Chapter 6: Thunder of a Name

The Selwyn Manor stood as a monolith of dark stone, its spires piercing the stormy sky of 1980, its windows glowing with the warm light of enchanted chandeliers. Within its grand halls, a new life entered the world—a boy born to the ancient pure-blood family, a child who carried the weight of destiny in his first cry. The birthing chamber was a sanctuary of velvet drapes and flickering candles, the air thick with the scent of lavender and the faint hum of protective charms.

Eleanor Selwyn, her face pale but radiant with joy, cradled her newborn son, his tiny fingers curling around hers. Her husband, Thaddeus Selwyn, stood beside her, his stern features softened by a rare smile, his dark robes pristine despite the chaos of the night. The room buzzed with quiet celebration, the family's house elves darting about with trays of celebratory wine and cloths to tend to Eleanor.

Old Tiberius Selwyn, the patriarch of the family, entered the chamber, his presence commanding even at his advanced age. His silver hair gleamed under the candlelight, and his emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, softened as he gazed at his grandson. He extended his gnarled hands, the rings on his fingers glinting with ancient magic.

"Let me hold the boy," Tiberius said, his voice a deep rumble that echoed through the room.

Eleanor hesitated for a moment, her maternal instincts flaring, but she gently handed the child to her father-in-law. Tiberius cradled the baby, his weathered hands steady, and peered into the infant's eyes—golden, an unusual hue for a Selwyn, glowing with an otherworldly intensity. The child stared back, unblinking, and Tiberius felt a shiver run down his spine, a sensation he hadn't felt since his days as a young duelist facing dark forces.

"Zain," Tiberius whispered, the name spilling from his lips as if drawn by an unseen force.

At that moment, the sky outside roared, heavy thunder shaking the manor's foundations, lightning splitting the heavens in a blinding flash. The candles flickered, some snuffing out entirely, and the house elves froze, their large eyes wide with fear. Eleanor gasped, clutching Thaddeus's arm, but Tiberius's gaze remained fixed on the child, a smile curling his lips.

"Zain Selwyn," he declared, louder this time, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to resonate with the storm. "A name for a storm, a name for power."

Thaddeus stepped forward, his brow furrowing. "Father, are you certain? That name—it's not one of ours."

Tiberius's eyes gleamed with a knowing light. "It is his. The magic of this moment has spoken."

The storm raged on, but within the chamber, a quiet settled, the family united in awe of the child named Zain—a name that would one day echo far beyond the walls of Selwyn Manor.

Five years later, the storm of Zain's birth was a distant memory, but its echoes lingered in the boy's presence. The Selwyn library, a cavernous room lined with towering shelves of ancient tomes, was Zain's sanctuary. At five years old, he was already a prodigy, his golden eyes scanning pages far beyond his years, his small hands turning the brittle parchment with a care that belied his age. The library was dimly lit, the enchanted lanterns casting a warm glow over the polished oak tables, the air filled with the scent of old leather and ink.

Zain sat cross-legged on a cushioned chair, a massive book on magical theory open before him, his brow furrowed in concentration. His black hair, streaked with hints of silver—a trait inherited from Tiberius—fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back with an impatient flick. He was dressed in fine robes of deep green, the Selwyn crest embroidered in silver on his chest, a fitting outfit for his birthday celebration later that evening. But for now, his mind was elsewhere, lost in the intricacies of wandless magic, a concept that fascinated him. Deep within, the Goddess Conquering System stirred, its influence subtle but ever-present, sharpening his intellect, weaving a faint aura of charm around him even as a child.

The library doors creaked open, and Eleanor Selwyn stepped inside, her emerald eyes softening at the sight of her son. She was a vision of elegance, her dark hair pinned in an intricate updo, her robes a shimmering silver that caught the lantern light. She carried herself with the grace of a pure-blood matriarch, but her smile was warm, reserved for her only child.

"Zain," she called, her voice a gentle melody in the quiet library.

Zain looked up, his golden eyes meeting hers, a spark of curiosity in his gaze. He closed the book with a soft thud, sliding it to the side.

"Mother," he said, his voice clear and confident, far too mature for a five-year-old. "I was just reading about wandless magic. Did you know the ancient wizards could summon fire without a wand?"

Eleanor's smile widened, though a flicker of concern passed through her eyes. "You're far too young to be reading such advanced texts, my darling. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

She crossed the room, her robes whispering against the polished floor, and stood beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Zain tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, subtly guiding his words, his tone carrying a charm that could melt even the sternest heart.

"Mother, since it's my birthday today, I have a request," he said, his voice laced with a child's innocence but underpinned by a quiet confidence.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, her hand still on his shoulder. "A request? And what might that be?"

Zain's smile widened, his golden eyes gleaming. "I want a spare wand as my birthday present."

Eleanor's expression shifted, her smile fading into a frown. She withdrew her hand, folding her arms across her chest. "A wand, Zain? You're far too young. The Ministry doesn't allow children to have wands until they're eleven, and for good reason. Magic is dangerous in untrained hands."

Zain's smile didn't waver, his charm unfaltering. He leaned forward, his small hands clasped on the table, his voice soft but persuasive. "I know, Mother, but I've been reading about magic for years. I just want to practice, to learn. A spare wand—no one would know. Please, it's my birthday."

Eleanor hesitated, her resolve wavering under the weight of his gaze. Those golden eyes, so like Tiberius's yet so different, seemed to see straight through her. She sighed, her shoulders relaxing, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

"Very well," she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and affection. "I'll see if I can find an old wand in the family vault. But you must promise not to use it outside this manor, and only under supervision. Do you understand?"

Zain nodded eagerly, his smile radiant. "I promise, Mother. Thank you!"

Eleanor shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "You're too clever for your own good, Zain. Now, tell me—are you ready for the birthday banquet this evening? The guests will be arriving soon."

Zain stood, smoothing his robes with a practiced motion, his demeanor more like that of a young lord than a five-year-old. "I'm ready, Mother. I've been looking forward to it."

Eleanor nodded, her gaze lingering on him, a mix of pride and curiosity in her eyes. Before she could say more, a faint pop echoed through the library, and a house elf appeared at the edge of the table. The creature was small, its ears long and drooping, its eyes wide and gleaming. It wore a pristine cloth emblazoned with the Selwyn crest, its hands clasped nervously.

"Master Zain, Mistress Eleanor," the elf squeaked, bowing low. "Master Thaddeus and Master Tiberius are waiting at the dining table for lunch."

Eleanor turned to the elf, her expression softening. "Thank you, Pippy. We'll be there shortly."

The elf nodded, disappearing with another pop. Eleanor extended her hand to Zain, her smile returning. "Come, let's not keep your father and grandfather waiting."

Zain took her hand, his small fingers warm against hers, but his mind was already racing. A wand—his first step toward mastering the magic of this world.