That Saturday, bright and early in the morning. Or even earlier than the sun as the clock was now five in the morning.
Fila stood outside the schoolground, broom in hand.
The air at five in the morning was less like a breeze and more like a blade. Fila's breath came out in thick, white plumes that vanished almost instantly into the pre-dawn gloom. Behind her, the silhouette of Ilvermorny sat like a sleeping giant, its windows dark except for the faint, flickering glow of the eternal flames in the entrance hall.
Today she would see if the map really was a lesson about spirit, and if not she would have a talk with the headmaster. No scratch that, she was still mad at him.
Fila tightened her grip on the broom handle, the wood biting into her palms. She didn't just feel cold; she felt sharpened, like a blade being tempered in the freezing mountain air.
"Spirit," she muttered, her eyes tracking the jagged silhouette of the North Peak. "If this is a lesson, Fontaine, it's a dangerous one to give a Grindelwald."
She didn't kick off with the grace of a Quidditch player. She kicked off with the desperation of someone who had nothing left to lose but her temper.
The transition was violent. One moment she was in the sheltered valley of the school, and the next, the mountain winds hit her like a physical wall. The North Peak was a "no-fly" zone for a reason, the air was magically turbulent.
"Is that all you've got?" Fila hissed, leaning so low her chest pressed against the broom.
The winds seemed to have accepted her challenge as it hit her harder and colder than moments before. freezing weight that tried to peel her fingers from the broom handle and shove her back down toward the jagged tree line. Every few seconds, a "pocket" of dead air would drop her a dozen feet, making her stomach lurch before a violent updraft slammed into her, rattling her teeth.
Fila's vision began to blur as the frost gathered on her eyelashes. Her knuckles were white, matching the snow-capped crags passing by in a dark, dizzying smear.
"You want spirit?" she yelled into the void, her voice instantly swallowed by the gale. "I'll give you spirit!"
What followed was an intense and scary couple of minutes as fila fought against nature itself. Holding on for dear life to the broom.
She gazed up to see if she was even close to the top yet. Nothing, she saw nothing. The snow blowing closer to the top was blocking her visibility. Doubt started filling her mind, and a bit of panic.
The doubt was a coldness deeper than the wind. It settled in her chest, heavy and suffocating. What if there is no map? What if I'm just a girl with a cursed name, freezing to death on a mountain because I'm too stubborn to listen?
The broom bucked again, a savage downdraft nearly wrenching it from between her knees. She felt the Silver Arrow groan, the old wood reaching its breaking point.
"No," she rasped, her voice cracking. "I am not falling."
She looked around for, something. Then she saw it, the plants at the edge of the mountain. The broom flew closer and closer to the mountainside. The huge wall of rock shielded her slightly from the heavy winds.
The air still screamed around the peak like something alive, but here it was broken into smaller currents that pushed and pulled instead of trying to tear her from the sky entirely.
Fila guided the broom closer to the cliff face.
The stone rushed past her shoulder only a few feet away. Frost clung to every surface, thin layers of ice coating cracks in the rock like glass veins. Snow had collected on narrow ledges where stubborn mountain plants clung to life.
Her fingers were numb.
She flexed them once on the broom handle just to make sure they still listened.
"Good," she muttered.
The Silver Arrow shuddered beneath her, but the wood seemed grateful for the reduced wind. The angry groaning eased slightly.
She kept climbing.
Slowly.
The mountain wall rose beside her like a dark cathedral. The snowstorm near the peak thickened, swirling in dense curtains that erased the sky completely. Visibility dropped to only a few meters.
For a moment she considered landing.
But the ledges were narrow and uneven, and something in her refused to stop now that she had come this far.
She leaned forward again.
"Almost there," she whispered.
The mountain wall finally began to curve inward, the jagged granite giving way to a flat, icy shelf. Fila gave the broom a final, desperate surge of magic, and with a bone-jarring thud, she cleared the last ridge.
The transition was instantaneous and eerie.
