Chapter 11: Fort Winter 

The compass felt warm in my hands.

It wasn't glowing anymore, no longer pulsing with the ethereal silver light it had shown moments ago. Now, it was still—like a signal waiting to be answered, as if it had finished its task and was now resting, waiting for the next command. The light that had flooded the alley slowly dissolved into the air like mist, shimmering and swirling, folding into itself as though gathering strength. Then, without warning, it took shape.

A man.

Or what remained of one.

Andromeda stepped back, her arm instinctively crossing in front of me as if to shield me. But I didn't move. I already knew who it was, even before the first flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Altharion Vaerendral. The ancient soul bound within the compass.

He stood—not upon the ground, but hovering above it—his form shimmering faintly, like moonlight rippling across still water. His robes shifted, as if caught by a wind that didn't exist, and his feet never touched the cold stone. When his eyes opened, pale silver and endless, they swept across the alley as though he were seeing a world that had moved on without him.

His voice was quiet, but it resonated, filling the narrow space like a bell's toll. "The fortress calls."

I blinked, confused. "What does that mean?"

Altharion didn't answer immediately. Instead, he floated closer, his movements slow and deliberate—almost as though he were moving through water.

Andromeda instinctively grabbed my arm, pulling me slightly behind her, her stance protective.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tight with tension. "What do you want?"

But Altharion didn't acknowledge her.

"I speak to the blood," he said, his voice unwavering, still facing me. "Not to those who borrow it through oath or marriage."

I could feel Andromeda stiffen beside me, the protective tension in her arm as palpable as the air around us. But she didn't argue. She couldn't—not with something like this standing in front of us.

"I cannot open what lies beyond," Altharion said, his voice an eerie calm in the heavy silence. "The wards were crafted from blood and soul. And though I carry the blood, I no longer carry flesh."

He floated closer, his presence pressing in. His gaze never wavered. "But you do."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "So, what now?"

Altharion extended a hand toward me, slow, deliberate, and his fingers brushed against the space between my eyebrows.

And that was when the world cracked open.

Not physically. Not visibly. But I felt it—like someone had reached into my mind, gently pulling apart every barrier I'd ever put in place. Altharion was inside me, his presence stirring something deep within, searching, seeking. I felt the weight of his attention like a presence inside my own body until—suddenly—he pulled back.

His face shifted. Shocked.

"You... you are not only Vaerendral," he whispered, his voice soft with awe. "You carry more. Older blood. Forgotten. You are..."

He trailed off, his voice barely a breath. Then, quieter, "You should be strong enough to withstand it."

"What is 'it'?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly, betraying my nerves.

"My strength. My soul."

Andromeda stepped forward, her voice sharp, protective. "Stop. You can't mean to—"

He raised a hand toward her, not to touch, but to still her with a quiet force.

"I will not harm him," he said, his tone almost patient. "This is not possession. I require only permission."

His gaze returned to me, unwavering. "The gateway cannot open to a soul that does not breathe. Lend me your body, just for a moment. I will leave when it is done. But I must enter with consent. That is the law of old magic."

"And if I say no?"

"Then the fortress remains sealed. And your enemies will find you before the frost has a chance to hide your trail."

Andromeda's grip on my arm tightened, and I could feel the hesitation in her fingers. "Cassian, you don't have to do this. We'll find another way."

I looked at her, meeting her worried eyes.

Then I turned to Altharion.

"I trust him," I said quietly, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. "I can feel it. He's not lying."

Altharion stepped closer, his eyes now glowing with an intensity that could rival the brightest star. "Close your eyes," he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

I obeyed.

His fingers pressed softly against my forehead, and the world stilled.

The light flowed into me like breath, not burning, but smooth and ethereal. It moved through me, filling my lungs, sinking deep into my bones, swirling in the spaces between my thoughts.

The compass in my hand dimmed… then went completely dark.

When I opened my eyes again, they gleamed silver, a mirror of Altharion's.

The voice that escaped my lips was not mine.

"Woman of shapeshifter blood," I said—and yet it wasn't just me speaking. "Take my hand."

Andromeda froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a long moment, she stared at me as though I were someone else, something else. Then, slowly, her hand reached down, her fingers trembling as she took mine.

And in that instant, the world cracked.

—————————————

We reappeared in cold so brutal it nearly stole the breath from Andromeda's lungs.

The air was sharp, biting at the edges of the world, and the wind howled relentlessly through jagged peaks. The sky was a pale, cloudless expanse above a vast sea of ice. We stood at the foot of a massive ring of ancient stone—arched like a broken halo—etched deep into the mountainside itself.

