Hadrian stared at the flickering candle flames, his heart pounding from the sheer rush of magic surging through him. This was different from wandwork—it felt raw, unfiltered, as though he had tapped into something ancient and primal.
Ignotus Peverell observed him with an unreadable expression before speaking.
"Your magic has always been restrained by the wands of modern wizards. But our ancestors wielded magic differently. We shaped the world not with incantations but with will."
Hadrian listened intently as Ignotus moved toward the large, rune-etched stone slab at the center of the room. The carvings glowed faintly, whispering with untapped power.
"The power of a bloodline is not just in name, but in recognition. You must claim your heritage and, in doing so, awaken the full potential of your magic."
Hadrian frowned. "I thought my inheritance was just the Cloak of Invisibility. What more is there?"
Ignotus smirked. "The Cloak was only one part of the legacy. The Peverells were not just Death's favored children—we were rulers of magic itself."
He gestured toward the stone slab. "Place your hand here. Let the magic within you resonate with the blood of your ancestors."
Hadrian hesitated for only a moment before pressing his palm against the cold surface. The instant his skin made contact, a surge of power rushed through him.
Visions flooded his mind—of past Peverells wielding magic unlike anything he had seen before. Wizards who could bend shadows, who whispered to death itself, who shaped magic as if it were an extension of their very being.
His breath hitched as the energy coiled within him, awakening something dormant. His magic no longer felt like a tool to be used—it felt like a living, breathing force.
The runes beneath his hand flared to life. The chamber trembled slightly, and Ignotus chuckled.
"Welcome, Hadrian Peverell. The blood recognizes you."
Hadrian lifted his hand, feeling different—stronger. Magic thrummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.
"What now?" he asked.
Ignotus smirked. "Now, we begin the real lessons."
—