The scent of burning flesh and old copper lingered over the ruins. The sapphire flames born of his magic had nearly exhausted themselves, their unnatural glow fading into smoldering embers. In their wake remained a silence so complete it seemed to press against the skin.
With a slow, measured breath, Thaddues raised one hand towards the battlefield.
His fingers curled.
A low hum rippled through the scorched air.
"Accio."
He spoke no word aloud, yet the spell answered his will with ruthless precision.
Across the battlefield, the cult's cursed relics shuddered where they lay buried beneath ash and broken timber. Obsidian shards, bloodstained chalices, bone talismans, ritual necklaces, and carved staves tore free from the rubble, rising into the air before sweeping toward him in a dark, clattering stream.
Before they could reach him, Thaddues swept his free hand across his body.
A dozen smooth stones scattered near his boots lurched from the ground. Their surfaces rippled and stretched as Transfiguration took hold, swelling into small, iron-bound chests that hovered motionless in the air.
The cursed relics crashed into the waiting containers.
With calm efficiency, Thaddues traced glowing runes across each lid. Brilliant lines of silver light intertwined into intricate sealing arrays before sinking into the wood. The enchanted locks snapped shut one after another, muffling the malevolent presence trapped within. Even so, the timber groaned faintly, straining beneath whatever darkness remained imprisoned inside.
Satisfied, he opened his enchanted pouch. The hovering chests vanished into its expanded interior one by one.
Only then did Thaddues lift his eyes to the village one last time.
There was no triumph to be found in the devastation before him.
The acolytes of the Old Gods who had sacrificed the entire village were gone. The ritual had been broken. The dead, however, would remain dead.
With a weary exhale, he turned away from the smoldering ruins and climbed into the waiting carriage.
"You could have done better."
The cool, melodic voice greeted him the moment he stepped inside the carriage.
Thaddues scarcely looked up. He already knew whom Rowena Ravenclaw was watching.
She sat beside the narrow cot built against the wall of the chamber, her translucent figure leaning slightly over the sleeping child beneath a thick fur blanket. Her expression was thoughtful rather than sorrowful, as though she were studying an especially fascinating puzzle.
"Their gods needed a lesson," Thaddues replied, lowering himself onto the opposite seat. Smoke still lingered in his lungs, leaving his voice rough. "Had I shown mercy, they would have mistaken it for weakness."
A quiet laugh escaped Rowena.
It carried the delicate sound of crystal stirred by the wind.
"Showing strength was necessary," she admitted. "But allowing at least one to live would have served you better. Dead men keep their secrets."
Thaddues said nothing.
His first instinct was to argue. Every memory of the ritual site still burned vividly in his mind—the cursed doll, the corpses, the child bound within the circle. Anger had demanded annihilation.
Yet anger rarely produced the wisest decisions.
He lowered his gaze.
She was right.
One survivor could have revealed the cult's broader designs, their allies, perhaps even the identity of whoever stood above them. Magic offered countless ways to strip truth from unwilling tongues. Even the most fanatical zealot could be broken with enough patience.
Instead, he had chosen complete eradication.
The realization left an unpleasant weight settling in his chest.
Pushing the thought aside, he turned toward the sleeping child.
"How is he?"
Rowena's expression softened as she extended one translucent hand above the boy's forehead. Her fingers never made contact, instead tracing invisible currents flowing beneath his skin.
"He is recovering," she said quietly. "And I must confess, the child possesses remarkable talent. Had he lived in our era, Hogwarts would have accepted him without hesitation."
Thaddues studied the boy in silence.
He had reached the same conclusion long before Rowena voiced it.
The cult had not chosen their sacrifice at random.
Serving as the anchor for such a powerful curse required exceptional magical reserves, while surviving it demanded an equally extraordinary constitution. Most children would have perished long before the ritual reached completion.
This one had endured.
"So..." Rowena said, withdrawing her hand. "We continue our journey?"
Thaddues glanced through the window.
Far behind them, the last traces of sapphire fire flickered weakly against the gray horizon before finally surrendering to smoke.
He nodded once.
"Yes."
His voice was quiet.
"There is nothing more for us here."
A soft hum echoed from the chamber.
Outside, unseen magical forces guided the horses onward. The carriage lurched into motion, its wheels carving fresh tracks through the muddy road as the village slowly disappeared behind them, swallowed by drifting smoke and silence.
The next day passed beneath the steady rhythm of creaking wheels and the quiet hum of the carriage's protective wards. Outside, the landscape rolled by in muted shades of gray and brown, while within, only the occasional rustle of parchment disturbed the silence.