Beyond it loomed Fort Winter.

It was embedded in the cliffside, as though the mountain had grown around it, cradling it in its frozen embrace.

Dark towers rose, their spires draped in frost. The walls were ancient, untouched by time—unyielding and steadfast. No footsteps disturbed the pristine snow. No smoke curled from the chimneys. This place had not been visited by human hands in centuries.

I—we—took a hesitant step forward. Altharion's voice filled my mind, reverberating like a distant echo.

"Watch closely. This is what magic can accomplish."

A bubble of warmth unfurled from my palm, silencing the biting wind around us. I walked through it as if it were nothing more than fog, the warmth cutting through the cold like a knife.

Before us appeared a faint silver shimmer.

The barrier.

Altharion raised my hand, palm outward, and the air around us shifted.

The snow reacted first—spiraling outward in a perfect circle, swept aside as if by invisible hands, parting in a glimmering arc. Frost flared along the edge, forming a glowing ring that pulsed softly with silver-blue light.

Then came the voice.

It wasn't mine. Not entirely.

Altharion spoke—not in English or Greek, but in a language that twisted the air itself. It reminded me of Delphi, but older—ancient, cutting, sharp like stone scraping against stone, like thunder that whispered instead of rumbled.

My skin prickled. The air grew heavy, thickening around us.

And then—his voice deepened, reverberating through me like a storm on the horizon.

"Skael Varinthar… Sae dorthar ven drakaal. Theryn Vaerendral… ak'sor!"

My body moved without my command. My left hand rose, slicing across my right palm with two fingers—skin parting cleanly.

Blood bloomed against the cold, dark and thick, staining the pure white snow beneath us.

It hissed, searing the air as it touched the earth.

The ground responded. It trembled beneath my feet.

The circle of light pulsed. The blood didn't just soak into the snow—it was drawn inward, pulled downward like ink into an ancient page.

And beneath us, the stone began to shift. Lines appeared, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed—runes etched into the ice beneath us. Symbols I didn't recognize but understood instantly. Runes of binding. Calling. Authority.

Andromeda gasped, her voice barely audible behind me.

The wind howled with renewed force. The mountains themselves groaned under the weight of the magic.

Then, a cracking sound.

Deep. Resonant. Like the mountain had exhaled, releasing a breath it had held for centuries.

And the air—shattered.

Before us, a shimmer appeared—

A veil. Glowing blue. Thin as glass, yet stretching vast as the sky itself. Beneath it, the stone split open, revealing long-buried stairs. The frost recoiled from the steps as though it feared them.

Above, high on the peaks, an avalanche rumbled loose, the snow tumbling down distant cliffs, a silent witness to the magic that shattered the air.

The wind howled fiercely, tugging at my hair. My skin felt alive, burning with an energy I couldn't explain.

Altharion's voice—still within me—spoke again, softer this time.

His words didn't just reach my ears. They thudded through the bones of the mountain itself, vibrating the very air around us.

"This was once a sanctum for dragonkind. A place where riders of flame and sky forged their bonds."

The wind shifted. The runes beneath the snow began to glow brighter, pulsing in rhythm with the mountain itself.

"We were their equals. The Vaerendrals were scholars, philosophers, guardians of balance. We taught the first dragonriders how to speak with dragons, not command them. Together, we forged a language of flame and thought. Together, we built this place."

He paused, his voice lowering, filled with a deep, ancient sorrow.

"In Time, we carried their blood… and they carried ours. We were knights of knowledge, keepers of forgotten truths, protectors of the innocent. Bound not to kings, but to magic itself."

The portal flickered, shimmering in a way that made the air seem to pulse with unseen power.

"Then came the war."

The voice changed again, quieting, becoming older, more weary.

"We sealed this place. Not to hide it, but to guard it. So that it would never be forgotten. Erased from history, because time is unforgiving."

I couldn't move.

Not out of fear.

But because for the first time since I had returned to this world, I felt free.

In my past life, I had only watched the world through hospital windows. Trapped within brittle skin and bone, every day a slow march toward an inevitable end. The only thing that kept me tethered was history. Books. Wonder. I studied the past because it was the only place where magic still seemed real.

But this?

This was real.

This was the magic I had been chasing all my life.

I turned my head slowly, taking in the landscape—every shimmer in the air, every glowing glyph, every whisper of the wind. For just a moment, I forgot the cold. I forgot my exhaustion. I forgot how alone I had felt.

And then, from my mouth—his voice once more:

"Follow me, shapeshifter."

