The cobblestone road wound through the forest, eventually leading to an expansive clearing. After a quarter-hour of walking, the trees parted to reveal a breathtaking sight—a grand castle shimmering in the sunlight, its towers piercing the sky. The structure exuded an air of majesty and mystery, its intricate architecture hinting at an ancient lineage and untold stories.
As they approached the castle gates, Dumbledore and McGonagall couldn't help but glance at each other, their awe evident. The castle seemed almost otherworldly, its stone walls alive with the hum of ancient magic.
At the end of the road, two figures awaited them. A man and a woman, both wearing unique attire that seemed both regal and practical, stood with an air of quiet dignity. Draped over their heads was a sheer, white cloth that obscured the upper part of their faces, leaving only their lips and chins visible. The fabric caught the sunlight, giving them an ethereal quality. Despite their anonymity, their presence was commanding.
Hecate approached the two servants standing at the end of the road, her sharp eyes taking in their cautious yet respectful demeanor. Without missing a beat, she turned to the two wizards accompanying her and remarked with a teasing smirk,
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, perhaps one of you should use the Lingua Communis charm. While I know English, you certainly don't know ours."
Her tone was light, but the underlying pride in her heritage was unmistakable. The servants, a man and a woman clad in simple yet dignified attire, stiffened as she came closer. As though rehearsed, they both dropped into a low bow and greeted her in perfect unison,
"Ñuha dārilaros!"
Their voices resonated in Valyrian, carrying the melodic rhythm of the ancient language. "Greetings, my princess."
Hecate's smirk deepened, her expression triumphant as she turned her head slightly toward the wizards. "See what I mean?" she quipped, her tone playfully triumphant.
--------
The moment they spotted Hecate, both servants placed a hand elegantly over their chests and bowed in perfect unison. Their movements were fluid and precise, as though choreographed over countless years of service.
"Greetings, my princess," they said in unison, their voices calm yet reverent.
Dumbledore's sharp eyes flicked toward Hecate, noting the seamless exchange with interest. McGonagall, though outwardly composed, was brimming with questions, her lips pressed tightly together.
The woman stepped forward first, her movements graceful as she addressed the professors. "It is a pleasure to meet you, esteemed guests from the other side," she said, her tone polite yet warm.
The man then stepped forward, his deep voice complementing the woman's. "Your Highness," he addressed Hecate, "if you may, I believe we should proceed. The king and queen are currently in a meeting with the noble houses. Would you prefer to await them in the royal waiting room, or should we escort you to your quarters first?
He turned toward Dumbledore and McGonagall, adding, "As for your esteemed guests, we have prepared rooms for them should they wish to rest or freshen up after their journey."
---
Hecate gave a small nod of acknowledgment to her servants, her posture exuding the effortless poise of someone accustomed to such formalities. The Cube's influence made her movements fluid and deliberate, lending an air of regal authority to her demeanor.
"We shall proceed to the royal waiting room," Hecate said, her tone calm yet decisive. "Our guests may join us if they wish, though I leave the choice to them."
Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back, his expression one of polite curiosity. "I must admit, the journey thus far has been quite invigorating," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I would be delighted to continue to the waiting room and see more of this remarkable place."
McGonagall hesitated for a moment, her gaze darting toward the towering castle. "If it's not too much trouble, I would prefer to join as well," she said, her voice laced with formality.
"Very well," the male servant replied, inclining his head respectfully. "If you would follow us, please."
---
The group moved forward, passing through a massive gate that swung open soundlessly. The path leading into the castle was lined with flowering vines that seemed to shimmer faintly, their hues shifting subtly as if in response to the presence of those who passed. Dumbledore, ever observant, leaned slightly closer to examine one of the blooms, his curiosity piqued by the faint magical aura emanating from it.
"Living magic," he murmured softly to himself, though McGonagall caught the words and gave him a sharp look.
