It was the eighth day.
Caelum was halfway through a quiet reading period in the Greystone library — an old, underused room filled with charmed quills, mildewed textbooks, and half-faded reference tomes. He liked it there. It was one of the few places no one whispered about him.
Then the knock came.
Not on the door to the library — on the walls of the house itself. A three-tone chime echoed through the stone corridors, soft but deliberate. A visitor's call. External access.
That didn't happen often.
Five minutes later, Matron Halwyn called his name.
"Caelum. Someone from the Ministry's here to see you."
He blinked. "Kingsley?"
"No," she said. "Someone else."
That didn't sit right. Kingsley had told him his visits would be weekly. It hadn't been a week.
Caelum followed her down the spiral hallway to the intake lounge, a stiff little room with two uncomfortable chairs and a fireplace enchanted to look like it was burning, though it gave off no heat.
The man waiting inside stood when they entered.
He wasn't dressed like an Auror. No battle robes. No wand holster. He wore tailored charcoal-gray wizarding robes, with an understated pin shaped like a crescent quill over his heart — not a department Caelum recognized.
He was pale, tall, thin, with dark reddish-blonde hair combed straight back and a narrow mouth that didn't seem to know how to smile properly.
But his eyes — green, cold, sharp — lingered too long on Caelum's face.
"Caelum Sanguine," the man said smoothly. "It's good to finally meet you. I'm Adrian Rosier, Special Advisor on Magical Outliers."
Caelum tilted his head. "Rosier? As in the Death Eater family?"
Matron Halwyn's eyes went wide. "Caelum!"
But Rosier just chuckled, unbothered. "Perceptive. And correct. My uncle was Evan Rosier. An unfortunate legacy. I prefer to be judged on my own service to the Ministry."
Caelum said nothing.
"I've read the reports," Rosier continued. "Quite an impressive entry. Survived a vampire attack. Magical outburst. Unique core signature. Unknown lineage. And, of course, the eyes."
He stepped slightly closer. "Mind if I sit?"
Caelum nodded slowly.
Rosier took the seat across from him, crossing one leg over the other.
"I'm not here to interrogate you," he said. "Think of this more as… academic curiosity. You're one of the rarest magical profiles we've ever recorded. Not just a hybrid — but one with untraceable magical ancestry and an anomalous magical resonance. It's as though you were—"
He smiled thinly.
"—written into this world rather than born into it."
Caelum's stomach tightened.
He knows.
Rosier watched his reaction carefully, then continued more casually. "We're hoping to better understand your condition. Perhaps even help. The Ministry doesn't want to treat you like a creature, Caelum. But we also don't want to be caught unprepared."
"Prepared for what?" Caelum asked. "Me losing control?"
Rosier's smile never touched his eyes. "We're just taking precautions. Blood magic is ancient. It remembers things even the mind forgets."
There was a long silence.
Rosier stood. "We'll speak again. For now, you should focus on your adjustment. But if you ever feel… uneasy, or if you recall anything unusual—visions, words, voices—I want you to tell your ward staff immediately. Or better yet…"
He handed Caelum a small enchanted card. The ink shimmered slightly with Ministry encryption runes.
"Contact me directly."
Matron Halwyn's lips thinned, but she said nothing.
Rosier tipped his head politely, then left without another word.
That night…
Caelum lay in bed again, the card still clenched in his hand.
Written into this world rather than born into it.
The words played over and over in his head.
That man wasn't guessing.
He knew something.
And if he knew… someone else might too.
But the real question wasn't who they thought he was.
It's why.
Why am I here?
And who sent me?