I turned toward Andromeda, who still hadn't moved from the edge of the ritual circle.

Her expression was unreadable—caught somewhere between fear and awe, her body frozen in place as if held by an unseen force.

Altharion's voice softened, the ancient tone quieter now, almost tender.

"When you reach the fortress, awaken me. This body…" My limbs trembled as I fought to stay upright. My balance wavered. "…cannot endure much longer. You have surpassed every expectation, Cassian. Truly, you are of the old blood."

The glow pulsed once more, brighter than ever, before fading from my body like mist vanishing into the air.

I collapsed.

Andromeda was already there, her arms instinctively wrapping around me before I could fall. My head rested against her shoulder, my eyes slipping closed as the last vestiges of light from the ritual faded from my skin—and flared again in the compass still clenched tightly in my palm.

She looked down at the compass, her expression unreadable, as if suppressing a deep, unsettling unease.

Ahead of us, the path to Fort Winter stretched out—jagged, steep, carved into the very bones of the mountain, leading toward towers lost beneath the weight of snow and sky.

Andromeda adjusted me in her arms, her grip steady despite the weight I felt.

And then, without another word, she began to walk.

The wind bit sharply at her from the moment we set foot on the ridge—cold enough to slice through the air like glass wrapped in frost. Andromeda gritted her teeth, her lips curling into a thin line, and murmured a Warming Charm. The heat bloomed between us in a soft, golden shimmer that radiated outward, but the chill still clawed at my skin.

She didn't get far.

The path stretched out ahead—long, winding steeply upward, carved deep into the mountain's side like a jagged scar. The cold seeped through the cracks in the rock, the snow falling heavier with each step. Every inch of progress was a battle against the biting wind and the slippery footing.

Andromeda muttered a curse under her breath, then paused, adjusting her grip on me as if the weight of our climb had begun to settle on her shoulders. Her hand dug into her coat pocket, and she pulled out a silver suitcase—no larger than a bar of soap. She tapped it with her wand, and with a flicker of magic, the suitcase grew in an instant, expanding to its full size with a soft thump that vibrated through the snow beneath us.

"Engorgio," she muttered, her eyes scanning the path ahead.

One-handed, she popped the suitcase open and rummaged through it, her movements fluid and practiced. After a moment, she withdrew a long, sleek broomstick wrapped in protective cloth. With swift, precise motions, she unwrapped it, her face set in determination, and swung herself onto it in one smooth motion.

"Hope you're not afraid of heights," she muttered, almost to herself.

We lifted off.

The broom hummed beneath us, stable and strong, cutting through the biting wind as we soared above the cliffside path. The wind howled louder now, but the broom never wavered. Below us, the winding trail disappeared into the snow, the cliffside twisting like a frozen serpent. Far ahead, looming dark and imposing, the outline of Fort Winter stood against the horizon—a distant, untouchable silhouette in the snowstorm.

—————————————

The cold no longer bit as sharply.

I was wrapped in warmth—not from the air, but from Andromeda's arms around me, holding me tightly as we glided through the mountains. I barely moved. My head rested against her chest, the rhythmic beat of her heart grounding me more than the wind or the endless quiet around us.

The silence...

It was absolute.

Not the kind that unsettles, but the kind that soothes, washing over everything else inside me. I didn't realize just how much noise I'd been carrying—grief, panic, exhaustion—until it was gone.

Now, there was only the whisper of wind against the broomstick and the vast stretch of white below us. Endless snow, swirling around the mountain spines like a great, slumbering beast. No cities. No voices. No scent of magic or men.

Just the cold.

Just the sky.

Just… peace.

It was unlike anything I'd ever known. Rome had been beautiful—crowded, alive with noise and voices. Vaerendral Castle had been stately, proud, with its grand gardens and towering spires.

But this...

This place didn't need anyone to remember it. It existed beyond time, untouched, untamed. Unbothered. There was a quiet freedom in that—a stillness that asked nothing of me.

I hummed softly without meaning to.

It came from somewhere deep—buried, almost forgotten.

My mother's lullaby.

She used to sing it to me when I couldn't sleep, a melody that felt like starlight threading through the dark. No words. Just a feeling.

I let it carry on the wind, blending with the cold, the sky, the endless stretch of silence.

And then—I saw it.

At first, it was a darker shape against the cliffside. But as we drew closer, it took form: a balcony, wide and ancient, carved into the mountain itself. It looked as though it had been waiting for centuries.

Andromeda adjusted her grip on the broom, dipping us lower toward it.

We landed softly, the broom's bristles brushing against snow and stone.

