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Nightingale set her quill aside and gave a gentle breath across the wet ink until it dried to a soft sheen. She rolled the parchment with deliberate care and bound it with a ribbon of deep blue silk, each movement precise and unhurried, as though sealing a quiet thought.
"I don't have any scraps of mithril here today," she said, lifting her gaze toward Noctis, who stood silently at the corner of the desk. A faint apology lingered in her eyes. "So you may have to fly back on an empty stomach."
She slid the finished letter toward the raven's dark talons. "Take it to him," she added in a low voice.
Yet Noctis did not budge.
Its eyes, black as obsidian glass, fixed upon her without a single blink. The silence between them stretched for two long heartbeats, dense and unbroken, carrying a weight of intent no ordinary bird could ever possess.
Her slender brows arched in quiet surprise.
She lowered the hand that had been poised to straighten her quill, leaned back in her chair, and met the raven's unyielding stare with sharp, unwavering eyes.
The faint flicker of worry and apology faded away, replaced by a calm that seemed to pierce through every hidden veil.
"You are watching, aren't you?"
Her voice was soft yet certain, each quiet word cutting cleanly through the hush that filled the room.
She held the bird's steady gaze as though she could see beyond its dark surface to the young wizard far away at Hogwarts.
"Sargeras," she went on, her tone returning to its measured calm, "to spy upon a lady's private chamber in this way is rather rude."
She raised her hand, reached down, and took back the letter tied with the blue ribbon from the raven's feet.
Without sparing the bird another glance, she opened a drawer in her desk and placed the letter inside. A soft click marked the turn of the key as the lock settled firmly into place.
"Now," she said, her eyes lifting once more to the silent figure in the corner, her voice as tranquil as before yet edged with the finality of farewell, "you may go."
Still the raven did not move. Nightingale's hand, halfway to the row of potion bottles, paused midair. She turned her head slightly and, from the corner of her eye, caught the unnatural stillness that wrapped the bird like a quiet shroud.
"You have somewhere else to be?" she asked softly, her tone touched with quiet understanding.
The raven gave no sound, no twitch of wing, only a silence so complete it felt like an unspoken yes.
Her slender brows drew together in thought. After a brief pause she spoke again, her voice gentler now. "Very well. Better that than wandering unguarded beyond the wards."
She reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and, with practiced ease, set her quill to the page. A few swift lines flowed beneath her hand:
༺✧─────────────✧༻
The antidote remains under study. Conditions are stable.
P.S. There is no mithril dust. Noctis left my care hungry, with an empty stomach. — Nightingale
༺✧─────────────✧༻
Sliding the message into the small leather tube fastened to the raven's leg, she lingered for a heartbeat. Her gaze traced the sleek shine of its black feathers, and when she spoke again her voice carried a quiet, almost tender weight. "Then… go carefully. Stay safe."
The raven remained motionless at the corner of the desk, its dark glassy eyes seeming to carve Nightingale's parting words into memory.
A few seconds passed. Then, without warning, its wings unfurled and it lifted into the air, a sudden stroke of living shadow. Gliding through the open window without a sound, it vanished into the deepening dusk beyond Beauxbatons Castle.
Noctis did not turn back directly toward Hogwarts.
Guided by Sargeras's will, it cut through the thickening night.
It swept over London, where crowds hurried beneath the glow of streetlamps, blind to the magic that brushed past them. The raven's flight ended with perfect accuracy on the windowsill of a private ward on the sixth floor of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the wing devoted to Cursed Wounds.
Inside, the light was warm and subdued. A subtle fragrance of calming draughts and rare herbs lingered in the air, blending with the steady, low hum of enchanted instruments that shimmered faintly as they kept watch over the room.
On the bed lay Kestrel, her face tight with discomfort.
Beside her sat Hummingbird, clad in the robes of a St Mungo's healer. She looked more worn than when they had last met, yet every movement of her hands was steady and delicately precise.
With a damp cotton pad, she dabbed gently at the dry skin along Kestrel's forehead, her eyes fixed on her work.
The shadow of a raven slid across the windowpane. Hummingbird sensed it before sight confirmed it, and when she lifted her head and saw that familiar silhouette, a flicker of relief softened her tired eyes. She gave the dark figure outside the faintest nod of recognition.
