The dull, stone walls of Excalibur Academy felt colder, their once-vibrant echoes of life now muted. The cheerful hum of the slaves, who had found fleeting hope in Raine's freedom, was replaced with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the hollow clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen. Where laughter and song had once brought warmth, now only the mechanical tinkles of ceramic plates being stacked broke the stillness.
Hikari hadn't stopped crying since Raine's departure, her small frame trembling as she clung to Sophia. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs echoing through the quiet halls of the slave quarters. Sophia sat beside her, gently stroking her hair, her own heart weighed down by a sorrow she could scarcely put into words. Though her comforting presence never wavered, Sophia's eyes were red-rimmed, her throat tight. The loss of Raine had left a void, not just in Hikari's life but in her own as well. Yet, she held herself steady, offering the young girl a quiet strength, even as her own grief threatened to overwhelm her.
Even Creedy, the only person to rejoice over Raine's departure, found his celebration short-lived after receiving another well-deserved thrashing from the slaves. Yet, the true sorrow wasn't just for Raine—it was for Godric. His absence over the past few days had left an unspoken void. Many assumed he was holed up in his room, his grief too immense to bear. Students who remained on campus shared in the collective heaviness of the loss, including Helena. She had knocked on his door multiple times before leaving for home herself, each time met with silence. Despite her concern, there was nothing more she could do.
The courtyard buzzed with the final preparations as students boarded the enchanted bus waiting to take them home for the holidays. Its exhaust hummed, releasing shimmering streams of ethereal vapor into the frosty air. Rowena and Helga stood by their trunks; their expressions somber as the driver loaded their luggage. Salazar, dressed warmly in his emerald scarf, stood nearby, his arms crossed against the chill as he waited for them to approach.
"I suppose this is goodbye for now," Salazar said, a tinge of sorrow lingering in his tone.
"I suppose it is," Rowena replied, her sapphire eyes fixed on the ground. She drew in a sharp breath and hesitated before speaking again. "Salazar, listen, I…"
"Hush, Rowena," Salazar interrupted gently, a faint, bittersweet smile crossing his lips. "You've nothing to apologize for—not to me, and certainly not to Godric. Your reaction came from the heart, and neither of us would fault you for it."
Rowena shifted uneasily. "Still… I don't know how I'll face Bran," she admitted. "Knowing what he did, and… what it cost."
Helga stepped closer, resting a comforting hand on Rowena's shoulder. "Don't be too hard on him," she said softly. "I'm sure he did everything he could."
Salazar's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as he spoke. "But it wasn't enough, was it? It doesn't matter how hard he tried or how noble his intentions might have been. He failed." His emerald eyes burned with quiet fury.
"And now Godric is left to carry this pain for the rest of his life. If he ever chooses to turn that pain into rebellion—if he stands against the Clock Tower and everyone complicit in this—I'll be there beside him. Some things should never be justified in the name of law."
"Salazar," Rowena hissed. "I understand how you feel. We all do. But please, keep such thoughts to yourself." She scanned the courtyard nervously. "Like it or not, the Tower is the highest authority of magical law. They won't hesitate to act against even a whisper of insurrection."
Helga nodded; her amber eyes tinged with worry. "It's not just dangerous to speak that way—it's reckless."
Salazar exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Reckless or not, someone must speak the truth. I refuse to stand idly by while the system hides behind its façade of justice to commit atrocities." He paused. "But for now, you're right. This isn't the place."
The three of them stood in silence, the weight of everything unspoken lingering between them as snow continued to fall, muffling the world around them in its quiet, relentless descent.
"I'm more concerned about Godric, to be honest," Helga murmured, her hands nervously fidgeting with the ends of her yellow scarf. "We haven't seen him in days. I don't even know if he's eating or sleeping. And what if he… he…"
Rowena shook her head firmly. "If there's one thing I know, it's that Godric Gryffindor would never do something like that," she said with conviction. "He's in a very dark place right now, but he's stronger than this. He has to be." Her sapphire eyes turned to Salazar, her tone softening. "But promise us, Salazar—promise you'll watch over him."
Salazar's emerald eyes met hers, his expression unwavering. "Always," he replied with a faint, reassuring smile.
The bus horn sounded, breaking the somber air. Rowena and Helga glanced over their shoulders at the vehicle before turning back to Salazar. Their gazes lingered, a silent exchange of trust and understanding passing between them. They gave him a final nod and boarded the bus, disappearing behind the frosted windows as it prepared to depart.
As the bus rumbled to life, Salazar drew a sharp breath. His hand instinctively moved to the locket hidden beneath his shirt, gripping it tightly as if anchoring himself to something distant and profound.
