Sirius woke with a violent gasp — the kind that tears someone straight out of death's arms.
His chest burned with the memory of seawater, his limbs ached with exhaustion, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. The ceiling above him wasn't made of wood or canvas or river-stained boards — it was carved stone, smooth and polished, with faint swirling patterns like frost creeping across glass.
He blinked hard.
Then harder.
He pushed himself up on trembling elbows and looked around.
He wasn't dreaming. He wasn't dead. He was lying in a luxurious bed, far softer than anything in Raventree Hall. Thick blankets of midnight blue covered him, embroidered with faint swirling runes. Light poured in through high arched windows, falling across intricate tapestries and glinting off polished silver lanterns.
To his left, Regulus lay curled under his blanket, his small face peaceful for the first time in days.
To his right, James was sprawled out like he'd lost a fight with his own limbs.
Further down, Remus was tucked tightly into his covers, still clutching the edge like he expected the river to pull him away again.
And Bellatrix and Narcissa lay in two beds near the corner — Bellatrix snoring softly, Narcissa hugging her pillow as if it were a lifeline.
For a moment, Sirius honestly thought they were dead.
"This must be…" he whispered. "The godswood? Heaven? Something."
Because what else could explain this?
But then — his gaze drifted across the room.
And his breath stopped.
Sitting at a carved desk of black oak, his back turned, was a man Sirius recognized instantly. The posture. The long silver-blond hair tied lazily with a strip of leather. The way his clothing — dark, fitted, elegant — never seemed to wrinkle. The violet glow of candlelight reflecting faintly on the metallic ink of whatever he was writing.
Prince Jeanyx Targaryen.
The Silent Prince.
The Lost Heir.
The boy who vanished six years ago in a storm off Driftmark, presumed dead by the entire realm.
Sirius's jaw slowly unhinged.
"That's… impossible," he breathed out, voice cracking. "You died. I— I saw the funeral sails. I— how—?"
His foot slipped from the bed in shock, hitting the cold stone floor with a light thud.
Jeanyx stopped writing.
A small pause — then he turned.
And Sirius's world tilted.
Jeanyx looked almost exactly as Sirius remembered from his youth… yet completely different. Still slim, still beautiful in that soft, ethereal way the Targaryens were known for — but older now. Sharper. His features had refined to a breathtaking androgyny, almost too delicate to be human, yet undeniably commanding. His violet eyes were colder than Sirius remembered — ancient, knowing, and carrying weight Sirius couldn't yet comprehend.
And gods — he looked even more like a girl than when he was twelve.
Jeanyx blinked once at the sight of Sirius sitting up.
"Well," he said softly, voice even smoother than Sirius remembered, "you woke up faster than I expected."
Sirius opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Jeanyx tilted his head, rising from his chair and stepping toward him with slow, measured grace. His coat swayed behind him like a shadow made of midnight silk.
"You're safe," Jeanyx added. "All of you."
Sirius finally found his voice — too loud, too shaky.
"P—Prince Jeanyx?! You're— you're alive? Truly? We thought— everyone thought— I mean— where are we!? Are we dead!? Are you a ghost?! What is this place?!"
Jeanyx blinked again.
Then, for the first time in years, Sirius saw something he never thought he'd see again.
Jeanyx smiled.
A small, tired, amused smile.
Like he'd been expecting these questions all along.
"No," he answered gently. "You're not dead."
He paused, looking almost sheepish.
"And neither am I."
Sirius stared at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding.
"Well," Jeanyx added with a soft sigh, "not anymore."
The room fell silent.
Outside the window, a deep, rumbling growl echoed — a sound like the mountains themselves shifting. Nyx's shadow passed over the courtyard, blotting out the sun for a moment.
Sirius swallowed hard.
"Where," he whispered, "in the seven hells… are we?"
Jeanyx folded his arms behind his back, posture regal, calm, almost unnervingly collected.
"Welcome," he said, "to the Mourning Keep."
