The echoes of the ritual lingered in the abandoned dungeon, reverberating off the cold stone walls like the final whispers of a forgotten incantation. Dorian stood motionless in the center of the chamber, his breath steady but his mind roaring with the aftermath of what he had just unleashed. The air around him felt charged, humming with a strange, electric energy that hadn't been there before.
He could still feel the magic surging through him, a dark river of power winding through every vein, every thought, every breath. It was intoxicating, like the taste of forbidden fruit—delicious and dangerous. But there was more than just power coursing through him now. Beneath the thrill, beneath the sense of invincibility, there was something else. A shadow.
Take more.
The voice in his head had grown louder. No longer the faint whisper it had been before, it now pressed against the edges of his consciousness, urging him to dive deeper into the abyss of the magic he had unlocked. It promised more than just strength; it promised dominion, control, mastery over forces that even the greatest dark wizards had never touched.
But with that promise came a warning, a bitter taste of something darker, lurking just beneath the surface of his mind. He had felt it during the ritual—the moment when he had hesitated, when he had heard the distant cry urging him to stop. He had ignored it then, but now it gnawed at him, whispering doubts into the back of his mind.
Dorian closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. He couldn't afford to let doubt creep in now. The power he had gained was immense, far beyond anything he had imagined when he first arrived at Durmstrang. And yet, it still felt incomplete. There was something missing, something just out of reach.
He needed more. He craved it.
The dungeon was silent now, the only sound the faint drip of water from the ceiling as it pooled in the cracks of the stone floor. The symbols of the ritual still glowed faintly around him, their light slowly fading as the magic settled. Dorian's fingers twitched as he stared at the fading runes, his thoughts racing.
What comes next?
That was the question. He had unlocked the chamber, performed the ritual, and taken the magic into himself. But what was his next move? He couldn't remain stagnant, couldn't let the power he had gained sit idle. He had to use it. He had to bend it to his will, shape it into something tangible. Something that would make the wizarding world tremble at his name.
But the question of how gnawed at him.
A flicker of movement caught his attention, and Dorian's eyes snapped open. The shadows at the far end of the chamber shifted, but there was no one there. It wasn't Ingrid. She had left, leaving him to his ritual, to his choices. No, this was something else. He felt it in the air—the weight of an unseen presence.
Slowly, deliberately, Dorian raised his wand, his senses sharp. He hadn't expected anyone to follow him down here, but Durmstrang was full of secrets, and there were others who were just as ambitious as he was, others who might have been drawn to the power he had awakened.
"Who's there?" Dorian's voice was calm, but the edge of danger was unmistakable.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a figure stepped out from the shadows, moving with a grace that was almost unnatural. Dorian's grip on his wand tightened, but he didn't lower it. He had seen this figure before, but only in passing—a face that had always been on the periphery of Durmstrang's elite but never fully in focus. His name was Thorne Yaxley, a tall, thin boy with hollow cheeks and cold, calculating eyes.
Yaxley had never openly challenged Dorian, but he had a reputation for keeping his own counsel, for lurking in the background and observing, waiting. There were rumors about him—whispers that he dabbled in the darkest magics, that his family had been involved in rituals far older than even the Death Eaters dared to perform. But unlike Dorian, Yaxley had never made a move. He had never tried to rise.
Until now.
"Selwyn," Yaxley said, his voice smooth, almost a whisper. "I didn't expect to find you here."
Dorian didn't lower his wand. "What do you want, Yaxley?"
Yaxley's lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained cold. "I was curious. Rumors travel quickly, you know. They say you've been… experimenting."
Dorian's gaze hardened. "And?"
Yaxley stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. "And I wanted to see for myself if the rumors were true. They say you've unlocked something—something that hasn't been touched in centuries."
Dorian's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. "What do you know of it?"
Yaxley stopped just a few feet from him, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the chamber. "I know enough. I know that what you've done has stirred something within the school. The wards feel it, the old magic feels it. And I know that you're not finished yet."
Dorian said nothing, his mind racing. Yaxley wasn't here by accident. He had come with a purpose, and that made him dangerous.
"You've tasted the power, haven't you?" Yaxley's voice was soft, almost hypnotic. "But it's not enough. You want more. You need more."
