The wind howled through the narrow, icy corridors of Durmstrang as Dorian made his way to his dormitory. The stone walls were rough, unforgiving, and cold, much like the school itself. As he walked, the distant murmurs of students drifted toward him, their whispered conversations barely audible beneath the storm outside. His mind, however, was already focused on what lay ahead. Durmstrang wasn't just a school—it was a battlefield. And Dorian knew the first rule of war: to win, you had to know your enemies and, more importantly, your allies.
The confrontation with Lukas Grimmel in the dining hall earlier had been an interesting test. Grimmel, with his arrogance and bravado, thought himself the dominant force in his group. It was a mistake Dorian had seen many times before—those who believed that power came solely from physical intimidation or reputation rarely understood the subtleties of true control. Grimmel would be useful, for now. But like all tools, he would be discarded when his usefulness ended.
Durmstrang was a school of predators, and while most students here were drawn to strength, they misunderstood its true nature. Strength wasn't about brute force. It was about control, about knowing when to strike and when to let others fall into traps of their own making.
As he entered the common room of List House, he was greeted by the sight of students gathered around various tables, deep in conversation. Some were playing games of strategy, magical versions of chess and other mind-bending puzzles. Others were reading, poring over ancient tomes that held secrets of the dark arts. There was an air of calculation in the room, a quiet intensity that told Dorian he was among the most cunning minds in the school.
He scanned the room quickly, noting who was present and who wasn't. Matthias Borgin sat near the fireplace, his long fingers playing idly with a silver coin as he spoke in low tones to a girl with sharp, inquisitive eyes. Nearby, a group of third-year students huddled around a board game, their expressions serious as they plotted their next moves. Dorian recognized a few of them—children of prominent pure-blood families, each with their own ambitions.
None of them would be an immediate threat, but some had the potential to be allies. It was a delicate balance—choosing who to align with and who to manipulate from a distance. Dorian knew he had to be careful. Durmstrang was filled with those who would seize any opportunity to gain an advantage, and while he welcomed the challenge, he knew that a single misstep could lead to ruin.
He approached the fire, feeling the warmth seep into his skin as he sat down in one of the high-backed chairs. Matthias looked up, his eyes flicking over Dorian before offering a nod of acknowledgment.
"Selwyn," Matthias greeted, his tone friendly but measured. "Settling in, I see."
Dorian gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "It seems Durmstrang is everything I expected."
Matthias smirked. "Oh, I'm sure it is. But expectations only take you so far here. You'll find that Durmstrang has its own... rules."
"And you intend to teach me those rules?" Dorian asked, leaning back in his chair, his voice laced with mild amusement.
Matthias chuckled softly, flicking the silver coin into the air and catching it deftly. "I wouldn't presume to teach you anything, Selwyn. You strike me as someone who learns quickly. But a word of advice—" he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "watch your back. People here aren't always what they seem."
Dorian met Matthias's gaze, unblinking. "I never assume they are."
Matthias held his gaze for a moment longer before leaning back, a satisfied grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good. Then you'll do just fine."
The conversation ended there, but Dorian knew that Matthias was testing him, probing for weaknesses. Borgin was a tactician, a schemer, but he lacked the patience and foresight that Dorian possessed. He might think himself clever, but Dorian could already see the cracks in his facade. Still, Matthias had connections, and connections were valuable. For now, he would keep him close.
As the fire crackled in the hearth, Dorian's thoughts drifted to the figures he had observed during the evening meal—specifically, Ingrid Ravnsborg. Head of the Våld House, she had a presence about her that intrigued him. Where others sought dominance through sheer force, there was something more refined in the way Ingrid carried herself. She had power, but it was tempered by control—like a coiled serpent, ready to strike only when the moment was right.
She would be someone to watch. Perhaps even someone to align with, if their goals could be made to intersect.
Dorian's attention was drawn back to the room as the door to the common area swung open, and a group of older students entered, their voices louder than necessary. At the head of the group was none other than Lukas Grimmel, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the doorway as he strode in with an air of entitlement. His two lackeys trailed behind him, laughing at something Grimmel had said.
Dorian watched as Grimmel scanned the room, his gaze lingering on him for just a moment before moving on. It was clear that Grimmel still harbored resentment from their earlier encounter, but for now, he seemed content to bide his time.
"Grimmel," Matthias muttered under his breath, his expression souring as the larger boy walked past. "Arrogant bastard, that one. Thinks he owns the place."
Dorian raised an eyebrow, curious. "He doesn't?"
Matthias gave a short laugh. "Not as much as he'd like to think. He's got some influence, sure—especially with the muscle-brains in Våld. But his real strength is in intimidation, not strategy. He's powerful, no doubt, but he doesn't think two steps ahead. That'll be his downfall."
"Interesting," Dorian said quietly, filing the information away for later. Grimmel was dangerous, but as Matthias had pointed out, he lacked foresight. It was the type of flaw Dorian could easily exploit when the time was right.
The night wore on, and eventually, the common room began to empty as students headed to their dormitories. Dorian remained by the fire, his mind still working through the pieces on the board. He had made a few observations tonight—enough to start laying the groundwork for his plans. But there was still much to learn.
As he stood to leave, the door to the common room opened once more, and this time, it was not a group of students but a lone figure who entered.
Ingrid Ravnsborg.
She moved with the grace of a predator, her black robes flowing around her like smoke as she crossed the room with quiet confidence. Her raven-black hair fell over her shoulders, framing her sharp features, and her piercing blue eyes seemed to see everything. She did not look at Dorian directly, but he knew she was aware of him.
Without a word, she walked to the far end of the room, where a large window overlooked the snow-covered mountains. She stood there for a moment, her back to the room, her hands clasped behind her.
Dorian hesitated, watching her. There was something about her presence that demanded attention, though she did nothing to seek it. She was different from the others—stronger, more composed. It was clear that she held a position of authority among the students, but unlike Grimmel, she didn't flaunt it. She didn't need to.
After a moment, she turned her head slightly, as if sensing his gaze. "Dorian Selwyn," she said, her voice soft but firm. It wasn't a question.
Dorian raised an eyebrow, intrigued by how she already knew his name. "Ingrid Ravnsborg," he replied, matching her tone.
She turned fully to face him, her expression unreadable. "I've heard of you."
Dorian remained silent, waiting.
She studied him for a moment, her blue eyes sharp as a blade. "Durmstrang is a place where power is earned, not given. You'd do well to remember that."
Dorian's lips curved into a faint smile. "I intend to."
Ingrid's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned back to the window. "We'll see."
It wasn't a challenge, but it wasn't a dismissal either. It was a statement—a recognition that they both understood the game being played here. And in that moment, Dorian knew that Ingrid wasn't just another obstacle or a potential pawn. She was something more. Perhaps an equal, perhaps an ally.
As he left the common room and made his way toward the dormitory, Dorian couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter with Ingrid was the first of many. She was different from the others, and he would need to approach her carefully.
The pieces on the board were moving, and Dorian was determined to stay several steps ahead. Durmstrang was full of ambitious students, but none of them knew what was coming. None of them understood the scope of Dorian's vision. Not yet.
As he lay in his bed, the cold stone walls of the dormitory pressing in around him, Dorian's mind buzzed with plans. He would play their game, for now. He would gather allies, eliminate threats, and rise to the top of Durmstrang's hierarchy. But his ambitions didn't end there. This was only the beginning.
Soon, the world would know the name Dorian Selwyn.
And they would tremble.