His home.
His exile.
The place he'd rebuilt far from the reach of kings.
"And," Jeanyx added, glancing at the unconscious children with an expression Sirius couldn't read,
"welcome to the beginning of a story you were never meant to be part of."
Sirius felt a chill run down his spine —
not from fear,
but from destiny brushing against his bones.
The next time Sirius blinked, Jeanyx was already moving.
Not rushing — Jeanyx didn't rush — but gliding across the room with that unsettling, quiet grace of someone who knew exactly who he was and exactly what he could do.
He knelt beside Sirius, not touching him, just resting his forearms casually on his knees like he was speaking to an equal, not a terrified eleven-year-old who'd just cheated death twice.
"You're wondering why you're here," Jeanyx said softly.
Sirius swallowed. His throat felt raw. "Yes."
Jeanyx's eyes flicked toward the other beds, lingering on each child in turn, studying the rise and fall of their breaths, the faint color returning to their faces. His expression tightened — not with annoyance or pity, but something more complex. Something like… recognition.
"I didn't bring you here," Jeanyx said.
His voice was calm, but Sirius felt the weight of each word.
"The river didn't bring you here. Fate didn't bring you here."
He paused — letting the silence settle like snow.
"You were sent."
Sirius's heart skipped. "Sent? By who?"
Jeanyx leaned back on his heels, gazing past Sirius at the wide arched window where sunlight spilled in like liquid gold.
"I've lived on this island for six years," he said quietly. "Isolated from every whisper of Westeros. Not a raven. Not a report. Not a ship."
His eyes narrowed. "Nothing reaches this place unless it's meant to."
Sirius didn't know what that meant, but he could tell Jeanyx wasn't being poetic — he was being literal.
Jeanyx continued.
"This island has… rules," he said. "Magic older than Valyria, older than the First Men, older than the Children."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Older than fire. Older than dragons."
Sirius felt his skin prickle.
"The island chose you," Jeanyx said, meeting his eyes again. "Or whoever guides its magic did."
Sirius tried to make sense of that. "But… why us? We're just—"
"Children?" Jeanyx finished for him. "Children of two houses who would rather spill each other's blood than share a cup of water?"
Sirius flinched.
Jeanyx's tone softened, but only slightly.
"Blackwood. Bracken."
He said the names like they were ancient curses carved into stone.
"To see both sigils lying in the same sand, breathing the same air…" He shook his head. "That alone is enough to unsettle the gods."
Sirius blinked. "So we shouldn't be here."
"You shouldn't be alive," Jeanyx corrected bluntly. "None of you should've survived the bay. The currents there swallow galleys twice the size of the one you were on. I once watched a Driftmark carrack break apart like kindling."
Sirius fell silent.
"And yet," Jeanyx continued, "the sea spat you onto this world's most hidden shore."
He stood slowly, smoothing out the crease in his sleeve.
"That doesn't happen without a reason."
Sirius hesitated, but the question pressed on his tongue anyway.
"So… what reason?"
Jeanyx looked at him — really looked at him — and Sirius felt something cold and ancient settle in his bones.
"There are forces moving in Westeros," Jeanyx said. "Forces that don't care about your age or your innocence or your petty house feuds. Something is shifting in the Targaryen line… something that began the day I was born."
Sirius swallowed hard.
Jeanyx took a step closer.
"And now," he said quietly, "those forces have reached you."
Sirius's breath caught.
"What does that mean for us?" he whispered.
Finally, Jeanyx gave him an answer — simple, blunt, and terrifying.
"It means," Jeanyx said, "that your childhood is over."
He glanced once more at Regulus, at James, at Remus, at the sleeping sisters — six children caught in the jaws of fate.
"And whether you want it or not," Jeanyx said, voice like a closing door,
"your lives are now tied to mine."
Sirius stared at him, wide-eyed, trembling.
"What happens now?" he whispered.
Jeanyx looked back toward the window, where Nyx's shadow drifted past like a passing storm.
