October, 1978 – Rome
The soft morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Vaerendral flat, casting golden patterns across the stone floor. The scent of freshly baked bread and warm tea lingered in the air. On the table between them, cheese, fruit, and a half-folded Daily Prophet sat, untouched.
Edric set the paper down with a quiet sigh and rubbed his temples. "We can't wait any longer," he said, voice low.
Seraphine looked up from her teacup.
"This war's not slowing down," he continued. "If anything, it's getting worse. Towns gone. Families wiped out." He glanced toward the window, his jaw tightening. "It won't stop. Not for us. Not for anyone."
She stayed silent, letting him speak.
"We need to go back," he said. "Use one of the old ritual circles. The ones my family used near Wiltshire."
Seraphine gave a slow nod, eyes thoughtful. After a moment, she asked, "Have you heard anything from my father?"
Edric's gaze dropped to the floor. "No. Nothing."
She leaned back, lips tightening slightly. "After he brought us the Wellspring water, he just… left. Said he had something to investigate. Promised he'd be back before Cassian turns three."
She paused, the warmth leaving her voice for a second. "I think he knew something. Something he didn't want us to carry."
The room went quiet. No more words. Just the ticking of the small enchanted clock on the far shelf.
And Cassian's laughter.
He floated upside down now, spinning gently in midair, arms stretched as he tried to catch the cat—who had leapt gracefully from one glowing blue cloud to another, perching herself smugly on the bookshelf.
Seraphine smiled faintly at the scene, then looked back at Edric. Her voice was softer this time. "I still can't believe your father's gone."
Edric didn't respond right away. He looked down at his hands. Then, reaching across the table, he took hers.
"He held on longer than anyone thought he would," he said quietly. "After Alaric… after my mother… after everything we lost—he just didn't have anything left to fight for."
Seraphine squeezed his hand gently.
Edric stood and walked over to Cassian, who was now slowly spinning like a little starfish in the air. "Alright, little troublemaker," he muttered with a smile, turning him upright and catching him mid-spin.
Cassian giggled, trying to wriggle free, clearly intent on chasing after the cat again.
"You're going to be a handful," Edric said, planting a kiss on the top of his head.
He carried him over and handed him to Seraphine.
"I have to go," Edric said, brushing a bit of lint from his coat. "I'll head to the vault and get the portkey set up. We need to leave soon."
Seraphine adjusted Cassian in her arms. "Do you want me to pack up everything?"
"Yes," Edric nodded. "Take only what we need. I should be back before noon."
He leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, then disapparated with a soft crack.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the back room. Then the bead curtain rustled, and a tall, wiry man stepped into the shop, wiping his hands on a ragged cloth. His coat was patched, but clean. His hair had gone mostly grey, and his beard was salt-and-pepper, trimmed but untidy.
"Edric Vaerendral," the man grinned, thick Italian accent stretching across every syllable. "Still alive, huh?"
Edric tossed a coin pouch toward him without a word.
Giovanni caught it, but the weight alone made his brow lift. He opened it, peeked inside—and froze. His breath caught in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched, caught between awe and disbelief.
"Madonna… You really came prepared," he muttered.
"I need two portkeys," Edric said calmly. "One there and back. The other—emergency. "
"England?" Giovanni asked, already knowing.
Edric nodded.
Giovanni gave a low whistle and motioned toward the back. "Risky these days. You sure—?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Giovanni shook his head and grumbled, "You lot and your death wishes."
He limped behind the counter, dropped the pouch into a locked drawer, and rummaged through the clutter. "What else do you need?"
"Potions," Edric said. "Refined. No diluted crap. Pepper-Up, Blood-Replenishing, Rejuvenation, anything that'll keep us standing if things go south."
Giovanni raised a brow but didn't argue. He scribbled onto a parchment and waved at the house-elf. "Rongo! You know what to do."
The elf grabbed the list, nodded without a word, and popped away.
Meanwhile, Edric had wandered deeper into the store, barely listening.
Then he stopped.
On a hook along the far wall, half-hidden between a cursed mirror and a floating crystal orb, hung a silver pocket watch. Simple, elegant. The outer casing was engraved with a familiar sigil—a dragon, coiled in a crest of laurels and runes.
