∆∆
"Focus, Arthur."
The voice rang sharp and unwavering, like ice slicing through still air.
Arthur blinked. Again, he was here—wherever here was. The sky above stretched in swathes of amber and lilac, a constant twilight humming with energy. Glenhaven still stood in the far distance, unreachable and frozen in time, like some memory too distant to touch.
He was seated cross-legged in the middle of a flat, barren field that shimmered with golden grass, unnaturally warm against his skin. It didn't feel like a dream, but nothing about this place was real.
Silas Reeves stood before him—ageless and tall, his silver hair billowing softly in a breeze Arthur couldn't feel. A man who by all logic shouldn't even exist.
Yet there he was. As always. As steady as death.
Arthur sighed, adjusting his posture. He felt like one of those bald monks he'd seen in Muggle documentaries. Or were they not Muggles?
Honestly, magic ruins everything you thought you knew.
"Let's begin," Silas said calmly, his eyes like chips of pure sapphire. "I need you to feel your core. Anchor your spirit. Know your magic."
Arthur closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply and let go of every thought. One by one, the external melted away. The grass. The twilight. Even Silas.
And then—there it was.
A core.
Then another. And another.
Five.
His eyes nearly opened in disbelief.
Five cores?
He wasn't an expert on magical anatomy, but he knew enough. Cryomancy and Beastspeech explained two. But five? That was pushing it. Something felt... off.
Still, he obeyed. Focused. Drifted deeper.
He found the cold one quickly. It pulsed close to his heart, cold and quiet, but deeply alive.
Cryomancy.
He reached for it—not directly, but the way Cassian had taught him about a year ago. Find the thread. Pull to expel. Push to charge. He followed the invisible cord of magic inward, and when he finally grasped it—
Boom.
A wave of frost exploded outward from him in a radiant circle, freezing the field in seconds. Flowers turned to glass. Grass snapped and glittered. Even the wind fell silent.
The sun above blazed—but the ice held. Unmelting. Untouched. Absolute.
He opened his eyes.
Silas was staring.
"Good," the man said at last. "You've grasped the basic flow. That will do for now."
Arthur stood up slowly. His breath puffed faintly in the suddenly chilled air. "So... am I getting better at this? Or just more insane by the second?"
Silas turned, already walking away. "That's relative."
"Wait." Arthur raised a hand. "Before you vanish into the dramatic unknown again—I felt five cores. But I think I have two."
Silas didn't stop walking, but he responded.
"You have three."
Arthur blinked. "Sorry—what?"
"You have three now," Silas repeated, more clearly this time.
Arthur jogged a few steps after him. "I said I felt five."
"You do have five," Silas replied, finally stopping to glance over his shoulder. "You currently have access to three. The other two aren't yours yet."
Arthur stared at him. "Okay, fine. Then what's the third one? Cryomancy. Beasttongue. And then...?"
Silas's eyes glinted. "Arcane Core."
Arthur blinked. "What?"
"It means you possess Arcane Affinity. You are unusually proficient in any magic you perform, with an almost bottomless reservoir. It's extremely rare. And dangerous."
Arthur's brain short-circuited. "Wait, wait. So that's why those bracelets don't entirely suppress my magic?"
"Exactly. You weren't meant to be caged. Not completely."
Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "So... I'm a magical battery. A walking wand. That explains a lot. I guess."
Silas gave a small nod. "It also means you're breaking."
Arthur looked up. "What?"
"You are breaking apart, Arthur. The weight of power is crushing your psyche. I mean, you have 3 power cores and you're not even 15 yet. That's why I'm here. I'm... a reserved consciousness. Created to guide members of our bloodline when the magic inside threatens to consume them."
Arthur blinked. "There's more of you?"
"Not like me. Each one is different. A guardian of the bloodline. I'm bound to you, and to you alone."
Arthur's voice dropped. "So you know about Auren?"
Silas's gaze didn't falter. "Of course. I've met him."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "You helped him?"
"I help all Reeves. Regardless of who—or what—they become."
