◇◇◇
Light hummed before it existed.
Sound followed — a pulse, slow and heavy, like a heartbeat beneath the frost.
Arthur's eyes opened to a sky the color of iron.
He was lying in a field — vast, silver, and still. Every blade of grass glistened with frozen dew. The wind carried a faint chime, like memory ringing across centuries.
And inches from his face — a pair of gold eyes stared back.
Auren's.
Arthur flinched so hard he nearly rolled over. "What the hell, man?"
Auren blinked, all innocence and mischief. "What? It was nice watching you sleep. Peaceful. Almost angelic."
"You're a real creep."
"Flattery gets you nowhere," Auren said, straightening with a lazy spin. His boots didn't quite sink into the frost — like the ground didn't fully believe in him. "Anyway, wake up. Someone wants to meet you."
Arthur pushed himself upright, brushing frost from his jacket. "Someone?"
Auren grinned. "Oh, you know him. You love him. You've never met him."
Arthur frowned. "That makes no sense."
"Good," Auren said. "You'll fit right in."
The wind changed.
Mist rolled through the field like breath exhaled from the earth. Far in the distance, on a rise of pale stone, stood a mansion — tall and half-ruined, its towers lit with a dull blue glow. Glenhaven. The Reeves ancestral home.
Arthur's chest tightened. He'd seen it before — in dreams, in mirrors, in the shimmer of ice right before his power surged. But this was different. Realer. Sharper.
The fog bent. The air rearranged itself — and from that distortion, a figure began to take form.
Not walking forward. Arriving.
Hair black as ink, streaked with molten gold. Eyes so bright they turned the frost to vapor.
Every step remade the space around him, bending the air as though reality were trying to adjust to his presence.
Arthur squinted. "Who's that supposed to be?"
Auren's grin faded — not fear, but reverence.
"That," he said quietly, "is us."
Arthur blinked. "Did we — did we make a baby or something?"
Auren groaned. "When I say 'us,' I mean the part of you that made the rest of us possible."
His voice dropped, a touch of awe threading through the sarcasm. "I give you Ardyn Reeves."[1]
The figure stopped a few paces away. Light rippled beneath his skin like gold veins under ice. The air thickened around him — ancient, serene, and inevitable.
"Ageless," Auren murmured. "Looks thirteen and eighteen at the same time until he speaks."
Arthur's throat went dry. "Does he… talk?"
Ardyn smiled. The sound of it was almost thunder.
"So. You're the shell that forgot it was fire."
Arthur scowled. "You're one of my problems, aren't you?"
"All of your problems have my fingerprints," Ardyn said. "I am the firstborn — the one the rest of you imitate."
He turned slightly, eyes catching the cold light. "You were made by me, brother."
Then, to Auren: "And you, little spark — still playing with ashes?"
Auren grinned. "Still trying to be you, old man."
"Impossible," Ardyn said, voice almost gentle. "You were built to want me — never be me."
The air between them quivered — a perfect balance trembling on the edge of collapse.
Arthur exhaled. "So what happens now?"
Ardyn stepped closer, each word rolling like quiet thunder over the frost.
"Now," he said, "you wake up. Everything's broken… and you are the one who did it."
The wind roared. The frost cracked beneath Arthur's boots.
Glenhaven's towers pulsed once, like a dying heartbeat — then the world fractured.
Light, shadow, memory — all shattering at once.
Arthur fell through it.
◇◇◇
Location: Ilvermorny courtyard. Hours after the Incursion
The night refused to end.
Smoke curled over the courtyard, clinging to the ruins like ghosts that didn't yet realize they were dead. The lake was no longer water — a black mirror of half-frozen glass, cracked where magic had burned too bright.
Aurors and healers moved like clockwork across the wreckage, their boots crunching over frost and ash. Every few seconds, the air flashed blue as new containment sigils were etched into the ground, sealing fractures that still whispered with latent power.
Director Elaine Margrave stood at the epicenter — her cloak torn, her posture flawless. She looked like someone who had been through the end of the world before and was unimpressed by the encore.
Behind her, Cassian Reeves lingered near the edge of the frozen lake, watching the containment runes burn faintly into the ice. Arthur's power really turned spring to winter.
A low hum vibrated beneath their feet — the residue of the dome that had shattered hours ago.
"Careful with that," Elaine called to the nearest team. "If it starts singing again, you run, not analyze."