Edric didn't think. He raised his hand, and the watch flew to him.
He opened the cover.
Inside, engraved in delicate, flowing script were the words:
Veritas in Tenebris, Ex Arcanis, Lux.
The temperature in the shop dropped.
Giovanni looked up, curious. "What's that?"
Edric's voice was cold. "Where did you get this?"
Giovanni blinked. "What do you mean—?"
Edric slowly raised his wand, pointing it directly at him.
"I said," he repeated, calm but deadly, "where did you get this?"
Giovanni paled and ducked behind the counter. "Hey, hey! Easy! I didn't steal it, alright? I bought it! Some smuggler brought it in a few years ago—claimed it was found near Paris, buried under rubble! I didn't know it was yours!"
Edric stared down at the watch, his jaw tense.
"This belonged to Alaric Vaerendral. My brother."
Giovanni froze.
Edric's voice lowered. "It's a family heirloom, passed down from lord to heir. The dragon crest marks the line of succession. It disappeared the night Alaric died."
His eyes stayed fixed on the watch. "No one ever found the body."
"That night… Grindelwald unleashed Fiendfyre inside the Lestrange Mausoleum. The whole place went up in magical flame. But it wasn't normal fire. It was… strange. It moved along the ground, like it was alive—like it was hunting."
He shook his head slightly, jaw flexing. "They said it was controlled. Cold. Intentional. The only thing we ever recovered was Alaric's wand. Burnt. Snapped in half."
His voice went lower. "Not a trace of him. Not even ash."
Then his eyes snapped up and locked onto Giovanni. "Do you have anything else in this shop that bears the Vaerendral crest?"
Giovanni's lips parted, but nothing came out at first. He fumbled for words—then stammered, "No, no! That's the only thing! The smuggler didn't bring anything else—swear it on my name!"
Edric's wand was already raised before he finished.
With a sharp twist of his fingers, Giovanni was yanked off the ground and suspended midair, half a meter above the floor. Shelves rattled again from the surge of magic, a faint static charge building in the air.
"You'll tell me everything," Edric said, voice like ice. "Every detail you remember. Do we understand each other?"
Giovanni nodded rapidly, feet kicking helplessly in the air.
Edric released the spell, and Giovanni crumpled to the floor, coughing.
"It was a smuggler," he gasped. "French. Pale as death. White beard, white hair—kept his hood up, hunched over. Didn't say much, but he reeked of dark magic. Cold, like… cursed cold."
He wiped at his face with a shaking hand.
"He said he found the watch buried near a ruined graveyard outside Paris. Didn't give details, didn't stay long. But I swear, he didn't sell me anything else. Nothing."
Edric watched him for a long moment.
"Where is he now?"
Giovanni hesitated. "He's in Rome… maybe. I haven't seen him for a while, but men like him don't just disappear. If you want to find him, check the Auror Office. They've been tracking his type for years."
"They have a name?" Edric asked.
Giovanni swallowed. "He called himself Mordaine. But I don't know if that's real."
Edric pocketed the watch and turned for the door, his cloak sweeping behind him.
"Might be time to find out."
Edric apparated with a sharp crack onto a narrow, crumbling street in the outskirts of Rome. The air was thick with dust and mildew, and the buildings around him sagged like they hadn't been touched in decades. One in particular drew his eyes—an old, boarded-up three-storey house with vines crawling up the sides and a shattered lamp above the door.
He stood still for a moment, watching.
Then he raised his wand.
"Revela."
Golden light shimmered briefly, washing over the house.
"Homenum Revelio"
Tiny sparks lit up, floating toward the house like fireflies before vanishing into the walls.
"Obscura."
His form shimmered for a moment, cloaking him in subtle distortion.
"Muffilato."
Everything within a ten-meter radius dulled, sounds swallowed by invisible magic.
With a slow, deliberate step, he approached the outer ward. It was faint, old, and lazily set—probably just enough to warn its occupants. Edric raised his wand again and sliced across the air.
"Fractura Limitis."
The ward tore open like parchment, glowing softly at the edges. A shimmer appeared like sliced fabric, and he stepped through. Behind him, the ward mended, sealing with a soft snap.