The screaming gale that had been trying to tear her apart for the last twenty minutes vanished, replaced by a silence so heavy it made her ears pop. She was standing in the Eye of the Storm. Above her, the swirling clouds formed a perfect, hollow cylinder, revealing a circle of stars that looked unnervingly close and cold.
Fila rolled off her broom, her legs giving way the moment her boots hit the permafrost. She lay there for a second, gasping for air that felt like liquid nitrogen in her lungs. Her fingers were white, locked in the shape of the broom handle, and she had to manually pry them open one by one.
The clearing was weird. Around her she could feel traces of magic, but she didn't see anything. But the weird stone platform in the middle did seem out of place. Not only that but on the platform laid objects and material like branches and other things.
Fila stood still and observed, tried to listen. But the storm around her made that almost impossible.
The silence in the Eye was so absolute it felt physical, like a weight pressing against Fila's eardrums. She managed to push herself up onto her elbows, her gaze fixed on the stone platform in the center.
It wasn't just a platform. As her vision cleared, she realized the branches weren't random debris. They were woven, thick boughs of lightning-struck oak, shards of shimmering obsidian, and what looked like shed silver feathers.
It wasn't an altar. It was a nest.
The static in the air suddenly spiked. The fine hairs on Fila's arms stood on end, and a metallic taste, like a copper coin, flooded her mouth. The circle of stars above her began to flicker as if something massive were passing in front of them.
There was no sound of beating wings. Instead, there was a sudden, violent crack of thunder that didn't come from the surrounding storm, but from directly above.
A shadow descended, eclipsing the starlight.
It landed with a force that made the mountain itself shudder. Fila scrambled backward, her hands scraping against the ice, as the creature unfurled itself. It was massive, easily the size of a small plane. It possessed three pairs of powerful wings that shimmered with the shifting colors of a bruised sky: deep indigo, electric white, and a translucent, crystalline blue
Gemini sa
The silence in the Eye was so absolute it felt physical, like a weight pressing against Fila's eardrums. She managed to push herself up onto her elbows, her gaze fixed on the stone platform in the center.
It wasn't just a platform. As her vision cleared, she realized the "branches and odds and ends" weren't random debris. They were woven—thick boughs of lightning-struck oak, shards of shimmering obsidian, and what looked like shed silver feathers.
It wasn't an altar. It was a nest.
The static in the air suddenly spiked. The fine hairs on Fila's arms stood on end, and a metallic taste, like a copper coin, flooded her mouth. The circle of stars above her began to flicker as if something massive were passing in front of them.
The Arrival of the Storm
There was no sound of beating wings. Instead, there was a sudden, violent crack of thunder that didn't come from the surrounding storm, but from directly above.
A shadow descended, eclipsing the starlight.
It landed with a force that made the mountain itself shudder. Fila scrambled backward, her hands scraping against the ice, as the creature unfurled itself. It was massive, easily the size of a small plane. It possessed three pairs of powerful wings that shimmered with the shifting colors of a bruised sky, deep indigo, electric white, and a translucent, crystalline blue that matched the light beneath Fila's own skin.
A Thunderbird.
Its feathers weren't just feathers; they looked like shards of polished storm-glass. Its eyes were twin suns of white lightning, staring down at her with a terrifying, ancient intelligence. It didn't screech, it hummed, a low-frequency vibration that resonated in Fila's chest, matching the frantic beat of her heart.
The great bird tilted its head, its beak, sharp and dark as midnight, clicking softly. It took a heavy, deliberate step toward her, its talons carving deep grooves into the permafrost.
"I'm not here to fight you," Fila whispered, her voice surprisingly steady despite her shaking limbs. "I'm just... I'm looking for what was left for me."
The Thunderbird let out a low, melodic trill that sounded like wind whistling through a canyon. It fanned its topmost wings, and the air in the Eye suddenly filled with dancing sparks of gold and blue. It didn't attack. Instead, it moved toward the nest and nudged a specific spot with its beak.