"Now," he said, "you wake the others."
He turned fully, violet eyes glowing faintly.
"And then," Jeanyx added,
"I tell you the part of the story your houses kept hidden — the truth about your bloodlines… and why the river delivered you into the hands of a dead prince."
The room didn't stay quiet for long.
Sirius had barely taken a full breath after Jeanyx's revelation when a sudden, sharp inhale cut through the stillness.
Regulus.
The younger Blackwood jolted upright like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him, hair a tangled black halo around his head.
"WHERE—!? WHAT—!? WHO—!?" Regulus sputtered, kicking his blankets off like they had personally offended him.
"Reg— calm down—" Sirius reached for him.
Regulus immediately punched Sirius in the shoulder instead.
"DON'T TOUCH ME, I'M PANICKING!"
Across the room, Remus shot up next, eyes wide, pupils blown, every instinct screaming fight or flight.
His choice leaned heavily toward flight.
"WE'RE DEAD, AREN'T WE—?! THIS IS THE SEVEN'S HALL— NO WAIT, THERE'S NO SEVEN HERE— ARE WE IN THE WEIRWOOD!? DID WE GET EATEN BY A TREE!?"
"Remus, breathe," Sirius tried again, already exhausted.
But then James woke up.
Which meant the volume doubled immediately.
"WE'RE ALIVE!" James shrieked, launching himself off the bed and immediately tripping over his own feet. He hit the floor with a thud. "WE'RE ALIVE BUT NOT FOR LONG— SIRIUS, TELL ME THAT ISN'T A DRAGON OUTSIDE—"
Before Sirius could answer, a pillow slammed into James's face with the accuracy of a trained assassin.
Bellatrix had awoken.
And she was pissed.
"CAN YOU IDIOTS SHUT UP?" she barked, hair wild and eyes already gleaming with unhinged energy. "MY HEAD IS POUNDING— AND IF ANY OF YOU START CRYING I'M THROWING YOU OUT THE WINDOW."
Narcissa stirred beside her, blinking groggily. "Bella… stop screaming… you're making the room shake…"
"That's not me," Bellatrix snapped. "That's the giant demon outside!"
Narcissa's eyes widened to saucers. "D-demon?!"
Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not a demon—"
"IT COULD BE," Bellatrix argued, pointing dramatically at the window. "I SAW WINGS!"
Regulus clutched his blanket. "WINGS OF WHAT, EXACTLY!?"
"Children."
Jeanyx's voice cut through the chaos like a cold blade.
Everyone froze.
Six sets of trembling eyes slowly turned toward him — the silver-haired stranger they recognized from whispered stories and half-remembered memories of court visits, weddings, and overheard gossip.
Prince Jeanyx Targaryen.
Alive.
Standing in front of them in a black coat embroidered with violet thread, looking like he'd stepped out of a Valyrian painting — calm, controlled, and mildly annoyed.
Remus fainted.
Straight to the floor.
No hesitation.
"...Well," Jeanyx said dryly, "that answers the question of who would panic first."
James slowly raised his hand from the floor. "I panicked first."
"I panicked harder," Regulus muttered.
"I panicked better," Bellatrix countered proudly.
Jeanyx sighed — the quiet, world-weary sigh of someone who regretted his life choices just a little.
"Everyone sit down," Jeanyx instructed, gesturing toward the beds.
They obeyed instantly.
Partly because of authority.
Partly because of fear.
Mostly because they had absolutely no idea what was happening.
Once they were all settled — Remus back on his bed with James shaking him awake — Jeanyx stepped forward and folded his hands behind his back like a tutor about to deliver a harsh lesson.
"I imagine," Jeanyx said, "you all have questions."
Six hands shot up.
Jeanyx closed his eyes. "That was not an invitation."
All hands went down.
"First," he continued, "you are safe. Second, this is my home. Third—"
Bellatrix raised her hand again.
Jeanyx stared at her.
