The magical hall was magnificent, but Elias Blackthorn knew that beauty in the magical world was often a mask for danger. He had studied ancient protections for years—wards that sang like sirens, runes that welcomed before they cursed. Caution was second nature now.
With quiet footsteps, he moved through the shimmering chamber, letting his eyes trace the symbols etched into the black walls. They were not purely Egyptian—there was a fusion here, something older, more primal, woven into the enchantments. Something that whispered of the First Tongue, the language of magic itself.
"Begin the sweep," Elias instructed softly.
At once, his two House Elves emerged from their concealment. Unlike the scraggly creatures employed at Hogwarts, the Blackthorn family elves wore enchanted armor fashioned from flexible silver-scale leather, their green eyes sharp and intelligent. They bowed to Elias without words and split apart, scanning the chamber with advanced detection spells.
Elias followed the markings around the circumference of the chamber, muttering low incantations to trigger any latent enchantments. But none resisted. The air felt dense with dormant power, but not active threat.
It wasn't until he found the second passage—a much narrower one, concealed behind a bend in the wall—that he realized the true nature of this place. This wasn't merely a tomb. It was a vault. Not one protected by goblins or modern spells, but by the wrath of the ancients.
He passed through the dark archway cautiously. The corridor beyond descended slowly in a spiral, each step lit by faintly glowing stones in the floor. The magical presence became thicker the deeper he went, like wading through invisible currents.
And then, the corridor opened into a vast rectangular chamber.
Elias blinked.
His breath caught.
Piles of gold, gems, enchanted relics, and ancient artifacts stretched across the room in organized rows. Swords shimmered with protective runes, goblets sparkled with diamond-dust, and ornamental armor pieces lay arranged on pedestals. At the far end of the chamber stood golden statues of jackal-headed guardians, each more than twice the height of a man.
"Galleons above," Elias whispered. Even for a Blackthorn, this was a staggering amount of wealth.
The House Elves appeared behind him, their ears twitching with alertness.
"Should be wary, Master Elias," one of them murmured. "This is… not left unguarded."
"I know," Elias said. Still, he couldn't resist. Carefully, he reached toward a golden coin that lay nearest, testing its weight in his palm.
The moment his skin made contact—everything changed.
The walls shuddered with an ancient groan.
A low hissing sound began to echo—soft at first, then growing louder. Elias's eyes snapped up just as he saw slits open in the walls and floors around the chamber.
From them poured hordes of creatures: enchanted scorpions, each the size of a dinner plate with glistening black stingers, their eyes glowing red. Alongside them slithered sand-serpents, thick and oily, their fangs dripping magical venom. Worst of all, ancient magical beasts with the heads of crocodiles and lion bodies—Serapheks, constructs from forgotten rites—emerged snarling, bound by ancient curses.
"DEFENSIVE FORMATION!" Elias shouted, already stepping back.
With a pop, his two elves flanked him, unleashing powerful fire wards in an instant. Walls of emerald flame surged forward, incinerating the first wave of scorpions as they skittered toward Elias.
Elias didn't hesitate.
He pointed his wand toward a charging Seraphek and shouted, "Confringo!"
The explosion slammed into the creature's flank, hurling it backward with a screech of splitting stone. But more came. Dozens of them.
One of the elves clicked its fingers and summoned a gust of silver fire, sweeping through the horde of scorpions. The other elf levitated a collapsing stone platform, slamming it down on a serpent that had tried to flank them.
Elias ducked a strike from a lion-headed beast and retaliated with a spinning counter-spell, "Fulgaris Impedimenta!" Lightning burst from his wand and chained between the attackers, sending three into convulsions before they collapsed, twitching.
The battle raged for nearly ten minutes.
Despite their size, the beasts were fast—enchanted by millennia-old magic to defend the chamber with merciless precision. But Elias and his elves were faster, smarter, and far more brutal.
When the last creature fell—its burnt husk twitching in a melted puddle of venom—Elias lowered his wand, chest rising and falling.
The chamber fell silent again, thick with smoke and the scent of scorched flesh.
"Status?" he asked.
The elves both nodded. Minor scratches, nothing serious. Their eyes swept the room, watching for any final traps, but the chamber seemed to have exhausted its defense.
"Pack everything," Elias ordered.
