Chapter 10: Whispers of the Vaerendral 

I sat across from Andromeda as she rowed, the oars cutting softly through the water. The Noctua drifted farther behind us, its sails still unfurled, catching a wind that wasn't there.

Even now, distant and fading, it looked like it belonged in a different world. A forgotten one. Regal and strange.

My eyes shifted from the ship to the coastline ahead—jagged, grey, flanked by crooked grass and darker rock. There was no dock. Heck, there wasn't even a path. Just a narrow strip of sand, windswept and quiet, the sort of place the sea crept up to without ever fully claiming.

Andromeda angled the boat toward it, silent for a moment. Then, softly—more to herself than me—she said, "Too exposed near the ports. Too many eyes. This beach will do. It's not like anyone in their right mind comes out here in November."

I didn't answer. I don't think she expected me to.

A few minutes passed. The oars moved steady. The sky was starting to turn—late autumn light bleeding toward dusk.

Then, without warning, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small vial. The liquid inside shimmered strangely, swirling slow.

She held it out.

"Drink this."

I blinked. "What?"

"Polyjuice," she said, like it was obvious. "Temporary disguise. We can't risk anyone recognizing you. Not even in passing."

I stared at the vial for a beat, then frowned. But I took it anyway. Because of course I did.

Andromeda adjusted the oars, then leaned back slightly. "Brewing it was a nightmare," she added lightly. "Try sneaking into a Muggle orphanage to pluck hair off a sleeping three-year-old without being arrested for child abduction."

I looked at her like she'd grown a second head. Or no, more like a third one. She just shrugged.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

I wasn't even asking anything. I was just… looking.

But sure, yeah. Go off.

Unfortunately, my imagination filled in the rest: Andromeda scaling brick walls like a cat burglar, ghosting through dormitories, scissors in hand, snipping strands of baby hair by moonlight like some deranged hair-thief on a mission.

I didn't know whether to be impressed or very concerned.

Cassian was still imagining Andromeda sneaking through Muggle orphanages, tiptoeing past cribs with scissors in hand like some deranged hair-thieving specter when the boat thudded softly into the sand.

The jolt snapped him out of it.

The wooden hull crunched slightly against the shore, the tide curling gently beneath.

Andromeda was already up, cloak catching the breeze as she stepped into the ankle-deep surf and turned to him.

"Come on," she said, offering a hand.

He took it and hopped down, boots landing on damp, packed sand. It was firmer than it looked.

The beach was quiet.

The air was sharp with salt and seaweed, the wind tugging at hair and cloth alike. The sound of waves rolling in and back out was rhythmic, almost meditative. In another life, another time, this might've been… peaceful.

Andromeda didn't seem to think so.

"There's going to be sand in my shoes," she muttered darkly, lifting her robe edges and starting up the hill. "This is not how I expected to spend my Tuesday. Cold beach. In France. In November. Instead of a fireplace. With tea. And my daughter."

Cassian wisely said nothing.

He followed her up the incline behind the dunes, boots crunching against gravel and grit. Grass gave way to flattened earth, then uneven cobblestone. At the crest of the hill, the town finally came into view.

Small, quiet. Sloped roofs and pale plaster walls. Laundry lines between windows. A church steeple in the distance. It looked like the kind of place where time slowed down and forgot to catch up.

Andromeda pulled out a large, very Muggle-looking map from her bag, holding it up as the wind threatened to yank it from her hands.

"Right," she muttered. "Let's get to the town first. The train station should be somewhere near the center. Muggle side."

From where they stood, it didn't look far. A ten-minute walk, maybe.

It wasn't.

They'd been walking for twenty.

Cassian's legs were aching. His boots were too big. His knees didn't bend quite the way they used to. His limbs weren't the right length for this sort of hike.

Andromeda must've noticed. She slowed, crouched, and without asking, scooped him into her arms.

"We're almost there, little lord," she said softly, not unkindly.

He didn't fight it. He was too tired.

By the time they reached the edge of town, the sun had sunk low behind the buildings. Pale gold filtered through shutters and alleyways. Lanterns began to flicker on, casting gentle light through foggy windows.

