The sea stretched out endlessly beneath the pale, shifting moon light of the evening. A cold wind whispered over the sands of Normandy, carrying with it the salt of distant storms and the heavy weight of countless souls long gone. The tide lapped softly, a steady pulse beneath the cries of seagulls circling overhead.
For a long while, the only sounds were those of nature — the gentle rustle of dune grass, the far-off crash of waves against jagged rocks, and the faint footsteps of three figures standing apart on the cold shore.
Eira and Emma stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the horizon where sky met sea, while Alina Trevér remained silent, her figure outlined sharply against the fading light, her gaze distant but unyielding.
After a moment that stretched like the endless ocean, Alina finally spoke, her voice low and resonant, carrying the cadence of ancient truths.
"You know," she began, "this very beach is stained with the blood of those Muggles who came before us — Madal soldiers, countless and forgotten, their sacrifice etched deep into the stones beneath our feet. War, death, sacrifice — the raw elements of history. And yet, from that blood, from that ruin, rose a new order. A world reborn from the ashes of chaos."
Her eyes met Eira's then, sharp and piercing. "We stand here, at the edge of that same transformation. The past is never truly past. It waits beneath the surface, shaping the tides of power and destiny. You, Eira White, are more than a witness to this moment. You are part of its unfolding. Like those tides, you are inevitable."
Eira listened, her breath visible in the chill air, the weight of Alina's words settling around her like the mist rolling off the sea. There was a strange poetry to the way Alina spoke — a hypnotic blend of reverence and ambition, as if she were reciting a sacred litany.
Alina took a step closer, her voice lowering almost to a whisper. "I invited you here because this place is sacred. Not merely because of its history of blood and battle, but because it is a crossroads — a place where the old world meets the new. Here, the boundaries blur between what was, what is, and what could be."
Her hands gestured toward the horizon, as if to draw a circle around the entire world. "I see a future where the magical realms are reshaped — not by random chance, but by the will of those bold enough to seize it. Together, with your family's legacy and my mind's vision, we could forge an empire untouchable, unchallenged. Two forces intertwined, ruling not with cruelty alone, but with the calculated strength that bends fate to our design."
Eira's eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing her face.
"You make it sound like a fairy tale. But history is littered with those who dreamt too grand, only to be crushed. Grindelwald's empire was a nightmare that ended in ruin—now he's rotting in Nurmengard prison. You want to build something like that? You think we can succeed where others failed?"
Alina's smile was cold and razor-sharp, like the glint of a drawn blade.
"Grindelwald was reckless—blinded by hate and youthful arrogance. What I offer is something far more… refined. Power is not merely raw force; it is subtlety, patience, and an unbreakable will. You underestimate the forces gathering in the shadows, Eira. Families far older, far more cunning than your own—families that have been shaping the world's events for centuries. You stand alone now. Even within your bloodline, there is no one at your back. But they… they have entire houses behind them, filled with those more powerful, more ruthless than you can imagine. You're drunk on the power of the White family, but you have no idea what truly lurks out there."
Her gaze hardened. "Only together can we hope to withstand the coming storm. Take my hand, and we will redraw the map of this world. France will be yours; England mine. From here, our dominion will stretch across continents — the Americas, the East, all under our sway. But only if you agree."
Eira's laugh was dry, dismissive. "Delusions dressed up as prophecy. I don't need an empire; I have my own family's legacy to protect. And you—you're at war with Maximilian Voclain. You've burned my hotel in the Allée des Merveilles . Why would I ever trust you?"
Alina's eyes flashed dangerously. "Because you have no choice. Because fate brought us here. Because I see in you something rare—something I have never seen before."
Eira's voice sharpened. "Enough with the theatrics. Why invite me here if it's not to manipulate me? This vision of yours is impossible, doomed to fail. Many have tried before you, all crushed or condemned. Called Dark Lords or Dark wizards. I won't be another casualty."
The wind picked up, stirring the sand and tossing Alina's golden hair across her face. Then she laughed—a sound that was at once chilling and magnetic.
Alina's eyes narrowed. "So… you're rejecting me, Eira? Truly rejecting me?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Eira replied, her tone flat. "I want nothing to do with an insane woman who gets wet just from hearing my name."
"You think you can reject me? That you can walk away unscathed? I have waited a lifetime for someone like you. Someone to challenge me, to inspire me. I will make you regret this denial. I will break you down, piece by piece, until you beg to join me."
Eira met her gaze, unwavering. "You're insane."
Alina's smile widened, almost proud. "Yes, I am. Proud of it. To build an empire, one must be ruthless, unyielding, cold-blooded. And to hold it, even more so. You will regret refusing me today—but don't worry. Our game is only beginning. You will come to see that my offer was not a curse, but a gift."
She stepped closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "And one more thing—I have never been fascinated by anything in my life. Never truly impressed or captivated. Until you."
Her eyes gleamed with obsession. "That feeling, that spark you lit inside me—I will never let anyone take it away. Not you, not anyone. You belong to me, whether you know it or not."
Then Alina's lips curled into something far too wide to be pleasant. Her gaze softened, but the smile remained edged like a knife.
"I haven't been fascinated by anything since I was young. Nothing has impressed me. Until you. And now that I've felt this feeling…" Her voice dropped, almost tender. "I will never let it go. Not until you're mine."
"You're a psycho," Eira said, her tone flat.
"Yes," Alina said without a trace of hesitation. "And I'll be your psycho."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "You will regret today. But it's all right. We have time—so much time. And one day, you'll take my hand."
Eira said nothing, her expression unreadable.
The waves crashed behind them, a steady, cold heartbeat to the silence that followed.
Eira turned to Emma and whispered, "I want to kill her, Emma. I don't want to repeat the same mistake I made with Cecil."
Without hesitation, Emma drew her wand, pointing it at Alina, and unleashed a lethal spell. But the moment the curse struck Alina, it recoiled harmlessly, stopped by a thin, translucent blue shield that shimmered around her.
"Oh, so cute," Alina said with a smirk. "Those little spells won't do a thing. Come on, Eira, you're smarter than this. Do you really think you can simply kill me here? Don't be absurd. I am the Head of the Trévér family. Since the day I took the title, my life has been in danger—so I've had plenty of time to prepare. I'm very experienced at protecting myself."
Eira's lips tightened. "Well, trying wasn't bad. At least we tried."
Without missing a beat, Emma fired again—this time the green curse: Avada Kedavra.
Alina's expression darkened instantly. With a swift movement, she vanished, escaping the deadly curse.
"Now, now," she called out as she disappeared, "that wasn't a good idea. I see you're a little emotional, but that's okay. I'll give you some time to think."
From inside her robes, she produced a ring and pressed it. As she began to fade away, her final words echoed:
"I will make you mine. Eira, you will be mine—that I promise you."
When Alina was gone, Emma bowed her head in apology. "I'm sorry, my lady, I failed you."
Eira shook her head. "It's not your fault. Killing a lord of a house—especially someone with her intellect—is no easy task. Don't worry about it. Let's go."