Dorian moved through Durmstrang's ancient halls with a newfound sense of purpose, though the familiar weight of his dark magic still lingered at the back of his mind. His confrontation with Yaxley and Ingrid's death had changed something deep within him. He wasn't abandoning his goals, nor was he turning his back on the darkness that had shaped his life, but he was no longer willing to let it dictate his every move. Control—that was what mattered now. He needed to regain control, not only over the magic but over himself.
The silence of the castle was eerie as Dorian made his way toward the secluded part of Durmstrang's upper levels. The tall, stone walls of the school seemed to press in on him, as though the very building was a living entity, aware of the turmoil within its most infamous student. He passed by students, their eyes darting nervously toward him before quickly looking away. His reputation preceded him now. The confrontation with Yaxley, though not public, had sent ripples through the school. Whispers of dark magic and his growing power followed him like a shadow.
Yet, that wasn't what consumed his thoughts. Dorian's mind was focused on a single goal—finding Lyra Blackthorn.
He had heard rumors about her from other students, but she was a mystery, even within Durmstrang's secretive walls. There were whispers about her family's history with the dark arts, rumors that she had been touched by magic even more ancient than what Dorian had unlocked. Some said she was a prodigy, others claimed she was dangerous, but all agreed on one thing—Lyra had power. And unlike him, she seemed to control it rather than be consumed by it.
Dorian needed to understand how.
After everything that had happened—the chaos, the magic that had nearly overwhelmed him, Ingrid's sacrifice—he knew that if he continued down the same path, it would only lead to more death. He needed balance, and perhaps Lyra could show him how to find it.
Finally, he reached the upper tower, a more isolated part of the school where Lyra was rumored to spend most of her time. The halls were dimly lit, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows along the stone walls. He paused for a moment, staring at the heavy wooden door that led to her private study. The magic here felt different, heavier somehow, as though this area held secrets even Durmstrang's darkest corners had forgotten.
For a moment, doubt crept into Dorian's mind. Would she even speak to him? Would she see him as just another student consumed by his thirst for power? He couldn't afford to hesitate now. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, the sound echoing down the empty hall.
There was a long pause before a voice, soft but firm, responded from the other side.
"Enter."
Dorian pushed open the door, stepping into the room. The interior was as dimly lit as the corridor, but it had a strange warmth to it. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient texts, many of which Dorian recognized as being far more advanced than what the rest of the student body had access to. A large, intricately carved desk sat near the window, with parchment and quills scattered across its surface. At the desk sat Lyra Blackthorn, her back straight, her posture calm and composed.
She didn't rise to greet him, but her sharp, emerald-green eyes met his as soon as he stepped inside. Lyra was not what Dorian had expected. There was a quiet intensity about her, an air of self-assurance that radiated from her despite her relatively small frame. Her long black hair was pulled back in a simple braid, and her pale skin gave her an almost ethereal appearance, as though she belonged to the shadows that clung to the corners of the room.
"Dorian Selwyn," she said, her voice neither welcoming nor hostile. It was simply a statement, as though she had already anticipated his arrival. "I've been expecting you."
Dorian closed the door behind him, stepping further into the room but keeping his distance. "I'm not surprised," he replied. "You seem to know more about what happens in this school than anyone."
Lyra's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "People talk. I listen."
Dorian regarded her carefully, his curiosity deepening. There was something about her presence that was different from anyone else he had met at Durmstrang. She wasn't intimidated by him, nor did she seem to view him with the wariness that others did. If anything, she seemed entirely unaffected by his reputation, as though she had already judged him and found him unremarkable.
"I came to speak with you," Dorian said after a moment, his tone cautious but direct. "I've heard things—about you, about your abilities."
Lyra leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. "And what exactly have you heard?"
Dorian hesitated. He wasn't used to feeling uncertain when it came to magic, but there was something about Lyra that made him second-guess his approach. She was clearly powerful, but she didn't flaunt it the way others did. And that, in itself, was intriguing.