"Yes, Director!" came the reply.
Cassian exhaled, the breath visible in the cold. "You always did know how to command chaos."
Elaine didn't look at him. "Chaos listens to confidence, not titles."
He gave a tired half-smile. "And what does truth listen to?"
"Whatever edits it first," she said flatly.
She gestured toward the field medics nearby. Two of them were levitating Arthur, limp and pale, toward the emergency tent. His veins still faintly glowed — silver under skin, like buried lightning.
Cassian's smile faltered. "He doesn't even look real anymore."
"He's not," Elaine said, softer now. "Not entirely."
A few yards away, Vivienne sat wrapped in a healer's cloak, refusing to rest. Her eyes followed Arthur as he passed, her hands clenched tight enough to shake.
Daniel stood beside her, bandaged but silent — the falcon perched at his shoulder fading in and out like an ember dying slow.
Around them, the courtyard buzzed with controlled panic. Aurors adjusted their wards; professors gave statements they knew would never reach the papers.
One of the younger agents approached Elaine with a clipboard and stammered, "Director, we've compiled preliminary reports. Witness accounts vary, but… most are calling it a 'shadow incursion.'"
Elaine raised a brow. "Are they now?"
The agent swallowed. "Yes, ma'am. But… how would you like it worded for the public record?"
She turned fully then, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
"The official report will state," she said slowly, "Magical beasts rampage contained by coordinated Auror response. No mention of Vaelric. No mention of the boy."
The words dropped like stones into the silence.
Cassian gave a short, weary laugh. "We've supposedly learned nothing."
Elaine's gaze drifted back to the lake — to the faint golden thread pulsing deep beneath the ice, like a buried heartbeat.
"Oh," she murmured, voice low and dangerous. "We've learned too much."
She looked at him then — really looked — her expression unreadable.
"That's the problem."
Hours later. The next morning. In Wren's office.
Headmistress Wren, sleeves rolled, her silver badge still scorched from the battle, sat across from Elaine and Cassian. The crackling fire threw uneven shadows across her desk, half-hidden by stacks of scrolls and reports.
"I told your people not to classify my students like field weapons," she said sharply, breaking the silence.
Elaine didn't flinch. "Then control them before they turn into one."
Cassian stepped in quietly. "Enough. Both of you." He looked between them — two generals of different wars. "We all saw what happened. Arthur isn't a weapon… but he isn't safe here either."
Wren's eyes flickered to the window, where the faint blue of containment wards still shimmered beyond the glass. "You want to send him back to Hogwarts."
Cassian nodded. "That was the agreement I made with them. It"s almost."
Elaine crossed her arms. "You think shipping him across the sea will change what's inside him?"
Cassian's tone softened. "It might remind him he's still a student — not a subject."
Wren exhaled slowly. Her gaze lingered on Arthur's file — pages of diagrams, academic notes, and incident reports. At the bottom, his latest results glimmered faintly:
Arthur Damian Reeves (13)
Third year;
IBPS —previously 68 but after extreme good services to school increased to 83
Remark : Exceeds expectations.
"If I release him," she said, "he leaves as a scholar, not an experiment."
Cassian frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Wren said, straightening, "he'll take the promotion exams next week. Early. If he passes, he returns to Hogwarts as a fourth-year. Clean transfer, full credit. Officially… nothing ever happened."
Elaine arched a brow. "You're rewriting records now?"
"I'm protecting a child," Wren said. "One of mine."
The words silenced the room. Even Elaine didn't argue.
After a long pause, Cassian nodded. "That'd work."
Wren gave a faint smile, weary but proud. "Tell him," she said softly, "that Ilvermorny has taught the boy all it can."
Outside, dawn began to rise — pale light creeping over the frozen lake.
◇◇◇
The room smelled faintly of ozone and frost.
Magic residue still lingered in the air — the kind that hummed even when you weren't listening.
Arthur lay motionless on the narrow bed, skin pale, veins lit faintly from beneath. The light pulsed in slow rhythms — not random, not dying — just… recalibrating.
At his bedside sat Alpha, fur silver-black under the lamplight. The wolf didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe louder than a whisper. He looked less like a beast than a sentinel carved from patience.
Outside the curtained partition, voices murmured, soft and weary. Then Daniel Reeves pushed through, followed by Cassian, his father.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the stasis wards over Arthur's bed — lines of runes breathing in time with his pulse.
