Within hours of the Duel of Honor, news spread like Fiendfyre across the wizarding world. The death of Charles Trévér at the hands of Maximilian Voclain dominated headlines in every magical publication from Paris to Prague, London to New York.
Le Prophète Magique broke the story first:
"Duel Ends in Blood: Voclain Slays Trévér, Alina Declares War"
The article recounted the brutal death of Charles, the chaos that followed, and Alina Trévér's public declaration of all-out war against the Voclain family. Within the day, magical newspapers from every corner of Europe followed suit.
The Daily Prophet issued a special midnight edition:
"Trévér-Voclain Conflict Erupts: Blood War Declared in France"
'The shocking death of Charles Trévér has ignited a formal blood feud between two of France's oldest and most powerful noble families. With the duel's outcome rejected by House Trévér, both sides have declared a state of magical war. Sources suggest a rise in covert attacks, international concern, and the potential for pure-blood destabilization across Europe.'
The British magical community reacted swiftly. The Wizengamot held an emergency midnight session, condemning the public failure of the Duel of Honor system. Several respected British pure-blood families released statements supporting neither side—but voicing their deep concern over the unchecked aggression in France.
"When ancient tradition devolves into slaughter, all families suffer," stated Lord Percival Burke of House Burke.
"If they cannot contain the fire, it may burn across borders," warned Duke Greengrass, Patriarch of the Greengrass family.
In the United States, The New Salem Sentinel published an editorial column titled:
"France on the Brink: Blood Feud Threatens Magical Stability"
'The Trévér-Voclain feud, once a quiet power struggle within France's elite, has now become a full-scale magical war. Already, underground reports suggest skirmishes in southern France and violent retaliations. The ICW (International Confederation of Wizards) has not yet intervened, but prominent American families such as the Claymores and Hemlocks have expressed unease.'
The Claymore family, one of the Twelve Auror Houses of the New World, even issued a public warning:
"We do not tolerate unchecked magical aggression. If innocent lives are harmed, the consequences will be swift."
A few days later, reports of killings began flooding in.
"Ambush in Marseille" — A Trévér-aligned manor was destroyed by magical fire, with three confirmed dead and two missing.
"Attack in Lyon" — A Voclain outpost suffered a curse-bombing, injuring five.
"Missing in Bordeaux" — A minor cousin of the Trévér family disappeared on the way to a diplomatic envoy meeting.
Violence was no longer contained to duels or family strongholds. It had spilled into the streets, affecting the periphery of magical society.
Then came the formal address from the French Ministry of Magic.
In a rare public statement, Minister Isabella Voclain appeared at the grand podium beneath the Ministry's enchanted ceiling. Witches and wizards from across France—and the world read about it in the various newspapers.
Her statement was clear , but firm. Her gaze steely in the magical pictures.
"Today, I stand not as a Voclain, but as the Minister of Magic of France. What transpired between House Voclain and House Trévér has now escalated into open blood feud. As Minister, I declare this conflict as internal and ancient—a remnant of old traditions we no longer condone.
However, I also make it clear: this Ministry will not intervene in this war.
Gasps followed, but she raised her hand.
"We will not interfere—unless civilians are harmed. If any magical civilian, any child, student, traveler, or unrelated person is killed or wounded due to this feud, both houses shall be stripped of their noble status by Ministerial decree. Their lands and vaults will be seized and redistributed to the magical state. This is not a threat. It is a promise."
The room exploded into discussion.
"Furthermore," Isabella continued, "No foreign nation is to intervene without formal request. But I invite all diplomatic observers to witness that France magical government has drawn a line: You may destroy each other—but the French magical community will not be collateral."
It was a declaration that shocked many, but also set boundaries. And still, rumors of further attacks continued.
In the days following, Le Monde Sorcier reported over six magical deaths linked directly to the feud. Unverified reports suggested an assassination attempt on a Trévér cousin in Belgium, and at least two family vaults in the Americas had been robbed or sabotaged.
The ICW released a cautious statement:
"We do not condone the escalation of magical violence between ancient houses. We urge all international wizards to remain neutral and vigilant. France must settle its conflict—but without endangering the global community."
The magical world wasn't just whispering. It was holding its breath.
From the great halls of Vienna to the hidden courts of Cairo, from the icy fjords of Scandinavia to the glass towers of New York, witches and wizards watched the fires of France rise. Two ancient families—Trévér and Voclain—were tearing each other apart in broad daylight. Curses in the streets. Blood on the marble. And no one dared to stop them.
What began as a property dispute over an old hotel in the Allée des Merveilles had spiraled into an international reckoning. The Trévérs wanted to buy it—forcefully, quietly, without consequence.
But they didn't count on her.
Because it belonged to House White. And Eira White does not surrender what is hers.
She took the cracks that already split the Voclains and Trévérs—and turned them into fault lines. She weaponized old blood, wounded pride, and ancestral shame. And with a whisper, she set it all ablaze.
Now, France was burning. And no one even saw who lit the match.
Behind the spectacle, behind the violence, was a girl who once stood silent in a courtroom—cold, dismissed, and underestimated.
Now she stood at the center of a storm she had crafted with her own hands.
This wasn't politics. It wasn't vengeance.
It was power.
The kind of power you don't see until it's too late.
The kind of power that wears a calm smile and a school uniform.
The kind of power that doesn't shout—because it never has to.
Eira White didn't just survive the war.
She wrote it.