The morning before his journey dawned bright and cloudless, with the sunlight pouring in through the enchanted windows of Blackthorn Manor. In Elias's private chambers, the glow of the sun filtered across a wide table cluttered with meticulously arranged supplies—maps enchanted to show magical ley lines beneath Egypt's sands, spell-stitched desert gear, protective talismans, a short wand for close-quarters combat, and a leather-bound journal already inscribed with magical wards.
Standing before a full-length mirror charmed to assess magical balance, Elias pulled on a deep, sand-colored cloak woven with heat-repelling charms. Its folds shimmered slightly, a sign of the complex defensive enchantments sewn into the fabric.
He wasn't going alone.
A soft crack sounded behind him, followed by another.
Two figures appeared in the middle of the room: house-elves. But not the usual breed found scrubbing cauldrons at Hogwarts. These were elite guardians—personally trained and magically enhanced by the Blackthorn family over generations.
The first elf stood taller than most, his grey skin wrapped in a tight black vest lined with protective runes. His wide eyes glowed faintly red in the candlelight.
The second, smaller but no less formidable, carried a wickedly curved obsidian dagger strapped to his side and wore a dark green cloak clasped with the Blackthorn crest.
"Master Elias," the taller elf said, bowing with discipline, "I am Raze. I serve."
"And I am Thistle," the second elf added, his voice sharper and quicker. "We follow, we hide, we protect."
Elias nodded, already familiar with their roles. "You're not to be seen unless absolutely necessary. No interfering unless my life is truly in danger. Understood?"
The elves both placed their hands over their chests in solemn agreement. These weren't chatty or quirky like typical house-elves—they were silent shadows, bred for defense and stealth, with contracts woven in blood and bound to the Blackthorn heir alone.
"I don't expect trouble," Elias continued, placing the final piece of his gear—a desert-worn satchel charmed with extension runes—over his shoulder. "But we don't tempt fate by being unprepared."
On the corner of his desk, a small carved box pulsed faintly. Inside it rested the Master Key—silent, simple, and unimaginably powerful. He reached out and opened the box once more, just to glance at the sleek silver instrument.
"I don't plan to use it," Elias muttered to himself, closing the lid again. "But if the tombs of the Pharaohs prove more stubborn than expected…"
Raze stepped forward and lifted a heavy travel cloak onto Elias's shoulders with delicate precision. "The Portkey arrives in one hour, Master. Shall we move to the courtyard?"
Elias nodded. "Yes. I'll check the mirror one last time."
As the elves vanished with a muted crack, Elias crossed the room to the magical communication mirror affixed to the wall. The swirling silver surface shimmered, and after a moment, the stern yet composed image of Lucian Blackthorn appeared.
"Ready?" his father asked.
Elias gave a single nod. "The elves are in place. The Alchemical Aegis is attuned. I've studied the leyline markers around the Valley of Kings and the Gringotts passage routes. Nothing is left to chance."
Lucian smiled slightly. "Good. Remember, the goblins are your allies, but only while you follow their customs. They will not tolerate arrogance."
"I don't intend to show any," Elias replied
By the time he reached the Blackthorn Manor's courtyard, the Portkey—a small carved ankh glowing with golden light—floated gently above a stone pedestal engraved with ancient Egyptian glyphs. Raze and Thistle stood on either side of the clearing, utterly still, eyes scanning the sky and grounds.
"Touch it with me," Elias said, extending a hand toward Raze. "The journey won't register you."
With silent obedience, the elf reached out and gripped Elias's arm. Thistle laid a single finger on Raze's shoulder, linking them all.
The moment Elias touched the glowing ankh, the world around him disappeared in a rush of color and wind.
Spinning through the vortex of Portkey travel, Elias felt the familiar jolt in his stomach—the disorienting pull through time and space. But he didn't falter. He'd trained for this, just like everything else.
When they landed, the heat hit him like a living force.
The golden sun of Cairo blazed high overhead, and the scent of sand, dust, and old magic filled his lungs. The Portkey had dropped them just outside the southern gates of the Gringotts Egyptian Branch—an imposing marble structure carved directly into a mountainside.
Dozens of goblins in gold-trimmed robes moved along the sand-colored steps, and shimmering warding runes floated above the entrance, occasionally flickering with deep blue light.
Elias took a deep breath.
The midday sun blazed over Cairo as Elias Blackthorn stepped beneath the sandstone archway of Gringotts Egyptian Branch, a towering edifice carved into the base of the Mokattam Hills. Unlike the London branch, this one bore no marble sheen or polished opulence. Instead, it exuded ancient weight—power etched into every glyph, every weather-worn stair, every flickering ward overhead.