I lifted my head, drawn instinctively toward the balcony.

The stone archway beyond it curved inward, a massive doorway set deep within the mountainside. It was dark, ancient, framed in weather-worn stone. But what caught my breath—what made my heart beat faster—

Was the crest.

Etched deeply into the stone of the door, half-covered in frost and ice, was a golden dragon. Its wings outstretched, surrounded by roses and curling filigree. Its eyes—etched in stone—burned with a fierce, proud fire.

The Vaerendral crest.

I knew it like the back of my hand. My father's ring had borne it.

Without thinking, I moved toward the door.

Toward the crest.

It felt like it was calling me—not with sound, but with presence. As though the weight of generations pressed into the stone, reaching for me, beckoning me closer.

The compass at my neck stirred.

Not just glowing—but pulling, as if something deep within it had awoken once more. The air around it shimmered faintly, and then Altharion reappeared—dimmer than before, his form flickering like a fading echo.

He stood between me and the door, his back to me, his long hair shifting as if stirred by a breeze that wasn't there.

Then he turned, and for a moment, something almost human flashed across his face. A memory, maybe. Regret.

"Come," he said quietly, his voice now softer, tinged with exhaustion. "I never thought I would see this place again."

He looked toward the gate, toward the crest carved into the iron and stone, before stepping aside and gesturing for me to approach.

"Place your hand upon it," he said. "And speak after me."

I placed the compass gently into the basin.

And then it happened.

Light exploded outward, filling the chamber with a dazzling, blinding pulse. The compass

blazed in colors too vibrant to fully comprehend—white, silver, and blue—the hues of stars

bursting into existence.

Altharion's form flickered, shimmering violently, as though his very essence were being

reformed. Then, with a sudden stillness, he solidified.

No longer a wisp of light.

No longer a mere shadow of what once was.

He stood before me, human—almost. But not quite. There was something ancient about him,

something timeless. Magic coursed through him, not as veins of blood, but as the very

substance of his being.

He moved toward the basin, raised his hand above it. Two drops of the glowing liquid—like

liquid starlight—floated upward, swirling into a perfect orb in his palm.

His eyes locked onto mine, and he spoke, voice deep and commanding.

"Open your mouth."

I didn't hesitate.

I obeyed.

He let the orb fall, and as it touched my tongue, a warmth unlike anything I had ever

experienced flooded through my body.

It started as a gentle heat, but quickly turned into a blazing surge of power, radiating

through my bones and muscles. It was like being cleansed from the inside, my entire being

scoured with heat and energy. My limbs trembled as the tingling sensation crawled under my

skin, reaching the deepest parts of me. My thoughts sharpened. The exhaustion, the ache

from Altharion's possession, vanished—dissolving like smoke in the air.

I felt… alive—more than I ever had.

But then, something tugged at me—a pull on my chest.

The necklace.

My mother's necklace.

It hummed against my skin, vibrating with power before it floated upward, glowing a

brilliant gold. The warmth of it wrapped around my chest as the necklace rose, levitating

just above me.

Then, without warning, it glided toward the Ward Stone. It hovered for a moment, suspended

in midair—then, as if responding to an unseen force, it dropped into the basin.

The effect was immediate.

Light surged upward from the basin—not pale or silver, but a rich, radiant gold that filled

the room. It bathed everything in its glow—warm, alive.

The entire chamber shuddered. The stone walls groaned in protest. The air thickened, and

the temperature skyrocketed, vanishing the chill that had gripped the room.

This wasn't just magic awakening.

This was magic reclaiming the fortress.

I felt it in every bone of my body, an ancient pulse thrumming beneath the floor,

reverberating through the walls. Dust lifted from the corners. Ice cracked and melted away.

The very heart of the mountain began to stir.

Altharion stood motionless, his form flickering slightly in the overwhelming light.

His expression was unreadable—but something shifted in his eyes. There was recognition,

maybe even relief, but also something darker—something I couldn't place.

He spoke again, his voice quiet, his tone almost reverent.

"That necklace," he said, his gaze never leaving the now-glowing basin, "contains the

Wellspring of Life."

He turned to me, and for the first time since I'd met him, there was a fleeting glimpse of

emotion in his eyes.

"Do not reveal it easily," he added, his voice carrying a weight I didn't fully understand.

There was something else there—something unsaid—but I could not grasp it. Not now,

not with the world shifting around me like this.

More mysteries.

More questions.

The necklace floated back toward me, its golden glow fading, and I caught it in my hand,

closing my fingers around it. The warmth lingered.