It was nearly midday when a faint groan broke the stillness.
Thaddues looked up from the bundle of ancient notes spread across his lap.
The child stirred beneath the fur blanket, his brow creasing as consciousness slowly returned. His breathing grew uneven, and after a few moments his eyes fluttered open.
For an instant, confusion clouded his face.
His gaze wandered across the carriage's transfigured bedchamber, taking in the polished wood, velvet drapes, softly glowing lanterns, and elegant furnishings before finally settling on the figure seated opposite him.
"My... my king?" he whispered hoarsely.
Only then did Thaddues realize why the child had mistaken him for a king. Rowena Ravenclaw's silver diadem still rested upon his head, lending him a regal air.
"I am no king," he replied, keeping his voice calm. "Drink first."
He filled a small silver cup with fresh water and handed it over.
The child accepted it with trembling hands, draining every drop before lowering the cup with a grateful sigh.
Color slowly returned to his pale face.
Then memory returned as well.
His eyes widened.
"Mother..." he breathed.
His head turned frantically from one side of the chamber to the other.
"Mother?" His voice grew louder. "Where is she? Did... did we escape?"
Thaddues remained silent for a long moment.
There were lies that brought comfort and truths that left scars. He had long since learned that the former rarely survived the passage of time.
Setting the cup aside, he moved closer to the cot and knelt until they were level.
"Listen to me."
The child looked at him with desperate hope.
"Your mother is gone."
The words hung between them.
For several heartbeats, the child simply stared, unable—or unwilling—to understand.
"No..."
His voice was barely audible.
"No... she was waiting for me."
His breathing became ragged.
"They told me..." Tears welled in his eyes. "They told me if I stayed inside the circle... if I didn't move... Mother would comeback..."
Thaddues' expression remained steady, though his chest tightened.
"They lied to you."
The child flinched.
"They deceived you from the beginning. They chose you because of your gift. They used your body to anchor their ritual, and your mother died trying to protect you."
Silence.
Then the dam broke.
A broken sob escaped the child's throat as tears streamed freely down his face. He curled beneath the blanket, clutching it with both hands as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
"It's my fault..."
His shoulders shook violently.
"I should've run..."
Another sob.
"I shouldn't believe them..."
He buried his face against the blanket.
"It's my fault she's dead..." The cries echoed through the chamber.
Thaddues watched without interrupting.
Every instinct urged him to offer comforting words, to tell the child none of it had been his fault.
But empty reassurance would accomplish little.
The world beyond these walls had little mercy for the innocent. It favored the strong and devoured the weak. If the boy hoped to live, he would have to learn that truth while he still could.
Not because he deserved the burden.
Because the world would place it upon him regardless.
The sobbing gradually subsided into quiet sniffles.
As the silence settled once more over the carriage, a familiar presence gently stirred the air.
Without fanfare or spectacle, Rowena appeared.
One moment the place across from them stood empty.
The next, her translucent figure occupied it as naturally as though she had been there all along. Silver robes shimmered faintly beneath the arc lights, and her calm eyes rested upon the grieving child with quiet compassion.
The movement caught his attention immediately.
The boy lifted his head. His tear-filled eyes widened.
For several long seconds, he simply stared at her.
His breathing steadied as wonder displaced grief, if only for a moment.
"She's..." he whispered.
His finger rose slowly.
"...beautiful."
Thaddues froze.
His gaze shifted from the child to Rowena before returning again.
"You can see her?" The question came out almost as a whisper.
The child nodded without hesitation.
"She's glowing," he murmured. "Like... like stars."
Genuine surprise crossed Rowena Ravenclaw's face.
"Remarkable," she said softly, turning toward Thaddues. "The boy's magical perception is exceptionally keen."
She regarded the child with open fascination.
"To perceive a magical manifestation such as mine without assistance is exceedingly rare. A child of his age should not be capable of such a thing."
Thaddues studied the young survivor more carefully than before.
Now that the grime and blood had been washed away, subtler details revealed themselves.
His hair, though damp with sweat, shone with a silvery luster. At the edge of his dark irises flickered the faintest trace of amethyst, a hidden mark discernible only to magically sensitive eyes.
Realization slowly settled over him.
A child of the waters...
The thought sent a quiet thrill through his mind.
It explained far more than mere talent.
Ancient blood still flowed through the boy's veins, carrying an elemental lineage of the waters. It explained not only his remarkable magical aptitude but also how he had survived a ritual that should have destroyed him.
Thaddues leaned back, deep in thought.
The cult had searched for a suitable anchor.
Instead, they had unknowingly delivered into his hands a child with the talent to walk the path of wizardry. He could not help but think of Lily.