The castle's interior was even more opulent than its exterior, with high vaulted ceilings, intricate carvings, and soft light filtering through stained glass windows that depicted scenes of history, myth, and triumph. Despite its grandeur, the space radiated a sense of warmth and life, as though it welcomed them with open arms.
The waiting room itself was no less impressive. Plush couches upholstered in rich fabrics were arranged around a low table set with an assortment of exotic fruits and beverages. The air was faintly scented with something floral, and the room's walls were adorned with tapestries that depicted stories from what appeared to be the Targaryen dynasty.
Hecate gestured toward the seating. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. The king and queen should join us once their meeting concludes."
As the servants moved to stand discreetly by the door, Dumbledore settled into one of the chairs with a soft sigh, his eyes sweeping over the room. "This is truly a marvel," he said, his voice filled with admiration.
McGonagall, still slightly stiff with unease, perched on the edge of her seat. "Indeed," she said, though her tone was more reserved. "I must say, this is unlike anything I've ever encountered."
Hecate, seated gracefully across from them, allowed herself a faint smile. "You've only just begun to see what the Celestial Dominion has to offer," she said cryptically.
The room fell into a contemplative silence, each of them lost in their thoughts as they waited for what lay ahead.
From the comfort of her private viewing room, Hecate reclined against the plush couch, her hand idly reaching for a piece of fruit from the array of snacks. The panel before her displayed the scene as it unfolded in the castle, showing every detail as though she were right there. Her mind, however, was entirely detached, observing as her body—now under the Cube's control—moved with precision and grace.
She took a sip from her drink and smirked, her voice echoing in the mental space she shared with the Cube. "You did a great job covering their faces. This way, there won't be any loose threads if Dumbledore or McGonagall tries to trace them back to the real world."
The Cube's voice resonated softly, [Oh, no, master. Under the veils, they indeed have faces. However, I selected those faces from the worlds you've visited before—like the one you recently traversed or even your first world.]
Hecate raised a brow, intrigued. "Oh, I see. Clever thinking. So, you used the faces stored in my memories?"
[Precisely, master,] the Cube replied, its tone respectful yet confident. [The mind is a treasure trove. It records details, even those its owner isn't consciously aware of. By drawing from this vast library, I craft characters and environments that align with your perceptions, ensuring an experience that feels both authentic and secure.]
Hecate chuckled softly. "Well, you've outdone yourself this time. That explains why everything feels so familiar yet untouchable."
[Thank you, master. I merely utilize the resources at hand,] the Cube said humbly. [By using familiar elements, I ensure the reality I create inside feels grounded and believable while also protecting this realm's uniqueness from external interference.]
Hecate tilted her head thoughtfully. "So, my supposed parents and family—do they have faces from those worlds too?"
[Not exactly, master,] the Cube replied after a brief pause. [For someone to portray your parents, I believed they needed to exude a unique presence befitting their roles. I took creative liberties, blending elements from various inspirations in your subconscious. This ensures they stand apart, even among the array of faces within your memories.]
Her lips curved into a sly smile. "Well, we'll see if they live up to the hype. For now, I'm enjoying the show."
[Your satisfaction is my priority, master.]
Leaning back, Hecate watched as her controlled body led the professors further into the castle, her mind buzzing with the anticipation of what lay ahead. The Cube's ingenuity never ceased to amaze her, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the family it had conjured for her. They were, after all, about to play host to two of the most brilliant minds in the wizarding world.
-----------
The transition from silence to conversation in the waiting room was seamless, marked by the delicate clinking of porcelain cups and the soft rustling of fabric as Dumbledore and McGonagall sipped their tea. Hecate sat poised and calm, her demeanor polished, though she occasionally glanced toward the grand doorway, as if awaiting an arrival.
Dumbledore, ever the conversationalist, broke the silence with a curious question. "Miss Targaryen, might I ask—what was the language those two young servants spoke earlier? It had a melodic quality, quite unlike anything I've heard before."
Before Hecate could respond, the doors swung open with an air of quiet authority, and the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the king and queen.