Bellatrix stared back.
"…Fine," he muttered. "What?"
"When do we meet the dragon?"
Narcissa grabbed her arm in horror. "BELLA, WE DO NOT ASK THAT—"
Jeanyx blinked. "…Later."
Six pairs of eyes widened at once.
"Now," Jeanyx continued, regaining control, "there is something each of you must hear."
His tone changed — deeper, colder, more serious.
It silenced even Bellatrix.
"You all possess magic."
The room went dead still.
Sirius frowned. "Magic? You mean like… children's tales?"
"No," Jeanyx said firmly. "Like the old world. Like the First Men. Like Valyria."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Magic runs in your bloodlines. Stronger than I expected."
He paused.
"Shockingly strong."
James blinked. "But— but my family— we're Andals. We worship the Seven. We don't— we don't mix with—"
"Yes," Jeanyx said calmly. "Your family has avoided First Men blood for centuries. Which only leaves one explanation."
James swallowed. "Which is…?"
"Someone," Jeanyx said, "married a bastard with First Men blood. One of your ancestors hid it well."
James turned pale. "My father's going to die hearing that."
Remus raised a shaky hand. "What about— um— me? I'm a commoner. I'm… I'm no one."
Jeanyx shook his head. "Magic doesn't choose names. It chooses souls."
Remus flushed, unsure whether to feel proud or terrified.
Then Jeanyx turned to Sirius and Regulus.
"The Blackwood line…" Jeanyx murmured, "is pure. Very pure. Your magic feels almost untouched — like raw ore waiting to be forged."
Sirius blinked. "Is that good?"
"It's rare," Jeanyx said. "Only giants show that kind of natural purity. Torrhen and his family have it. Most humans do not."
Regulus straightened, quiet pride warming his face.
Bellatrix scowled. "What about us?"
Jeanyx raised a brow. "You're Blackwoods, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix blinked.
"Oh," she said. "Right."
Narcissa tugged her sleeve. "Does that mean we're… special?"
Jeanyx smiled faintly. "All six of you are special."
Then his expression sharpened.
"And that is exactly why you were brought here. Not by chance. Not by river. Not by the sea."
Sirius felt his heart begin to pound again.
"You six," Jeanyx said softly, "were chosen. And now that you are here—"
He gestured toward the window.
Nyx's massive shadow swept across the courtyard outside, her growl echoing through the stone.
"…your world will never be the same."
A deep rumble of stone shifted through the Mourning Keep — not from Nyx, not from footsteps, but from the echoes of something approaching the great doors.
Jeanyx's head snapped toward the sound before the children even registered it. His expression didn't change, but something cold flickered behind his violet eyes.
A soft knock followed.
Three taps.
Nervous. Hesitant.
"Come in," Jeanyx called.
The heavy door cracked open, and a scrawny boy stepped inside — no older than twelve, with wind-tangled brown hair and clothes too large for him. He clutched a leather satchel to his chest, trembling under six pairs of curious stares and Jeanyx's unreadable gaze.
This was Gareth, the mail boy Jeanyx had hired a year ago to deliver messages between the villages. Gareth bowed so quickly the satchel nearly fell out of his arms.
"My—my prince," he stammered. "Message from the Elders."
Jeanyx's jaw tightened. Not visibly. But Sirius saw the faint twitch in his cheek — like he had just tasted something rotten.
"Hand it over," Jeanyx said.
Gareth hesitated. "They told me t-to say it's urgent. A—a direct order."
Behind him, Bellatrix scoffed loudly. "You don't 'order' a Targaryen—"
"Enough," Jeanyx murmured.
He took the scroll with two fingers, unrolled it, and read.
His expression stayed perfectly calm for a full three seconds.
On the fourth, the paper ignited in his hand — purple fire consuming the message in a single hungry breath.
The children flinched.
Gareth squeaked and ran out of the room so fast the door slammed behind him.
Jeanyx let the ashes fall to the floor as he exhaled a long, angry breath through his nose.