He moved across the overgrown courtyard without a sound, coat brushing faintly against dry vines. The front door was shut, but the side window stood open just a crack. With a flick of his wrist, Edric's form shimmered, twisting into a stream of glowing white smoke. He flowed like mist through the window, reforming silently in the living room.
Two men.
One lay passed out on a tattered couch, half-snoring, one leg dangling off the edge. The other was seated at a table, digging through a wooden box filled with vials and broken charms.
The seated one looked up. His eyes widened.
Too slow.
"Expulso."
A blast of silver energy exploded from Edric's wand. The man was thrown backward, crashing into the far wall with a grunt before crumpling to the ground, stunned.
Without hesitation, Edric turned to the sleeping one and stunned him, too.
"Stupefy."
Then he moved quickly. Their wands flew into his hand with a quick "Accio." He snapped the tips, rendering them useless, and tossed the remains onto the floor. He conjured heavy magical rope—thick and silver-bound—then tied both men together with practiced ease.
He stood over them, wand glowing softly.
"Enervate."
The spell cracked through the silence.
Both men groaned, heads lolling, before their eyes opened—and met Edric's cold, calculating stare.
Edric walked toward the couch slowly, his footsteps soft on the dusty wooden floor. The two smugglers squirmed in their bindings, glaring up at him with the kind of hate that tried to cover fear—but failed.
He sat down in the armchair across from them, calm, deliberate.
From his coat, he pulled out a silver pocket watch, the Vaerendral family crest etched onto its back. He held it between two fingers, letting it dangle in front of them, swinging slightly.
"I'm going to ask this once," Edric said quietly, his voice even. "And if I don't like what I hear… you'll suffer pain that makes the Cruciatus Curse feel like a lullaby. Nod if you understand."
They both nodded quickly, eyes darting between the watch and his wand hand.
"Where did you find this?" Edric asked. "And was there anything else?"
One of the smugglers, the lankier of the two, answered first. "It—it was the only thing we found. In a mausoleum, near Paris. The place was burnt, but this… it didn't have a scratch on it."
Edric narrowed his eyes.
"Legilimens."
The smuggler's eyes went wide as Edric's mind slammed into his. His mental shields cracked like glass, and the memories came fast:
A tomb, scorched by Fiendfyre. A broken wand. Ash everywhere. The pocket watch lying next to a burned map, half-scorched but mostly intact. One word still clearly visible on it, carved into the corner in elegant script:
Alexandria.
Edric pulled back. The smuggler gasped, clutching his head. His breathing was ragged—he looked horrified, like he couldn't believe his thoughts had been invaded so easily.
Edric didn't say anything at first. Just looked at him coldly.
"I warned you."
He raised his wand.
"Flagellum Sanguis."
The curse struck like a whip of green fire. The smuggler screamed, blood pouring from his mouth, skin blistering with black veins as if his magic was being boiled from within. The scream cut off as Edric gave another flick of his wand. Silence.
He turned to the second man. "Anything else?"
The man sneered, defiant. "You think this ends with us? You kill us, and someone will come looking. And when they find out who you are—"
The man's wand hand flicked.
Edric's eyes narrowed—he hadn't seen it, hadn't sensed it. A second wand, hidden, drawn from the man's boot.
Before he could raise it, Edric struck.
"Defindo."
The Cutting Curse hit the man square in the throat. Blood sprayed, and the smuggler collapsed in a gurgling heap. Edric stood. His expression didn't change.
"Incendio Totalis."
Blue fire burst over the corpse, consuming it in seconds. Nothing remained but ash and a faint shimmer of cursed magic breaking apart.
Behind him, the first smuggler was groaning, trying to crawl away.
"I'll talk! I'll talk—please!"
Edric turned back slowly.
"We're part of a smuggling ring—based out of Marseille. We rob old tombs, family vaults, mausoleums—especially purebloods. Families that have dwindled over the years. Our boss, he's a Cursebreaker. He cracks the wards… we steal what's inside. We—we found the pocket watch, and… other things."
Edric didn't speak.
"Phoenix feather. Not wand-grade—raw. Alchemized. And—and Moonwater. Real Moonwater. That stuff's worth more than a vault at Gringotts. We ran. Took it. We've been hiding ever since…"
Edric raised his wand again.
