A Scholar of Primordial Magic

The three murals — the crowd beneath the tree, the impaled man, the spreading halos — seemed to depict a brutal sacrificial rite.

Countless figures gathered beneath the towering tree. A blood-soaked conflict unfolded, fierce and desperate, but in the end, no victor emerged. One by one, the figures dissolved into halos, radiating outward like ripples across time.

But what did the halos signify?

And the final image — of the lone wizard riding a horse— what did it mean?

Was he the orchestrator of the sacrifice, or something else entirely?

As Vizet stood immersed in thought, tracing silent questions through the air, a sudden cry snapped him back.

"Ouch!" Xenophilius exclaimed, staggering slightly as though he'd tripped on something.

Vizet turned quickly. On the ground where Xenophilius stood, new grooves had appeared — deep, deliberate carvings in the stone. They twisted and coiled together to form a familiar symbol:

A spiral cyclone.

The pattern was unmistakable. It shimmered faintly with dormant energy, and Vizet immediately recognized it.

This was no ordinary etching. This was the emblem of primordial magic.

He had seen it before — both in A Wizard's Practical Guide, and etched onto Ollivander's wand box.

Luna hurried forward, concern written across her face. "Dad, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, darling," Xenophilius assured her, brushing off his robes. "But what's going on? Where did all these pits come from?"

He turned to Ominis. "Mr. Ominis, when you brought others here before, did this pattern… just appear out of nowhere?"

"Pits?" Ominis repeated, lifting his wand slightly. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Can you describe what you're seeing?"

"It's like a spiral… a cyclone," Luna replied softly, staring down at the grooves. "I feel like I've seen it before…"

She paused, then gasped. "Yes! Mum once drew this for me."

Xenophilius's eyes lit with sudden realization. "Of course — Pandora! She did draw this pattern. I've seen it more than once. Absolutely this exact form!"

Ominis's expression shifted at once. His calm demeanor flickered, replaced by something sharper — something intent. "You… all know this pattern?" he asked carefully.

Xenophilius nodded. "My wife was a historian. She spent years researching ancient magical theory — runic systems, spell matrices, forgotten rituals…"

"This spiral was one of her favorite studies. She even compiled an entire journal on patterns like it. She believed it held the key to ancient magical resonance."

A strange silence followed.

Ominis's expression had become unreadable. Slowly, he asked, "Forgive me, but… was your wife ever able to cast any of those spells? The ones she studied?"

Xenophilius shook his head. "No. The theory was sound, but the spells… they couldn't be used. She could decipher the design, but the incantations never activated anything."

Ominis hesitated, then asked quietly, "Would it be possible for me to speak with Mrs. Lovegood? I would very much like to discuss her findings. I've… also studied the ancient patterns. Extensively."

At that, Xenophilius glanced at Luna. His voice dropped, low and sorrowful. He stepped a little closer to Ominis and said, "I'm afraid… you can't."

"My wife passed away," he said gently. "It was during a magical experiment — she was working with one of the spells she'd reconstructed from that spiral. Something went wrong. A catastrophic accident…"

His words trailed into silence. The weight of memory hung heavy in the air.

Ominis bowed his head immediately. "I'm deeply sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to stir painful memories."

After leaving the ruins of Odin, the group began the journey back. They planned to rest briefly at the Federot Hotel before heading out again to see the circus performance.

As they strolled down the winding forest path, Ominis, walking beside Xenophilius, seemed unusually animated — asking questions one after another about magic and spellcraft.

Meanwhile, Vizet slowed his pace until he was beside Luna.

He glanced at her, voice low and curious. "Did you see any… different light in the ruins?"

Luna's mother had known of primordial magic symbols. And considering some of Luna's unusual remarks in the past, Vizet couldn't help wondering — did Luna possess an innate awareness of primordial magic as well?

"Different light?" Luna tilted her head and looked up at Vizet. She gave the question sincere thought, her brows gently furrowed.

Then she shook her head. "I didn't see any light like that."

"I just felt… peaceful in there. Like a rabbit sleeping in the shade." Her tone softened dreamily. "Odin must have been very happy during the time he spent in those ruins."

Vizet gave a small nod.

The absence of visible light likely meant Luna didn't have the Eye of Insight — she couldn't directly perceive primordial magic the way he could. But still…

There was something about Luna — a quiet attunement to magic in its most natural, unfiltered form. Even if she couldn't see primordial magic, she seemed to feel it in ways that most wizards couldn't.

Perhaps that, too, was a kind of magical gift.

After all, it was Luna's presence that had helped him grasp the essence of Primordial Magic: Shield.

And last school year, when Voldemort entered the Labyrinth of Souls, it had been Luna's Christmas gift that gave him the insight to finally end that nightmare.

He was beginning to see a pattern — threads weaving around him, wrapping tighter with each step forward. It felt like a web of fate, spun with secrets and strange connections, all pulling him toward something yet unknown.

Maybe Luna was part of that web, too.

"Vizet, there are lots of Wrackspurts around your head," Luna said suddenly, waving a hand in the air as though to clear them.

Her voice was filled with quiet concern. "Is something troubling you? You can tell me anything. I promise to keep your secrets."

Vizet looked at her, momentarily struck by the seriousness in her usually whimsical eyes.

For a moment, he was tempted — truly tempted — to tell her everything. About primordial magic. About A Wizard's Practical Guide. About the role of the guardian.

But if Luna had no direct link to primordial magic… telling her might place her in danger.

Yet even as the words remained unspoken, there was no disappointment in Luna's eyes. Only steady, unshakable resolve.

"If you ever want to talk," she said softly, "I'll always be here to listen."

Vizet hesitated for just a second longer — then nodded. "Luna… let me teach you a spell. Try casting it and see what happens."

Luna's eyes brightened instantly, her smile curving like the first rays of dawn. "Okay! Tell me!"

"This spell is similar to the Levitation Charm," Vizet began. "The incantation is Ascensum. It lifts things like Wingardium Leviosa, but it can also be used on living creatures."

He explained the theory behind the spell slowly and carefully, using the same method he used to learn it himself.

What he didn't say, however, was that Ascensum was no ordinary charm — it was a form of primordial magic.

The test was simple: if Luna could cast Ascensum and produce an effect greater than a typical levitation charm, then it would suggest she had a natural resonance with primordial magic.

After practicing it a few times under Vizet's guidance, Luna seemed ready.

Still, she looked hesitant. "Are you sure it's okay to cast it on you?"

Vizet smiled and nodded, glancing ahead down the trail. "Of course. Just… be gentle."

"Alright then!" Luna took a steadying breath, raised her wand with both care and confidence, and said softly:

"Ascensum!"

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