The chill of Durmstrang's stone halls felt sharper that evening, a biting cold that Dorian hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it was the weight of his thoughts or the subtle change in the way he perceived the world now, but everything seemed clearer. More focused.
As he sat at the desk in his dormitory, the leather-bound journal Lyra had given him lay open before him, its pages filled with the careful script of a long-dead wizard. It had taken him hours to work through even the first few entries, each one dense with not just magical theory, but also personal reflection—notes about restraint, the nature of magic, and the price it exacts on those who wield it.
Dorian had always believed that power was the answer to everything. Growing up in the shadow of his family's legacy, he had been taught that power meant safety, that it meant control. But as he read through the journal, he found that every line challenged that belief. The wizard who had written these pages hadn't sought power simply to dominate or destroy. He had sought understanding. Mastery.
The candlelight flickered as Dorian turned another page, his fingers brushing against the ancient parchment. His thoughts drifted to Lyra. In their conversations, she had never claimed to have all the answers, but the confidence with which she spoke of control intrigued him. She was unlike anyone he had met. While others chased power recklessly, she wielded hers with a careful precision, and he could sense that she had mastered the balance that he still struggled to find.
Dorian closed the journal for a moment, resting his head in his hands. He had come to Durmstrang seeking power, but now he found himself questioning whether that was enough. Could he truly achieve his goals if he lost himself in the process? Could he rise above the chaos he sought to control, or would he become just another victim of the magic that had claimed so many before him?
The knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts.
For a moment, Dorian considered ignoring it, but the knock came again, sharper this time.
"Come in," he called out, sitting up and pushing the journal to the side.
The door creaked open, revealing Matthias Borgin. His dark eyes flickered over Dorian, his expression unreadable as always. There was something about Matthias that had always unsettled Dorian. He was loyal, but his loyalty felt conditional, as though it was tied more to Dorian's power than any personal connection. Still, Matthias had proven useful, and in times like these, Dorian needed allies.
"Selwyn," Matthias greeted, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You've been keeping to yourself lately."
Dorian shrugged. "Just thinking. There's been a lot to process."
Matthias smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he moved closer to the desk. "You mean Ingrid?"
Dorian's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. "Among other things."
"Yaxley, then?" Matthias pressed, leaning against the desk. "He's still out there, you know. Disappeared after that fight, but he won't stay hidden forever. He's not the type to walk away quietly."
"I know," Dorian said quietly, though the thought of Yaxley still sent a spark of anger through him. "But he's not my priority right now."
Matthias raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Not your priority? Since when?"
Dorian glanced at the journal again, his fingers brushing over the cover before he stood, crossing the room to the window. The night outside was clear, the stars shining brightly against the dark sky. It was a peaceful contrast to the storm that had been brewing inside him for so long.
"I've been thinking," Dorian began, his voice low but steady. "The way I've been chasing power… it's reckless. I keep thinking that if I just push a little harder, take a little more, I'll finally have control. But I've been wrong."
Matthias's smirk faltered, replaced by something colder, more calculating. "What are you saying, Dorian? That you're giving up?"
"No," Dorian said quickly, turning to face him. "I'm not giving up. I'm just realizing that there's more to this than I thought. Power is important, but if I don't learn how to control it—really control it—it'll destroy me. Like it almost did with Ingrid."
The mention of Ingrid made Matthias pause. He watched Dorian carefully, as though trying to discern how serious he was. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do about that?"
Dorian walked back to the desk, his eyes meeting Matthias's. "I'm going to learn. Really learn. Not just from these rituals or from pushing myself into darker magic, but from understanding it. I need to control the power, not let it control me."
Matthias studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Alright. But you should know, Selwyn, not everyone's going to understand this… shift in your thinking."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Matthias said, stepping away from the desk, "the other students—people like Yaxley—they respect power. They don't care about control. They'll see this as weakness, hesitation. And if Yaxley comes back and finds you… reconsidering things, he'll strike."