"No."
"Wait—WAIT—!"
The spell came before he finished.
"Ignes Caeli."
Blue fire engulfed him, screaming rising for a moment before it was cut off. Nothing but smoke.
Edric sighed, shoulders finally dropping just a little.
He walked over to the table and began going through their things. He found a charmed bag—enchanted with spatial magic. Inside were dozens of artifacts, loose galleons, potions… even a still-functioning Time-Turner, tucked between ancient scrolls.
But then, at the bottom of the bag, wrapped in protective silk—he found what he was looking for.
A small vial of glowing Moonwater, clear with a soft white shimmer that pulsed in the dark. And beside it, a silver feather, too fine and too radiant to belong to anything earthly—a phoenix feather, alchemically preserved.
Edric stared at them for a moment.
"These will do nicely," he muttered. "We'll have to adjust the ritual… but this could make Cassian stronger."
He packed the items carefully into a separate pouch, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out the front door without another glance.
He raised his wand toward the crumbling house behind him.
"Incendio Caeli."
Blue fire erupted across the roof, swallowing the building whole. It burned quietly, unnaturally, until there was nothing left.
Edric turned on the spot and vanished.
—————————————
The soft glow of the Roman sun drifted through the open windows, warming the polished stone floor of the sitting room. Outside, distant bells echoed through the streets, but inside, it was oddly quiet — aside from the sound of light giggles and the occasional thump of a floating child.
Cassian floated lazily above the dining table, spinning in slow circles, his black hair sticking out in all directions.
"Master Cassian, please," Tipsy whined from below, arms holding a silver tray with a steaming bowl of carrot-ginger soup and a slice of buttered bread. "You must eats your lunch. Miss Sera said you needs to eat proper or she'll turn Tipsy into a flowerpot!"
"Nooo," Cassian called from above, floating on his back like he was swimming through the air. "Soup is for old people!"
"But you liked it yesterday!" Tipsy tried again, hopping up and down.
"I changed my mind!" he huffed, twirling midair to chase after the little black cat padding along glowing blue clouds. "Where's Papa?"
As if on cue, a soft crack echoed from the hallway.
Tipsy turned sharply. Cassian flipped upright in the air.
Edric stepped into the room, his long coat still dusted with the faintest hint of ash. He looked a little worn around the eyes, but there was something steady in the way he moved — always controlled, always composed. He set a satchel on the table with care.
"Where's Sera?" he asked calmly.
Tipsy gave a quick, polite bow. "Miss Sera's in the potions lab, Master Edric. She's been there all morning."
Edric gave a small nod.
Before he could say another word, Cassian launched toward him — floating quickly, then dropping straight into his arms with a squeaky, "Papa!"
Edric caught him easily, wrapping his arms around the small boy. Cassian clung to his neck tightly.
"I missed you," Cassian murmured.
Edric smiled, brushing a hand through his son's messy hair. "Missed you too, little one.
Cassian pulled back just enough to look at him, brows furrowed with seriousness far too big for his tiny face. "Next time… you're taking me with you."
"Oh?" Edric raised an eyebrow.
Cassian nodded with absolute conviction.
"Alright," Edric chuckled. "Next time."
Tipsy sniffled loudly from behind the table. "Master Cassian still hasn't eaten."
Cassian turned his head dramatically. "I said no soup."
Edric gave a theatrical sigh. "How about this? We sit down and eat together. I'm starving."
Cassian looked up at him. "You too?"
"Me too," Edric said.
With a bit of gentle wrestling and floating down to a chair, Cassian was seated and Edric joined him. Tipsy beamed with triumph as she placed the tray down between them.
———————————————
Balcony of the Vaerendral Apartment - Late Evening
The warm Roman night curled softly around the balcony. The streets had quieted, only the distant sound of a violin and occasional laughter rising up from somewhere below. A breeze passed lazily through the ivy hanging from the railing, rustling its leaves like whispered thoughts.
Edric stood near the edge, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a glass of wine in hand. He wasn't drinking — just holding it. He had been out there for a while.
Behind him, the balcony door opened with a low creak.
