In the western seas near Mount Targon, there lay a region inhabited by the Marai people.
Sheltered by the mountain and devoted to the Aspects, the Marai should have lived in peace upon Runeterra's most sacred land. Yet reality was far from it—the Marai faced a dire crisis.
In the depths below, an abyssal fissure birthed countless terrifying creatures. These voidborn monstrosities were immensely powerful. Countless Marai had perished on the frontlines against them, yet the darkness continued its inexorable advance.
Until one day, an emissary descended from Mount Targon bearing a luminous moonstone imbued with celestial magic. This artefact safeguarded the Marai and stemmed the abyss's spread.
However, every century, the moonstone's glow would fade. Then the Marai must select their mightiest warrior to retrieve an abyssal pearl from the depths and trade it with a wandering Aspect's envoy ashore for a new moonstone.
This chosen warrior would be named the Tidecaller.
In retrieving the pearl, the Tidecaller would also gain greater power—mastery over the ocean's tides.
Nami had dreamed since childhood of becoming the Tidecaller. Yet in the final selection, she suffered a bitter defeat.
A warrior named Lasha became the Tidecaller and ventured into the abyss for the pearl. Two weeks passed without a word. As the elders hesitated, Nami seized her mother's abyssal wand and plunged into the depths.
After untold trials, she defeated the void-corrupted Lasha and emerged victorious with the pearl, becoming the true Tidecaller.
Yet as fate would have it, disaster struck again.
When Nami brought the pearl ashore, no emissary awaited—only an elderly woman who revealed that Diana, the Aspect of the Moon and sole crafter of moonstones, had abandoned Mount Targon.
Left with no choice, Nami summoned tidal waters beneath her tail, creating an eternal pool that allowed her to walk on land—the first amphibious Marai—and began her quest across Runeterra to find the lost moon Aspect.
...
Wayne slowly opened his eyes, having just lived through Nami's entire life.
From the vivacious charm of childhood to the stubborn recklessness of adulthood, then the joy of becoming a Tidecaller, followed by the sorrow of learning there were no moonstones, and finally the responsibility of scouring the continent...
[Legacy – 'Tidecaller': All seas are your domain. You shall tread the waves and surge against the currents, for you are the tempest itself!]
Wayne leapt through the window and plunged straight into the lake, startling the slumbering magical creatures as fish swirled around him in a vortex.
Reaching the depths, he felt utterly at home, every pore of his body breathing in the water as though it were second nature.
With a mere thought, he appeared on the opposite side of the lake in the next instant.
Indeed, Wayne had bypassed Hogwarts' magical restrictions to utilise spatial translocation.
Yet this wasn't Apparition—it was the Tidecaller's 'authority', and thus not considered magic.
Wherever there was sufficient water, he could traverse space at will, unbound by its constraints.
His body seemed to merge with the lake itself, capable of coalescing or dispersing at whim.
Splash!
Wayne burst through the surface, standing atop the cresting waves as moisture shed from his clothes the moment he left the water, leaving him perfectly dry.
Even with his prior talent of Waterwalking, his mastery over the element had already been formidable—worthy of being called a child of water.
But now, the Tidecaller's legacy was something far more terrifying.
To still call himself a child of water would no longer suffice.
From this day forth, he would be known as—Lawrence, King of the Seas!
Suddenly, Wayne recalled a wager he'd made with Hermione.
If he could find a real Merperson before graduation, she would have to submit to his whims.
He hadn't found a Merperson, strictly speaking... but he himself might now qualify?
Glancing down at his still-human legs, Wayne fell into deep thought...
Perhaps he could just use Transfiguration to trick Hermione...
...
By March, the students' enthusiasm for games had waned slightly, redirected towards Quidditch.
At least in Hufflepuff.
In the common room, Cedric had dragged over a small blackboard and was enthusiastically explaining Hufflepuff's championship prospects to both team members and curious badgers alike.
"Though we lost the last match, it doesn't mean we're out of the running."
"We only lost by twenty points—that gap isn't insurmountable. If we win all remaining matches by sufficient margins, the cup could still be ours!"
To claim the Quidditch Cup, victory count was fundamental—any team winning three matches would be the undisputed champion.
But if two teams ended with two wins and one loss, the title would go to whoever had the higher point differential.
Thus, for Hufflepuff to triumph, they needed both Ravenclaw to lose once more and themselves to secure overwhelming victories.
The first condition seemed plausible—apart from Cho, Ravenclaw's other girls were... rather delicate.
The latter, however, depended entirely on Hufflepuff's own prowess.
"Next, we face Gryffindor—they won their last match by a staggering two hundred and twenty points against Slytherin. So we mustn't just win, we need a crushing victory!"
Henderson frowned. "Cedric, you're thinking too simply. Potter isn't worse than you, and Wood's goalposts aren't that easy to breach."