"What is this I'm feeling?" he muttered under his breath, barely audible over the sound of the engine. "This… pain…" He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as a wave of unwelcome emotion washed over him. "How abhorrently nostalgic."
****
The winter chill cut deeper than ever, sinking into Godric's very core as he sat alone on the snow-draped bench of the lake pavilion. The arctic winds tore through him, bypassing layers of clothing to gnaw at his skin, seep into his flesh, and rattle his bones. He clutched the snowflake locket in his trembling, frostbitten fingers, the enchanted photograph within looping endlessly. Each flickering motion of him and Raine—smiling, kissing, embracing—was like a dagger twisting in his heart. His cheeks were stiff with the crust of dried tears, and the dark circles under his eyes bore witness to days without rest or nourishment.
For the first time in his life, Godric felt truly hollow. The fire he'd always believed burned so brightly within him had been extinguished, leaving behind only a cold, desolate void. The once-proud warrior who had stood unyielding in the face of any foe now sat as a shadow of his former self, a mere husk of the man Raine had loved. His breath fogged in the icy air, a fleeting proof of life he could barely tolerate. Without love, without hope, without Raine—everything seemed utterly meaningless.
His back felt strangely light, the absence of his sword a glaring reminder of his fading resolve. It lay discarded in his room, abandoned alongside the conviction it once symbolized. He no longer cared. Whether it was an enemy, a beast, or even the biting cold that claimed him, he welcomed it. Anything to silence the relentless ache in his chest, the unbearable weight of his loss.
Suddenly, a wave of warmth spread across the pavilion as the hearth behind him roared to life, flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. The glow enveloped the space, casting away the cold and melting the frost from the banisters and benches. The snow that had stubbornly clung to every surface dissolved, leaving behind a glistening sheen of moisture that shimmered in the amber light. The once icy pavilion now felt alive, filled with a toasty ambiance that seemed almost at odds with the biting winter beyond its bounds.
The steady sound of footsteps echoed against the wooden floor, drawing closer with purpose. Godric remained still, his crimson eyes fixed on the horizon, unbothered by the warmth or the approaching figure.
"You know, there are warmer places to take in the scenery," came the familiar, seasoned voice of Headmaster Blaise.
His long, meticulously groomed white beard swayed slightly in the biting wind as he approached. The steady sound of footsteps echoed against the wooden floor, drawing closer with purpose, but Godric didn't stir.
Blaise's gaze softened as he looked at the boy sitting motionless on the bench, staring out at the frozen lake. "Perhaps somewhere less... frostbitten?"
The boy remained silent, his lifeless eyes fixed on the ice. His fingers absently toyed with the locket in his hand, as though the world around him had faded into insignificance. Blaise sighed softly, then lowered himself onto the bench beside him, brushing snow from the seat before settling in.
"Godric, my boy," Blaise began, warm yet tinged with gravity. "You remarkable, brave young man." He folded his hands, his piercing blue eyes studying Godric's hollow expression. "What you did for her… I would dare say that not even I, in all my years, could muster such courage."
Godric's fingers tightened around the locket, his jaw clenching as he fought against the torrent of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Still, he said nothing, the icy wind his only companion in the silence. Blaise shifted slightly, leaning forward to clasp his hands between his knees.
"Have you ever heard the tale of Lumea and the Starbound Tree?" Headmaster Blaise asked, his tone measured yet purposeful. "I understand Miss Raine had a particular fondness for the story. You might wonder why I'm invoking a tale often regarded as a simple children's fable." He paused, drawing a deep breath. "It's because, despite what my esteemed colleagues in the Librarium might argue… the story is not mere fiction. It is fact."
A subtle twitch in Godric's hand betrayed the flicker of curiosity stirring within him.
"You see," Blaise continued, "many have debated over the years that the Five Heroes weren't alone in their fight against Sarkon. There was a sixth—Lumea, the Starbound Acolyte. Like the Five, she stood against the Dark Lord, and in the end, she faced him alongside them. But Lumea wasn't just a hero. She was also the one who held the heart of the Prince, none other than Uther Pendragon himself."
Godric's eyes widened slightly, the name carrying an almost mythic weight.
"It is well-documented that Uther never officially took a queen," Blaise said. "Despite his duty to his kingdom and his need to secure his legacy, he sired heirs. Yet, his heart belonged solely to one woman—Lumea. He loved her with a devotion that defied time and expectation."
Blaise leaned back slightly; his gaze distant as though peering into the past. "Many dismiss the tale as rubbish. They wonder why Lumea's name has faded from history if such a bond existed. But some argue that her disappearance wasn't just a result of the passing of time. When she gave Uther her magic, it was more than mere power she surrendered. She performed an ancient, forbidden spell. A spell so profound and terrible that it erased her very existence from this world."