Sera stepped out, her pale hair slightly tousled, wearing one of his old shirts and a light robe over it. She looked half asleep, rubbing at her eyes as she crossed the space barefoot.
"Thought I'd find you out here," she said softly, her voice still a little hoarse from sleep.
He turned his head slightly, offering a small smile. "You always do."
She leaned her arms on the railing beside him and looked up at the stars. "It's too warm for October."
He gave a quiet hum. "Feels like summer forgot to leave."
They stood in silence for a while. The kind of silence only two people who've loved each other for decades can share without it feeling heavy.
Sera glanced sideways. "You're quiet."
Edric nodded slowly, then took a sip from the glass. "Ran into something today."
He finally looked at her, eyes unreadable. "I found my brother's pocket watch."
Sera's brows furrowed slowly, her expression softening. "Larric's?"
He nodded once. "Perfect condition. Not a scratch on it. Just… sitting there. In Giovanni's Shop. Got it from pair of grave robbers."
Her hand reached for his, without a word.
"I don't know what to make of it," Edric said. "There was… something else, too. A map. Alexandria was scrawled across the top. Burned around the edges."
Sera didn't speak. Her thumb brushed across the back of his hand.
"I killed them," he said quietly. "They were black market scum. Reeked of necromancy. I'm not sorry."
"You don't need to justify it to me," she murmured. "I know who you are."
He looked down at the glass in his hand. "It just felt… off. Like something's unraveling behind the scenes and I can't see it yet."
Sera rested her head gently against his shoulder. "Do you think it's connected? To Larric?"
"I don't know," Edric said after a pause. "But whatever it is… it's stirring."
They stayed quiet again.
"I can feel it too," she said after a moment. "Like the air is holding its breath."
"I wish we had more time," Edric murmured.
Sera's hand moved up to his chest, resting lightly over his heart. "We have enough. Enough to keep Cassian safe."
His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her close.
He finally let out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Let's just… finish the ritual. Then we'll leave this place. Go somewhere quiet. Somewhere green."
She smiled softly. "A cottage by the coast?"
"Or a valley in the mountains."
"With a garden."
"And a strong door," he added.
She laughed quietly into his shirt. "Cassian would like that."
"Yeah," he whispered. "He would."
——————————————
Venice, Late Night, October 1978
Location: A hidden chamber beneath the crumbling foundation of an old church in the outskirts of the Venetian Lagoon
The air was thick with moisture, the canals above leaking ever so slightly into the stone cracks of the vaulted ceiling. Dim torches flickered along the moss-covered walls, casting long shadows that twitched like something alive.
In the center of the underground chamber, a long obsidian table sat surrounded by cloaked figures — smugglers, mercenaries, black-market potion masters, and the kind of dark wizards who dealt in blood contracts and body parts.
At the far end of the table stood him.
He didn't give a name. Some whispered he used to be a Gringotts Curse Breaker who betrayed the goblins. Others swore he'd escaped execution for blood magic in Eastern Europe. The truth? Nobody knew. What they did know — was that he was dangerous.
Tall, lean, and pale, the man had long dark hair tied loosely at his nape, and skin marked with inked runes that glowed faintly under the candlelight. His robes were midnight black, embroidered with protective enchantments. Two tall figures flanked him silently — both unnaturally still, their eyes gleaming crimson beneath their hoods. Vampires.
The Curse Breaker's voice was low and cold when he spoke.
"You said they'd be back two days ago."
A younger smuggler across the table swallowed hard. "They—they haven't reported in. The Rome safehouse is… gone. Burnt down. Nothing left but cinders."
The air in the chamber dropped ten degrees.
The Curse Breaker's hand flexed slowly on the table. "And the watch?"
The smuggler flinched. "Gone. So was the piece of the map. The one with—"
"Alexandria," he finished for him. His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge in it now.
He looked down the table slowly. One of the men sitting near the middle was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid attention. Big mistake.
The Curse Breaker flicked his wand without even looking.
"Crucio."
The man shrieked, convulsing violently before collapsing to the ground, twitching.
No one else dared move.
"I warned all of you what would happen if that map fragment left my hands. That piece is irreplaceable. It took me a decade to track that down." He stepped away from the table, slowly pacing behind
"You worthless—"
The word echoed in the chamber like a curse in itself.