Arthur looked down, kicking at a frozen blade of grass. "So how do I deal with him?"
Silas shrugged faintly. "You don't. You become him."
Arthur looked up sharply. "Excuse me—what?"
"You don't control your abilities, Arthur. They are alive. They are extensions of your soul, not tools. You must merge with them. Be accepted by them."
Arthur cursed under his breath. "This family is messed up."
Silas chuckled. For the first time.
"It is," he agreed. "But it's also powerful. Purposeful. We are born to shape storms and shatter limits. But every gift has a price."
Arthur looked toward the distant Glenhaven castle again. That strange place that felt like it was watching him.
"And if I can't do it?" he asked softly. "If I can't... become him?"
"Then you'll tear yourself apart."
Silas began to vanish, his figure dissolving into blue dust.
"I'll be back," Arthur muttered under his breath. "Sooner than you think."
The wind returned. The frost remained.
But Silas was gone.
Arthur stood alone, staring at the horizon where magic and reality blurred.
He sighed.
"Time to see what Auren's been up to."
∆∆∆∆
Arthur blinked. Or perhaps he woke.
It didn't matter which. Reality felt just as thin either way.
The late morning light filtered gently through the branches of the elm tree—the one he always sat beneath for lunch. A few golden leaves had fallen around him, crisp under his boots.
At least he has good taste in spots.
He glanced down—and frowned.
A letter.
Neatly folded, sealed with a wax insignia he hadn't seen in a long time.
MACUSA. The official sigil of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, with its coiling phoenix and enchanted stars.
Arthur's brow creased. Why did he have it? This couldn't be a coincidence. Slowly, carefully, he tore it open.
The parchment inside was smooth, clinical, and cold.
---
Dear Mr. Reeves,
The Department of Magical Creatures regrets to inform you that your current state of magical restraint was not carried out through any jurisdiction known to or approved by the Congress. This action is presently under internal review.
We assure you that steps are being taken to liaise with international partners, and you will be notified once legal representation is arranged.
In the meantime, stay out of trouble.
Sincerely,
Director Elaine Margrave
Department of Magical Creatures
---
Arthur scoffed. That was it?
A vague promise of help wrapped in government formality. And yet… something felt off.
He held the paper up to the light. A glimmer shimmered faintly across the ink. Not visible—enchanted.
A cloaking spell. The message was layered.
But he couldn't cast spells. Not with these infernal cuffs. Still…
He stared harder. Deeper.
Spells were just intent draped in syllables. They gave the mind permission to act. But what if he no longer needed permission?
He focused—visualizing the cloak unraveling. The magic constricted around his wrists, a pressure building like a storm in his bloodstream. He pushed past it.
The shimmer flickered. Then the second message revealed itself in ink that hadn't existed a moment ago—scrawled in haste, messy and raw.
---
Arthur—
They got me. I'm being held under suspicion for creating the hybrids. It's a front. Someone else is pulling the strings—and they want you next. Be careful. They're already close. They might even be inside the school.
Stick with your cousins. Protect each other. You're not safe.
—C. R.
---
The parchment burned to ash between his fingers.
Arthur stared at the smoking fragments. Gone. Just like that.
He exhaled slowly. So it's true. Project Silverfang. It was actually a thing.
The enemy wasn't just distant anymore—they were here.
And just like that, as if summoned by the thought, a voice chirped behind him.
"Heya, partner."
He didn't need to turn to know who it was. That ridiculously chipper tone was unmistakable.
What was her name again? Lina? Or was it Urchin? No, has to be Racheal. She had insisted on it.
Arthur tilted his head slightly but didn't move.
"And you are… Urchin? Racheal?"
"For the third time," she said, lightly exasperated. "It's Leah."
"Right. Leah," he replied flatly.
He still hadn't opened the diary she'd given him. And with Auren lurking beneath the surface like some smug little brother, he couldn't be certain he hadn't already been opened for him.
Too many unknowns.
