The days after Headmaster Karkaroff's announcement passed in a tense, palpable buzz. Dorian found himself distracted by thoughts of the upcoming Death Valley Tournament. The prize, the Talisman of Eldros, was the only thing that occupied his mind now. He could barely focus on his usual studies, the allure of the talisman tugging at his thoughts with a relentless intensity. He needed it. Not just for the power it promised, but for the stability—the control—that it could offer over the chaos roiling within him.
Lyra's absence weighed heavily on him. Normally, he would have shared his thoughts, his excitement, and even his fears with her. She had been his anchor, a calming force amidst the storm of his growing power. But now, with her away, struggling with her own darkness, Dorian felt the creeping isolation once again. It gnawed at him, the edges of his thoughts tinged with a cold loneliness he hadn't felt since before he met her.
Every time he considered writing to her about the tournament, something stopped him. What would she say? Would she warn him against it? Would she see it as another reckless grasp for power? He didn't want to admit it, but part of him feared her disapproval. The other part—the darker part—didn't care. The talisman was too important.
The corridors of Durmstrang seemed to hum with anticipation. Everywhere he went, students were talking about the tournament, speculating on who would enter, who would survive, and who might win. Some students boasted of their strength, their skill with spells, their ability to take down the magical creatures that lurked in the valley. Others were more cautious, whispering warnings about the true dangers that awaited within the cursed landscape.
Dorian, for the most part, kept to himself. He had no desire to engage in the petty bravado that surrounded him. He knew that many of those who were boasting now would never make it past the first trial in the valley. This wasn't a test of ego—it was a battle for survival.
One cold afternoon, as Dorian sat in the library poring over ancient texts on dark creatures, his thoughts once again drifted to the tournament. He had already begun preparing mentally, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. The valley was notorious for its unpredictability. Magical traps, cursed landscapes, and the dark creatures that roamed its depths could easily outmatch even the strongest wizard. And then there was the competition—other students who, like him, would be willing to do whatever it took to win.
He was deep in thought when he felt someone sit down across from him. Dorian glanced up, expecting it to be another student, but was met with the cool, pale face of Thorne Yaxley.
"Thinking about the tournament, I assume?" Yaxley asked, his voice smooth but laced with malice.
Dorian narrowed his eyes but didn't respond immediately. Yaxley had been an irritant ever since their initial confrontations, constantly testing him, pushing him toward darker magic, but never outright challenging him. He was a manipulator, always watching, always waiting.
"You assume correctly," Dorian finally replied, turning his gaze back to the pages of the book in front of him.
Yaxley leaned forward slightly, his presence suffocating. "You're planning to enter, aren't you? It's the perfect stage for someone like you. After all, you're one of the few who might actually stand a chance."
Dorian didn't like the way Yaxley phrased it—"someone like you." He had no interest in Yaxley's flattery or his thinly veiled manipulations.
"And what about you, Thorne?" Dorian asked, keeping his tone even. "You're entering as well, I assume?"
Yaxley smirked. "Of course. I have my own ambitions. But then again, the tournament isn't just about winning for me. It's about... shaping the future."
Dorian frowned slightly, but Yaxley continued before he could ask more.
"You see, the valley will bring out the true nature of everyone who enters. It strips away pretenses. You either survive or you don't. There's something... cleansing about that, don't you think?"
Dorian studied Yaxley's expression for a moment, sensing the layers of meaning behind his words. Yaxley wasn't just interested in the talisman. He saw the tournament as an opportunity for something more. But Dorian wasn't sure what that "more" was yet.
"I suppose we'll see whose ambitions are realized," Dorian said coolly, dismissing the conversation as he returned to his book.
Yaxley chuckled softly, standing up from the table. "Indeed. I look forward to seeing what you're truly capable of, Selwyn."
With that, Yaxley walked away, leaving Dorian with a lingering sense of unease. There was always something unnerving about Yaxley—something dangerous beneath the surface. Dorian didn't trust him, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to crossing paths with him in the valley. But he would deal with that when the time came.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the castle's narrow windows, Dorian found himself once again sitting in his room. He was preparing to pen another letter to Lyra when a knock echoed on his door.
"Enter," he called, setting his quill down.
The door creaked open, and Lukas Grimmel stepped in. Dorian's brow furrowed. He had little patience for Grimmel and the others who constantly sought to curry favor with him, but there was something in Grimmel's expression that caught his attention.
"What is it?" Dorian asked, his tone clipped.
Grimmel hesitated for a moment, clearly unsure how to proceed. "I thought you should know... Karkaroff just made the announcement about the tournament's registration. It's officially open. Anyone can sign up starting tomorrow."
Dorian's heart quickened. Tomorrow.
"And?" Dorian prompted, sensing there was more.
Grimmel shifted awkwardly. "Also, there are rumors... about some students planning to team up in the valley. They think it might give them an advantage."
Dorian's eyes darkened. "Fools. There are no alliances in the valley. No one can be trusted."
Grimmel nodded quickly. "I thought you'd want to know."
Dorian waved him away, his thoughts already moving ahead. Tomorrow. The tournament would begin soon, and once he entered the valley, it would be every wizard for themselves. He would trust no one.
As Grimmel left, Dorian turned his attention back to the letter in front of him. He picked up the quill once more, but the words wouldn't come. He wanted to write to Lyra, to tell her about the tournament, about how he missed her, about how much he needed her to help him stay grounded. But something stopped him.
Instead, he simply wrote, "I hope you're well. I'm fine. Write soon."
It wasn't much, but it was all he could manage. He folded the letter, tied it to his owl, and watched as it flew off into the night.
The valley was coming, and with it, a test unlike anything he had faced before. But if he could claim the talisman, none of it would matter. Not the darkness, not the whispers, not even the growing chaos inside him.
For the first time in weeks, Dorian felt a strange sense of calm. The path ahead was dangerous, but it was also clear. The Death Valley Tournament would either make him or break him.
And Dorian Selwyn had no intention of breaking.