The Blackthorn estate, nestled among frost-covered hills and enchanted thickets, stood cloaked in layers of softly falling snow. Its tall spires and glowing windows welcomed Elias home like a guardian standing watch through the winter storm.
As soon as he stepped through the grand doors, a wave of warmth and the familiar scent of cedar and cinnamon wrapped around him. House-elves hurried forward with eager bows, quickly taking his luggage. The walls, lit with floating lanterns, radiated with the soft golden glow of enchanted firelight.
In the dining hall, a grand table had been set with the kind of feast only a noble pureblood household could afford. Roasted meats, glazed vegetables, steaming platters of herbed potatoes, and warm, fresh-baked bread filled the air with rich aroma.
Lady Blackthorn, however, stood as soon as Elias entered, her silver hair pinned back in an elegant knot, her robes a deep midnight blue that shimmered faintly. "You've gotten taller," she said with a smile, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "And paler, too. Are you sleeping enough?"
"More than enough," Elias said, returning a small smile. "I've just been... focused."
"Of course you have," she replied, before guiding him to the seat beside her. "Come. Eat properly. You look like you've been living off pumpkin juice and desperation."
He chuckled quietly and sat down. The warmth, the food, the quiet safety of home—it was a contrast he hadn't realized he missed until now.
Dinner passed in a comfortable rhythm, broken only by a few updates about Hogwarts, the attacks, and upcoming plans for the ritual. Lucian didn't ask many questions during the meal—he preferred to talk in detail afterward. But his mother… she was a different story.
Halfway through dessert—rich chocolate pudding with enchanted cinnamon cream—she turned slightly, her eyes narrowing in a way Elias knew too well.
"So, Elias," she said casually, lifting a spoon to her lips, "is there anyone you fancy at school?"
Elias paused, nearly choking on his pudding. "What?"
"You heard me," she said, clearly amused. "You're growing up. I imagine there must be someone."
"There's no one," he said firmly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Not like that."
Lady Blackthorn's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Hmm. What about that Greengrass girl? Daphne, isn't it? You speak of her often."
Elias raised an eyebrow, trying not to react. "She's my friend. My best friend, really. But that's all."
"Is it?" she asked lightly, but before he could answer, she waved her hand. "Well, it's good to have close companions. The world is cruel without them."
He nodded once, silently agreeing. But later that night, as he stood before his window and looked out over the snow-covered grounds, her question echoed in his mind.
What about Daphne?
He repeated his earlier answer to himself—she's just a friend—but for the first time, it felt… slightly hollow. There was something about her—her calmness, her quiet strength—that had always pulled at him. But he pushed the thought aside. Now wasn't the time. Feelings were dangerous distractions when so much was at stake.
Still, the question lingered longer than he liked.
With a sigh, Elias turned away from the window. He extinguished the lights with a flick of his wand, pulled his thick covers over himself, and let the soft, steady hum of the manor lull him to sleep.
Tomorrow, the ritual would begin.
Next Day
Elias stood in the lower wing of the estate, cloaked in a robe woven with silver runes, a faint shimmer of protective enchantments dancing across the fabric. His heart thumped with quiet anticipation as he followed his father down a torch-lit corridor. The path led them to a tall, stone arch sealed by a door of solid obsidian.
Lucian Blackthorn paused and turned to his son, eyes gleaming with restrained pride. "You remember what I told you after the first ritual?"
Elias nodded. "The first is an awakening. The second is a trial."
Lucian placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Exactly. The magic is harsher this time. Your core has expanded once—now it resists further growth. The strain will be greater, the pain more biting. But the reward... if you succeed, Elias, you'll find yourself stronger than most adult wizards ever dream of becoming."
"I'm ready," Elias said, his voice steady.
Lucian studied him for a second longer before turning to the obsidian door. He waved his wand in a series of sharp, precise movements. The runes carved into the stone glowed a molten gold. With a low groan, the door parted.
Beyond lay the Blackthorn family's sacred chamber for magical rites.
The room was circular and vast, hidden beneath layers of enchantments. Its domed ceiling shimmered with an illusion of a starry sky, and the walls were inscribed with ancient texts from dead magical civilizations. In the center of the chamber stood a raised dais made of polished onyx, and surrounding it were six obelisks etched with crimson runes.
Expensive ritual items had already been prepared: powdered dragon bone, vials of phoenix tears, obsidian dust, and liquefied moonstone. Each substance had been placed with ritualistic precision around the dais, forming a perfect star-bound circle. These were not materials found in school supply lists—they were legacy components, passed through generations, too dangerous for most and too costly for all but the most elite families.
Lucian moved with silent purpose, placing the final relic—a silver medallion etched with the crest of the Blackthorn line—into a socket at the head of the dais. He then opened an ancient tome bound in faded serpent hide.
"This spell," Lucian said quietly, "has only been used by five members of our family since the era of Morgana. Readings must be precise. Focus must be absolute. I will chant the anchor spell. You must concentrate on your core. Let the magic flow through your channels—do not resist, no matter the pain."
Elias stepped into the circle, moving to the center of the dais. As he sat cross-legged, a strange chill passed through him, and yet his magic began to stir, rising in anticipation like a beast recognizing its cage was about to expand.
Lucian began the chant, his voice reverberating through the chamber, ancient and slow. The obelisks lit one by one, casting reddish-blue light that bathed Elias in shifting hues of power. The powders and vials began to burn, the air growing thick with incense and raw magic.
Elias closed his eyes, reaching deep within.
There it was—his magical core. A bright, glowing orb seated in his chest, pulsing gently with life. He focused, just as he had the first time. But this time, the moment he opened the channels, he felt the resistance.
It was like trying to force open rusted iron gates under a storm. The pain was immediate, white-hot, searing through his arms and spine. He grit his teeth, sweat forming at his brow. The ritual was trying to break him, to see if he was worthy of the gift he sought.
But he endured.
His breathing slowed. He allowed the pressure to pass through him, guided by the chanting voice of his father and the rising surge of power from the relics. And then—something cracked.
Not physically, but within.
His magical core burst open with a wave of heat, expanding outward like wildfire. Power rushed into every nerve and fiber of his being. His veins felt aflame, his muscles taut with restrained strength, and behind his eyelids he saw not darkness, but light—blinding, ancient, endless.
And then silence.
When Elias opened his eyes, the obelisks had dimmed. The ritual was over.
Lucian stood beside him, sweat along his own brow from the intensity of the spell. But his face was composed, gaze firm.
"Well done," he said quietly. "You didn't scream. Your grandfather did."
Elias smirked weakly, still breathing hard. "Glad to uphold the family honor."
Lucian extended a hand, helping him to his feet. "Your core is stronger now. But it will take time to control the new flow of magic. Let it settle. Let it become part of you."
Elias nodded. He could already feel it—the raw magic surging through his body was no longer the same. It was vaster, more volatile… but it was his.