She stepped beside him, folding her arms and looking out at the open courtyard. "You've been kinda weird lately, y'know. Not bad-weird. Just… you-but-not-you. Like someone flipped a personality switch."
Arthur raised a brow.
"Yeah?" he said coolly. "And what version do you prefer?"
She gave him a sly grin. "The happy, charming, smiley one. Not that you're bad company now, but... the other one seemed like he actually liked people."
He didn't flinch. Not even a twitch. "Fascinating," he muttered.
Then he turned.
"Hey, wait—" she began, reaching out.
But he was already walking away, cloak rustling behind him like the whisper of winter wind. He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
There were too many shadows chasing him already.
∆∆∆∆∆∆
Arthur attended the rest of the day's classes in a distracted daze. He was physically present—pen in hand, eyes half-open—but mentally he was still beneath the tree, fingers clutching the now-vanished letter from his uncle. The words clung to his brain like burrs:
"Keep your cousins close… you'll need them."
"Someone must already be there with you… or close by."
Just great. So, not his problem was now very much his problem. The kind of problem that had claws, history, and a tendency to explode in one's face.
By the time the final bell rang and students filed back to their dorms in loud groups, Arthur wasn't in the mood for company. He slipped away quietly, letting the evening breeze guide his feet across the campus. He didn't head for his room. He walked past it. Beyond the courtyards. Past the practice fields. Deeper into the academy's outer grounds, toward the place he always went when the world became too loud.
Toward Alpha. He hadn't seen him in a while.
He found the massive wolf easily, lying exactly where he always did—perched like a king on a large, flat rock at the edge of the forest's clearing. Elevated, relaxed, commanding. That was Alpha's way. Regal, untamed.
Arthur stepped into the clearing, crunching dry leaves beneath his boots. Alpha's ears twitched. The wolf lifted his head slowly, eyes glinting in the low sunlight. Those golden irises were as familiar to Arthur as his own reflection.
No greeting. No banter. No smug remark about how long it's been. Nothing.
That's when Arthur remembered it.
Beasttongue was gone. Temporarily dormant.
The link—the gift that allowed him to understand and speak to magical creatures—was silent.
Just like that, the silence felt heavy.
Arthur frowned but said nothing. What was the point?
He turned his eyes to the horizon. The sun was bleeding its last colors across the sky, painting the clouds in gold and bruised lavender. Somewhere behind him, he heard Alpha rise—the faint rustle of fur against stone, the steady, padded footsteps approaching.
Then the warmth.
The wolf came to stand beside him, brushing his massive flank lightly against Arthur's shoulder. No words. Just presence.
They hadn't seen each other in weeks. Maybe months. But the bond, whatever it was, still lingered. It was frayed, but it wasn't broken.
Arthur placed a hand on Alpha's thick neck. The wolf stood tall beside him. If Alpha raised his head fully, they'd be eye-to-eye.
"I think I'm losing it, pal," Arthur said quietly. "My entire being."
Alpha stared, ears flicking once. No response, of course. But Arthur didn't need to hear one. He could feel it.
"Talking to yourself now, Twiglet? You really have lost it."
Arthur exhaled, the closest he ever got to a laugh. Then his eyes narrowed in thought. Something clicked.
Talking to yourself…
Myself…
My other self.
That was it. That's what he needed. Not answers from outside—he had someone inside who might know something. Someone who always had something to say.
"Auren…" Arthur muttered.
He turned to Alpha, smiling faintly. "Thanks, buddy."
Then, in a completely unexpected move, he pulled the wolf into a hug—an actual hug. His arm curled tightly around Alpha's thick neck, burying his face in the warmth of silver-black fur. It was brief, but real.
When he stepped back, the wolf remained completely still, eyes wide, tail frozen.
Arthur just nodded and walked off without another word, leaving behind the stunned beast.
If Alpha could talk, he'd probably say:
"Arthur Reeves just hugged me. Yep. He's lost it."
And maybe… maybe he had.
But maybe that's exactly what he needed to find the truth.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
Navigating through the ever-chaotic common room felt like dodging a minefield.