The first thing they passed was a small café, the kind with round tables, wooden chairs, and three old men drinking something that wasn't coffee.

Locals.

Andromeda approached the counter with the kind of confidence only pureblood women and trained assassins carried.

"Bonjour," she said, thick British accent intact. "Do any of you fine gentlemen know someone who can drive us to the train station?"

Blank stares.

Silence.

She sighed, reached into her purse, and pulled out a neat roll of francs — actual Muggle currency, folded and bound.

Cassian had to admire that level of preparedness.

The effect was instant.

Three men stood.

She looked between them.

The first looked like he carried a grudge and a flask. Possibly both. Cassian didn't like the way his lip curled.

The second was old, and his glasses were so thick they magnified his eyes three times over. He looked vaguely confused about where he was.

The third—young, clean shirt, leather jacket, a face that wasn't broken by life just yet—nodded politely.

Andromeda pointed at him. "You."

He blinked. "Me?"

"Name?"

"Jean-Luc," he said, slightly startled. "I'm actually heading to the station already. Picking up my fiancée. I can give you a ride. It's not far. Maybe half an hour."

Andromeda gave a nod. "When?"

"Now," he said, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

He didn't ask about the child in her arms.

He didn't ask where they were from.

Smart man.

Cassian said nothing as they stepped out into the street, the town slowly falling behind them.

The car was a Renault 12, mustard yellow with rust curling around the edges of the trunk.

The inside smelled like dust, cheap tobacco, and something vaguely mechanical.

The cloth seats were worn and slightly scratchy beneath my fingers. A small cassette deck was embedded in the center console, wedged between plastic knobs that looked like they hadn't been cleaned since the last war. A stack of cassettes sat beneath it in a flimsy holder — names I didn't recognize scrawled in marker, the plastic yellowed with age.

Jean-Luc drove like he had somewhere to be but wasn't in a rush to get there. The manual transmission groaned every time he shifted gears, and the suspension jolted with every bump like the car was mildly offended the road even existed.

I sat in the back beside Andromeda, tucked into the corner, my legs pulled up slightly. The window was fogged from the inside, and outside, northern France blurred past — grey skies, leafless trees, and a horizon that never seemed to move.

After a while, I leaned a little to the side.

I didn't mean to.

But I felt the warmth of her cloak, the rise and fall of her breath.

My eyes slipped closed.

And despite the rattling engine, the uneven road, and the knowledge that a thousand things still waited ahead—I fell asleep.

—————————————

Flickering blue runes shimmered around him like starlight caught in glass. The barrier rose—fluid, alive—casting everything else in shadow. Cassian's small hands pressed against the dome's surface, but he couldn't pass through. He couldn't even move. Could only watch.

His mother stood just beyond the veil, blood trailing down her side, her wand raised as she chanted in that strange, musical tongue. Her voice didn't shake. She didn't falter.

Then it happened.

A flicker of movement—too fast, too close.

Cassian's breath caught.

"No!" he screamed.

Seraphine turned, wand half-lifted—too slow.

The vampire struck.

Its hand tore through her back, out through her chest, slick with blood and light. Her body arched. Her mouth opened in a gasp that never found voice. Cassian saw her eyes widen—then dim. The runes flared once… and flickered.

And she fell.

Cassian screamed.

The train compartment snapped back into focus. His chest heaved, lungs aching like he'd been drowning. Sweat clung to his skin. The hum of the train's motion rattled faintly through the floor beneath him. Dim yellow lights flickered along the wall.

Andromeda was already beside him, arms wrapping around his trembling form.

"Cassian—hey, hey, you're alright. You're safe. You're with me, do you hear me?"

He didn't answer.

His fingers clenched around the coarse fabric of her coat, and for a moment, he couldn't tell if he was still dreaming.

Her voice softened, steadied.

"It was a dream, little lord. Just a dream."

But it wasn't.

He'd been there.

He'd seen her eyes lose their light.

It took minutes before the shaking eased from his limbs. His breathing slowed, just enough to speak.

"Where are we?" he whispered hoarsely.

Andromeda pulled back slightly, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. "On the train. We left the car a while ago. You passed out before we reached the station."