"What did it say?" Sirius asked softly.
Jeanyx didn't answer at first. He simply paced toward the window, hands behind his back, shoulders tense with a controlled fury the children had never seen from him before.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm — too calm.
"They want you," he said. "All of you."
Remus blinked. "Us? Why? We—we just got here—"
"They saw something," Jeanyx muttered. "Or… sensed something. The Elders claim it's a matter of 'island stability' and 'proper judgement.'"
James raised a hand. "Um… judgement for what?"
"For existing, apparently."
Narcissa sucked in a small breath. "Do they… not like outsiders?"
"Oh, they adore outsiders," Jeanyx said flatly. "They just like ordering them around even more."
Bellatrix scowled. "But they tried ordering you around."
That got a reaction.
Jeanyx turned his head, eyes narrowing with remembered irritation — no, fury — sharp enough to cut stone.
"Once," Jeanyx said. "They tried once."
He took a slow, steadying breath.
"A year ago, when I began sharing my inventions — concrete, crop rotation, furnaces, medicine — with Wintertown, the Elders assumed that because I helped their people, I must now obey their will."
Regulus frowned. "Are they nobility?"
Jeanyx snorted. "They wish. They are old men who believe age grants them authority."
Sirius shifted nervously. "What… exactly did they do?"
Jeanyx rubbed his temples. "They 'summoned' me. Tried to issue commands. Told me to stop certain projects. To restrict knowledge. To align trade in their favor."
Narcissa whispered, "And what did you do?"
Jeanyx's eyes grew distant.
"William, Brandon, Torrhen, Mira… all of them had to physically restrain me from murdering the Elders and feeding their corpses to Nyx for a midday snack."
Silence.
Even Bellatrix stopped breathing.
"W-why?" Remus asked quietly.
"Because they thought they owned me," Jeanyx said simply. "Because they tried to leash me like some obedient dog. Because they assumed that giving knowledge to the village meant they had power over my life."
He glanced toward the children.
"And because they assumed I would tolerate their arrogance."
The windows rattled as Nyx let out a distant growl that vibrated through the stone walls — as if reacting to Jeanyx's anger.
James swallowed. "S-So what did they want this time?"
Jeanyx paced, cloak whispering behind him.
"They want me to bring you to them," he said. "Today. For 'evaluation'… and 'judgement.'"
Bellatrix sneered. "They can judge my ass—"
"Bellatrix," Narcissa hissed, mortified.
But Jeanyx smiled — faint and dangerous.
"She's not wrong," he said. "They have no right to demand anything from you."
Sirius stood. "Then we won't go."
Jeanyx turned to him with a look Sirius didn't expect — a mix of pride and concern.
"I agree," Jeanyx said. "But if we refuse bluntly, they'll react… poorly. They're desperate for control, and desperation makes people stupid."
Regulus muttered, "Sounds like half the nobles in Westeros."
Jeanyx let out a sharp exhale that might've been a laugh. "Yes. Except the Elders have something nobles don't."
"What's that?" Remus whispered.
"Magic," Jeanyx said. "Old magic. Wild magic. And a history of using it poorly."
Silence settled once again.
Sirius stepped closer to Jeanyx, voice steady.
"What are we going to do?"
Jeanyx looked over the six children.
His eyes softened — barely, but enough to see it.
Enough to understand that whatever emotions he buried deep, something inside him had already decided they mattered.
"We," Jeanyx said slowly, "are going to meet them."
Narcissa's breath hitched.
"But," Jeanyx added, "on my terms."
His violet eyes glowed faintly — a subtle pulse of power beneath the surface.
"They want to test you?" Jeanyx continued.
Fine. Let them try."
Nyx's shadow swept over the courtyard again, and Jeanyx didn't even bother looking back.
"Just stay close to me," he said with a small, razor-sharp smile.
"Because if the Elders think they can intimidate you…"
The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
"…I am going to enjoy proving them wrong."