The window eased open, and Noctis slipped inside with a sound no louder than the whisper of wings.
"Kestrel, look who has come to see you."
Hummingbird's voice carried a quiet warmth.
The raven dipped its head and drew the small parchment scroll from the leather tube strapped to its leg.
Hummingbird took the parchments and unfolded it. One glance was enough to understand. "Hmm… it seems," she murmured, "it went to Nightingale first."
She turned the note toward Kestrel so she could see for herself.
"Nightingale still hasn't finished the antidote?" Kestrel gave an exaggerated sigh, the complaint half playful and half weary.
"It isn't something done overnight." Hummingbird's smile was gentle. "The potion we're dealing with is entirely new. Finding the right counter to it takes far more than a quick recipe."
As she spoke, she reached for a quill, its nib catching the faint gleam of the ward-light, and began to write with swift, practiced strokes:
༺✧─────────────✧༻
All is well at the hospital.
However, I do not have any Mithril dust here either. — Hummingbird
༺✧─────────────✧༻
She was about to slip the message back into the leather tube when Kestrel let out a sudden wail, a burst of energy breaking through her frailty.
"I need to write something too, Sister Rollison." She tried to push herself upright but quickly sank back with a wince. "Ugh… maybe you can write it for me."
Hummingbird chuckled under her breath but did not argue.
"Just write… hmm, write that I'm sorry." Kestrel's voice softened and lost its earlier bravado.
Hummingbird said nothing more. She simply added the words with a clean stroke and returned the parchment to its place.
Noctis lingered a moment, his black eyes steady on the patient and the quiet guardian beside her. Then he spread his wings and slipped back into the fading light without a sound.
The next leg of his journey stretched long. By the time the raven reached the rim of the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, the sun was already climbing high into another afternoon.
The desert lay in a boundless sweep of gold. Heat rolled across the dunes in waves that bent the air itself, so that the distant ridges wavered like shapes seen through water.
The raven cut through the glare as if the sun were nothing. A dark phantom against the blinding sky, it circled once before coming to rest at the outer fringe of a vast canvas awning that sheltered the dig site.
The sand beneath gleamed with scattered fragments of ancient stone carvings, their hieroglyphs faded with age. Intricate runes of detection magic traced faint patterns across the ground where the earth had been opened for study.
Swift was crouching beside a freshly uncovered pit.
He wore a light sand-colored expedition outfit with a broad-brimmed hat. His sleeves were rolled up, leaving his arms bare. His muscles were lean and strong, and his skin had taken on a healthy wheat-gold from the desert sun.
He looked lively and alert, every inch of him returned to the quick, efficient form that was his nature.
At that moment, he was bent over a slab of stone covered with hieroglyphs, brushing away fine dust with a narrow enchanted brush. His eyes were sharp and unwavering as he worked.
A sudden wind swept across the site, carrying grit that hissed through the air. He shifted easily aside to let the sand pass. The quiet beat of wings drew his attention and he lifted his head.
Beneath the shadow of his hat his bright eyes caught the black bird and a quick, open smile curved his mouth. He raised a hand in greeting.
Taking the leather tube from the raven's leg, he unrolled the parchment inside and read it quickly. He nodded once, then again, and a slightly sheepish grin tugged at his mouth.
"I don't have any mithril dust either," he said, his voice warm with humor. "Would you settle for owl feed?"
He held out a small handful of grain, speckled with sand, and offered it to Noctis.
The raven fixed him with a long, unimpressed stare, then turned its head aside with a sharp flick. Its feathers ruffled in clear refusal.
"Uh… alright, alright," he said with a quiet laugh. "Not to your taste, I see."
From his pocket he drew his wand and gave it an easy twist. In an instant, the wood shifted into a slender quill.
༺✧─────────────✧༻
The curse on me has completely faded, no need for worry.
P.S. Noctis is leaving hungry again and seems rather displeased. — Swift
༺✧─────────────✧༻
When the note was finished, he slid it back into the tube and fastened it with care.
The raven lingered only a heartbeat longer. Then it launched upward, wings catching the harsh desert light, and rose into the open sky to continue its long journey toward the far west.
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[Chapter End's]
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