There, tucked amidst the silver feathers and lightning-charred wood, sat the cylinder of darkened leather Fila had been searching for.
The bird stepped back, its golden-white eyes fixed on Fila, waiting. It wasn't just a guardian, it was a judge.
The static in the air was so thick Fila could taste it, sharp, metallic, and ancient. She pushed herself off the permafrost, her legs trembling like a newborn fawn's, but she didn't look away from the creature's twin-sun eyes.
She took a step. Then another.
The Thunderbird's middle set of wings unfurled slightly, a warning that sent a wave of heat and ozone rolling over her. Fila didn't stop.
Fila didn't flinch. She stared into those twin-sun eyes, seeing not just lightning, but a reflection of her own stubbornness. The bird let out a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the soles of her boots. It was a sound of recognition.
Once she finally reached the nest looking platform, she reached for the map. But before she did, she turned to look at the thunderbird. Watching so it didn't grow angry for what she was doing.
"So… I can just grab this?" Fila asked the bird, expecting a response, but none were given. She shrugged and took the leather bound scroll, she took of the binding and unscrolled the map.
Fila looked at the piece of paper in her hand… "Are you kidding me" she mumbled.
The so called map, wasn't a map. Written on the paper. 'I'm impressed that you didn't even think about why I restricted this mountain.'
"That old man I swear…" she said to the useless paper she was holding. It had been a note from the headmaster. And the book must have been pulling her into some prank.
The silence in the Eye of the Storm suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like a punchline. Fila stood there, the freezing air finally beginning to seep through her robes again, staring at the elegant, looping script of Headmaster Fontaine.
The Thunderbird tilted its head, a low, rhythmic clicking sound coming from its throat. If Fila didn't know better, she'd have sworn the ancient, multi-winged personification of a hurricane was laughing at her.
"I almost died for a post-it note!" she yelled, spinning around to face the Thunderbird. The bird simply flared its crystalline blue wings, sending a spray of harmless static sparks into the air. It seemed entirely unbothered by her existential crisis.
As her anger spiked, the parchment in her hand began to vibrate. The heat from her own magic, fueled by her temper, seemed to react with the paper.
She smoothed it out quickly. The ink of the first message began to bleed and swirl, rearranging itself like iron filings around a magnet. The smug note disappeared, replaced by shimmering, glowing lines that pulsed in time with the Thunderbird's humming.
"True spirit isn't just the courage to climb, Fila. It's the wisdom to know what you're climbing toward."
The thunderbird that had been watching this from a distance, silently closed the distance and now stood just behind Fila.
"Are you in on this prank aswell?" she asked the oversized bird.
It didn't blink. It just let out a soft, rhythmic puff of air from its nostrils that smelled like the first rain after a drought.
"A literal wingman," Fila muttered, her anger cooling into a sharp, curious wonder. "Great. So the Headmaster has the forces of nature on his payroll now."
But during her fit, she noticed a feather. Hovering, just before her.
The big bird who had just been with her was gone.
Fila reached out and grabbed it. a pale feather almost bigger than her forearm.
It was a pale, translucent silver, but deep within its fibers, a core of electric indigo pulsed like a heartbeat.
She looked up into the storm that had slowly started to fade. And soon the early morning sky opened up, reveling the surrounding areas around the school, and the school itself.
Fila walked to the edge, overlooking the school. She loved this school, all her friends and the feeling it gave her of almost being home. It felt more home than home. Sure it had given her headaches a lot, and almost made her die once.
She took a deep breath, the air finally losing its jagged, icy edge as the sun began to bleed a pale gold over the horizon. From this height, Ilvermorny was breathtaking, a castle of dark stone and silver towers rising out of the mist like a dream.
She didn't want to leave the peace of the peak, but the world below was waking up. She could see the faint lights of the Great Hall flickering to life, signaling the start of breakfast.