"None would know her. None would remember her. All traces of her would vanish… save for those who shared the deepest, most unbreakable bonds with her. Uther alone carried her memory, the love they shared etched indelibly into his heart."
Godric sat in silence, the implications of the story reverberating within him.
"Of course, we have no tangible proof to validate this tale," Blaise admitted, his tone a delicate mix of skepticism and wonder. "It remains, at best, an enduring piece of speculation… and, dare I say, a glimmer of hope."
He paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment before continuing. "But do you know what is inscribed on Uther Pendragon's gravestone?" His words grew softer, more reverent. "'As I lay down to rest, I now go to the place in the endless dreaming. A place where love waits for all eternity.'"
"Interpret that as you will, Godric, but those who believe in the tale say that Uther knew where he was going, and more importantly… who was waiting for him."
Godric's shoulders slumped heavily. His breath escaped in a visible cloud, dissolving into the cold air
"Now what does this have to do with you? With any of this?" Blaise asked. "I believe that Lumea and Uther's story mirrors your own with Miss Raine. Two souls from vastly different worlds, destined to find one another, to love deeply—even as the world conspires to tear them apart. They knew, in their hearts, that even if they triumphed, the forces around them would never allow them to truly be together."
Blaise's gaze softened. "And yet, at the very end, Lumea made a choice—a decision that would cost her everything. Not for glory, not for the world, though it benefited greatly from her actions… but for love. She loved Uther so profoundly that she willingly gave up all that she was, knowing the price, knowing the pain, and choosing it anyway. In that moment, her sacrifice wasn't for the world. It was for him."
He leaned forward slightly. "I share this with you not to deepen your pain but to help you see: the choices you've made, as excruciating as they are, come from the same place—a love so profound it defies reason. And though the path is fraught with sorrow, it doesn't mean the love itself is lost. In fact, it's in that love that something eternal remains."
"For you see. Bravery. True bravery," Blaise continued, "is not found in swinging a sword or standing tall against an enemy. It's in the quiet moments, moments like these." His gaze drifted out over the frozen lake. "It's in the selfless choices that we make. Ones that leave scars, the kind you carry alone."
"It doesn't feel brave," Godric muttered, his voice hoarse. "It feels like I've lost everything. Like I'm nothing."
Blaise placed a gentle hand on Godric's shoulder. "Loss has a way of making even the strongest feel like that," he said. "But remember this, Godric: in time, even the deepest wounds can heal. The love you've given her, the sacrifices you've made—they're not in vain. They're seeds, planted in the soil of tomorrow. One day, you may find the strength to bloom again."
"I gave it everything I had. I fought with every ounce of strength. With everything I am!" Godric trembled as he drew a shaky breath. "I did everything right… everything… and it still wasn't enough." His words, trailed off into silence.
"How can the world expect us to stay good, to stay noble and true, when all it does is crush us? When every step we take, every effort we make, is met with nothing but pain and loss?" His voice grew quieter, more strained. "What's the point of fighting for anything, when the world only fights back harder?"
"My dear boy," the headmaster said softly, "sometimes you can do everything right—fight with all the courage and strength in your heart—and still lose."
Blaise continued, "That's not failure, nor is it weakness. It's simply life. A cruel, unpredictable force that doesn't always reward effort or intention. But what defines us is how we carry on, even when it feels like the weight of the world is pressing against every fibre of our being."
Godric's lips parted as if to respond, but he found no words, the hollowness in his chest swallowing every thought.
"Listen," Blaise said, his tone gentle yet firm, "the new term doesn't begin for a few more weeks. My advice to you—go home. Spend some time away from Excalibur. I believe the company of your uncle will do you some good." He paused thoughtfully. "And consider taking Mister Slytherin with you. The boy doesn't exactly have anyone waiting for him back home, after all."
Blaise stood, smoothing his robes as he prepared to leave. "You have a good heart, Godric. Don't ever let this world take that from you, no matter how hard it tries to break you." A glimmer of hope in his words. "I have faith that the fire within you will burn again, stronger than ever."
With a final, reassuring smile, Blaise turned and began walking back across the wooden bridge, his boots echoing softly against the planks. As his figure faded into the snowy distance, his words lingered in the frosty air, a beacon of warmth in Godric's cold, fractured world.
****
The sound of approaching bootsteps echoed softly against the wooden planks, and Godric sighed in exasperation. "Look, with all due respect, Professor, please just leave me alone. I—" He turned sharply, cutting himself off mid-sentence when he realized it wasn't Blaise or any of the other Professors.
Standing there was Salazar, his emerald eyes steady yet filled with a quiet understanding.