"I've heard that you control the kind of magic that destroys others," Dorian said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "And that you do so without letting it consume you."
Lyra's expression remained neutral, though her eyes sharpened slightly, as though she was assessing him more deeply. "Is that why you're here? You want me to teach you how to control the darkness you've already let in?"
Dorian didn't flinch at her bluntness. "Yes. I've seen what this magic can do—how it can take over if you let it. I've lost people because of it." He glanced briefly at the floor, thinking of Ingrid. "And I need to learn how to make it work for me, not the other way around."
Lyra remained silent for a long moment, her gaze never leaving his. She seemed to be weighing his words, considering something unspoken.
"I've heard about what happened with Ingrid Ravnsborg," Lyra finally said, her voice softer now but still measured. "I know what you've been through, Dorian. But controlling this kind of power isn't something you can simply learn through practice or by following a set of rules. It's deeper than that. It's about balance, and most people don't have the willpower to maintain it."
Dorian felt a flicker of frustration at her cryptic response. "I'm not like most people," he said, a hint of his old arrogance slipping into his tone. "I can handle it."
Lyra's eyes flashed with something—was it amusement? Or perhaps disbelief. "You think you're different. That's what they all say. But every person who's ever delved into the kind of magic you and I deal with believes they can control it. Most of them are either dead or worse."
Dorian clenched his fists, resisting the urge to lash out. He had come here for answers, not another lecture. But before he could respond, Lyra stood, moving from behind the desk to stand in front of him. She was shorter than him by several inches, but the presence she exuded was far more imposing than her stature.
"You've tasted power," Lyra continued, her voice quiet but firm. "You've let it get inside your mind, your body, your soul. And now it whispers to you, telling you to take more, to push further. You think you can control it, but the truth is, the more you take, the more it takes from you."
Dorian opened his mouth to protest, but Lyra raised a hand, cutting him off.
"I'm not saying you're beyond saving, Dorian. But you need to understand that this magic isn't something you win against. You don't 'master' it. You learn to live with it, to coexist with it. And that's not something I can teach you in a single conversation or even over months. It's something you'll have to figure out for yourself."
Dorian felt his frustration grow, but there was a part of him that recognized the truth in her words. He had let the magic dictate his actions for too long, believing that if he could just push a little harder, take a little more, he would finally be in control. But Ingrid's death had shattered that illusion. He wasn't in control—he was a slave to the very power he sought to wield.
"So, what do I do?" Dorian asked, his voice lower now, almost resigned. "How do I find that balance?"
Lyra studied him for a long moment, as if deciding whether to reveal the answer he sought. Then she stepped back, crossing her arms again as she leaned against the edge of her desk.
"That depends on you," she said. "But the first thing you need to do is stop trying to control everything. The more you fight against the magic, the harder it pushes back. You have to accept that it's part of you now, whether you like it or not. Once you do that, you can start to manage it."
Dorian frowned. "That sounds easier said than done."
Lyra's lips curved into that faint, enigmatic smile again. "It is. But you're not alone in this, Dorian. You and I—we're not so different. I've been where you are, and I know what it's like to feel like the power is pulling you in too many directions at once. If you want to figure this out, you're going to need help."
Dorian's gaze met hers, and for the first time since he had entered her room, he felt something other than suspicion or tension. He felt… understanding. Lyra wasn't offering him a way out, but she was offering something far more valuable—guidance.
"I'm willing to help you," Lyra said after a pause. "But you need to understand that this isn't about learning new spells or performing more rituals. It's about finding balance within yourself. And that takes time. Patience. And a willingness to confront the parts of yourself you've been avoiding."
Dorian felt the weight of her words settle over him. It wasn't the answer he had expected, but it was the answer he needed. His path forward wasn't going to be easy, but for the first time, he felt like he wasn't stumbling in the dark.
"Alright," Dorian said, his voice steady. "I'm ready to learn."
Lyra nodded once, a hint of approval in her gaze. "Good. Then let's begin."