Dorian's lips thinned. He knew Matthias was right. Power was everything in places like Durmstrang, and any sign of doubt or hesitation could be seen as weakness. But Dorian wasn't backing down. He wasn't hesitating. He was simply refining his approach.
"Let them think what they want," Dorian said firmly. "I'll still have the power. But this time, I'll be the one wielding it—not the other way around."
Matthias didn't respond immediately, but there was a flicker of approval in his gaze. "You've changed, Selwyn. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not."
Dorian gave a small, humorless smile. "Neither am I."
The conversation hung in the air between them for a moment, the silence only broken by the distant howl of the wind outside. Matthias eventually nodded again, his expression settling back into its usual cool detachment.
"Alright then," Matthias said finally. "I'll let you get back to whatever it is you're doing. Just… be careful. Yaxley might not be around, but there are others who would love to take your place if they think you've gone soft."
Dorian nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
With that, Matthias turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Dorian exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he sat back down at the desk. He stared at the journal again, its presence both comforting and daunting. Control. That was what this was all about. But Matthias had a point. The world he lived in—the world of dark magic, vengeance, and power—wasn't one that rewarded patience or introspection.
But Dorian didn't care about their expectations. He had lost too much already—Ingrid, the part of himself that had once known restraint—and he wasn't about to lose everything else. If he was going to rise, it would be on his own terms.
Just as he was about to reopen the journal, another knock interrupted him. Dorian frowned, wondering who else would visit him at this hour. He stood and crossed the room, opening the door to find a girl standing there. She was unfamiliar to him, but the intensity in her eyes told him she hadn't come here by chance.
She was tall, with sharp features and dark hair that fell in waves around her shoulders. Her presence was striking, almost commanding, and Dorian immediately sensed that she wasn't an ordinary student.
"Selwyn," she said, her voice steady but filled with something close to disdain. "I've heard a lot about you."
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "And who are you?"
The girl smirked, crossing her arms. "My name's Kara Albrecht. I've been watching you for a while. You've made quite the impression around here, haven't you?"
Dorian crossed his arms, mirroring her stance. "I suppose you could say that."
Kara's gaze flickered over him, as though she were appraising him. "Word has it you've been… shifting your priorities. Focusing on control instead of raw power."
Dorian tensed slightly but didn't let it show. "And what of it?"
Kara's smirk grew wider, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "I find it interesting. Most people here don't understand control—they're too obsessed with power for power's sake. But control… that's what separates those who rise from those who fall."
Dorian tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "And which side are you on?"
Kara chuckled softly. "I'm on the side that wins."
She stepped closer, her eyes locking with his. "I've been looking for someone who understands what it means to truly control magic. Not just wield it, but master it. And from what I've heard, you might be that person."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You've heard a lot for someone I've never spoken to before."
Kara shrugged. "I have my sources."
Dorian studied her carefully, sensing the ambition behind her words. She wasn't like the other students at Durmstrang. She was focused, driven, and clearly had her own agenda.
"So," Kara continued, her tone becoming more serious, "I'm offering you something. An alliance of sorts. You want control? I want power. Together, we could take this place by storm."
Dorian considered her offer, the weight of her words settling over him like a challenge. An alliance with someone like Kara could be dangerous, but it could also be exactly what he needed. If they worked together, they could reshape Durmstrang, and perhaps even the wider world, to their advantage.
"An alliance," Dorian echoed, his voice thoughtful. "And what exactly would that entail?"
Kara's smile returned, sharp and calculating. "We watch each other's backs. We share information. We rise together. You help me achieve my goals, and I'll help you achieve yours."
Dorian glanced at the journal on his desk, the words of the ancient wizard still fresh in his mind. Control was key—but control didn't mean walking alone.
"Alright," Dorian said finally, meeting Kara's gaze with equal intensity. "I'm in."
Kara's smile widened, satisfied. "Good. Then let's get started."