The air was thick with the smell of damp stone, the scent of decay lingering in the forgotten corridors of Selwyn Manor. The once-grand estate had fallen into disrepair, its walls now crawling with ivy and mold. Wind howled through the broken windows, echoing through the crumbling halls like the whispered secrets of a long-dead dynasty. It was in this place of ruin and rot that Dorian Selwyn, the last heir of the Selwyn family, had grown up—raised by shadows and silence.
Dorian stood at the edge of the ancient library, his silhouette barely visible against the dim candlelight that flickered from the hearth. His fingers trailed along the spines of the books on the shelves, each one older than the next, filled with forgotten magic and forbidden knowledge. The library was the heart of his family's dark legacy, its contents hidden from the world for centuries. And in that library, Dorian had found his power.
He wasn't like the other children who grew up in stately homes or the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. No, Dorian had been raised in isolation, a ghost among the remnants of his family's once-feared name. His only companions were the tomes of dark magic that filled the manor's shelves and the few spectral servants that drifted through the corridors like wraiths.
But the loneliness had never bothered him. If anything, he thrived on it. Solitude gave him time—time to study, time to learn, time to master the darkness that had been passed down through his bloodline. And now, at sixteen, he was far more dangerous than anyone could ever imagine.
The fire crackled, casting long shadows across the room as Dorian opened one of the oldest volumes he had found hidden behind a false panel in the library's wall. The Journal of Salazar Slytherin. It was his family's greatest treasure, an artifact of unimaginable power. The faded pages were filled with dark spells and secrets that had been lost to history—secrets that even Voldemort, the so-called Dark Lord, had never uncovered.
But Dorian had found it. And soon, he would use it to take back what was rightfully his.
His pale eyes flicked across the ancient script, his heart quickening with every line. There were spells in this book that defied the very laws of magic, spells that could bring entire armies to their knees, spells that could reshape the world. But none of it mattered yet—not until he was ready.
He closed the book, his mind racing with the possibilities. Heir of Slytherin. That was what the journal had called him, a title passed down through the Selwyn line since the time of Salazar himself. And while the world had forgotten the name Selwyn, it was time to remind them of the power it once held.
The creaking of floorboards behind him pulled Dorian from his thoughts. He turned to see Estera, the guardian who had raised him, standing in the doorway. She was as much a part of the manor as the walls themselves—an ageless figure cloaked in black, her face hidden beneath a hood that always seemed to shift like smoke. Her voice, when she spoke, was like the hiss of a serpent.
"The time is near," she said, her words slithering through the room. "Have you made your decision?"
Dorian's gaze drifted back to the journal, his hand resting on the worn leather cover. He had been preparing for this moment for years, ever since he had first discovered the truth about his family. There was no hesitation in his mind.
"I have," he said, his voice steady and cold. "I will claim what is mine."
Estera stepped forward, her eyes gleaming from beneath her hood. "You are ready, then? You know what this means?"
"I know," Dorian replied, his hand tightening around the edge of the table. "It means the world will burn before it bends to anyone but me."
A slow smile spread across Estera's face, though it was hidden in the darkness of her hood. "Very well. You are the last of your kind, Dorian. The blood of Salazar Slytherin runs through your veins. Do not waste it."
Her words echoed in the stillness of the room as Dorian turned his attention to the map laid out on the table before him. The Wizarding World was divided, torn between the Ministry's tightening grip and the growing whispers of Voldemort's return. But Dorian cared for neither side. They were distractions, fools squabbling over power that was beneath him.
The Selwyn family had been powerful once—rulers, feared across the magical world for their dark arts and their ruthless ambition. But over the centuries, their name had been reduced to whispers, a forgotten lineage among the pure-blood elite. His ancestors had fallen, betrayed by the same Ministry they had once manipulated. They had become ghosts.
But Dorian would change that. He had no intention of living in the shadow of his ancestors. He would not be a relic of the past. He would become something more—something far greater than Voldemort or any other dark wizard had ever been. His plan was simple: rebuild, manipulate, and rise.
"And where will you begin?" Estera's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp as a blade.
"Durmstrang," Dorian answered, his gaze never leaving the map. "I will start there. It is time I test my strength among those who still believe in bloodlines and power."
Estera tilted her head, considering his words. "Durmstrang is no longer the safe haven it once was. The Death Eaters have their eyes on it now. They are recruiting—taking those who show potential, corrupting them with promises of power."
A smile curled on Dorian's lips. "Let them. They will not know what has hit them."
He had studied enough, trained enough, and waited long enough. Durmstrang would be his proving ground. And from there, he would spread his influence like a virus, seeping into the cracks of the already fractured wizarding world. He would manipulate them all—the Ministry, the Death Eaters, and even Harry Potter's so-called resistance. None of them would see him coming.
Dorian turned away from the map, his eyes glinting with determination as he moved toward the door. "I leave tomorrow. I'll need the appropriate documents."
Estera nodded, already anticipating his needs. "It will be done. But remember, Dorian, power comes at a price. Be careful that you do not lose yourself in the darkness. Even the greatest fall."
Dorian paused at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder. "I was born in the darkness, Estera. It is not something I fear. It is what I will use to shape the future."
With that, he swept out of the room, the heavy wooden door closing behind him with a final, echoing thud. The manor seemed to exhale in his wake, the shadows shifting as if alive, following their master as he made his way down the long, empty corridors. He would leave Selwyn Manor behind tomorrow, but its lessons, its secrets, and its power would stay with him. He would carry the weight of his family's legacy on his shoulders, and he would use it to bend the world to his will.
For too long, he had been a ghost—a forgotten heir to a lost name. But no more.
Dorian Selwyn would rise. And when he did, the world would tremble.
As he climbed the staircase toward his chambers, Dorian felt the weight of destiny pressing down on him like a storm on the horizon. He was ready for what was to come. Ready to step into the world and claim what was rightfully his. His thoughts drifted to the journal once more, the ancient words etched into his mind.
"The heir of Slytherin shall return in darkness, reborn through blood and fire."
Dorian allowed himself one last glance at the crumbling estate through a nearby window, its silhouette dark against the rising moon. His time had come. And soon, the storm would break.
Tomorrow, the world would know the name Dorian Selwyn. And they would fear it.