They were a sight to behold.
The man stepped forward first. His androgynous face was striking, complemented by shining silver hair cascading past his shoulders. He exuded an aura of effortless regality, his violet eyes gleaming like polished amethysts. Despite his youthful appearance—he seemed to be in his early twenties—there was an undeniable wisdom and weight of years in his gaze.
Beside him was the queen, a woman whose beauty was nothing short of ethereal. Her straight black hair flowed like a dark waterfall, framing her face with meticulous precision. Her posture was impeccable, her presence commanding yet warm. Together, they stood tall and elegant, an image of unity and power.
Trailing behind them were ten servants in matching uniforms, their movements synchronized and precise, each with an air of silent reverence.
Dumbledore and McGonagall, both startled by the sudden presence of such imposing figures, quickly stood and performed what could generously be called bows. Meanwhile, Hecate rose from her seat with a radiant smile and walked toward them.
"Good morning, my little princess," the king greeted, his voice rich and warm in a way that seemed reserved solely for his daughter. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his stern expression softening.
Hecate responded with a gentle hug. "Good morning, Father."
The queen stepped forward, patting Hecate's head affectionately. "Did you have breakfast, darling?" Her voice was soothing, like the melody of a lullaby.
"Yes, we did while waiting for you," Hecate replied, her voice tinged with affection.
"Good to hear," the queen said with a pleased smile.
Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged subtle smiles, moved by the warmth of the familial exchange. They stepped forward, performing another attempt at a bow. "Good morning, Your Majesties," Dumbledore greeted, his voice polite but tinged with intrigue.
The king turned his attention to them, his expression friendly yet commanding. "Oh, there is no need for formalities," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You are not my subjects. Simply call me Rhaegon Velarion Targaryen, if you please." With that, he removed the gleaming silver crown from his head and handed it to the nearest servant.
What happened next was remarkable. Instead of the crown being placed into the servant's hands, their palms glowed a soft, ethereal purple, and the crown floated above their hand as if suspended by magic.
The queen, meanwhile, allowed her husband to gently remove her crown as well, which he handed to another servant. Her voice was as refined as her appearance when she spoke. "And I am Vaelerya Nyrion Targaryen of the Marvelous House," she said with a nod, her tone carrying a melodic grace.
Dumbledore's sharp eyes caught every detail of the display, from the glowing hands of the servants to the regal composure of the royal couple. "Fascinating," he murmured to himself, stroking his beard. "Your kingdom's magic is truly unique."
McGonagall, less prone to openly expressing astonishment, remained quiet but kept her gaze fixed on the scene, her mind racing with questions.
The king smiled at Dumbledore's remark, his voice tinged with amusement. "Unique, perhaps, but not incomprehensible to someone of your caliber, I suspect. Come, let us sit and talk. There is much to discuss."
As the royal couple gestured for them to follow, the waiting room's atmosphere shifted. The weight of grandeur and history seemed to press down on the visitors, and yet, amidst it all, Hecate remained poised and confident, the link between these two vastly different worlds.
As everyone settled into the luxurious yet understated sitting room, a quiet stillness filled the air. The soft rustle of servants pouring tea and the occasional crackle of the fireplace were the only sounds, though the palpable curiosity from Dumbledore and McGonagall hung thick in the atmosphere.
The king leaned back into his grand armchair, his long silver hair catching the light, and tapped thoughtfully on the armrest. "Where to begin..." he mused aloud, his tone contemplative. Finally, he smiled. "How about this: ask your questions, and I will answer as much as I can reasonably afford."
Dumbledore nodded appreciatively, his keen blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Excellent. Then let us begin with the most pressing: what is this place? And who are you people, if I may ask?"
"Albus!" McGonagall muttered, her tone both cautioning and embarrassed by the directness of his question.
But the king only chuckled softly, waving away her concerns. "No, no. It is a fair question. A foundational one, really. Very well," he said, straightening in his chair. "Let me give you a brief history lesson."