A pair of goblin sentries stood at the entrance, their curved spears crossed in front of the doorway. When Elias approached, the runes etched into the shafts of the weapons pulsed faintly.
Elias bowed slightly and extended his hand, revealing the obsidian-inlaid Blackthorn signet ring.
The runes stilled instantly.
The goblins stepped aside without a word.
As he entered the cooled, shadowed interior, the scent of parchment, incense, and ancient dust filled the air. The architecture within was sweeping—vaulted ceilings, wide columns inscribed with hieroglyphs and goblin runes, and hundreds of enchanted brass lamps floating overhead in careful rhythm, casting golden light across the stone floor.
He was escorted without delay through winding halls to an upper chamber. There, behind a grand obsidian desk shaped like a coiled serpent, sat a sharp-eyed goblin with bronze spectacles perched on the bridge of his hooked nose.
"Lord Blackthorn," the goblin rasped, standing courteously. "I am Manager Grizzlethorn, Overseer of Vault Expeditions and Historical Acquisitions for the Egyptian Gringotts Branch. An honor to host a client of your House."
Elias returned the nod with calm precision. "The honor is mutual, Manager Grizzlethorn. I've reviewed the dossiers forwarded to your office. I trust everything is prepared?"
Grizzlethorn's mouth stretched into what might have been a smirk. "You Blackthorns never waste time."
He gestured for Elias to sit, and a crystal goblet of cooled pomegranate elixir floated onto the table before him.
"We've made the preliminary arrangements," Grizzlethorn continued, tapping a long fingernail against a stack of scrolls beside him. "As requested, we have identified a secure route into the Northern Pyramid Complex, primarily via the partially collapsed tomb of Ankhesenamun. There's residual warding, as expected, but our team has cleared a safe preliminary tunnel."
"Any complications?"
"Two: One magical, one political," the goblin said matter-of-factly. "The Pharaoh's Tombs are protected by Curses of Conflagration and Soul-Hooks—old magics designed to siphon away intruders' magical essence. The typical counter-charms don't work unless you possess the tomb's birth glyph."
"And the political?"
"The Egyptian Ministry of Magic has been increasingly... protective of native tomb sites. We've handled the permits under a joint-exploration clause, but your presence will have to be officially documented. Hence, tomorrow's escort."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Escort?"
"A trusted worker of the bank," Grizzlethorn confirmed. "You'll meet him at dawn. He knows the routes, the wards, and will ensure you don't 'accidentally' wander into an unapproved site. Rest assured, he's discreet and trained."
"Good," Elias said. "I have no desire to start a diplomatic incident."
Grizzlethorn nodded approvingly. "Then all is arranged. For now, you'll rest. Accommodations have been secured at the Sandspire Hotel—the top magical inn within walking distance of the pyramids. You'll find their wards quite to your liking."
He handed Elias a sealed parchment. "This is your travel writ. Show it at the gate tomorrow, and you'll be taken to the entrance point directly."
Elias took the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of his travel cloak.
"Your elves may remain cloaked within the premises," the goblin added, glancing past Elias. "Their aura signatures have been registered."
Raze and Thistle, invisible and silent, remained stationed behind him. Elias didn't even glance their way—they would follow as needed.
"Thank you, Manager Grizzlethorn," Elias said, rising.
"One last thing," the goblin said, his tone sharpening. "There are... rumors about some of the older tombs reactivating—strange readings from long-dormant magical fields. Some believe the ancient priesthoods enchanted their vaults to awaken only when a 'worthy soul' approached."
Elias narrowed his eyes slightly. "And you think I'm such a soul?"
The goblin shrugged. "Who knows? Just take care. These tombs don't merely trap the body, Lord Blackthorn. They test the mind and soul."
Elias gave a small smile. "Then I'll enjoy the challenge."
With formal farewells exchanged, Elias exited the bank into the late-afternoon glow of Cairo's magical quarter. The Sandspire Hotel stood three blocks away, a tall white structure wrapped in floating silks that shimmered under the sun's rays. Its staff bowed politely and handed him a room key enchanted with privacy runes.
The room was vast, cooled by charms woven into the stone walls, and the view overlooked the edge of the desert—where the three great pyramids of Giza sat, silent and eternal against the golden sand.
Elias stood by the window long after sunset, arms crossed, his mind already mapping out the route. The Master Key sat in his satchel, untouched. His journal lay open on the desk, a page prepared for tomorrow's notes.
"Test the mind and soul," he repeated to himself quietly.