Cassian blinked. He hadn't noticed. Couldn't remember any of it.

He just nodded.

Cassian didn't pull away. But he didn't lean in either. He sat stiffly in her arms, trembling, eyes wide, unfocused. It took nearly a full minute before he blinked like someone coming up for air.

Then, something shifted.

His bag rustled at his side, the fabric fluttering as if caught by a breeze. A soft pop of air followed.

And then she appeared.

Athena.

The black kitten stepped out of the bag without using the floor, dainty paws resting on those swirling blue clouds that always followed her like misted moonlight. She hovered in the air, gliding gently over to him, her tail flicking once in the light.

Without hesitation, she plopped into his lap.

Then his hand moved—slowly—to stroke between her ears.

She leaned into it, purring like a living lullaby.

His shoulders eased. Just a little.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not the kind that belonged to this moment, but one borrowed from memory. From someplace softer.

"I used to chase her down the halls," he murmured under his breath, voice rough from sleep and leftover panic. "She'd float just out of reach. Always just out of reach."

He didn't seem to realize he'd said it aloud.

Andromeda watched silently from her seat on the floor beside the bed.

There was something about the boy that made her pause.

Not the nightmare—plenty of children screamed in their sleep. Not the cat either, even if it floated. Magic had its oddities.

It was the way he moved.

The way his grief twisted and coiled inside him like an old wound, not a fresh cut.

The way he spoke, with the kind of softness that didn't belong to toddlers.

And that smile — it wasn't a child's smile.

It was an echo of someone who had already known too much.

A chime sounded through the cabin—soft and melodic, accompanied by a brief announcement in crisp French that Andromeda only half-listened to. She didn't need the words to know what it meant.

They were close.

She rose from her spot without a word, stepping over to Cassian. He hadn't moved much—Athena still curled in his lap, his fingers absently stroking her fur like it anchored him to this moment. That look in his eyes hadn't fully faded yet, but it wasn't as hollow as before.

Gently, she scooped him into her arms.

The train hummed beneath them as she carried him to the window. She held him close, her hands firm but gentle beneath his arms.

"Look," she said quietly, nodding toward the world outside.

Cassian blinked and leaned a little toward the glass.

The sun was dipping low on the horizon, bleeding warm gold and soft crimson across the fields. Rain-kissed grass rolled past in blurs, wet and glinting under the light. In the far distance, hazy and flickering between silhouettes of trees and farmhouses—

The outline of Paris.

Cassian didn't say anything. But his small fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak.

Andromeda smiled faintly, her voice dropping to something quieter. Something meant to distract.

"You know," she said, "Nymphadora is around your age. Just slightly older."

Cassian glanced up at her.

Andromeda chuckled softly at his expression. "Yes. That's her name. Nymphadora. Don't make the face. She hates it, too."

A slight twitch at the corner of Cassian's mouth.

Andromeda went on. "She's five. Wants to be a dragon tamer one day. Or maybe a goblin diplomat. Depends on the weather, I think. Last week she said she'd marry a broomstick and fly away forever."

"She's a menace, really. Always falling into rivers and hexing the curtains at home. I haven't had a normal day since she learned how to climb bookshelves."

Cassian leaned a little more into her shoulder as the train continued to glide forward. The city in the distance glowed faintly now, as lamps blinked to life and the last warmth of daylight faded into dusk.

"I think she'd like you," Andromeda added after a moment.

—————————————

The train pulled into the station with a long metallic screech, the wheels grinding faintly beneath us as we began to slow. The windows vibrated softly with the deceleration, and outside—through the glass—the sweeping structure of La Gare du Nord unfolded.

Glass and iron. Columns tall enough to swallow you whole. A ceiling that stretched like the skeleton of a cathedral, webbed in steel and shadow.

This was my first time in Paris.

In either life.

It felt too big to take in at once. Like I'd blink and miss half of it. It wasn't like Britain with its quiet stoicism, or like Rome with its sun-baked, ancient dignity. Paris was motion. The kind of city that lived even when no one was watching.

I pressed my palm lightly to the window.

We lived in Rome for nearly three years before everything burned down. And even though it had been quiet—hidden—those were the happiest moments I'd ever known.

