The Hogwarts library was unusually silent that day.
With most of the students gone home for the holidays, the once-bustling aisles were now quiet corridors of ancient knowledge. Dust floated in slanting beams of winter light, and the only sound was the slow rustle of pages being turned by Cael as he pored over thick genealogy tomes.
He sat at the back, surrounded by a half-dozen books and scrolls, scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment. His eyes were sharp with determination. The name—Valoryn—echoed in his mind, demanding clarity.
Who are you? he thought. Why now?
Then suddenly—
Ding!
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
The System's voice—smooth, feminine, ever-calm—spoke inside his head.
"Host, a new quest is available."
Cael blinked. "A quest? Now? After all this time?" he muttered under his breath. "You've been silent for months."
"It relates directly to your current objective," the System replied with calculated serenity.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Fine. Tell me."
Ding!
New Quest: Find Your Origin
Objective: Discover the origins of the Valoryn bloodline.
Reward: Title—Dueling Master (Passive Boost to Dueling Prowess), Access to Five New Ancient Spells.
Cael raised an eyebrow. "I'm already looking for that. Bit late to turn my research into a quest, don't you think?"
The System said nothing more.
He stared at the floating quest window in his mind, brow furrowing. Strange… he thought. Either the System just wants to reward me… or something's changed.
Regardless, the quest was now marked. And the rewards were tempting. He shook off the thought, closed the book in front of him, and reached for the next one—this one bound in pale dragonhide. As the System faded back into silence, Cael pressed on.
⸻
Far from Hogwarts, in the heart of the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Mysteries lay quiet—at least on the surface.
In a dim, silent office buried beneath the Ministry's labyrinthine levels, a single lamp cast pale light across a desk piled with parchment.
The man sitting behind it was tall, lean, and tense. His sharp cheekbones were caught in the weak glow, eyes grey and brooding beneath blond hair. He held a report in gloved hands, reading it word by word, unmoving.
If Cael had seen him, he would have recognized him instantly.
His hand froze mid-sentence as a voice—soft, lilting, but venomous—cut through the silence.
"Oh, how cute. My little brother, looking so serious as he reads his little report."
The man's eyes widened. His entire body jerked. He looked toward the shadows beyond the lamplight—toward the window, the door, both tightly shut.
"Aurelia…" he breathed.
From the darkness , a slim figure stepped forward with the grace of a predator. Her silhouette sharpened beneath the light—flawless skin, golden-blonde hair cascading in curls, and eyes the same stormy grey as his. Her lips curled in amusement.
"Oh dear Theron," she said. "More than Ten years since we last met, and you've already forgotten how to call me sister."
Her beauty was cold, imperial—a face carved from ice.
The man—Theron—stiffened in his chair, voice strained. "What are you doing here?"
"You haven't changed," she continued, circling his desk like a lioness. "Still trembling at the sight of me."
"I… I don't have time for your games," he snapped, trying to summon authority—but his voice cracked at the end.
Aurelia's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, but this isn't a game. I wouldn't waste my time visiting your miserable little office if it wasn't important. I'm here because Grandmother is… rather furious with you.."
Theron's knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk. "I haven't failed," he said quickly. "I just—need more time."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Aurelia's smile vanished.
Her voice, when it came, was glacial:
"Don't waste my time with excuses, Theron." She stepped closer. "You were chosen to oversee the Council investigation here in Britain. You were given the door key. You were entrusted with the only surviving link to the British ancient council member—and what did you do?" Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You lost it."
Theron flinched.
"You failed to decipher the runes," she continued, now pacing. "You wasted more than a decade . Then some nobody comes along, activates it, and vanishes into the ether. And now, we receive word from France—Château de Gisors has also been breached. Another council site. And again, no trace of who did it."
She slammed her hand onto the desk.
"You are incompetent, little brother."
"I—France isn't under my jurisdiction," Theron stammered. "That's someone else's territory. As for the door key, the last activation signal came from the Irish Athyr region—I've already deployed agents, Unspeakables, search teams—"
"Don't." Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Don't hide behind excuses. Do you even know what you've lost?"
Aurelia's glare could freeze fire.
"Do you understand the cost of failure?" she whispered. "Our family has spent centuries tracing the six council members. And now? Two leads—gone. Because of you."
Theron swallowed. "I—I was making progress. I deciphered twenty-two runes from the key—"
"Don't lie to me."
The words struck like a whip.
"You didn't decipher them. Ellara Black did." Aurelia's voice was quiet, almost gentle. "The bastard daughter from the House of Black. She broke through the runes our ancestors couldn't crack in centuries. And what did you do?" Her voice rose, voice trembling with disgust. "You let her slip through your fingers."
"I don't know where she is," Theron whispered. "She vanished before the Dark Lord fell. I've had no contact since."
Aurelia was silent. Then she smiled again—but it was a blade in disguise.
"Grandmother is not pleased," she said softly. "You remember what happened to mother, don't you?"
Theron turned pale.
"You were there," Aurelia whispered. "You saw what Grandmother did to her own daughter. Do not make the same mistake."
Theron couldn't reply. He trembled like prey caught in a snare.
Aurelia turned, her figure melting back into shadow. But her voice lingered.
"I'll be watching you. And I'll be hunting her. Ellara Black. Find her, or this will be your last chance. Even Father won't be able to shield you from what's coming."
The darkness swallowed her whole.
Theron stood there trembling for several seconds, before his control finally cracked. With a roar, he flipped his desk, sending reports and papers flying.
"Fucking bitch!" he screamed, kicking the overturned chair. "Fucking bitch!"
He stormed across the room, grabbing a small frame from the bookshelf—a photograph, dusty and faded.
Ellara Black.
Cael's mother.
He stared at her beautiful, composed face… and his expression contorted with fury.
"This is your fault," he whispered. "It's all because of you. I'll find you. I swear it."
His scream echoed off the walls, swallowed by the dark.