Dorian Selwyn stood alone in the cold, dimly lit dungeon, surrounded by the fading remnants of the ritual's magic. The light from his wand flickered across the ancient walls, casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to dance like specters in the darkness. His breathing was shallow, each exhale like a whisper in the dead silence that followed the surge of power he had just unleashed.
The air crackled with magic, but it no longer felt like a force he could command with a flick of his wrist. No, it had changed, become something darker, deeper. He could feel it now—woven into the very fabric of his being. It wasn't just coursing through him. It was part of him, an inseparable entity that throbbed with hunger. The power had been seductive before, but now it had taken root within him, and Dorian could no longer distinguish where it ended and he began.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar rush of energy that had once thrilled him. But now, beneath that thrill, there was something else—an itch, a restlessness, as if the magic was alive and constantly demanding more. The whispers had grown louder, and they no longer faded when he silenced them. They were insistent, like claws scratching at the edges of his mind.
More.
The word lingered in his thoughts, and for a moment, Dorian felt the familiar pull to go further, to push beyond what even this ritual had given him. He could feel the magic, coiling like a serpent around his soul, promising untold power if only he would give in.
But with that promise came the gnawing realization that Yaxley's warning had not been idle. The magic wanted something in return. It wasn't just a tool—it was a master, and the deeper Dorian delved, the more it demanded from him.
He shook his head, pushing the thought away. He couldn't afford to doubt himself, not now. Not when he was so close to achieving everything he had ever wanted. His revenge, his legacy, his rise to power—all of it was within reach. He had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.
But the question remained—how much would the magic take from him before it allowed him to wield it fully?
The heavy iron door at the far end of the chamber groaned open, breaking the oppressive silence. Dorian's eyes flicked up, his wand raised instinctively, but he immediately lowered it when he saw who had entered. Matthias Borgin stepped inside, his face pale and tense, his usual swagger absent.
"Dorian," Matthias said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of unease. "We need to talk."
Dorian narrowed his eyes, watching Matthias with the careful gaze of someone who had learned never to trust anyone entirely. Matthias was useful, yes, but that didn't mean he wasn't a threat. The man was ambitious, always looking for an angle, always thinking about his next move.
Matthias moved closer, but not too close, keeping a wary distance. His eyes darted to the symbols on the floor, the remnants of the ritual still glowing faintly, and his expression darkened.
"You're playing a dangerous game," Matthias said softly, his voice low. "I've heard things. People are starting to wonder about you, about what you've been doing down here."
Dorian's lips curled into a cold smile. "Let them wonder. It doesn't concern me."
"It should," Matthias pressed. "Rumors are spreading fast. Thorne Yaxley—he's been talking, hinting that you're unlocking something no one else dares to touch. Some people are curious, but others… they're getting nervous. You're drawing attention, Dorian. Attention from the wrong kind of people."
Dorian felt the pulse of the magic within him, its dark power whispering in the back of his mind, and he almost laughed. Nervous? Let them be nervous. He had transcended their petty fears. No one in Durmstrang—no one in the wizarding world—could understand the depths of the power he was tapping into. And soon, they would all see what true power looked like.
"Why should I care what they think?" Dorian asked, his voice low and dangerous. "They're afraid because they don't understand. They'll always fear what they can't control."
Matthias shifted uncomfortably, his eyes lingering on the dark runes still etched into the stone floor. "You're right. They don't understand. But you need to be careful, Dorian. I've seen what happens when people get too ambitious with dark magic. It consumes them."
"Are you warning me?" Dorian asked, his tone sharp.
Matthias hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I've seen what this kind of power can do to people. I've seen it destroy them, hollow them out from the inside."
Dorian's jaw tightened, the whispers in his mind growing louder, more insistent. Weakness, they hissed. Fear. Matthias's words were laced with the same fear Ingrid had voiced, the same doubt that had been gnawing at Dorian ever since he first unlocked the chamber's magic.
But Dorian was not like them. He would not be consumed.
"You think I'm weak?" Dorian said, his voice cold as ice.
Matthias blinked, taken aback. "No, I—"
"Do you think I can't control this?" Dorian's eyes blazed, the power inside him flaring, feeding off his rising anger. "Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?"