Dorian's grip on his wand tightened, the whispers in his mind growing louder, more insistent. He could feel the pull of the magic, the temptation to reach deeper, to take everything it offered. But there was something about Yaxley's presence that unnerved him—something that made the whispers seem darker, more dangerous.
"What do you know about the magic?" Dorian asked, his voice low.
Yaxley smiled again, though it didn't reach his eyes. "More than you think. My family has studied the old ways for generations. Dark rituals, blood magic, sacrifices… we've delved into the depths of what magic can offer. But even we never dared touch what you've just unlocked."
Dorian's pulse quickened. "Then why are you here?"
"Because I'm intrigued," Yaxley said simply. "You've gone further than anyone else has dared. But I know there's a price for power like this. And I'm curious to see if you're willing to pay it."
Dorian's eyes flashed. "I'm not afraid."
"No," Yaxley said softly, "you're not. But that doesn't mean you're in control."
Dorian took a step forward, his wand raised. "I don't need your warnings, Yaxley. I'm not like you. I'm not content to sit in the shadows and watch. I'm going to rise."
Yaxley's smile faded, his expression becoming colder. "Rise? Perhaps. But what you're dealing with is not something that can be tamed. The old magic… it has a will of its own. It demands things. Sacrifices. Blood."
Dorian's heart pounded, but he refused to show any weakness. "I've already made sacrifices."
Yaxley's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Not enough."
The words hung in the air like a curse, and for the first time, Dorian felt a sliver of doubt creep into his mind. Yaxley was playing a game, a dangerous game, but there was truth in his words. The magic he had unlocked was wild, untamed, and it had been growing stronger, more demanding with each use. It whispered to him, urged him to push further, to take more, but at what cost?
"What do you want, Yaxley?" Dorian asked, his voice cold.
Yaxley tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "I want to see how far you'll go. I want to see if you'll do what needs to be done."
Dorian's jaw tightened, the anger rising in his chest. "You're testing me."
"I am," Yaxley said, his voice quiet but sharp. "And I want to see if you'll pass."
For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, the air crackling with the weight of unspoken threats. Dorian could feel the magic surging through him, ready to be unleashed, but he held it back. Not yet.
Finally, Yaxley took a step back, his smile returning. "I'll be watching, Selwyn. Don't disappoint me."
With that, Yaxley disappeared into the shadows, leaving Dorian alone in the chamber once more.
Dorian stood there for a long moment, his mind racing. Yaxley's words echoed in his head, mixing with the whispers of the magic, creating a storm of doubt and desire that threatened to consume him. He had come so far, but there was still so much left to do, so much power left to claim.
But Yaxley's warning had unsettled him. The old magic was not something that could be mastered easily. It had its own will, its own demands. And Dorian knew that the deeper he went, the harder it would be to pull back.
But pulling back wasn't an option. Not anymore.
He took a deep breath, calming the storm inside him, and turned his attention back to the symbols on the floor. The ritual wasn't finished. There was more to unlock, more to take. And Dorian would take it all, no matter the cost.
He knelt once more, his wand glowing as he began to trace the final symbols of the ritual. The magic surged in response, eager, hungry. The whispers in his mind grew louder, more insistent, but this time, Dorian didn't resist.
Take more.
The voices urged him on, pushing him further, deeper into the abyss of the magic. And this time, Dorian didn't hesitate. He reached out, grasping the full power of the ritual, letting it flow through him like a torrent of darkness.
The chamber trembled as the magic surged, the air crackling with energy. Dorian's body shook with the force of it, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the power he had unleashed. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. The magic had taken hold of him now, and it wasn't letting go.
In that moment, Dorian felt it—the shift. The magic had changed him. He wasn't just wielding it anymore. It was part of him now, woven into the very fabric of his being. And with it came a clarity, a cold, dark understanding.
He had crossed a line. There was no going back.
Dorian stood slowly, his eyes glowing with the power of the ritual. The chamber was silent once more, the air heavy with the aftermath of the magic. But Dorian didn't feel the weight of it anymore. He felt lighter, stronger.
He had taken more.
And now, there was no one left who could stop him.