He gestured with his hand as if shaping the narrative from the air itself. "Long ago—long before wands were created, even before the dark days of the witch hunts—there existed those who wielded magic. But back then, it was raw, untamed. Control was a dream, and mastery? A near impossibility."
Dumbledore tilted his head, clearly intrigued.
"Rather than risk disaster by experimenting wildly," the king continued, "our people took a different approach. Each individual focused on mastering a single spell—a singular form of magic that defined their life's work. They would either create or inherit one spell, honing it through endless practice. Over generations, this dedication led to something extraordinary. These spells... they became part of us. They were no longer just tools but ingrained into our very bloodlines."
"Bloodline magic..." Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
The king nodded. "Indeed. Over time, families formed, each tied to their unique magic. Clans grew from families, and eventually, these clans came together to form a kingdom—a sanctuary for those like us. Leading this kingdom was a single house so powerful it commanded reverence and fear alike: the Targaryen family."
Minerva, who had been quietly absorbing the story, spoke up for the first time. "Fascinating... but if such a kingdom existed, why is there no record of it? Surely such a society could not have gone unnoticed."
The king's expression darkened slightly, his tone somber. "Because we erased ourselves. Intentionally."
"Why?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward slightly.
Before the king could answer, the massive double doors to the room burst open with a dramatic flourish, interrupting the conversation.
"Have they arrived already? And you didn't wake me up? Hmph!"
All heads turned as an elderly woman strode into the room, her energy belying her apparent age. Though she looked to be in her late fifties, there was something indomitable about her presence. Her sharp eyes swept the room, taking in the visitors with an intensity that made even Dumbledore sit up straighter.
The king sighed heavily, massaging the bridge of his nose. "And this," he said wearily, "is my grandmother."
"Good morning, my little prince," she said sweetly, completely ignoring his tone as she approached. With an ease that defied her age, she pushed him aside, claiming the seat next to his.
Hecate hid a smirk behind her tea cup, clearly amused by the exchange.
The queen spoke next, her tone smooth as silk. "grandmother, we were just in the middle of an important conversation."
"Important? Please. If it's important, I should be here!" The grandmother's voice carried a sharpness that only years of confidence and experience could produce. She turned her piercing gaze on Dumbledore and Minerva, appraising them like one might examine rare artifacts. "So, you're the outsiders. Interesting." Though her gaze lingered on Dumbledore for a second.
"Indeed, ma'am," Dumbledore replied politely, inclining his head. "It is an honor to meet you."
"Flattery? Hmph. You'll need more than that if you want to impress me," she said with a sly grin, though there was no malice in her tone. "Now, where were we?"
The king groaned softly. "We were just explaining why our kingdom erased itself from history, Grandmother. If you'll allow me to continue—"
"Erased from history, yes, yes," she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "The 'why' is simple, isn't it? We were too powerful. Too advanced. The world wasn't ready for us, and we weren't interested in its chaos. Better to vanish and keep our secrets safe than to risk being hunted, manipulated, or worse."
"Well put, Grandmother," the king said dryly, clearly accustomed to her interruptions.
She grinned. "I've had more time to think about it than you, boy. Now, pour me some tea, won't you?"
As the king reluctantly complied, Dumbledore chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling. "Your family dynamic is as fascinating as your history."
"It certainly is," McGonagall muttered under her breath, trying to hide her amusement.
Hecate finally broke her silence, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. "You'll find we're full of surprises, Professors. This is only the beginning."
And with that, the conversation resumed, the room now charged with the lively energy of the grandmother's presence.
-----
The great-grandmother of Hecate stood abruptly, her regal yet commanding presence drawing the room's attention like a magnet. With an unexpected clap of her hands, she declared in a voice that brooked no argument, "Now chop chop! You two"—she gestured toward the king and queen—"go spend time with your little one somewhere else. I want to talk to the wild boy and his sidekick."
The room fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of teacups being set down.
The king sighed audibly, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "As you wish, Grandmother. I assume we have no say in this matter?"