Outside, the platform was already swarming.

Andromeda rose quickly, clutching me close against her side, her wand hidden somewhere beneath that tailored coat of hers. I felt the tension in her arms—not fear, just caution.

Habit. She might've married a Muggleborn, but the world she came from had taught her to be sharp.

Sharp enough to survive it.

We stepped out into the crowd, swallowed by the station's heartbeat—voices in French ricocheting off tiled walls, the scrape of luggage wheels, the rhythmic chime of arrivals and departures echoing overhead.

Andromeda maneuvered us through the current of bodies toward the broad glass exit. But just before the doors, she paused under the orange light of a station map. Her brow furrowed as she dug into her coat pocket and retrieved a worn bit of parchment.

The one Arcturus had given her.

She unfolded it with one hand and scanned it, lips moving silently.

"Rue d'Argenteuil," she murmured. "Close to Place Vendôme."

She folded the paper back up and slipped it away.

"Alright, little lord," she said more lightly, shifting her grip on me as she started walking again. "Let's see if grandfather's old friends are worth the parchment he scribbled them on."

—————————————

We'd been walking for what felt like ages—the heels of my boots aching, Andromeda's arm still tightly holding mine as we navigated the cobbled streets of Paris. The night air had a bite to it, and the streetlamps threw long shadows across the uneven pavement. Buildings loomed overhead, elegant and weary all at once, and the crowd had thinned to the occasional passerby and the distant hum of city life.

Andromeda stopped abruptly and set me down.

I blinked up at her, rubbing the sleep still clinging to my lashes.

She was looking around—head turning, eyes narrowed—before slipping one hand into her coat. She drew out the same parchment Arcturus had handed her and then, without hesitation, took out her wand.

She whispered something I couldn't catch.

A red glow bloomed on the page, marking a point.

She sighed. "Alright. It's not far."

She bent slightly, hands outstretched, clearly meaning to pick me up again. I slipped my hand into hers instead.

"I can walk," I said quietly.

A tired smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Of course."

We'd barely taken three steps when a figure emerged from a nearby alleyway—silent, smooth, too fast to be just a coincidence.

He stumbled— theatrically—bumping into Andromeda's side.

"Pardon, madame—"

Her hand shot to her coat, and my instincts flared before my thoughts did. The air around him… shifted. Too sharp. Too heavy. I could feel it—the way magic pooled around him, subtle and controlled.

A wizard.

The man reached with one hand—not to steady himself, but to snatch at the satchel slung across my chest.

My fingers closed around the strap just as the tug came. I staggered slightly, but before I could even yell, he was already withdrawing—his wand now appearing in his other hand.

Andromeda's wand was half-drawn—she hadn't even flinched—but before either of them could react further, a shriek cut through the air.

Athena.

She exploded from the half-zipped bag at my side, launching herself with all the grace and fury of a mythological monster. Her claws found the man's face, and she clung there, screeching, scratching, writhing with cloudlike blue light forming beneath her.

The man shouted in surprise, stumbling backward—his hand now aiming his wand straight at her.

"No!" I screamed.

My hand moved without thinking.

A pulse of magic left from my hand.

The man was lifted clean off his feet and slammed into the brick wall across the street—the sound of impact sharp and final. He crumpled.

Athena darted back to me in a blink, launching into my arms and pressing into my chest with a shiver. I clung to her, heart racing. My fingers tingled. My vision swam.

Andromeda was beside me in an instant.

"Cassian! Are you alright?"

I nodded—or maybe I tried to. I wasn't sure. The world tilted sideways slightly. My limbs felt heavy, distant.

She glanced at me once, then turned to the crumpled man. Her wand was raised, her eyes narrowed in silent calculation. She crouched, rifling through his coat.

"A pouch of galleons," she muttered, "wand… nothing else. No papers. No sigils. Nothing."

Her wand cracked sharply—once—and the man's wand snapped in two with a splintering pop.

She took the pouch, stood up, and turned back to me.

But I wasn't hearing her anymore. My head felt too light. My body too slow. My magic—still buzzing—was slipping beyond reach.