The carriage rolled steadily onward, leaving the ruined village farther behind with every turn of its wheels.
The boy's grief eventually surrendered to exhaustion. Curled beneath the heavy fur blanket, the child drifted into an uneasy sleep, his brow still furrowed as though the nightmares had followed him into his dreams.
Taking advantage of the silence, Thaddues leaned back against his chair and turned his thoughts inward.
'Check my sign in rewards.'
At his silent command, the familiar interface of the System unfolded before his mind as he heard the system voice.
---
"Host, your accumulated sign-ins have been completed successfully. You have received the following rewards: Two sets of Traditional Hogwarts Apprentice Robes (Child Size) and two Practice Wands (Suppressed Core, Walnut & Unicorn Hair)."
---
His eyes lingered on the rewards.
A child's robes and a practice wand.
None of them had been intended for him.
For a long moment, he simply studied the two rewards, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest.
Until now, every reward the system had granted had strengthened him directly—knowledge, spells, galleons, artifacts, or abilities that allowed him to survive the increasingly dangerous world around him.
This was different.
The robes and the wand... they were meant for someone taking their very first steps into wizardry.
The implication was unmistakable.
The system was no longer guiding only his own growth.
It was encouraging him to pass that knowledge on.
Not merely to create another mage, but to cultivate true wizards.
Wizardry.
A discipline unlike any practiced in the world of Planetos.
'What exactly are you trying to accomplish?' Thaddues asked silently.
As always, the system remained silent.
He released a quiet breath and dismissed the interface.
Whether the System intended for him to build a school or lay the foundation for a new age of wizardry, he could not yet say.
Nor was this the time.
He still had promises to keep.
People to protect.
And above all else...
He still had to bring Lily back.
Until that goal was fulfilled, everything else would have to wait.
His gaze shifted toward the sleeping child.
This boy possessed extraordinary talent, perhaps enough to become the first true wizard this world had seen in centuries.
But even if fate had placed the boy in his path, Thaddues knew he could not devote himself to teaching—not yet.
There would come a day for that but today was not that day.
The following days passed quietly as the carriage continued deeper into Dorne.
The boy recovered quickly. By the third day, he was well enough to leave his bed for most of the journey, spending his time watching the changing landscape or asking cautious questions about magic.
Though Thaddues refused to teach him magic, he answered the boy's endless questions. There would be a time for lessons, but for now, understanding came before practice.
Six days after leaving the ruined village, the landscape began to change.
The broken hills gradually yielded to broad stretches of dry earth, where hardy shrubs clung stubbornly to cracked soil beneath the relentless Dornish sun. The heavy rain had finally subside. The cool northern breeze vanished, replaced by waves of shimmering heat rising from the desert floor.
Thaddues drew back the chamber's curtain.
"We're approaching."
The boy leaned toward the window.
Beyond a low ridge stood a great fortress of pale sandstone, its high walls gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Black banners bearing the golden hand of House Allyrion fluttered from its towers, visible long before the castle itself came fully into view.
--
"Host, arriving to a new location. Godsgrace, the Seat of House Allyrion. "
--
Godsgrace.
As the enchanted carriage descended toward its gates, movement stirred atop the walls.
A small group of mounted riders detached themselves from the waiting guards and galloped down the road, a plume of dust trailing behind them.
At their head rode a messenger carrying a sealed parchment high above his shoulder.
Thaddues rapped twice against the chamber wall.
The enchanted horses slowed before bringing the carriage to a smooth halt.
He stepped into the oppressive heat just as the riders reined in several paces away.
The lead messenger dismounted immediately and knelt, presenting the scroll with both hands.
"Lord Peverell."
His breathing remained uneven from the hard ride.
"A letter from the Prince of Dorne, my lord. Copies were sent to every lordly house in Dorne. Godsgrace received ours three nights ago, with strict orders that it be delivered into your hands the moment you arrived."
Thaddues accepted the parchment, his thumb brushing over the heavy wax seal bearing House Martell's unmistakable sigil—a golden spear piercing a crimson sun.
He broke the seal with a flick of his thumb and unfolded the letter.
His eyes moved steadily across the elegant script.
As he read, the warmth seemed to drain from his expression.
Even beneath the blazing Dornish sun, the air around him grew noticeably colder.
The messenger lowered his gaze instinctively.
He could not read the contents of the letter, yet he understood enough to know that whatever message Prince Martell had sent would reshape the course of Lord Thaddues' journey.
Thaddues sighed.
The battle against the servants of the Old Gods was over—but the game had only just begun.
TBC
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