"None whatsoever," she replied sharply, shooing them off with a flick of her wrist. The queen chuckled softly, gracefully rising from her seat and taking Hecate's hand.
"Come, darling. Let's leave the elders to their conversation," the queen said, giving her daughter a warm smile.
Hecate shot a curious glance toward her great-grandmother, who only grinned back with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Don't worry, my little dove. I won't bite... yet."
With that, the king, queen, and Hecate exited the room, the younger princess glancing back once more before disappearing into the corridor.
---
Once the door closed behind them, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes turned to the elderly woman, now smiling in a way that seemed all too knowing. Her words still echoed in his mind: wild boy. It was a nickname he hadn't heard in decades, one that had only been used by one person—Grindelwald. His grip on his wand tightened imperceptibly.
Minerva, on the other hand, was frozen in shock, the word sidekick ringing in her ears like an unwelcome bell. Her face flushed slightly, though she composed herself quickly.
The great-grandmother clapped her hands again, startling them both. "Now then," she said briskly, "let's get on with it, shall we? No need to sit around like statues. How about a tour of the palace? It'll give us plenty of time to... chat."
Dumbledore recovered quickly, his expression calm and polite, though his curiosity burned brighter than ever. "A tour would be most enlightening, ma'am. Please, lead the way."
Minerva, still caught between confusion and irritation, managed a polite nod.
"Good," the great-grandmother said with a satisfied nod. "Now, follow me. And try to keep up—I'm old, not slow."
---
As they stepped into the grand hallway, the sheer opulence of the palace revealed itself. Intricately carved stone pillars lined the path, their surfaces glowing faintly with runes that seemed alive. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting battles, celebrations, and scenes of ancient magic, all rendered in stunning detail.
"You've done well to keep this place hidden," Dumbledore remarked as they walked, his voice casual yet probing.
The great-grandmother smirked. "Well, we had little choice, didn't we? The world isn't kind to those it doesn't understand. But you know that better than most, don't you, wild boy?"
Dumbledore's step faltered ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly. "You seem to know much about me, ma'am," he said, his tone neutral.
"Oh, I know more than you'd like me to," she replied, glancing over her shoulder with a sly smile. "Your past, your ambitions, even your... regrets."
Minerva frowned, her protective instincts kicking in. "I hope you're not implying anything untoward."
The great-grandmother laughed, a rich, melodic sound that echoed through the hall. "Relax, girl. If I meant harm, you wouldn't be here to question me." She paused, then added with a mischievous glint, "And as for sidekick... don't take it too personally. Every hero needs one, after all."
Minerva bristled, but Dumbledore placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Let us not be distracted by semantics," he said smoothly.
"Wise words," the great-grandmother said approvingly. "Now, on to more important matters."
---
They entered a grand hall, the ceiling so high it seemed to stretch into the heavens. A massive chandelier made entirely of glowing crystals hung above, casting a warm, ethereal light. At the center of the room was a map etched into the floor, depicting lands and seas unfamiliar to the visitors.
"This," she said, gesturing broadly, "is the heart of our kingdom. Every decision, every plan, every move we've made has started here." She turned to face them, her expression suddenly serious. "And now, it's time to decide what to do with you two."
Dumbledore met her gaze evenly, his tone calm but firm. "And what do you mean by that?"
"Simple," she replied. "You've stumbled into a world that wasn't meant for you. The question is: do we let you leave with your memories intact, or do we make sure you never speak of this place to anyone?"
The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with unspoken tension. Minerva's hand moved instinctively toward her wand, but Dumbledore raised his hand slightly, signaling her to wait.
The great-grandmother's lips curved into a smile again, though this time it was less playful and more predatory. "Relax," she said. "I'm only teasing... mostly. But it's something you should think about. Knowledge is a burden, and not everyone is strong enough to bear it."
Her words hung in the air as they continued the tour, leaving both Dumbledore and Minerva with more questions than answers.