Daniel's voice broke first, roughened from smoke and battle.
"Whatever he unleashed… it wasn't meant for one person."
Cassian's hand rested on the rail, fingers tightening until the metal creaked. His eyes never left Arthur.
"No," he said quietly. "It was meant for a god. And my nephew borrowed it."
Alpha's head lifted slightly. His golden eyes met Cassian's.
"Please tell me," the wolf rumbled, voice low as thunder, "that you're taking him away from here."
Daniel huffed a small laugh, ruffling the fur between the wolf's ears. "Alpha, you big softie. Never knew you cared."
"I never knew I did," Alpha said simply. His gaze softened. "Not until last night. His heart was on fire… but his feelings felt wrong. Too big. Too old. Like they weren't his."
Cassian's tone carried quiet gravity. "They are. They all are. That's what frightens me."
Silence folded in again, broken only by Arthur's slow, mechanical breathing.
Alpha leaned closer to the boy, his voice barely more than a growl of guilt.
"He's so fragile. Yet strong. Don't tell him I said that."
Cassian's lips quirked faintly. "Your secret's safe."
Then, more soberly: "He's going back to Hogwarts. As soon as he's stable."
Daniel nodded once, though something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. "That's probably for the best."
Alpha's ears twitched. "Hogwarts…" he muttered. "Far from Ilvermorny. Far from me."
Cassian glanced at him. "Will you be able to handle that? Being away from your bond — for years, maybe?"
The wolf was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, the words felt heavier than the air itself.
"I've dealt with pain before. The pain of betrayal. The pain of losing pack. Of being bound, broken, forgotten." His eyes softened. "Nothing hurts like being bonded to a heart that's learning how to hurt for the first time."
Daniel's hand paused mid-motion on the wolf's shoulder. "You mean Arthur?"
Alpha gave a soft, almost human sound — something between a sigh and a growl.
"He feels everything too deeply. That's why the world keeps trying to numb him."
Cassian's gaze darkened, though not from anger — from understanding. "Then you'll wait?"
Alpha's head dipped. "Always. Even wolves wait for fire to return."
The room fell still again.
Outside, dawn light bled through the frosted windows, touching Arthur's face — and for a fleeting instant, he smiled.
Daniel smiled faintly. "Guess he heard you."
Alpha looked up, eyes gleaming gold. "He always does."
The wolf turned back toward the sleeping boy, lowering himself beside the bed once more.
"I'll stay until he wakes," he said softly.
Then, almost to himself:
"After that… I'll let him go."
◇◇◇
Miles away, beneath a softer sky, the world seemed almost healed.
Seagulls traced slow arcs over the whitecaps, and the air smelled of salt, rain, and something faintly electric — the aftertaste of old magic.
Leah stood at the shoreline, boots half-buried in wet sand. The waves broke quietly around her ankles, catching bits of sunlight that shimmered like glass.
She hadn't spoken in hours. She didn't need to. The ocean already knew her secrets.
She crouched and brushed her fingers against the water's edge. The surface rippled — and her reflection blinked.
It smiled first.
"Do you know what you are?" the reflection whispered, voice softer than wind.
Leah's lips curved faintly. "Yes."
A pause.
"His other half."
The reflection's eyes brightened, a mirror of gold where hers were only brown.
"Good girl," it murmured. "You remember."
Leah straightened, letting the tide swirl around her boots. The horizon burned with the color of beginning — gold bleeding into storm-grey.
"We'll meet again, Arthur," she said, her voice threading into the wind like a vow. "I was made to be yours."
The reflection tilted its head, smiling wider, inhuman and knowing.
"So wait for me," Leah whispered. "And when you do…"
Her smile grew, soft and terrifying.
"…don't run."
The water stilled.
Her reflection smiled back — and then, with a single blink, the ocean went dark.
[1] Ardyn Reeves is the third manifestation of the Fivefold inheritance — the Arcane Core. He is not just a fragment of Arthur — he’s the power itself given sentience: pure, boundless magic stripped of morality or restraint.Where Arthur represents the vessel, and the others embody facets of soul or instinct, Ardyn is the fire that forged them all. He’s the storm, the god, and the ghost — and Arthur’s test to prove that even infinite power must kneel before a mortal heart.