The figure that rose from the pool was not fully formed—a mass of shadow and mist, its shape shifting and twisting as if the ancient magic holding it together was unstable. Still, the presence of the entity was undeniable. The power it radiated was suffocating, pressing down on Dorian like an immense weight. The voice that had spoken moments before still echoed in his mind, its rasping, ethereal tone lingering like a cold wind through a graveyard.
"Heir of Slytherin… what is it you seek?"
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Dorian was unsure how to respond. He had known this chamber would hold power—he had prepared for it, sought it out—but now, standing before this spectral figure, he realized that the forces he had unleashed were far older and more dangerous than he had imagined.
Beside him, Ingrid Ravnsborg remained still, her sharp eyes trained on the figure. She, too, could feel the weight of the magic in the room, but her expression betrayed no fear—only a calculated interest. Dorian had not expected her to falter; she had always been composed, but now he sensed something more—a hunger in her gaze, as if the power of this figure fascinated her as much as it did him.
Dorian took a slow breath, steadying himself before stepping forward. He could feel the ancient magic stirring in the air, coiling around him, testing him. This was his moment, and hesitation could mean failure.
"I seek the knowledge of Salazar Slytherin," Dorian said, his voice clear despite the tremor of energy crackling through the chamber. "I seek the power that has been hidden here."
The figure's head tilted slightly, though its face remained obscured by the swirling shadows. For a moment, there was silence, and then the voice spoke again, softer this time, but no less chilling.
"Many have come seeking what you seek, heir of Slytherin. All have failed."
Dorian felt a chill run down his spine, but he held his ground. "I am not them."
The figure seemed to regard him for a long moment, the shadows around it shifting and writhing as if alive. Finally, it spoke again, this time with a hint of something like amusement in its tone.
"You carry the blood of the old magic, yes. But blood alone is not enough. You seek power, yet you do not understand the price it demands."
Dorian's jaw tightened. He had been raised in the dark arts, trained in the old ways by his guardian, Estera, and steeped in the knowledge of his ancestors. He understood power. He understood the risks it required.
"I am prepared to pay the price," Dorian said, his voice firm.
The figure's hollow eyes turned to him, and for a moment, the shadows around it grew darker, the oppressive magic in the chamber intensifying.
"You are prepared to pay the price, but are you prepared to accept the consequences?" the figure whispered. "The magic you seek to unlock is bound by blood, by sacrifice. Once unleashed, it cannot be controlled. It will consume you, as it has consumed all who have come before you."
Dorian's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his voice steady. "I will control it. I am not afraid."
The figure let out a low, rasping sound—something between a laugh and a sigh. "Fear is not what binds you, heir of Slytherin. It is ambition. Ambition can be a powerful ally, but it is also a dangerous master."
Ingrid shifted slightly beside him, her voice cutting through the heavy air. "What is this power you speak of? What is hidden in this chamber?"
The figure turned its head toward Ingrid, and Dorian felt a surge of magic ripple through the room. The entity seemed to regard her with curiosity, but also wariness, as if her presence was unexpected.
"You are not of the bloodline," the figure said, its voice colder now. "This is not your place. You cannot claim what does not belong to you."
Ingrid's expression remained calm, but Dorian could sense the tension in her. "I seek knowledge, nothing more."
The figure's form shifted again, the shadows around it swirling faster, and Dorian could feel the magic growing more unstable. He needed to take control of the situation before things spiraled out of hand.
"Enough," Dorian said, his voice hard. "I came here to claim my birthright. You speak of power, of consequences, but I know what I am doing. Show me what lies within this chamber, or I will find it myself."
The figure's gaze snapped back to Dorian, and for a moment, the shadows around it froze, as if time itself had stopped. Then, slowly, the figure began to move, gliding across the chamber toward the far end, where the tall pillars stood like silent sentinels.
"Very well, heir of Slytherin," the figure whispered, its voice barely audible. "You have chosen your path. Follow me, and you will find the answers you seek. But be warned—what you find may not be what you expect."
Dorian followed, his heart racing but his mind focused. Ingrid walked beside him, her expression unreadable, but he could sense her curiosity, her hunger for what lay ahead. The figure led them to the edge of the pool, where the four pillars formed a perfect square around the dark water.
The runes on the pillars glowed faintly, their energy pulsing in time with the magic in the air. Dorian could feel it now—an overwhelming force, trapped just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He had felt it before, in the wards that protected Durmstrang, but here, in this chamber, the power was raw, untamed.
The figure stopped at the edge of the pool, turning to face Dorian once more.
"Here lies the heart of Slytherin's magic," it said, its voice low and reverent. "The bloodline of Salazar Slytherin is bound to this place, and only his true heir can unlock its full potential."
Dorian's grip tightened on his wand. He could feel the power calling to him, urging him forward. But he also knew that this was the moment of truth—the moment when he would have to prove himself worthy.
"What must I do?" Dorian asked.
The figure gestured toward the pool. "Blood, heir of Slytherin. Blood is the key to unlocking what lies within. The magic of this chamber is bound to the blood of its creators. Only through sacrifice can the power be claimed."
Dorian's mind raced as he processed the figure's words. Sacrifice. He had known from the beginning that the old magic demanded a price, but now, standing on the edge of this dark abyss, the weight of that price felt heavier than he had anticipated.
But he had come too far to turn back now.
With a steady hand, Dorian raised his wand, slicing a thin line across the palm of his left hand. Blood welled up, dark against his pale skin, and he held it over the pool, allowing the drops to fall into the still water.
As soon as the first drop touched the surface, the entire chamber trembled. The runes on the pillars flared to life, their light growing brighter and more intense with each passing second. The pool rippled violently, the dark water churning as the magic within it surged to the surface.
Dorian felt a wave of energy crash over him, so powerful it nearly knocked him off his feet. The shadows around the figure writhed and twisted, and for the first time, Dorian sensed something like pain in its voice.
"It begins," the figure rasped. "The power of Slytherin flows through you, heir. But beware—once this magic is unleashed, it cannot be contained. It will consume you if you are not strong enough."
Dorian gritted his teeth, focusing all of his will on controlling the magic that surged through him. He could feel it coursing through his veins, like fire and ice, burning and freezing him from the inside out. But he would not be consumed. He had trained for this. He had prepared for this moment his entire life.
He would not fail.
The light from the runes grew brighter, and the pool began to glow, its dark surface turning a deep, luminescent green. The shadows in the chamber seemed to retreat, pulled back into the pool as if being absorbed by the magic within.
Dorian's vision blurred as the power intensified, but he forced himself to remain standing, his wand raised, his blood dripping steadily into the water.
Then, with a final, blinding flash of light, the chamber fell silent.
The figure had disappeared, the shadows gone. The pool lay still once more, its surface smooth and reflective. But Dorian could feel the difference—the power that had been locked away for centuries was now his. It pulsed through him, a living force bound to his very soul.
Beside him, Ingrid watched in silence, her expression unreadable.
Dorian lowered his wand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had done it. He had unlocked the magic of the chamber, claimed the power that had been hidden for centuries.
But even as he stood there, triumphant, a faint voice echoed in his mind—a final warning from the figure that had guided him.
"Power is not without consequence, heir of Slytherin. The path you have chosen is one of darkness. Be certain you are prepared for what lies ahead."
Dorian ignored the warning, his mind already turning toward the future. He had the power now, and nothing would stop him from using it to achieve his goals.
The world would tremble before him.
And when it did, the name Dorian Selwyn would be feared by all.