The silence in the chamber beneath Durmstrang was oppressive. The air, once thick with the presence of ancient magic, had settled into an eerie stillness. The runes on the pillars that had glowed with vibrant energy just moments ago were now dark and lifeless, as if the power they had contained had been drained completely. Dorian stood at the edge of the pool, his breathing still heavy from the exertion of the ritual. The weight of the magic he had just unleashed hummed within him, a force unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
But beneath the rush of power, a flicker of uncertainty gnawed at him—a small voice in the back of his mind, reminding him of the warnings he had ignored. The path you have chosen is one of darkness. Be certain you are prepared for what lies ahead. The words of the shadowy figure echoed in his thoughts, but Dorian pushed them aside. He had achieved what no one else had. The power of Salazar Slytherin was his now, and he would not let fear take root.
Beside him, Ingrid Ravnsborg remained still, her gaze fixed on Dorian with an intensity that made his skin prickle. She had watched the entire ritual unfold, had seen the magic course through him, and now, she stood in silence, her expression unreadable.
"You did it," Ingrid finally said, her voice low and steady, though there was an unmistakable note of admiration in her tone. "You unlocked the chamber. You claimed the power."
Dorian turned to her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her reaction. Ingrid had been a crucial part of the discovery, but he had never been certain of her true intentions. She had offered to help him, but Dorian knew that Ingrid was not the type to act out of altruism. She wanted something, and he suspected that something was the power he had just taken for himself.
"Yes," Dorian said, his voice quiet but firm. "The magic of the chamber is mine now."
Ingrid's lips curled into a faint smile, though her eyes remained sharp, calculating. "You can feel it, can't you? The old magic, coursing through you. It's unlike anything else."
Dorian didn't respond immediately. He could feel it, yes. The magic thrummed through his veins like a living entity, powerful and wild. But with it came something darker—an unease he couldn't quite shake. It was as though the power was watching him, waiting for something. It didn't feel like a gift; it felt like a burden.
Ingrid stepped closer, her voice soft but commanding. "And now, what comes next?"
Dorian's gaze flickered to her. What comes next? The question felt almost absurd in its simplicity. Everything had led to this moment—his years of isolation, his studies in the dark arts, his relentless pursuit of power. But now that he had it, the path ahead seemed both clearer and more dangerous than ever before.
"I'll use this power," Dorian said, his tone cold and resolute. "The magic I've unlocked will allow me to rise above the petty squabbles of the Ministry and the Death Eaters. They'll be nothing compared to what I'll become."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what will you become?"
Dorian's expression hardened, his voice edged with quiet menace. "I'll become more than Voldemort ever was. More than the Ministry ever feared. I'll shape the wizarding world to my will."
For a moment, Ingrid said nothing. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Ambitious. But ambition alone doesn't win wars, Dorian. Power must be wielded carefully, or it will turn on you."
Dorian's eyes flashed with irritation. "I know what I'm doing, Ingrid. Don't mistake me for someone who seeks power without understanding its cost."
"Good," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Because the cost of what you've just claimed may be higher than you realize."
Dorian's jaw clenched. He had anticipated as much. The old magic was never freely given; it always demanded something in return. But he had already sacrificed so much—his childhood, his family, his innocence. He would not let doubt cloud his vision now.
"The cost is irrelevant," Dorian said. "I've paid it already."
Ingrid studied him for a long moment, her sharp blue eyes searching his face for any sign of weakness. "Perhaps," she said finally. "But just remember—power without control is a weapon that can destroy even its wielder."
Her words hung in the air, a subtle warning, but Dorian refused to let them take root. He would not be swayed by doubt or fear. He had worked too long, fought too hard, to let anything stop him now.
With a final glance at the dark, still pool behind him, Dorian turned and began making his way back up the stone staircase. The chamber was empty now, its secrets revealed, its power taken. There was nothing left for him here.
Ingrid followed him in silence, her presence a quiet shadow as they ascended back into the main halls of Durmstrang. The air grew warmer as they climbed, the weight of the ancient magic fading with each step, but Dorian could still feel the power thrumming within him—a constant reminder of what he had gained.