Matthias took a step back, his face pale. "That's not what I—"
"Then what?" Dorian snapped. "What is it you're afraid of, Matthias? That I'm stronger than you? That I've touched something beyond your comprehension?"
Matthias opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, Dorian stepped forward, his wand pointed directly at him, the tip glowing faintly with the dark magic that had become a constant presence in his life.
"You came here to warn me," Dorian said quietly, his voice laced with venom. "But let me give you a warning, Matthias. Stay out of my way. Because the next time you try to question my strength, it'll be the last time you speak."
For a moment, Matthias stood frozen, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Then, slowly, he nodded, his throat tight with the tension of barely suppressed terror.
"I—understand," Matthias stammered, his voice weak.
Dorian lowered his wand, the glow fading, but the tension in the air remained. Matthias turned and hurried out of the chamber, the iron door slamming shut behind him with a deafening crash.
The moment he was gone, Dorian closed his eyes, the whispers in his mind growing louder, more insistent. You were right, they hissed. He's afraid of you. They're all afraid of you. They should be.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the magic continued to pulse inside him, hungry, restless. He had threatened Matthias, but the truth was that a part of him had wanted to do more. A part of him had wanted to strike him down, to show him what real power looked like, to silence his doubts forever.
More, the magic whispered. Take more. Show them all.
Dorian gritted his teeth, forcing the thoughts away. He had to stay in control. He had to maintain focus. There was still much to do, much to plan. But the magic was pushing him, pulling him deeper into the shadows. And the further he went, the harder it became to resist.
The next few days passed in a blur. Dorian kept to himself, retreating to the hidden corners of Durmstrang, avoiding the eyes of his classmates. He spent hours in the school's library, poring over ancient texts, searching for answers—anything that could help him make sense of the magic that now consumed him. But the more he learned, the more he realized how little control he truly had.
The magic was alive. It was feeding off him, growing stronger with each passing day. And the more he used it, the more it demanded from him.
Ingrid's warnings echoed in his mind, but he refused to listen. He couldn't afford to be afraid, not now. Fear was for the weak, and Dorian was not weak.
But as the days stretched on, the whispers grew louder, and the darkness inside him deepened.
It was late one night when Dorian felt it—a sharp, electric jolt of energy that coursed through him like lightning. He shot up in bed, his heart racing, his body trembling with the sudden surge of magic. Something was wrong.
He grabbed his wand and slipped out of his dormitory, moving silently through the dark corridors of Durmstrang. The magic inside him pulsed wildly, as if it was reacting to something, pulling him toward something he couldn't see.
As he moved deeper into the heart of the castle, he sensed it—a presence, dark and cold, lurking just beyond his perception. It was faint, but unmistakable. Someone—or something—was watching him.
Dorian's grip on his wand tightened, his mind racing. He reached the entrance to the dungeon where he had performed the ritual, and for a moment, he hesitated. The air was thick with tension, the whispers in his mind growing louder, urging him forward.
But before he could step inside, a cold voice echoed through the darkness.
"Going somewhere, Selwyn?"
Dorian whirled around, his wand raised, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw who stood before him.
Thorne Yaxley stepped out of the shadows, his pale face illuminated by the dim light of the corridor. His cold, calculating eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and something darker—something that sent a shiver down Dorian's spine.
"I've been watching you," Yaxley said softly, his voice smooth and dangerous. "And I have to admit, I'm impressed. But I'm also curious. How far are you willing to go?"
Dorian said nothing, his mind racing as Yaxley's presence filled the corridor like a dark cloud.
"You've unlocked something powerful," Yaxley continued, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving Dorian's. "But power always comes with a price. And I want to see if you're willing to pay it."
For a moment, the tension between them was suffocating, the air crackling with the weight of unspoken threats. Dorian could feel the magic inside him pulsing, feeding off his rising anger, his growing fear.
But he refused to show weakness. He refused to let Yaxley see how close he was to losing control.
"I've already paid the price," Dorian said quietly, his voice steady but laced with danger. "And I'll do whatever it takes to rise."
Yaxley smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only darkness.
"Good," Yaxley whispered. "Then let's see how far you'll go."
And with that, the shadows seemed to close in around them, and Dorian knew that the true test of his strength had only just begun.