"Oh… Salazar, I—" Godric turned away, unable to meet his friend's gaze.
Without a word, Salazar moved to his side and lowered himself onto the bench. He leaned forward, his gloved hands clasped together as his elbows rested on his knees. The silence stretched between them, heavy yet familiar.
"I know what you're going to say," Godric muttered bitterly. "But I don't want to hear it."
"I know," Salazar replied simply. "That's why I'm not going to say anything." He turned his head slightly, studying Godric's profile. The once proud and fiery young man looked utterly defeated, and it stirred an ache deep in Salazar's chest.
After a moment, Salazar exhaled softly and looked out at the frozen lake. "Let's just… sit here for a while," he said. "For as long as you need. I will keep the fire burning."
The two friends sat in silence, the chill of winter pressing around them, but in that quiet stillness, a faint warmth lingered—a reminder that neither of them had to face the darkness alone. The silence broke with a soft hitch in Godric's breath, and then the sobs came, raw and unrelenting. His chest heaved, and tears streamed down his face, his hand covering his eyes as he gritted his teeth, his body trembling under the weight of his grief. In his other hand, he clutched the locket, its metal cold against his skin, a cruel reminder of what had been lost.
Salazar closed his eyes, a deep breath escaping him as a distant memory surfaced—one he had buried long ago but could never truly forget. A grief so similar, so familiar, that it ached in a way words could never describe. Yet, he forced himself to stay present, to be there for his friend, even as the old wound throbbed anew.
Time moved slowly, the hours blending into one another as the fire in the pavilion's hearth burned like a steadfast beacon in the darkness. Its glow stood out against the frosty winter landscape, visible even from the distant windows of the castle. Those who gazed upon it felt its solemnity, as though it were a torch of remembrance—a silent tribute to love shared and a future now lost.
When the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, it bathed the frozen lake in a soft golden glow. The ice shimmered like glass, and the snow on the pavilion's banisters sparkled as though adorned with diamonds. The warmth of the rising sun began to creep into the cold, breathing life into the frozen world.
Godric drew a deep, steadying breath, his tears finally subsiding. He lifted his head, his crimson eyes red and swollen but resolute. "Thank you, Salazar," he said quietly. "Thanks for being here."
Salazar turned to him, his emerald eyes soft with understanding, and a small, warm smile graced his lips.
"Always."
****
Winter had settled heavily over Dark's Hollow, painting the town in endless white as frost etched intricate patterns on every windowpane, rendering the glass nearly opaque. The skeletal branches of bare trees stretched toward the leaden sky, and fields lay dormant beneath the snow's thick shroud. Yet, the bitter cold could not quell the warmth of the townsfolk. Laughter spilled from taverns where pints were shared, and bards spun tales of old, their melodies echoing with the promise of spring's eventual return.
Captain Gareth Gryffindor, stalwart protector of the town, carried on as always. Winter might have been harsh, but it was no deterrent to those with ill intent. Gareth's reputation as a formidable swordsman and his unyielding discipline among the guards kept even the boldest rogues in check. This year, Christes Maesse had come and gone without a single incident—peaceful, though marked with a bitter note of absence. It was the first one Gareth had spent without Godric.
Bundled in his thick coat and scarf, Gareth finished tending to the henhouse, brushing stray bits of straw from his sleeves. He might have been a man of steel and command, but Gareth cherished the simplicity of farmwork. It kept him grounded, connected to the land. His calloused hands bore testimony to his efforts, whether tilling fields or wielding a blade.
As he rounded the corner of his modest cottage, he stopped abruptly. Standing on the snow-dusted path was Godric, a trunk at his side. Beside him stood another young man Gareth didn't recognize—black-haired, with sharp emerald eyes.
"Godric?" Gareth's voice carried a mix of surprise and joy. "What are you doing here, lad? Why didn't you send word? I would've—"
Before he could finish, Godric's face crumpled, grief overtaking him like a storm. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he dropped his trunk and ran to his uncle, throwing his arms around Gareth's sturdy waist. His cries turned into anguished wails, the kind that came from a pain so deep it tore at the soul.
Startled, Gareth froze for only a moment before his arms came around his nephew, holding him tightly. His oaken eyes flicked to the other boy, whose expression mirrored quiet sorrow. The boy looked away, his own emerald eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion.
"Lad…" Gareth's words softened, full of concern. "What's happened? What's wrong?"
Godric's body shook with sobs, his fists clutching his uncle's coat as though letting go would mean falling apart entirely. Gareth's brows furrowed, his grip tightening protectively. "I've got you. Whatever it is, I've got you."
The winter wind howled softly around them, but within Gareth's embrace, Godric's storm found a place to rest.