Fila mounted the Silver Arrow. This time, she didn't kick off with desperation. She leaned forward, the Thunderbird feather tucked securely inside her coat, and let the broom tip into a graceful, sweeping dive.
The descent was effortless. The turbulent air that had nearly broken her broom on the way up now seemed to part for her, cradling her as she spiraled down toward the forest's edge. She landed softly near the outskirts of the school grounds, her boots hitting the dew-covered grass with a quiet thud.
She brushed the frost from her robes and smoothed her hair, trying to look less like a girl who had just survived a mythological storm and more like a student who had simply taken a very early morning stroll.
The great hall was starting to come alive in the early Saturday morning,
Fila had sat down at the thunderbird table, her comrades weren't awake yet. Only the early bird would be up by now.
The heavy oak doors of the Hall creaked open again. Fila didn't look up, but she felt the shift in the air. A shadow fell across the table, stretching long and thin in the morning sun.
"You're up early, Miss Grindelwald," a voice remarked. It was calm, rhythmic, and carried the faint, dry crackle of old parchment.
Fila looked up. Headmaster Fontaine stood there, his colorful robes looking particularly vibrant today. He didn't look like a man who had just played a life-threatening prank; he looked like a grandfather who had lost his spectacles. But his eyes, sharp and knowing, glanced briefly at the spot where the feather was hidden beneath her coat.
"The air is quite brisk at five in the morning, wouldn't you agree?" he asked, taking a casual seat across from her. "Especially near the peaks."
Fila looked at him with annoyed eyes, this man had just made her trip useless. "Yes, yes. Get it out, you and the old book fooled me." She felt like a kid who just got pranked by another kid.
He chuckled, "I must say your ability to understand the idea of the spirit of a thunderbird were spot on, I didn't expect anything less. But the speed that you solved it was astonishing."
"Astonishing? Is that what we're calling it now?" she countered, her voice low so the few other students in the hall wouldn't overhear. "I call it nearly being turned into a human popsicle for a piece of paper that told me I was being a 'stubborn Grindelwald' without actually saying the words."
Fontaine didn't seem bothered by her tone. He reached for a platter of toast, meticulously selecting a piece. "Nature is a harsh teacher, Fila. But she is honest. Had you not possessed the spirit to push through that doubt on the cliffside, the Thunderbird would never have appeared. It doesn't show itself to the curious, only to those with the sheer will to stand where the sky meets the earth."
He paused, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.
"And I suspect you didn't come back empty-handed. The air around you is... humming. It's quite a distinctive frequency."
'How does this annoying old man know eveything'
Fila didn't answer him, she didn't need to he already knew.
Fontaine looked at the little thunderbird. "There will be a tournament, next term. I have decided that you will be a part of the team."
Fila head turned sharply towards him. "W…What?"
The toast in Fontaine's hand stayed poised midway to his mouth as he enjoyed her shock. The playful grandfatherly facade didn't drop, but it deepened into something more purposeful.
"A tournament?" Fila repeated, her voice rising just enough to make a nearby Pukwudgie student glance over. She quickly lowered it again, leaning in. "You put me through a death-defying mountain climb just to tell me I'm being drafted? I'm a student, not a gladiator."
"Its a little friendly duel between schools." Fontaine explained. "It will be between Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo and Mahoutokoro. And it has been organized by David hale. You aren't part of the dueling yet since your accident, but I've given the permission for you to be part of the five who will compete."
"You are a member of the team, Fila. Full stop," Fontaine said, his voice losing its playful edge for a brief moment.
He stood up, the light from the Great Hall's ceiling making his robes shimmer like oil on water.
"Mr. Hale will be arriving this afternoon to begin the preliminary briefings for the Five. I suggest you finish your juice and perhaps find your friends. You'll need a support system, the schools are bringing their best, and they aren't nearly as 'friendly' as I am."
He turned to leave, but stopped, looking back at her one last time. "And Fila? Don't let the feather get too dusty. It likes to be used."
She mumbled something under her breath and dunked her head right into the table.