The Curse Breaker didn't finish the sentence. He simply closed his eyes, took a breath, and exhaled slowly through his nose. His fingers curled into a fist on the edge of the obsidian table. Everyone around it froze, watching the runes along his wrist flicker faintly — reacting to his rising anger.
"The safehouse," he said finally, his voice cold and measured, "was reduced to ash."
He tilted his head slightly. "You didn't find any bodies?"
The man who spoke earlier shook his head nervously. "N-No… just scorch marks and nothing else. No signs of a fight, no residual auras strong enough to trace."
A silence followed. One of the vampires took a step forward, as if sensing the shift in mood.
"So you don't know who did it," the Curse Breaker said, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
"I will go myself."
The air in the chamber tensed.
"No one touches the ruins until I return. If any of you are hiding something…" —his gaze swept over them— "…you better pray to whatever's still listening that I don't find out."
He turned without another word, the vampires moving behind him like shadows.
One of the smugglers exhaled only after the heavy stone door closed behind them.
Another whispered, "We're all dead."
——————————————
His boots echoed softly along the damp stone floor, each step deliberate. The torchlight from the chamber behind them faded, swallowed by the shadows of the narrow passage ahead.
Behind him, the two vampires walked in silence — until one of them spoke.
"You understand what's at stake," the first one hissed, voice low, serpentine. "That map is not something to misplace."
The Curse Breaker didn't answer.
The second vampire's voice was colder, more clipped. "You weren't supposed to let it out of your hands. Your smugglers failed you. That failure reflects on you."
He stopped.
For a long moment, he stood still, back to them. Then, without turning, he said quietly, "If you think I'm afraid of you, then you don't understand what I've seen."
A soft laugh from the first vampire. "We're not here to scare you. Just to remind you. They're watching."
The Curse Breaker finally turned. His eyes gleamed pale green in the dark. "Let them watch. I'll get it back."
"You'd better," the second vampire said, stepping close enough to almost touch him. "You know what happens if you don't."
The map wasn't just a collector's artifact. And if the rumors were true — if the symbols on it really traced back to that place — then what had slipped through his fingers wasn't just rare.
It was irreplaceable.
And someone out there had it. Soon, he'd know who.
——————————————
Three Days Before Samhain | Rome, Morning
The apartment was in chaos — though not the kind brought by danger or fire. This was the chaos of trunks being magically sealed, old books shuffling themselves into enchanted bags, and half-folded robes floating mid-air before neatly tucking themselves into suitcases.
Cassian was not helping.
"Cassian, no! Young master must wear proper travel clothes!" Tipsy shrieked, hopping after the boy as he ran barefoot through the main room, a half-buttoned tunic flapping around him like a cape.
Cassian giggled, the mischievous kind only a three-year-old could master, eyes sparkling with glee as he darted just out of reach. His cat — sleek, black, and perfectly regal — padded after him lazily, blue-glowing clouds forming beneath her tiny paws as she followed the chase like a floating queen.
"Cassian!" Tipsy wailed again. "If young master does not wear socks, his toes will freeze, yes they will!"
From across the room, Edric looked up from the open trunk he was organizing. "Tipsy, maybe let him run wild another ten minutes. If he's tired, he'll sit still long enough for socks."
Tipsy groaned and threw her tiny arms into the air, muttering something about "wizards and their nonsense," before popping into the next room with a loud crack.
Serra chuckled from the bedroom doorway, wand tapping over the window frame as the last of the apartment's protective charms shimmered briefly into view. "You know," she said, brushing a lock of pale hair from her eyes, "when we agreed to have a child, I don't remember being warned about the feral phase."
Edric grinned as another book tried to crawl away from the trunk. He flicked his wand and forced it back inside. "It's in the fine print. Page forty-two, under 'Uncontrollable Magic & Unexpected Levitations.'"
"Should've read it more closely," she muttered, walking toward him, her arms full of glass vials sealed tight with wax and protective spells.
They were almost ready. The last potions were packed. The stasis wards were humming softly in every room now — freezing everything just as it was until they returned.
Whenever that would be.
Serra stopped beside him and lowered the potions carefully into the case. For a moment, both of them just stood there, watching the still apartment around them — the lives they'd built here, quiet, safe, hidden.
