Dorian walked through the corridors of Durmstrang, his boots echoing against the stone floor, lost in thought. Ever since Kara's mysterious death, a heavy fog seemed to hang over the school. It was as if the very walls of Durmstrang whispered rumors of her demise. But no one spoke openly. It was always in half-hushed voices, a murmur in the back of the classroom, a slip of the tongue in the dining hall. Kara's disappearance had not gone unnoticed, and though Dorian had heard the rumors, he had other concerns.
He had a meeting scheduled with Professor Karkaroff. Karkaroff was becoming increasingly interested in Dorian's progress—too interested, if Dorian were honest. The headmaster had always treated him with a degree of respect, knowing his legacy and the fear it commanded, but now, there was an edge of something more. Perhaps suspicion. Perhaps admiration. Either way, it was something Dorian needed to manage carefully.
The chill of the morning air cut through the castle as he passed a group of first-years. Their whispers followed him like shadows, but Dorian ignored them. He had more pressing matters to focus on. Ever since he had heard about Kara's death from Viktor Ivanov—a classmate he barely knew—Dorian had felt a sense of unease. Something in the way Viktor had phrased it, the way his voice dipped to a near whisper as he said, "Have you heard about Kara?" still lingered in his mind.
"She was found in one of the dungeons... a hushed-up affair. They say no one knows how it happened, but people are talking. Even the teachers seem to know."
Dorian had nodded absentmindedly at the time, too focused on his studies to pay much attention. Kara had always been reckless, playing with powers far beyond her control. In truth, he felt little grief for her death. She had been a useful ally for a time, but she had become a distraction. A distraction he was now free of. Yet, something about the timing still unsettled him.
As he rounded the corner, heading toward Karkaroff's office, his mind drifted back to Lyra. She had been acting differently ever since Kara's death—quieter, more focused. She had always been composed, but lately, her sharp wit seemed tempered by something deeper. Dorian had to admit, her presence had become an anchor for him amidst the chaos. While others saw only the ambitious heir to a dark legacy, Lyra saw more. She didn't shy away from his power or ambition; she embraced it, understood it in ways no one else had. But was there something more beneath her calm exterior? Something darker?
He shook the thought from his mind. There was no time to dwell on such things. Karkaroff awaited.
The door to the headmaster's office creaked open before he could knock, as if Karkaroff had been expecting him. Inside, the room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the many magical artifacts that lined the shelves. Karkaroff sat behind his desk, his pale face partially obscured by the darkness.
"Dorian," Karkaroff greeted, his voice a raspy whisper. "I've been following your progress closely. You've made... waves in Durmstrang."
Dorian remained standing, not taking the offered chair. He could feel the weight of Karkaroff's gaze, studying him as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Dorian replied smoothly, his expression unreadable.
Karkaroff's smile was thin. "The students talk, you know. About Kara. About you. They say power radiates off you in waves."
Dorian raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. He had learned long ago that silence was often more telling than words.
Karkaroff leaned forward, his fingers steepled. "Tell me, Dorian... How far are you willing to go?"
Dorian felt the familiar surge of dark magic stirring within him, its whispers teasing the edges of his mind. How far? As far as it took. But he wouldn't say that. Not yet. Not to Karkaroff. He needed to play this carefully, to gauge what the headmaster truly wanted.
"I will go as far as is necessary," Dorian said, his voice calm and measured. "The power I seek isn't a simple matter of ambition. It's a birthright. A legacy I intend to reclaim."
Karkaroff's smile grew wider. "I expected nothing less from you. But I wonder, do you understand the price?"
Dorian met Karkaroff's gaze evenly. "I am fully aware of what it takes, Headmaster. And I'm prepared for it."
Karkaroff studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like a drawn bowstring. Finally, he nodded. "Good. Then we are aligned in our goals. There are those at this school who do not see what you see—what I see. I suspect they'll try to undermine you. Perhaps they've already begun."
Dorian's mind flashed to Kara. He had no doubt Karkaroff was referring to her. But there were others, too. Yaxley, always lurking, always watching.
"I'll be ready for them," Dorian said coolly.
Karkaroff's eyes gleamed. "I expect nothing less. Now, go. And keep an eye on those around you. Not all enemies wear the face of a rival."
As Dorian turned to leave, Karkaroff's final words echoed in his mind. Not all enemies wear the face of a rival.
Walking back through the corridors, Dorian's mind raced. Karkaroff's veiled warning was a subtle confirmation that things were shifting beneath the surface. But the headmaster was right about one thing—Durmstrang was a battlefield, and not every enemy was obvious.
As Dorian passed through the dining hall, he noticed the usual crowd, yet the air was tense. Whispers filled the space, the topic of Kara's death still fresh. It wasn't just the students who seemed unsettled; even the professors exchanged wary glances, as if they were all waiting for something to happen.
Dorian took his usual seat, but before he could fully settle in, a voice broke through his thoughts.
"Have you heard?"
He looked up, spotting a fellow student, Viktor Ivanov, leaning in close. Viktor's eyes darted around the room as if ensuring no one else was listening.
"Kara... people are saying strange things about her death," Viktor continued, his voice barely above a whisper.
Dorian raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Strange things?"
Viktor nodded quickly. "They're saying... it wasn't an accident. That someone... made sure she didn't survive."
Dorian frowned. He had always suspected Kara's death wasn't accidental—she had too many enemies for that—but to hear it confirmed was unsettling. And the fact that it was being whispered about so openly only made it worse.
"Who?" Dorian asked, keeping his tone measured.
Viktor hesitated, then leaned in closer. "No one knows for sure. But they say the body... wasn't found in good shape. Some say dark magic was involved. Others think she crossed the wrong person."
Dorian felt a chill crawl up his spine, though he maintained his calm exterior. Kara had been dangerous, but also reckless. It wasn't impossible to believe she had angered someone powerful enough to end her life.
But who?
The thought gnawed at him. He didn't suspect Lyra, not for a moment. If anything, Lyra had been the one person who had supported him when others had either feared or manipulated him. She wouldn't—she couldn't—be involved. Kara's death had likely been a result of her own ambition catching up with her.
Still, the whispers wouldn't stop. And as much as Dorian wanted to dismiss them, there was a part of him that couldn't shake the feeling that something larger was happening.
That night, as Dorian sat in his room, the journal of Salazar Slytherin open before him, the whispers of dark magic felt more insistent than ever. The words on the page blurred, shifting in and out of focus as the power coursed through his veins. The ancient magic felt alive, humming with energy just beneath his skin.
He closed the journal and leaned back, letting the shadows of his room envelop him. Kara was gone, and the power structure at Durmstrang was shifting once more. Lyra remained close, her steady presence grounding him, but the darkness within Dorian grew stronger with every passing day.
There was no denying it anymore. Kara's death, Yaxley's constant presence, and Karkaroff's cryptic warnings—they were all pieces of a larger game. And Dorian was right in the middle of it, whether he wanted to be or not.
As he stared into the dark, the whispers returned, louder this time.
"You are the heir. You are the serpent. Take what is yours."
Dorian closed his eyes and let the magic flow through him, its cold touch like a familiar friend. He was no longer the lost boy seeking vengeance. He was something far more dangerous now.
And the world would soon know it.