Seraphina closed the nursery door with a soft click. She stood there for a moment, her hand still resting on the handle, before turning and walking down the long corridor. The stairs groaned softly beneath her steps.
The sitting room was warm, filled with the comforting crackle of the fire. Jack stood by the window with his back to the room, staring out at the garden, its winter colors fading beneath the evening sky. Jane sat on the settee, both hands wrapped around a cup of tea.
Aldric occupied his usual armchair near the fireplace, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Saoirse was sprawled across the other end of the settee, one leg hanging carelessly over the armrest.
They all looked up as Seraphina entered.
"Well?" Saoirse asked, breaking the silence. "What did she want?"
Seraphina settled into the empty chair and smoothed her skirt over her knees.
"A stuffed toy. She wants a big green snake."
Saoirse's eyebrows shot up.
"A snake?"
"A long one. She said she dreams about it. Apparently, there's sometimes a phoenix nearby, but most of the time, the snake is alone."
The room fell quiet, save for the sudden pop of a log in the fireplace.
Jack turned away from the window. Saoirse slowly sat upright, her foot touching the floor as she looked toward her father.
"Wait. A big snake? A python or a boa? But if it's paired with a phoenix, that sounds like one of our ancestors. Do you think she is dreaming about Aleahkys?"
Jack and Jane exchanged a quick glance. It lasted barely a second, but Aldric noticed.
He lowered his book and placed it on the arm of his chair.
"Is there something the two of you know?"
Jane set her teacup on the side table. It clicked softly against the wood. She lowered her eyes to her hands, her fingers interlacing.
"The night Voldemort died," she began, her voice low. "The night Lily died, Morwenna woke up crying. She cried for such a long time, and it wasn't until much later that she finally fell asleep. When she did, the nightmares started. She kept mumbling the same things over and over."
She paused.
"Green. Light. Alone."
The memory weighed heavily on her. Her shoulders had drawn tight, and her fingers remained clasped together.
"I was frightened that something might happen to her. After she finally fell asleep, I moved her into our bed."
Jane didn't say the exact word. She didn't need to. Everyone in the room understood what she meant.
Aldric rested one hand on the arm of his chair, his fingers tapping a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
"Aleahkys," he murmured. "The basilisk. Do you think she is still alive? Could Morwenna have a direct connection to her?"
Jane shook her head and released a long, weary breath.
"I don't know. She is only four. This has only happened twice, so we can't tell whether it's a coincidence or something more significant."
She pressed her fingers against her temples before continuing.
"If she is still alive, she is probably in the same condition as our other ancient ancestors. In the past, we maintained physical contact with the elder dragon. When she grew old, we moved her to our deepest lands, where she could rest and guard them. Most of the time, she sleeps or rests, but she remains lucid. She can communicate with us when she wakes, and she often does."
Jack began tapping his fingers against the table, following a slow, steady rhythm.
"Father, I know that our ancestor Aleahkys's whereabouts and well-being have always been a concern for the family. If Morwenna has a connection with her, that's certainly a good thing. But we can't push her about it. Besides, our ancestor Fawarx has remained silent about his wife's location. If he wanted us to know, he would tell us directly."
Aldric remained quiet for a long moment.
A log shifted in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
"I know," he finally said. "I would never dream of pushing her. It's just that I, your grandparents, and many Keiths before us have always worried. We have always wondered."
He lowered his gaze to his weathered hands.
"She is our ancestor, yet we don't even know where she is, or whether she is still alive."
No one found the words to answer him.
. . .
March brought longer days, but the chamber beneath the manor remained locked in winter.
The stone steps seemed to grow steeper with every descent. The air grew heavier, carrying the smell of damp earth and old iron.
Morwenna walked between Jack and Jane, her small hands tucked into her sleeves. Her once-pure white hair had begun changing over the past month. The roots were now noticeably darker, with deep black spreading gradually down the strands. The rest remained predominantly white, though the difference had become increasingly difficult to overlook.
The chamber opened before them, a wide circle carved from black rock. Torches lined the walls, their flames burning low and steady. Runes engraved into the floor glowed with a pale, expectant light.
Morwenna lay down on the gray cloth. The stone beneath it felt hard and unforgiving against her back. She stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift whenever the torches flickered. Her eyes remained wide and unblinking.
Jane stood beside the altar, her sleeves rolled past her elbows and her hair pinned tightly back. A silver bowl rested on the side table. The liquid inside was pale and perfectly still.
Aldric stood at the very edge of the circle, while Jack remained near the entrance. Saoirse stood beside the wall, and Seraphina watched from the shadows.
They all maintained the same distance, exactly three meters away, observing in tense silence.
Jane held a small vial in her hand. The liquid inside was a dull gray, lacking the silver sheen of Glacialis or the shimmering light of Astra Gelida. It resembled ash, like the remains of a hearth the morning after its fire had gone out.