"Cassian?" she asked again, stepping forward.

I staggered. Everything swayed. Athena hissed softly.

"Magical…" I mumbled, "…exhaustion."

It came out slurred.

She caught me before I hit the ground.

"We're not taking a portkey like this," she said under her breath. "You'll burn yourself out."

I felt her shift her weight, adjust the bag across her shoulder.

"It's late anyway. We're finding a hotel. You're sleeping this off."

I tried to answer, but the darkness had already started pulling me under.

The last thing I felt was the thrum of her heartbeat beneath her coat, steady and fast—and the soft purring of Athena nestled beside me.

—————————————

The morning sunlight slipped in through the cracks in the curtains—soft, pale, and cold. It painted the floorboards in strips of muted gold.

I stirred slowly.

Everything ached.

The first thing I noticed was Athena, curled up tightly beside my pillow, her tail twitching once before settling again. She was still asleep, paws tucked beneath her chest, her breath even and quiet.

The second thing I noticed was the room.

It was unfamiliar.

My hand shifted under the covers, brushing against fabric that wasn't what I'd worn yesterday. Soft, warm, loose-fitting nightclothes. Not my travel gear.

I blinked.

Someone must've changed me.

My face heated instantly. I groaned softly, dragging a hand across my face, trying not to imagine Andromeda doing the changing. I wasn't injured. She probably just—No. No thinking. Denial is a coping mechanism and I'm invoking it now.

The room was quiet.

Two beds. A small wooden desk. An old mirror mounted crookedly above it. The paint on the walls was cracked in places, but the place was clean. Lived in. There was a kettle in the corner and a tray with two teacups. A battered suitcase sat by the far bed.

But no sign of Andromeda.

I sat up slowly. My limbs felt sluggish, but better than last night. Much better.

I glanced at the door, then at the windows.

That's when I saw it.

A faint shimmer—like a curtain of glass-light—lined the windows and traced every edge of the room. The glow was barely visible, but it pulsed in gentle rhythm, runes flickering like fireflies under the surface.

Wards.

Not just basic ones, either.

Concealment. Intrusion alerts. Passive shielding.

I blinked, stretching out with my senses. The magic vibrated against my skin—delicate, but firm. Intentional.

That's new, I thought, tilting my head slightly.

Whoever had set these up—probably Andromeda—knew what they were doing. They weren't just casual safety spells. These were woven with precision.

I brushed a finger lightly against the window frame.

The magic hummed back.

I leaned back on my palms, breathing in slowly. The taste of magic still lingered in the air, but it wasn't suffocating like last night.

Still…

Being magically knocked out, changed into pajamas, and tucked in like a wayward toddler wasn't exactly the highlight of my journey so far.

I glanced down at Athena.

She was still sleeping.

At least someone got a good night's rest.

Right as I sank back into thought—somewhere between mortified and mildly brooding—the door burst open with a clack of hurried footsteps and a gust of cold morning air.

Andromeda.

Her coat was flung over one shoulder, a streak of wind-swept hair tumbling loose from the bun at the base of her neck. She looked like someone who'd been moving non-stop since dawn—and had no intention of slowing down.

"There you are," she said, like I'd been the one missing. "We have to go."

I blinked.

Before I could even process the words, she was already at my side, grabbing my bag and the suitcase. With a flick of her wand, she shrunk the suitcase down to the size of a coin and tucked it into her pocket.

"Here," she said briskly, handing me my bag. "Hold on to it. Don't drop it."

"What happened?" I asked, blinking away the haze of sleep, still sitting on the edge of the bed.

She didn't look at me. Her wand was already moving again, slicing through the air in swift, precise motions. She muttered incantations under her breath.

They wrapped around the room in shimmering trails of light, flickering like heat haze before sinking into the walls.

Warding spells. Reinforcements.

"Your little stunt yesterday," she snapped, "accidental or not, it was loud. Magical signature like that leaves a mark."

My chest tightened.

"Vampires," she said sharply. "And a few wizards. I caught wind of them sniffing around the arrondissement not even an hour ago. They're already on our trail."