At once, enchanted runes activated. From the elves' belts, Untraceable Spatial Relays—charms too complex for Ministry tracking—opened portals into secure storage vaults. The treasures of the room were swiftly levitated, categorized, and siphoned into the containers, vanishing into magical space. Elias himself personally packed several smaller relics into his dimensional storage band—items that seemed too precious to entrust even to the elves.
It took nearly an hour.
When it was done, the chamber lay empty, bare stone once more, with only the damaged remains of its guardians scattered like broken statues.
"Anything else, Master Elias?" one elf asked.
"Yes," he said, turning toward the opposite wall, where another archway had revealed itself—clearly activated only after the treasure room had been 'cleared.'
It led to a narrow corridor—much shorter this time—and ended at a small, circular sanctum.
In the center of the sanctum was a single pedestal.
And on the pedestal… a book.
It had no title. The cover was black, bound in cracked leather, with golden clasps that seemed to pulse faintly with inner light. Around it, the chamber was silent—too silent.
Elias stepped forward, slowly, eyes narrowing.
"This feels… different," he murmured.
The book wasn't protected by aggressive traps—not like the treasure vault. But the stillness of the air was unnatural. Heavy.
He reached out—fingers just inches from the cover.
Suddenly, both elves snapped to his sides.
"Master Elias," one said quickly, eyes narrowed. "Please—allow us to examine it first. This book may carry ancient darkness. Even if not cursed, it may carry a residue you shouldn't touch directly."
Elias paused.
He had read about this—some ancient tomes were encoded with empathic protections. If the reader was deemed unworthy, the book could retaliate with memory damage, magical feedback, or worse.
He stepped back.
"Fine," he said, his voice calm but focused. "Check it. But be careful. This is the oldest protection I've seen so far."
The two elves stepped forward.
Elias folded his arms and waited, his mind already racing. If this book had been protected separately—hidden beyond all treasure, kept in its own sanctum—then it wasn't just important. It was essential.
The room was unnaturally still. Ancient dust floated in the stale air as if afraid to settle too quickly. The pedestal before Elias stood silent now, its contents—the weathered, leather-bound book—resting like a slumbering beast that had just been stirred.
The House Elves, clad in their enchanted gear, moved cautiously. One of them extended a long, gloved hand toward the tome, whispering a series of low-level enchantment detection spells under his breath. The air shimmered faintly as the spells passed over the book's surface.
The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the room trembled.
The book shuddered violently, vibrating in place as if alive. A low hum echoed through the chamber—deep, throaty, ancient. Gold dust rose from the floor. Elias instinctively took a step back, raising his wand. The pedestal pulsed once, twice—then all at once, the vibration stopped. The book quieted, now perfectly still in the elf's hands.
The silence that followed was louder than the hum had been.
"…It's dormant again," the elf said cautiously.
The other elf immediately conjured a detection sphere, a shimmering silver globe of magic that encased the book in light. Its surface rotated with scanning runes, illuminating the shadows as it searched for traces of corruption, curses, or sentient magic.
"No signs of dark arts," the second elf confirmed. "No active curses or blood locks either. It's old… possibly ancient beyond classification. But safe. At least for you."
Elias reached out and took the book from the elf's hands.
It was heavier than it looked. The cracked black leather cover was cool to the touch, but the golden clasps gave off a faint warmth, as if some sleeping magic resided within. There was no title, no sigil, no author's name. Just a single, unmarked book.
Carefully, he flipped it open.
Blank.
He frowned and turned the page.
Also blank.
The next one. Then another. All the same—parchment worn with age, but completely empty. There wasn't so much as a symbol, a line, or even a watermark.
"…It's empty," Elias murmured, narrowing his eyes.
He turned the pages faster now, moving through dozens of them. All blank. All clean.
But this couldn't be a mistake. No book would be hidden in a magically protected vault only to contain nothing. There had to be a trigger. A magical condition. A key. Something he hadn't yet activated.
Before he could investigate further, a deep groan echoed through the walls.
The chamber trembled again—but this time, it was not from the book.
The entire hall was shaking.
The dust above them began to fall in streams. Small pebbles trickled from the cracks in the stonework. The glowing runes embedded in the ceiling flickered like dying torches.
Elias's head snapped up.
"The book was a keystone," he said grimly. "Its removal destabilized the enchantment."