I looped the chain around my neck once more, feeling the weight of it settle against my skin.

Altharion turned, his robes trailing behind him, and began to move toward the door.

Altharion didn't wait for me to respond. He simply turned and began to float toward the door,

his robes trailing behind him like ripples in water. The air around him shimmered faintly,

as though his very presence bent reality, even if just for a moment.

"Come," he said without looking back. "You have much to learn."

A shiver crawled up my spine.

I had a feeling I was about to be dragged through something closer to hell than school.

Still, I followed. 

—————————————

At the top of the stairs, Andromeda was waiting. Athena sat beside her, tail flicking as she batted at a glowing rune on the wall.

Andromeda rushed forward the moment she saw me.

"There you are. I was worried—what was that tremor? That magic… it felt so pure."

Before I could answer, Altharion's voice cut in, calm and absolute.

"Blood of the shapeshifter."

She blinked, surprised.

"You have done a great service to the House of Vaerendral."

Altharion turned fully toward her now, for the first time, and inclined his head.

"Name your reward."

Andromeda blinked at Altharion's words, the ancient cadence still hanging in the air like incense.

Then her expression shifted. She raised an eyebrow—dry, unimpressed, very much alive in contrast to the ghost standing before her.

"I don't want a reward."

A pause.

"And why do you keep calling me 'blood of the shapeshifter'? Is that how you address people around here? By their bloodline?" Her voice had an edge now, the beginnings of offense. "It's nonsense. I'm not asking for anything."

Altharion didn't blink. Didn't even twitch.

"Is that the reward you choose?" he said calmly. "Knowledge of the shapeshifters? Knowledge of your blood?"

Andromeda opened her mouth—probably to protest, maybe to argue.

But I tugged lightly on her sleeve.

She looked down at me. I just gave her a look. One she understood instantly.

Just accept it.

Then, reluctantly, she exhaled through her nose. "Fine."

Altharion inclined his head faintly. No smile. No emotion.

Without a word, he raised a hand.

The grimoire flew from Andromeda's satchel, snapping into the air like it had been waiting for his command. He caught it effortlessly, the aged leather binding faintly pulsing with magic as it settled into his hands.

He opened it, the pages fluttering on their own, then stilled them with another gesture, his fingers glowing faintly silver.

He turned to Andromeda.

"Read."

She blinked, taken off guard as he turned the book toward her.

"You carry the blood of shapeshifters," he said evenly, "but it is… diluted. Twisted. You do not even know what you are."

Andromeda's jaw tightened. I saw her cross her arms—not in defiance, but reflexively. Protectively.

Altharion continued, his voice like cold water running through stone.

"Before there were wands, there were wizards. And before spellwork, there were rituals—powerful, ancient. Some performed these rituals on themselves, reshaping their bodies, their magic, their souls. These traits passed through blood, and in time, entire families grew around them."

The grimoire shimmered faintly in his hands. Runes lit up across the open page as if remembering.

"Some were born close to nature. Others, bonded to magical beasts. Some became natural enchanters, alchemists, mindspeakers. There were those who shaped fire or breathed in water."

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.

"And there were those who changed shape—at will. Not with potions or spells, but by force of will alone."

A chill moved down my spine.

"They could become anyone. Anything. Silent. Perfect. Feared. The world whispered of them in fear."

He turned another page. The script shimmered darker now.

"They were called the Familiam Umbrae. The Family of Shadows."

Andromeda was frozen.

"They were hunted. Forgotten. But one branch survived… hidden behind another name. One that rose in the magical world, carrying echoes of that gift."

Altharion looked her dead in the eye.

"The House of Black."

He closed the book with a sharp snap. The sound echoed through the chamber like a gavel.

Andromeda's voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

"Damn it."

Altharion simply nodded.

"You must go now."

She blinked. "What?"

Altharion waved his hand again, and from nothing, a silver ring shimmered into being, floating before her. Ancient. Etched in fine runes.

"Take this. Think of where you wish to go. It will carry you there. No matter the distance. Once you arrive, it will dissolve into dust."

"And what about him?" Her voice softened now. "He's still a child. He can't stay here alone."

Altharion's tone remained unchanged.

"He is not alone. And he will be taken care of."

She looked like she wanted to argue. Maybe she would have. But I tugged on her sleeve again.

She looked down.

"You have to take care of Nymphadora," I said quietly.

Her lips pressed together, emotions flickering behind her eyes. She exhaled, defeated—but accepting.

"How do I reach you?" she asked. "Grandfather still wants to visit. He said—"

Altharion cut her off with a second wave of his hand.