Jeanyx didn't waste time.
Within the hour, the children were fed, dressed in fresh clothes from the Keep's storerooms, and escorted down the long vaulted hall that led out of Mourning Keep. The vast entryway opened like a yawning mouth onto the mountain's stone terrace. Cold mist curled around their ankles as they stepped out beneath a bright morning sun.
Nyx lay coiled nearby, her enormous body stretched across a half-frozen courtyard like a reclining shadow god. Her scales shimmered with cold violet light, each breath forming clouds of frosty steam. She watched the group approach, her tail thumping once against the ground.
She wanted to come.
Of course she did.
But Jeanyx placed a hand on her snout.
"Stay," he murmured.
She huffed—displeased—but obeyed.
Jeanyx turned to the children. "Let's go. The Elders won't wait long."
Sirius stepped beside him, lowering his voice. "Are they dangerous?"
"Not in a way that matters," Jeanyx replied. "But don't let them into your heads."
James blinked. "Into our—what?"
Jeanyx started down the stone steps carved into the mountainside path, the children following close behind. The path cut through a dense forest of frost-kissed pines and whispering birch trees, mist drifting like breath between the trunks. Birds watched from the branches in unnatural silence.
It felt like something was listening.
The forest always listened.
"The magic they wield," Jeanyx said as they walked, "is the old talent of the First Men. Not arcane. Not elemental. Something more… instinctive."
Bellatrix perked up. "Old magic? Like children's tales?"
"No. Older." Jeanyx's voice softened, almost reverent. "They are wargs."
Narcissa shivered. "What's that?"
"People who can enter the minds of animals," Jeanyx explained. "Live through them. Control them. Use their eyes to see what mortal senses can't."
Regulus frowned. "Can they take over people?"
"No," Jeanyx said. "At least—not fully. Human minds resist. But animals…" He gestured around them. "Every wolf, every crow, every bear in these woods answers them when they call."
Sirius glanced into the trees. "That doesn't sound fair."
"It isn't." Jeanyx kicked a loose stone off the path. It clattered down a frozen slope. "That's why they grew arrogant. When you command the wildlife of an entire island, you start imagining yourself a god."
Remus whispered, "Have they ever warged into Nyx?"
Jeanyx laughed under his breath—a humorless, sharp sound. "They've tried."
Bellatrix's eyes widened. "And?"
"They learned why it's a bad idea to invade a dragon's mind." Jeanyx smirked faintly. "She barbecued the hawk they were using and then flew to their temple and stared them down until they nearly soiled themselves."
James grinned. "I like her."
"Everyone likes her," Jeanyx said. "Except the Elders."
The forest thickened as they descended into the deep valley. The air grew colder, and the atmosphere shifted subtly—like walking into ancient territory where the trees still remembered the blood spilled beneath them.
After another twenty minutes, the path opened into a wide clearing.
The Elders' hall stood at the far end.
It was not a temple of grandeur but an old structure of heavy stone and carved wood, crowned with antlers, skulls, and woven branches. Vines crawled over its surface, frozen by the winter chill, and massive wooden doors engraved with primordial runes guarded the entrance.
Six old men stood waiting.
They were draped in thick furs, bone necklaces, and blackened wooden beads. Their faces were marked with red paint that traced down their cheeks like tears. Their eyes—clouded, pale, wild—watched Jeanyx with obvious irritation.
The children instinctively huddled closer to one another.
Jeanyx walked ahead, unbothered.
"Jeanyx," croaked the lead Elder, a thin, sharp-nosed man with snow-white hair and veins like spiderwebs across his temples. "You were summoned at dawn. You arrive at mid-day. Explain yourself."
"Had to make sure the children didn't die on the walk," Jeanyx said casually. "Wouldn't that be tragic?"
Another Elder stepped forward, taller and gaunt. "These outsiders bring imbalance. Their presence unsettles the spirits."
Jeanyx didn't bother to hide his disdain. "Spirits or your egos?"