Paper airplanes zoomed past like mischievous birds, and actual birds flapped overhead—someone's familiar squawked an apology after brushing Arthur's hair with its wing. He ducked under a floating book, sidestepped a levitating mug of tea, and narrowly avoided running into Dorian, who was mid-argument with Micah over who'd broken the enchanted quill that now wrote obscenities across the ceiling.
Evelyne, seated in a corner with her group, caught his eye. "Hey, Arthur!"
He waved vaguely, muttering, "Can't talk, got a voice in my head to interrogate."
"Say what?" she blinked, but he was already gone.
Finally reaching his room, Arthur shut the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh.
He sat down on his bed, legs crossed, and whispered to himself, "It's gonna work. It has to."
He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Out. In again.
He let his thoughts drift… just a little. Not enough to fall too deep—but just enough for the familiar icy tingle to wrap around his consciousness. It started at the base of his skull, creeping up like frost over a windowpane.
Then the voice came. Smooth. Chilling. And amused.
"Well, well. Looks like someone finally cracked the puzzle. Did you get my letter, Arthur?"
Arthur opened one eye slightly. "Oh, I got it, alright… you overdramatic, frozen knock-off."
"Tsk. That's rude. I was going for mysterious. And besides, I am you. The better, cooler half."
"Cooler? Please. You sound like a poet with a brain freeze."
"I am a poet with a brain freeze. That's kind of my aesthetic."
Arthur shook his head slightly, focusing. "Look. I didn't dive in my own head to exchange cold puns. I need your help."
"And here I thought you came to say you missed me."
"Hardly. You're the reason I'm on the edge half the time."
"Touché. But I'm also the reason you haven't completely snapped yet. You just don't want to admit that."
"Keep flattering yourself. It won't earn you body-time."
Auren's laugh echoed like cracking ice.
"Still grumpy. But fine. What do you want, boss?"
"I need access to the restricted section of the library. There's a book—maybe more—on genetically modified creature hybrids. The normal ones are documented, but the illegal ones? Nothing. And I know someone buried something there."
"Ahhh, forbidden knowledge. Breaking rules. Naughty. I like it."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "This is why I need you. You're charming in that... frostbite kinda way. Likable. Slippery. And somehow persuasive when you're not being an ass."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Arthur. But what's in it for me?"
Arthur sighed. He hated this part. "Two days. You can take the reins for two full days. But…" he paused, raising a mental finger, "No flirting. No chaos. And absolutely no ruining my already-questionable reputation."
"You wound me! I'm not chaos—I'm spontaneous. And flirting is just breathing with flair."
"You're still banned from breathing with flair."
"You're a cruel, joyless boy, Arthur Reeves."
Arthur smirked. "And you're a liability with good cheekbones."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
A silence settled between them for a moment, comfortable and tense at once. Then Auren spoke again, voice quieter, a bit more serious.
"You're doing this because of the varnhounds, aren't you? You think something worse is coming."
Arthur nodded, eyes still shut. "I know something worse is coming. And if I'm not prepared—if we're not prepared—we're screwed. So, you help me now, and when I'm stronger, I'll figure out how to let you out without risking everything."
"Hm." Auren paused, then added, "Alright. Deal. You've got yourself an icy little infiltrator."
"But, Auren?"
"What?"
"Be careful while you're out in the driver's seat. Not everyone's as gentle as I am."
Auren chuckled internally. "Oh, please. You're about as gentle as a glacier in freefall."
"Thank you."
There was a shift—like cold air being sucked back into a vacuum—and the voice faded, leaving only a chilling awareness in his chest.
Arthur opened his eyes slowly.
"I'll be back soon," he muttered to no one, standing and stretching. "Try not to get us expelled."
A quiet voice replied somewhere deep inside, almost mischievous:
"No promises, Mr. Right."
Arthur rolled his eyes again, pulling his cloak close. "Gods help me."
Then he left the room—already mentally preparing for the icy chaos Auren might unleash.
But deep down… he knew this was the only way forward.