Chapter 26: Waking Light

The ceiling was white.

Too white.

Sterile, glowing softly, and deeply familiar in a way that made Caelum's stomach twist.

St. Mungo's.

His eyes fluttered open fully. The scent of potions and sanitizing charms clung to the air, accompanied by the faint hum of monitoring wards.

His body ached.

Not pain, exactly—more like the distant echo of it, like his nerves remembered how much it had hurt but hadn't quite caught up to the healing. His limbs felt heavy, and his mouth was dry.

He was alive.

The door creaked open.

Healer Mirren stepped in, pausing at the sight of his open eyes.

A moment passed—just long enough for her breath to catch—and then her professional mask slipped into place, warm but composed.

"You're awake."

Her voice was gentle. Measured.

"I'll fetch Kingsley."

She didn't wait for a reply—just turned and swept out.

Caelum shifted slightly, staring back at the ceiling. It didn't feel like victory. It felt like survival.

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

This time, it was Kingsley Shacklebolt who stepped inside—tall, solemn, and for once not in Ministry robes. He looked… older, somehow. Wearier. But his gaze softened as it landed on Caelum.

"You gave us quite the scare, Caelum."

He pulled a chair closer and sat beside the bed.

"I know you'll have questions, so let me give you the summary first."

He didn't ask for permission. He just told the truth.

"Moody arrived in time. You did enough damage to slow the enforcers—and Rosier—until we got there. His team secured the site. Every surviving agent was captured, including Rosier himself. He's currently under full containment pending trial."

Caelum blinked slowly, processing that.

Kingsley continued.

"The Ministry ordered a full investigation. Greystone House has been closed. Officially, it's being restructured. Unofficially… it's over. The entire staff is under review."

He paused, as if weighing how much to say.

"The other children—the ones who survived—have been moved to other care facilities. Safer ones. You and your group... the Ministry deemed you material witnesses. You were all treated here at St. Mungo's. Once cleared, the others were transferred to a secure location for rest and questioning."

"The Grey Circle, they're safe. And they're free—for now."

Kingsley paused. His voice grew quieter. "One of the boys…"

Caelum's voice was already there. "Julian."

Kingsley nodded solemnly. "Yes. By the time we arrived, he was already dead. I'm sorry, Caelum."

He exhaled slowly. "His body is now under Ministry care. His family—one younger sister—has been notified.

Caelum exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling against the blanket. His body still trembled slightly, but his mind was clear.

"How long was I unconscious?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Kingsley nodded. "You've been out three days."

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

"You did well, Caelum. More than anyone had the right to expect."

The boy turned his head, eyes flicking to the window.

The sky outside was pale with morning.

"It's not over," Caelum murmured.

Kingsley's brow furrowed slightly.

"No," he agreed. "But we've taken back control of the board."

He stood slowly, resting a hand on the edge of the bed.

"Rest now. You've earned it. But be ready. The Wizengamot will want a word soon. And some within the Ministry are already whispering about what to do with a six-year-old boy who casts without a wand and turns flame into a weapon."

Caelum didn't reply.

He didn't need to.

The fire in his blood hadn't cooled.

And the war—for control, for identity, for freedom—was far from finished.