Murmurs rippled through the Elders.
"You forget yourself," snapped the gaunt one.
"And you forget your place," Jeanyx replied. "I am not one of your villagers to order about. You have no authority over me."
"Your inventions weaken the island," a third Elder hissed. "Your foreign knowledge seeps into our way of life. We must judge whether these six—" he pointed at the children "—pose a threat greater still."
Jeanyx stepped protectively in front of them.
"Touch them," he said quietly, "and I will remove your heads so fast your spirits won't know which direction to scream."
The Elders flinched.
Sirius felt his breath catch. Bellatrix beamed like she'd just witnessed the greatest moment of her life.
But the oldest Elder—the only one who looked more bone than man—slowly raised a trembling hand.
"We will see the truth," he rasped. "We will look at their souls."
Sirius whispered, "They can… see our souls?"
Jeanyx didn't take his eyes off the Elders. "They can try."
The children were ushered forward—closer to Jeanyx, not the Elders—while the old men formed a half-circle. Their eyes unfocused. Their bodies swayed slightly.
And then the forest came alive.
Crows circled overhead.
Wolves stepped from the tree line, eyes glowing faintly.
Dozens of animals formed a silent ring around the clearing, all staring at the six children as if awaiting judgement.
Remus grabbed James's sleeve.
Narcissa hid behind Bellatrix.
Regulus's hand found Sirius's.
Even Bellatrix looked unnerved.
The sky dimmed.
The Elders spoke in unison, their voices hollow and layered—
"SHOW US YOUR SPIRITS."
A wind ripped across the clearing.
The children staggered.
Jeanyx watched with a face carved from calm stone… but his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.
If the Elders crossed one line—
They would not live long enough to regret it.
And then—
The animals froze.
The wind stopped.
The Elders gasped, recoiling as if struck.
One dropped to his knees.
Another clutched his chest.
Two more stumbled backward in pure disbelief.
The eldest Elder trembled violently.
"Th-this… this cannot be…" he whispered. "Such purity… such power… such—such danger…"
He looked up at Jeanyx—eyes wide, terrified.
"What have you brought into our land, Prince?" he cried.
Jeanyx's expression sharpened into something cold and lethal.
"You summoned them," he said.
"Not me."
The Elder's voice cracked.
"THESE CHILDREN WILL CHANGE THE ISLAND."
Jeanyx gave a slow, knowing smile.
"Oh," he said softly.
"I know."The clearing had barely settled before the Elders recovered enough arrogance to speak.
The oldest one — the skeletal Elder who looked carved from driftwood and resentment — forced himself upright, trembling but furious. His milky eyes fixed on the children with a hunger that made every instinct in Jeanyx's body sharpen.
"These children," the Elder rasped, voice shaking with awe and fear, "must remain with us."
Every child stiffened.
Jeanyx didn't move.
Not yet.
But the cold coming off him made the wolves nearest his feet whine and back away.
"Remain with you," Jeanyx repeated quietly. "For what purpose?"
"To be trained. To be shaped. To ensure they do not bring ruin to this land."
Several Elders nodded sharply.
Their fear had already changed into greed.
"We will take responsibility for their power," another added. "They belong to the island now—"
Jeanyx stepped forward.
Just one step.
Every Elder immediately stepped back.
"They belong to themselves," Jeanyx said, voice calm — dangerously calm. "And to no one else."
The head Elder's lips curled. "You forget your place. You are a foreign prince. An exile. A boy who thinks himself wise because the spirits have favored him once or twice."
Jeanyx blinked once.
And smiled — the soft, chilling smile of someone who just decided exactly where to bury the bodies.
"Let me be perfectly clear," Jeanyx murmured. "You do not command me. You do not command these children. And if you ever suggest otherwise again…"
He lifted his hand.
Just one hand.
Every animal in the clearing stiffened — wolves crouched, crows shrieked, even the trees seemed to draw breath.