As they reached the top of the staircase, the door to the hidden passageway slid shut behind them with a soft click. The castle was quiet, the students long since retired to their dormitories. Only the faint flicker of torches lit the hallways as Dorian and Ingrid made their way back toward the central part of the school.
When they reached the entrance to List House, Ingrid paused, turning to face Dorian. "You've taken the first step, Selwyn," she said, her voice quiet but filled with meaning. "But don't forget—this is just the beginning."
Dorian met her gaze, his expression hard. "I haven't forgotten. And I haven't forgotten your part in this, either."
Ingrid's lips twitched into a slight smile. "I trust you'll remember that when the time comes."
Dorian said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. He knew that Ingrid would not let him forget her involvement, and while she had been useful thus far, her ambitions would eventually clash with his. He would need to be prepared for that.
Without another word, Ingrid turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle. Dorian watched her go, his mind already turning over what had just transpired. Ingrid was dangerous, but she was also an asset—for now.
When she was gone, Dorian slipped into the common room of List House, the warmth of the fire doing little to ease the tension that still lingered in his chest. The room was empty, the other students asleep in their dormitories, and for the first time since entering the hidden chamber, Dorian allowed himself a moment of solitude.
He sat by the fire, his thoughts heavy. The power he had unlocked was immense—he could feel it coursing through him, a burning, relentless force. But beneath the surface, there was something else. Something darker. A whisper, faint but persistent, at the edge of his consciousness.
You have unlocked the magic of the past. But are you strong enough to control it?
Dorian's hands clenched into fists. He had no doubt about his strength, but the question gnawed at him nonetheless. He had paid the price, had made the sacrifice, but what if that wasn't enough? What if the magic he had unleashed was beyond even his control?
He stood abruptly, the firelight casting long shadows across his face. No. He refused to let fear take root. He had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let doubt stop him now. The power was his, and he would wield it with the precision of a master.
The wizarding world had been obsessed with Voldemort's rise and the Ministry's incompetence, but they were both relics of a bygone era. Dorian Selwyn was the future. And with the power of Salazar Slytherin at his command, he would reshape that future in his image.
But as Dorian stood there, staring into the flames, the faint whisper of the magic lingered in his mind—a reminder that power, once claimed, was never easily controlled.
The following days passed in a blur, though Dorian found himself avoiding the prying eyes of his peers more than usual. He didn't want to reveal the extent of what he had unlocked—not yet. The power within him was still raw, still settling. He needed time to master it, to understand it fully before he could use it.
But as the days turned into weeks, he felt something growing within him—an impatience, a restlessness. The power wanted to be used. It pulsed within him, urging him to act, to assert his dominance. And with each passing day, it became harder to resist.
One evening, as Dorian sat in the common room, a loud crash echoed through the hall. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Lukas Grimmel and his lackeys entering the room. Grimmel, as always, was loud and brash, his voice carrying through the space as he shoved one of the younger students out of his way.
Dorian's gaze hardened. Grimmel had been a nuisance from the moment Dorian had arrived at Durmstrang—an arrogant, self-absorbed brute who thought strength alone was the key to power. Normally, Dorian would have ignored him, but tonight, something was different. Tonight, the power thrumming in his veins demanded action.
Grimmel spotted Dorian across the room and sneered. "Selwyn," he called out, his voice dripping with disdain. "Still hiding in your little corner, I see."
Dorian stood slowly, his wand slipping into his hand with practiced ease. He hadn't planned on confronting Grimmel tonight, but the restless energy within him left him little choice.
Grimmel noticed the movement, his sneer deepening as he stepped forward. "What's the matter, Selwyn? Finally going to show us what you're made of?"
Dorian's eyes darkened, his voice cold and measured. "Careful, Grimmel. You have no idea what you're playing with."
Grimmel laughed, but it was a nervous sound, and Dorian could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Is that a threat?"
Dorian took a step forward, the magic in his blood pulsing dangerously. "It's a promise."
The room went deathly quiet, the other students watching with wide eyes as the tension between the two wizards grew. Grimmel's arrogance faltered, but he didn't back down. Dorian, however, felt no such hesitation.
The power wanted to be used.
And tonight, Dorian Selwyn would not hold back.