"The Ash Phoenix," Jane said, her voice steady despite the tension. "Phoenix Cineris Gelu."
She uncorked the vial and poured its contents into the bowl. The base mixture swirled briefly before settling into a flat, dull gray.
Jane dipped her brush into it.
« Nous appelons le froid qui préserve la terre. La cendre qui dort sous la neige. Le feu qui ne brûle pas. »
(We call the cold that preserves the earth. The ash that sleeps beneath the snow. The fire that doesn't burn.)
The brush touched Morwenna's sternum.
The cold struck with sudden, violent force.
It didn't arrive gradually like Glacialis, nor did it wait like Vacui. This cold was heavy and suffocating, pressing down on her chest like an enormous stone. Her ribs began to ache, and her lungs felt thick and heavy. When she tried to breathe, gray mist escaped her lips.
Jane continued painting, and the symbols spread down Morwenna's stomach, across her ribs, and over her arms. The gray liquid soaked into her skin, and the pressure intensified until her breathing became uneven.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it deep in her marrow.
The cold wasn't settling into her body. It was pushing against it.
It pressed against her chest, fighting the other colds already residing within her. Glacial in her ribs, Void in the spaces between, and Starlight behind her eyes.
They didn't want this new presence.
The gray cold pushed harder. Morwenna opened her mouth, trying to say something, but no sound came out.
Jane's brush stopped abruptly.
"Morwenna?"
The gray was spreading across her skin far too quickly. The liquid wasn't being absorbed into her body. Instead, it remained on the surface, thick and unnatural.
Morwenna's chest heaved. Her lungs began to burn as the cold continued pressing against her, harder and harder, until the pain became unbearable.
She coughed.
Blood sprayed across the gray cloth, a shocking red against the dull fabric and cold stone.
The room went completely still.
Morwenna coughed again. More blood stained her lips. She raised one hand to her mouth, and when she lowered it, her fingers were wet and crimson.
Jane's voice seemed to come from a great distance.
"Morwenna..."
Then the cold snapped.
It didn't fade or retreat. It broke like a rope stretched beyond its limit.
The gray liquid covering Morwenna's skin cracked and flaked away in an instant. The suffocating pressure vanished.
The ceiling seemed to tilt. The cracks in the stone blurred together, and the torchlight became a series of indistinct shapes.
She heard people shouting. Jane, Jack, and Saoirse. Their voices sounded terribly far away, as though they were calling to her from the other side of a great distance.
The last thing she saw was her mother's pale face.
Then everything went dark.
. . .
Firelight flickered against her eyelids, warm and unsteady.
Morwenna slowly opened her eyes. The stone ceiling above her swam in and out of focus before gradually becoming clear.
Her throat burned, raw as though it had been scraped with broken glass.
Jane was already beside her, kneeling close to the bed. Her green eyes were bright and wet, though no tears fell. One hand cupped Morwenna's cheek, warm and steady, keeping her grounded.
"Baby, I'm here," she whispered.
Morwenna swallowed. The taste of iron clung stubbornly to her tongue.
"It... doesn't fit," she managed.
Her voice was thin and rough, each word scraping its way out.
Jane briefly closed her eyes, her thumb brushing gently along Morwenna's cheek.
"No, sweetheart. It doesn't."
Aldric stood just behind her shoulder. His face had lost so much color that he seemed almost ghostly in the firelight.
"The Ash Phoenix didn't take," he said quietly. "Her body rejected it completely."
Morwenna coughed. The sound was small and brittle this time. A bead of blood appeared at the corner of her lips. She slowly raised the back of her hand to wipe it away.
"Doesn't want me," she murmured.
Jane immediately shook her head.
"No. It's not that."
Morwenna turned her face slightly, but Jane followed her movement, gently dabbing away the blood with a soft cloth. Her hands were careful and unhurried.
"It hurts," Morwenna whispered.
"I know, baby. I know."
They worked around her in quiet coordination.
The bloodstained cloth beneath her was replaced. Her skin was cleaned with warm water, and careful hands wiped the remaining traces of red from her face, fingers, and chest. The bowl was removed, and the vial was sealed and set aside without a word.
Jack eventually lifted her from the stone. His arms were solid beneath her, and Morwenna rested her head against his shoulder, allowing the rhythm of his footsteps to carry her upstairs.
The gallery was quiet as they passed through it.
The portraits didn't speak. Edmund looked away. Isolde watched with wide eyes, while the old woman simply observed.
The nursery door opened onto familiar warmth.
Cinder lifted his head from the bed, his amber eyes following them as they crossed the room. Jack carefully laid Morwenna on the mattress.
Jane pulled the heavy quilt over her shoulders and tucked it beneath her chin. Her hands lingered on the wool for a moment.
"Sleep now," she said softly.
Morwenna's body felt hollow and exhausted. She closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the room to draw her back into sleep.