Then Cassian ran past them again, laughing like he didn't have a care in the world.
Serra smiled faintly. "We've done well. He's happy."
Edric nodded, but his eyes lingered on the child for a second longer. "He's strong, too. Much more than we were at his age."
She took his hand, squeezing it gently.
Outside, the Roman sun streamed golden light through the window. But in the air, just beneath the warmth, there was something else. The kind of stillness that came before a storm.
—————————————
Ruins Outside Rome | Same Day
Ash still clung to the crumbled stones like old blood. The building was gone — not collapsed, but burned away — consumed in an unnatural blaze that left no scent, no heat, no trace of fire's usual fury.
Only silence.
A half-circle of robed figures surrounded the charred earth, each of them kneeling, chanting softly in Latin as the Curse Breaker paced within the circle's bounds. The air crackled with residual energy — a vacuum where magic had once ignited something old and unforgiving.
He stopped in the center of the blackened space.
His wand dipped, tracing a slow spiral in the air, then a sharp snap downward. "Revelare Vestigia."
A pulse. Like a heartbeat slamming into the ground.
For a moment — nothing.
Then yellow smoke began to rise from the scorched floor, curling through the air like a living thing, searching. A trail emerged, glowing faintly, as if smoke remembered what the earth no longer could. Footsteps — a single figure — moving with precision, speed. Another glow — a flash of something being pulled from a table. Then fire, impossibly fast, devouring all.
The spell broke.
The smoke was gone.
The Curse Breaker stood motionless, staring down at the faint outline left behind — the remnants of a conjuration circle. One that did not belong to the smugglers.
"He was here," he said, low.
One of the vampires approached from the shadows, her movements sharp, feline. "Took you long enough," she hissed. "Two weeks. And now we find a single trail. You said you'd have answers."
He turned his head slightly, enough to glare at her. "You're welcome to try doing it faster next time."
The second vampire stepped forward, expression darker. "You're slipping. You lost the map. You lost the smugglers. The trail's cold."
"No," the Curse Breaker muttered. He knelt, brushing a hand over the charred earth.
There — a rune.
It had been buried beneath the ashes, barely visible until now. And it was ancient. Not Roman. Not Greek.
Vaerendral.
He recognized the etching like a scar across his memory.
The vampires stilled behind him.
"You've seen that before," one of them said slowly.
The Curse Breaker didn't answer. But his grip tightened around his wand.
He stood up and looked to the horizon, where the yellow smoke had vanished.
"That smug bastard," he hissed, more to himself. "That one… the one who tried to curse him before he died. He must've etched it in the floor just before he was executed."
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Vaerendral Apartment | Rome | October 28th, 1978
The apartment was empty now. Everything important packed, locked, or preserved under powerful stasis and concealment charms. Bookshelves stood bare, drawers were shut with sealing runes, and the only sounds were the faint rustling of wind through the slightly cracked windows and the quiet ticking of a silver wall clock.
In the center of the living room, a glowing Portkey lay resting on a small pedestal — a silver ring embedded in an old compass, faintly humming with layered enchantments.
Cassian stood between his parents, bundled in a little cloak. In one arm, he clutched his cat — the tiny black creature with silver eyes and white paws, who purred softly and nuzzled into his chest. He looked far too serious for a child just about to turn three.
Sera knelt in front of him, brushing his silky black hair back gently.
"Alright, mon trésor," she said softly. "You hold my hand now, and don't let go. No matter what."
Cassian looked up at her with those silver-blue eyes — impossibly calm for someone so small. He gave a firm, serious nod and reached out with his free hand.
Sera smiled faintly, though her throat tightened. "Such a serious little man," she whispered and stood up.
Edric chuckled beside them, placing a warm hand on Cassian's shoulder. "That's my boy," he said with pride before sliding his other hand into Sera's.
He looked between the two of them — his wife and son — the two most important people in his life.
Then he whispered the activation phrase under his breath. "Portus, nunc."
The Portkey activated instantly.
With a sharp twist of space and a shimmer of magic, the family vanished in a blink of blue light — gone from the apartment without a sound.
The room was left still again, only the ticking clock remained, echoing into silence.