She reached into her coat and pulled out a necklace—not the ornate kind you'd expect from a Black, but something far simpler. A thin silver chain, and at its center, a dull pendant etched with old symbols, faintly glowing with magic.

"This is the Portkey," she said. "Took a bit of haggling to get one not tied to the Ministry, but it'll do."

Athena stirred beside me, meowing once.

Without missing a beat, I scooped her up into my arm.

Andromeda grabbed my hand.

Her fingers tightened around mine.

"Incirrum," she muttered.

And with a pull at the center of my gut, the world twisted.

—————————————

The room tore away into light and wind and color—

The wards snapped.

The air crackled with residual magic—then exploded.

Half the wall and door shattered outward in a blast of light and splinters as six black-robed wizards surged into the room, wands already raised. Two vampires followed behind them, pale and unnervingly still.

"Qu'ils étaient ici!" one of the wizards snarled in French, casting a tracking charm that fizzled into nothing. "Merde—pas d'opération. Aucune trace." (They were here! Damn it—no Apparition. No trace.)

"Tu es sûr qu'ils sont partis ?" one of the vampires growled, his eyes glowing faintly red. "Je peux encore sentir leur odeur." (Are you sure they're gone? I can still smell their scent.)

"They used a Portkey," another wizard spat. "No Apparition trace. We can't follow."

One of them shivered, lowering his wand slightly. "He won't be pleased."

"No," the vampire murmured, a slow smile curling across his face. "He most certainly won't."

—————————————

The portkey dropped us with a jolt.

One moment, I was holding Athena close and gripping Andromeda's arm, the next I was stumbling onto solid ground, boots crunching on old stone. The air was thinner here, colder.

I straightened slowly, blinking at the city that unfolded before me.

Zurich.

It looked… normal. For now. Lights in the distance. Snow-speckled rooftops. Cars on narrow streets. It was strange, stepping into something that looked so ordinary after everything that had happened.

Andromeda steadied me with one hand, already glancing around, wand in her coat sleeve.

"Welcome to Switzerland," she muttered. "This part's the easy bit."

I didn't respond.

Because somewhere out there—beyond the mountains, beyond the snow, beyond everything Muggles would ever see—was the fortress. And I would have to find it.

But I had the grimoire. And the compass.

Andromeda turned in place, coat pulled tight against the cold. Her eyes scanned the snowy streets and tram lines like they might offer answers.

"Alright," she muttered, frowning. "We're in Zurich. So… where now?"

She turned to me, then visibly hesitated, as if realizing how ridiculous the question sounded.

I was three. Or at least, I looked it.

"Don't suppose you've got a map tucked in that coat of yours, little heir?"

I gave a small shrug, clutching the compass tighter in my hand. "I… don't know exactly."

Andromeda blinked.

I looked down at the polished brass and silver in my palm. "Arcturus said my father left instructions. That this compass would guide us once we reached Switzerland."

Right then, the compass pulsed in my hand.

A soft, steady heartbeat of pale white-blue light.

Andromeda's eyes widened. "Cassian—"

"I know."

The light grew brighter.

Not dangerously, not blinding—but unmistakably magical.

People were starting to notice. A few turned their heads. A couple slowed their steps.

Andromeda didn't wait.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me into a narrow side alley between two buildings, the stone slick with frost. She pressed her back to the wall and looked down at the compass.

The rune at its center glowed again.

I pressed the button.

The light didn't explode this time. It unfolded—gently, elegantly—spilling into the narrow alleyway like smoke from a silver fire. The mist coiled and curled through the air, then spiraled inward, condensing again into that same figure.

Altharion Vaerendral.

Still hovering inches from the ground. Still cloaked in frost-blue light. His silver eyes opened slowly—no longer startled as before. This time, he seemed… aware.

Andromeda froze.

I stepped in front of her instinctively.

She raised her wand half an inch, uncertain.

But the figure didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge her.

His gaze was only on me.

"You have arrived," he said, in a voice that echoed deeper than the alley could contain. "The first step is behind you."

I swallowed. "What now?"

The air shifted again. Magic hung heavy between the stone walls, pressing in on us like the weight of a forgotten age.

And then Altharion spoke once more.

"The fortress calls."