(Vincent's POV - London - 2047)
London sprawled beneath me, a tapestry of shimmering lights and steel, a city remade. I stood on the rooftop of the newly built Van Doren Enterprises tower, the wind whipping at my hair, the familiar scent of rain and magic clinging to the air. Below, the Thames snaked through the urban heart, its surface reflecting the city's restless pulse, a symphony of life and progress.
My city. My world.
Ten years. Ten years since the flames had consumed the old Parliament building, since Fenrir had struck their last blow, a desperate attempt to shatter the fragile peace I'd forged. Ten years since I'd stared into the abyss, had faced my own reflection in the eyes of my son, and pulled the trigger.
Brian.
The memory, a ghost that haunted the edges of my thoughts, sent a familiar shiver down my spine. I'd won, of course. Cerberus had crushed Fenrir, their network dismantled, their leaders – including Brian – silenced. The world had watched, fear and fascination mingling in their eyes as the news broke.
"Cerberus: Elite Force Thwarts Terrorist Plot," the headlines had screamed.
We'd manipulated the narrative, carefully controlled the flow of information. Cerberus, the organization I'd built in the shadows, emerged into the light, a symbol of strength, of protection, of a new world order. The irony wasn't lost on me. They craved the very power I'd sought to control, the power I knew, with a chilling certainty, could corrupt even the noblest of souls.
Applications to join Cerberus had flooded in – wizards, witches, non-magicals, eager to be part of this elite force, to wield that power, to wear the mask of the Hound. I'd watched the recruitment process with a detached amusement, the echoes of Brian's twisted ambition a constant reminder of the fragility of control.
But Fenrir had failed. Their goal – to sow chaos, to shatter the integration, to drive a wedge between the magical and non-magical worlds – had backfired. The attacks, the fear they'd generated, had only solidified the need for unity, for cooperation. The world, faced with a common enemy, had chosen to embrace the future I'd envisioned.
Progress never stopped, almost dizzying. Magical healing techniques had revolutionized medicine. Renewable energy, fueled by ancient magic, was now powering entire cities. Transportation, streamlined by carefully controlled Apparition and Portkey networks, had shrunk the globe.
The world was changing. Thriving.
Yet, as I stood here, at the pinnacle of my empire, the city lights a glittering testament to my success, a hollowness gnawed at me, a bitter aftertaste to the victory.
Brian, on his path of destruction, had caused some irreparable damage.
He hadn't managed to destroy the union, the integration. But he'd struck a blow that would forever reverberate through my life – the death of Arthur.
Arthur.
My firstborn.
The memory of his laughter, his bright smile, the way his blue eyes had always mirrored my own… It was a knife twisting in my gut, a wound that refused to heal.
Daphne had left me. The news of Arthur's death, the realization that our son had been killed by the product of my own betrayal… It had shattered her. The divorce had been swift, brutal, a finality that echoed the emptiness that had settled over our lives.
I understood her anger, her inability to forgive. If it had only been the affair, perhaps… but Arthur… That was a wound that would never heal.
Daniela and Victor… they still spoke to me. They came for holidays, brought their children to visit their grandfather, the man who'd shaped the world. But the warmth, the easy affection we'd once shared, was gone, replaced by a careful politeness, a distance that mirrored their mother's hurt. They'd lost respect for me. And a part of me, a small, hollow part, couldn't blame them.
Hermione…
I didn't think about her. Not anymore. Her decision to hide Brian's existence, the years of silence, the lies… it had all led to this. To Arthur's death. To the fracturing of my family.
What the hell was she thinking?
No. I wouldn't go there. Not anymore. The anger, the bitterness, it was a poison I refused to swallow.
I'd won. My vision had prevailed. The world was changing, embracing the future I'd fought for. But the price…
I closed my eyes, the wind whipping at my face, the city lights a blur beneath my lids.
Time. Maybe time would heal these wounds.
But a part of me, a chillingly familiar voice whispered in the darkness, knew that some scars never faded. Some choices echoed through eternity.