Two mirrors appeared—tall, oval, framed in dragon-carved metal, both identical.

"Speak the name of the one you seek," he said, "and the mirror will find them."

She reached out and took the ring slowly, then one of the mirrors. The glow of it reflected in her eyes.

Andromeda looked at me one last time, her fingers brushing my shoulder. Then she closed her eyes. And vanished.

Gone in a blink—leaving only a few fading sparks of magic where she'd stood. Just like that, it was quiet again.

It was just me now.

Me, Athena—still hovering midair on her little blue clouds, tail flicking thoughtfully—and Altharion.

He turned without another word, his long coat drifting behind him, and began to float up the stairs.

"Follow me," he said. "The living quarters are upstairs."

He didn't look back.

"Tomorrow, your training begins."

—————————————

It had been six weeks since Andromeda left. Fort Winter no longer felt cold. Or haunted. Or lifeless. It felt... like mine.

My room was massive—bigger than the one I'd had in Rome, bigger even than the guest chambers in Vaerendral Castle. The bed was twice my size and impossibly soft, stuffed with something warmer than goose down and layered in silver-dyed velvet.

Athena was curled up next to me, her tail wrapped over her nose, her little blue cloud nest hovering an inch above the blanket like a cradle.

The windows glowed faintly with the colors of morning. Not quite dawn yet—but close. The sky outside was shifting from indigo to crimson-gold, clouds streaked with fire, the last stars winking out like embers.

I sighed and shifted deeper into the blankets.

That was my first mistake.

Without any warning, the air changed.

There was a sharp snap.

And I was suddenly airborne.

"AUGH—!"

The blanket ripped away from me, and I was yanked upward, completely upside down, floating several feet off the bed like someone had decided gravity was optional.

Athena yowled in irritation, ears flat, eyes slitted in sleepy fury. She looked up once, saw it was not her problem, and flopped back down with an indignant huff.

"ALTHARION!" I shouted, flailing in midair. "PUT ME DOWN!"

He stood in the corner of my room, half-shadowed in the fading night, arms folded behind his back. His silver hair caught the rising sunlight, casting faint glimmers through the room. He didn't look the least bit apologetic.

"I said dawn," he said coolly. "The first rays have broken through the clouds. And you are not awake."

"This is how you wake people?"

He arched an eyebrow.

"You've had six weeks. And still, you do not rise before the light touches the floor. You are not adjusting."

I crossed my arms as best I could while dangling upside-down, my nightshirt slipping toward my shoulders. "O ancient and noble oath-bound ghost man," I deadpanned. "Would you please let me down already?"

His mouth twitched—a smirk. Not big. But it was there.

"It is barely dawn," I continued, grumbling. "It's illegal to be awake this early. I'm a growing boy, you know. I need sleep. Beauty sleep."

Altharion raised a hand.

I dropped like a stone.

I landed on the mattress with a loud fwumph, limbs sprawled in every direction. Athena didn't even flinch.

Altharion turned toward the door, his voice already distant as he walked.

"Get dressed."

After Altharion left with his dramatic, floaty nonsense and cryptic smirk, I lay there for exactly twelve seconds.

Then I sat up with a groan.

"Thornik," I called, my voice echoing faintly through the high-vaulted room.

There was a soft pop, and Thornik appeared at the foot of the bed—his uniform now adorned with a tiny silver crest stitched over the heart, the new emblem of Fort Winter. He looked just as prim and composed as always, eyes bright, ears twitching attentively.

"Young master?"

"I need my training robes. The dark gray ones. And please have breakfast ready by the time I return—fruit, porridge, strong tea. And something warm for Athena."

"At once," Thornik said with a precise little bow. With a snap of his fingers, the requested outfit folded itself neatly across the dressing rack beside me, arranged with exacting care.

I dressed quickly, brushing out my hair while Athena lazily uncurled from her nest at the foot of the bed, yawned, and stretched with all the casual grace of someone who had no plans to do anything strenuous whatsoever.

We made our way down the great stairwell, spiraling downward from my quarters in the upper levels of the keep. The stone was cold beneath my boots, but familiar now. Familiar enough that I didn't need to hold the railing or watch my step.

When I reached the lower floor, the training hall doors were already open.

Altharion stood in the center, as if he hadn't moved all night.

Of course, he was already there.

He stood completely still, arms behind his back, long silver hair trailing like a shadow.

"You're two minutes late," he said, not even glancing over his shoulder.

I opened my mouth to protest.

Then closed it.

Too early.

"Stretch."