"…I will pull your souls out through your eyes and feed them to my dragon."
The Elders paled. One choked on his own spit. Another stumbled back toward the temple door.
"We—we only seek to protect the island!" an Elder stammered.
"No," Jeanyx corrected. "You seek to control the island. And everything on it."
"And what if we do?" the gaunt Elder snapped, hysteria slipping into his voice. "Without us, the balance collapses! The spirits rage! The old magic dies!"
Jeanyx tilted his head.
His expression didn't change — but the temperature dropped a full ten degrees.
"Funny," he said softly. "The only ones who ever talk about balance… are the ones who've already lost it."
Before the Elders could respond, the ground trembled.
A giant shadow swept over the clearing.
Every animal scattered in terror — wolves running with tails tucked, crows fleeing into the canopy, even the trees seemed to recoil.
A roar split the air.
Not fire.
Not sound.
Something deeper.
Older.
Cold enough to bite bone and soul alike.
Nyx descended through the treeline like a falling night sky, wings blotting out the sun. Frost cracked across the earth as she landed, her massive claws sinking into the frozen soil.
The Elders screamed.
Literally screamed.
Nyx lowered her head, pupils razor-thin, wings arched in a display that made even the bravest warrior wet themselves.
She positioned herself between the children and the Elders — a silent, unmistakable declaration.
Mine.
Under my protection.
Touch them and die.
James fell backward onto the ground.
Regulus gripped Sirius's sleeve.
Remus whimpered.
Narcissa hid behind Bellatrix, who stood rigid, eyes wide with awe.
Jeanyx walked to Nyx's side, placing a hand on her jaw.
"Good girl," he whispered.
Nyx growled — a sound that made the Elders drop to their knees, clutching their heads as if the vibration alone caused agony.
"Leave," Jeanyx said.
The word was gentle.
Merciful.
But the Elders understood the threat better than any shouted warning.
They stumbled back toward their hall, tripping over their own robes, tripping over each other, scrambling like rats fleeing sunlight.
One Elder dared look back.
Jeanyx met his eyes.
And the man ran.
Only when the heavy temple doors slammed shut did the clearing finally fall quiet.
Nyx huffed and settled into a crouch, curling her long neck protectively around the children. Bellatrix reached out a trembling hand and touched her scales.
Nyx purred.
Bellatrix nearly fainted from happiness.
Sirius swallowed. "That… was… not normal."
"No," Jeanyx agreed. "It wasn't."
Regulus hesitated. "Are we… in trouble?"
Jeanyx turned toward them — the dangerous calm fading from his expression, replaced by a gentler maturity.
"No," Jeanyx said. "But the Elders fear you."
Narcissa whispered, "Because of our magic?"
Jeanyx nodded. "Because your magic is strong. Purified. Awakened by the island in ways even I didn't expect."
James tugged Remus's sleeve. "Does this mean we're important?"
Jeanyx gave a small, complicated smile.
"Yes," he said quietly. "More than you know."
Nyx nudged Regulus with her snout, then Sirius, then Bellatrix — sniffing them like she was memorizing their scent.
The Elders had seen their souls.
Nyx was seeing their fates.
And Jeanyx…
Jeanyx was beginning to understand why the island had sent them.
"Come," he finally said, climbing onto Nyx's shoulder. "Let's go home."
Nyx lowered herself, letting the children climb onto her back.
"Jeanyx?" Sirius asked as Nyx spread her wings.
"Yes?"
"What did the Elders see in us?"
Jeanyx looked down at him — violet eyes catching the morning light.
"Potential," he said softly. "More than they have ever seen. Potential to shape the future. Potential to break it."
Nyx launched into the sky with a single powerful beat of her wings, the children clinging to her scales as the world fell away beneath them.
"And potential…" Jeanyx finished,
"that even I don't fully understand yet."
The wind swallowed the rest as they soared toward the Mourning Keep — leaving the Elders trembling, and destiny shifting beneath the mountain's shadow.