Salazar and I stumbled through the thick undergrowth, every step sinking slightly into the damp, jungle floor. The air was heavy with humidity, the scent of rot and blossoms intertwining in a nearly unbearable way. Both of us were breathing hard, still recovering from the exhaustion of teleporting across continents. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity just to stabilize ourselves.
"I swear, I almost threw up halfway through," Salazar muttered, brushing sweat from his brow. His snake-like eyes scanned the dense foliage, ever cautious.
"Don't remind me," I groaned, tugging my cloak tighter as the mosquitos buzzed near my face. Instinctively, I flicked my wrist, activating the ward I'd created—it instantly incinerated the insects before they could land. I smiled a little, my control over my magic precise even in this oppressive heat. At least that nuisance was solved.
We had a lead. A good one. Somewhere in this Greek jungle lay the tomb of Herpo the Foul. My research hinted at its location, and Salazar had corroborated the clues. It made sense—this was his homeland, after all, and the tomb would likely be in the most protected, hidden area of the jungle.
But the forest itself was a threat. Not just magical but alive with danger. I remembered vividly the first time I'd tried scouting as a Raven here. A massive bird—magical, enormous—had nearly killed me. Its wings had beaten the air with terrifying force, its talons sharp enough to tear flesh from bone. I shivered at the memory and shook my feathers from that thought. This time, I was sticking to the ground. No flying scouting missions for me here. Not yet.
Salazar glanced at me. "Are you sure he's even… alive?" His voice lowered to a hiss. "No Horcrux has been destroyed. No death confirmed. This could be a trap."
I shrugged, though my stomach twisted slightly at the thought. "If he's alive, all the better. It'll be a worthy challenge. And if he's not…" My voice trailed off, but the edge of excitement was unmistakable. We were hunters now, seeking one of the darkest magical beings to ever exist.
We moved cautiously, using spells to clear our path through the dense vines and brush. I occasionally muttered low incantations to sense magical residues in the air—any trace of a Horcrux, protective wards, or lingering enchantments. So far, nothing. Only ordinary animals, though I could feel the subtle pulse of dormant magic hidden deeper in the forest.
Hours passed. The sun had shifted high above, barely penetrating the thick canopy. Sweat stung my eyes, my cloak clung to my back, and my legs ached. Yet, every step forward was worth it—the closer we got, the more certain I was that Herpo's tomb, and possibly a Horcrux, lay somewhere ahead.
I paused and crouched low, eyes narrowing. "We need to find higher ground. There's something… subtle but strong. Not natural. Magical energy. Could be him—or his wards."
Salazar's head snapped toward me, his expression a mix of suspicion and excitement. "Careful. If it is him… we may be walking into a trap that even we aren't prepared for."
I nodded, gripping my wand tightly, and motioned for us to continue. The air seemed to thicken around us, the jungle growing almost oppressive. Every step deeper into the unknown sent a thrill through my veins.
This was it. The tomb of Herpo the Foul—or a deadly illusion designed to test those foolish enough to enter. Either way, Salazar and I were ready.
And I knew—when we found it, nothing in the magical world would ever be the same.