So I stretched.

And he watched.

We began the morning with body conditioning—just as we had every day for the past six weeks. Nothing too complex: breathing forms, balance drills, movement exercises drawn from both wandless casting traditions and old dueling stances. Each step was simple—but demanded control. Stillness. Awareness.

Altharion corrected silently—sometimes with a gesture, sometimes with a sharp word.

"Breath before movement. Again."

"You're thinking about balance. Be balanced."

"Straighten your back. You're a Vaerendral, not a kneazle with bad posture."

Sweat prickled along my neck by the time we finished. Not from exhaustion—just the relentless precision he expected. Everything had to be perfect. Posture. Motion. Intent.

I took a long drink from the silver flask Thornik had left for me by the wall.

Altharion gave a single nod.

"Sufficient."

From him, that was practically a standing ovation.

I looked up.

Altharion was still standing there, perfectly calm, his hand slowly lowering.

"Control is nothing without response," he said. "Power is useless without instinct. Your body must learn to act before you think."

He lifted his hand again.

I didn't wait.

I moved with the throw, pivoting before the ball of light even left his fingers. It was about seeing. Feeling. Trusting the air.

I didn't get hit once.

When the last one vanished midair before it reached me, Altharion gave a nod.

"Good. Enough for now."

I stood there, catching my breath, my heart still beating fast. The air was cold, but I was warm.

He stepped closer, his voice shifting—quieter now.

"Your magic lives here," he said, tapping two fingers against his temple. "And here," he added, tapping my chest. "But control begins with the mind. If your thoughts are chaos, your magic will be chaos. We begin the mind arts today."

I followed him to a set of polished stone tiles near the center of the room. He sat cross-legged. I mirrored him.

"Occlumency," he said, "is the foundation of all mind magic. The ability to shield your thoughts, sense intrusion, protect your will. Without it, you are open to anything—manipulation, illusions, even subtle suggestion from potions."

I nodded slowly. I'd heard of it. I just hadn't done it.

Yet.

He closed his eyes.

"The first step," he said, "is stillness."

I tried.

A minute passed. My thoughts scattered instantly.

Breakfast. My legs ached. Athena snoring upstairs. The way the frost had cracked under my boots this morning. That last reflex throw—could I have blocked it better?

"No," he said, eyes still closed. "Again."

Another minute.

Then another.

I tried to focus on my breathing. I tried to picture something—anything—that would quiet my head.

"Imagine your mind as a still lake," he said softly. "No ripples. No motion. Pure reflection. Some minds respond to imagery. Others do not. You must find what helps you. But above all—stillness."

I breathed in. Out. In again.

I could almost feel the ripples settling.

One by one.

Stillness.

I breathed in. Out. In again.

The noise in my head softened. Slowly.

Not gone—but quieter.

I pictured the surface of a lake—deep, black, still. The kind you'd find on a windless night, ringed by mountains and stars.

No motion.

No sound.

I breathed again. In. Out.

For just a moment—maybe three heartbeats—it worked.

Everything held still.

No ripples.

No wandering thoughts.

Just silence.

Then—

I sneezed.

Loudly.

My whole body jolted, and the image shattered like glass. My mind flooded with a hundred thoughts at once, ricocheting in every direction: the cold floor, the echo of the sneeze, how dumb that had looked.

I opened one eye and looked at Altharion.

He hadn't moved.

But one of his eyebrows was definitely raised.

I rubbed at my nose and sighed.

"Stillness," he said dryly. "A fragile thing."

I wiped at my nose with the sleeve of my robe, still annoyed by the sneeze.

Altharion stood, as fluid as ever.

"Let's end this for now," he said. "Follow me."

I got to my feet, stiff-legged and still a bit fuzzy-headed, and trailed after him out of the training hall. We moved through the corridor, his pace smooth and unhurried. Mine... not so much.

We passed a dozen rooms I didn't recognize. Down another hall. Then another.

"Where are we going?" I asked, jogging a bit to keep up. "I don't think I've been down this corridor before."

Which was saying something. I'd spent nearly every free moment these past six weeks exploring the castle. Fort Winter was massive—truly ancient—and it had become a personal mission of mine to map it all out.

But with my tiny little toddler legs, even crossing a single floor was a feat.

Altharion didn't glance back.

"It is time for you to learn."

I waited for him to elaborate.

He didn't.

We stopped before a tall double door carved from dark stone, old enough that time had faded the sigils etched across its frame. Altharion placed both hands against it. The doors opened soundlessly.

Inside was a chamber of portraits.

