiant, their edges shimmering with heatwave.
Lucian pushed himself up, disbelief painted across his face. "You…"
Caelum—his expression now unnervingly calm—lifted his gaze. His eyes burned gold. Regal. Unyielding.
Then he moved. Flames clashed. Lucian retaliated with his white-red, chaotic fire—unrefined and brutal, spiralling like unstable plasma. The chamber was engulfed in a storm of fire and shadow. Runes shattered. Stone turned molten.
Caelum darted forward, his movement sharper, surer—less like a boy and more like a revenant of war. Their magics collided mid-air in a blinding explosion.
Outside the chamber, alarms rang out. Wizards and vampires burst through the heavy doors, drawn by the roaring fire and collapsing walls. Their spells flew in arcs of green and blue. Shadows coalesced into fanged shapes, converged on Caelum from every direction. The air thickened with the scent of blood and magic.
But Aurelian was already moving. Wielding Luxardent—his family's ancestral flame—he danced through them with terrifying precision. His fire curved like blades, slicing through spellwork, searing through flesh and shadow alike.
A vampire lunged from the left—he caught it mid-air, turning it to ash in a burst of blue-white flame. A wizard tried to cast a binding curse—Aurelian deflected it with a sweep of fire that turned his robes to cinders.
They fought hard—but he fought harder.
Decades of honed battlecraft lived in every motion. Each spell he cast tore through his enemies with elegance and finality. Within moments, the chamber's would-be reinforcements lay scattered—burned, unconscious, or fleeing in terror.
Lucian stumbled back, scorched and panting. "This power—!" he hissed. "The way he wields it…"
He stared into Caelum's eyes. And then he understood.
"No… it's you. You left part of your soul in the inheritance didn't you? I recognize that look. That same condescension. That same arrogance. Aurelian Varnak!"
From Caelum's mouth came a voice that did not belong to a twelve-year-old boy.
"The power was never yours to begin with, Lucian. You were never worthy."
Lucian bared his fangs. "You're merely a ghost. A pathetic remnant clinging to faded glory. Your House is ash! I made sure of it!"
He raised both arms, summoning every drop of fire left in him.
"Now I'll finish the job—this time for good!"
The battle resumed. Each strike Aurelian delivered carved deeper into Lucian's strength, unraveling the stolen power at its seams.
A direct burst of Luxardent hit Lucian square in the chest.
He screamed—choking, staggering backward as his skin blistered and his cloak ignited.
The fire clung to him, burning not just flesh, but essence. His blood howled with foreign magic, unraveling under Aurelian's gaze.
Lucian dropped to one knee, coughing smoke, eyes wild.
Aurelian raised his arm, gathering Luxardent to its full, brilliant fury.
But then— Caelum's body began to falter. The flames flickered. And then—his knees buckled.
"No—" Aurelian whispered through Caelum's lips. "This body… is at its limit."
Blood pooled beneath him.
The wings evaporated.
Lucian staggered upright, burned and bruised, but still standing. His laughter cracked the smoke-filled air.
Lucian let out a ragged, hysterical laugh—half triumph, half madness. "You're done, Aurelian! After all this struggling, after all this defiance, you'll still fail… just like before!" His laughter echoed off the burning walls as he stepped forward, eyes wild. He seized Caelum by the throat and lifted him effortlessly from the ground.
"This power," Lucian hissed, his grin splitting wider, "It's mine."
Lucian expected to see desperation twist across Aurelian's face—but instead, there was only calm. Aurelian's lips curled faintly as he murmured, "Unlikely."
Suddenly, a beam of pure light tore through the ceiling. Lucian shrieked as the spell struck him, searing through his side. He was thrown back, crashing through debris.
From the gaping hole above, Albus Dumbledore descended, wand still raised.
"I believe that's my student you're manhandling, Lucian," he said coldly.
Lucian howled. "Dumbledore!"
With a roar, Lucian thrust his arm forward, sending a torrent of jagged black magic across the chamber. Dumbledore's wand flicked once—"Protego Maxima!"—and the curse shattered like glass against an invisible barrier.
"You meddling relic," Lucian spat, already summoning another barrage of hexes, each darker than the last.
But Dumbledore moved like a tempest. He didn't shout—only whispered spells, and the world seemed to bend around his intent. Fiery arcane runes shimmered through the air as his silver magic clashed with Lucian's obsidian streams. Lightning cracked the stone beneath them. The pressure of old power, refined and commanding, began to push Lucian back.
Dumbledore murmured, voice low but firm. "So much rage, so little control."
Lucian snarled, blood still sizzling from Caelum's earlier attack. The Luxardent had marked him—his aura frayed and leaking raw pain. He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes darting to the dark exit behind the altar.
He stood, staggered, bleeding. "This isn't over. You may have borrowed time, Aurelian—but I'll come for the boy. And next time, you won't be there to protect him."
Dumbledore flicked his wand, sending ropes of enchanted light lashing toward Lucian—but with one last burst of blood magic, Lucian vanished in a crimson shadow.
The room fell still.
Dumbledore knelt beside Caelum's body, now slumped in the rubble. He looked into the boy's eyes—and saw not Caelum, but something deeper. Something older.
"Lord Varnak," Dumbledore said gently. "It's a pity we met under such circumstances."
Aurelian, through Caelum, gave a faint smile. "You must be this generation's Headmaster of Hogwarts."
The man looked old, almost harmless—but Aurelian recognized the truth. This was the presence he had sensed outside: vast, heavy, and calm, like a storm held perfectly still.
"I am."
"Then I'll leave the boy to you, take care of him. He will become great. I can see it."
Dumbledore nodded. "I will."
Aurelian exhaled. "Hogwarts still owes my House a debt. Settle it… with him."
And then his eyes closed.
The golden fire in them flickered out.
Caelum's body slumped completely, unconscious.
Dumbledore caught him before he fell, cradling the boy in his arms as the last embers of Luxardent faded into ash.