Dozens lined the walls, reaching all the way to the high-vaulted ceiling. Most were faded, painted in old oil and dull tones. Robes, formal wear, crests. Most looked disapproving, or tired, or both.

The oldest must have been centuries old. The newest I recognized from a few sketch references in the grimoire—early 1600s, maybe.

Altharion gestured to the room without stepping inside.

"You will learn from them."

I stared at the rows of ancient faces.

And groaned.

"How long do I have to do this?"

"Until I deem you ready."

Then he turned and walked away, robes drifting behind him like the dramatic ghost-lord he was.

I scowled after him.

"I really should throw this compass away," I muttered. "Ever since I put it in that basin, he can appear literally anywhere in this castle."

Altharion's voice echoed from down the hall—too far to see him now.

"That would not be wise."

Of course not.

I stepped inside.

The chamber was cooler than the rest of the castle.

"Child. What is your name?"

I turned sharply. One of the portraits near the center of the wall—an old woman with her hair in tight braids, dressed in deep red and green robes—was staring down at me.

I straightened instinctively.

"Cassian Vaerendral," I said.

Her eyes narrowed, studying me.

"What year is it?"

I told her.

She blinked slowly. Her painted face seemed to pale.

"So much time has passed," she murmured. "So much forgotten."

Then she looked at me again—sharper this time.

"Then let us begin," she said.

Her tone shifted—less reverent, more judgmental.

"We will start with proper manners. Seeing as you don't even know how to introduce yourself."

——————————————— 

The sky was bleeding gold and crimson as the sun dipped behind the peaks.I stood in the astronomy tower, the highest point in Fort Winter, the air crisp and thin. The stone beneath my feet was etched with fading constellations, and the great brass telescope sat idle, pointed toward the horizon.

Beside me floated the old ghost.I still called him that sometimes."Altharion" was a mouthful when you were three, and it didn't help that he never corrected me.

He handed me the grimoire."You have grasped the basics," he said. "It will take you years—decades, even—to understand its depths. But you've begun."

I cradled the book carefully, feeling its faint hum. The weight of it never changed. But the pressure it carried had.

"It is truly astounding what is possible with these wands," he said. "But magic has… diminished. Weakened. Innovation is no longer encouraged. Only repetition. I fear that is the true sadness."

He turned, looking westward as the wind moved through his incorporeal robes."Stagnation, after all… is the beginning of downfall."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

In the distance, a dragon soared across the dying light. Its wings beat slow and wide, trailing mist in its wake as it dipped behind the ridges, riding the currents like it belonged to the sky.

"Fascinating creatures," Altharion murmured. "Are they not?"

I nodded.

"They are rare now," he went on. "Caged. Harnessed. Used like beasts of burden. In my time, they were noble. Regal. Their magic ran so deep, it shaped the land beneath them."

He paused, voice quiet.

"They kept to themselves, mostly. But they were never ours to command."

He turned to me again.

"The grimoire speaks of a school. Hogwarts, I believe. In Albion. And another—Beauxbatons, in the southern lands. Durmstrang, far north, among the frost."

His expression darkened, slightly.

"In this day and age, it seems you must attend such an institution to earn recognition. To carry title. It would not do, for an heir of Vaerendral and Fontaine… to be seen without qualification."

He raised a hand.

A piece of parchment shimmered into existence and floated down into my waiting fingers.

"You have seven years," he said. "Not much. But enough."

I unfolded it. A schedule. Dense, structured, overwhelming.

"We will focus on conditioning your body and your mind," he continued. "And mastering the control of your magic. That must come first. Without control, all power is wasted."

He looked at me with that silver gaze, impassive but sharp.

"To possess great magic and fail to wield it… is like having legs, but never learning to walk."

He gestured toward the grimoire in my arms.

"You have access to knowledge most in this world have forgotten. Do not waste it."

He began to fade then, light unwinding from his limbs like threads of moonlight.

"The portraits will teach you theory, language, etiquette, rites. They know their duty."

His voice lingered in the air like smoke.

"Use what you have. Do not squander your birthright. Awaken me when they deem you ready."

And with that, he vanished.

I stood there alone, staring out at the peaks. The sun was gone now. The stars were beginning to emerge—one by one—like ancient eyes opening over the mountains.

A breeze stirred my hair. Cold. Clean.

You don't have to worry, I thought to myself.

You have access to it all.

And I have… accounts to settle.

Behind me, a soft pop broke the silence.

"Master," Thornik said gently. "Dinner is ready."

I turned from the window, the stars still shimmering in my eyes.

"Let's go."