"I know." Cedric wasn't angered by these morale-dampening words but nodded in agreement. "That's why I've called in reinforcements."
With that, he pulled Wayne over from the crowd of onlookers.
The team members looked delighted. "Is Wayne joining the match too?"
"No, I definitely won't be playing. Besides, it's been so long since I last played—I might just end up being a liability." Wayne shook his head, then added under their disappointed gazes, "I'm here to be the coach."
"Coach?" A Chaser scratched his head. "But Cedric's already the coach."
"His tactics are too rigid," Wayne said disdainfully. "If you want a crushing victory, you'll need my strategies."
Wayne cleared his throat, waiting until he had everyone's attention before continuing.
"First, I'll lend out another Firebolt—just for this match. It's a sample I got from the Firebolt boutique and needs to be returned afterwards."
"Brilliant!" The badgers cheered. An extra Firebolt meant another edge towards victory.
"Heh, Wayne..." Cedric sidled up with an ingratiating smile. "About the match against Slytherin... could we borrow it again then?"
Wayne gave him a strange look.
How shameless can this guy be?
Even Astoria hadn't lent her broom to the team, yet he wanted to bully others with two Firebolts.
Still...
"No problem, I agree."
"Yes!" Cedric pumped his fist excitedly.
"Alright, now for the tactical side." Wayne gestured for silence. "Same as before—Henderson, the Firebolt goes to you. Your job is to mess with Harry's head. He's been short-tempered lately, quick to anger. Just provoke him a little, and he'll underperform."
Henderson looked eager for details. "Any specifics?"
Wayne tilted his head thoughtfully. "Tell him Malfoy's better than him, or that Snape is actually a great professor."
Henderson grimaced. "That's... really stretching the truth..."
"Do you want to win or not?" Wayne said impatiently.
"Don't rush me." Henderson's expression shifted instantly into a grin. "Who plays Quidditch with a conscience? Trash talk is my speciality."
"I could also say shield builds are the strongest playstyle."
"Piss off!"
A dozen badgers shouted in unison, their faces flushed with anger.
The Shield Build was the most disgusting playstyle in Hogwarts: Magic Awakened, relying on various healing skills and sheer shield thickness to drag out matches until the final blood-burning countdown phase, grinding opponents to death with zero entertainment value.
Wizards who used this build often ended up in real-life fistfights after matches. Rumour had it that several couples had already broken up over it.
"You're absolutely vile," Cedric said, giving Henderson a look of disgust before turning to Wayne. "Any other strategies?"
"That leaves your mission," Wayne clapped him on the shoulder.
"If we want to widen the point gap, we can't let the opponents score too much. From what I've observed, Gryffindor's three Chasers quite fancy your type. Time to cash in on those good looks."
"What do you mean?"
"Start by distracting Angelina and Spinnet right from the opening. Once we've built enough lead, then go for the Golden Snitch."
"That's downright shameless..."
Now it was Henderson's turn to scoff at Cedric: "Unwilling to use your looks to win? What kind of Quidditch Captain are you? If you won't do it, I will."
"In your dreams!"
Cedric punched him irritably. "Even if you wanted to, they wouldn't give you a second glance."
With the expression of a man marching to his doom, he declared, "It's settled then. Starting tomorrow, Henderson, you'll stop Beater training to familiarise yourself with the Firebolt's speed and flight patterns."
"What about you?" Henderson eyed him suspiciously.
Cedric smiled bashfully. "I'll go... get acquainted with Angelina."
The group stared at him in unanimous disdain.
...
Soon, match week arrived.
After afternoon classes, Harry and Ron sneaked to the small garden, plonking their game consoles on the stone table for a duel.
Their furtive gaming sessions were entirely Wood and the twins' fault.
Fred and George had been playing games in the common room so obsessively that they'd grown lax in training, infuriating Wood enough to confiscate their consoles until after the match.
Not wanting to be left without post-homework entertainment, Harry and Ron had no choice but to play secretly.
Due to generally low card levels, Ron ran a Rush deck—swarming the field with cheap summons and low-cost spells to overwhelm opponents early.
Harry, meanwhile, used his least favourite Basic Attack build.
He disliked it precisely because it required Snape's support card, which enhanced every second basic attack into a specialised strike that could bounce twice.
Though he loathed the idea, he couldn't ignore the golden Snape card he'd pulled.
His Laceration Curse spell card had also reached Level 8, making this his strongest deck.
Ron's offensive was quickly dismantled by Harry's basic attacks combined with the Laceration Curse, ending in defeat.
"Snape's absolutely disgusting!" Ron fumed, face reddening. "Who the hell has basic attacks that powerful? It's basically cheating!"
"And the Laceration Curse too—whoever invented that must've been a right piece of work."
"Ahem!" Harry coughed heavily, frantically signalling to Ron with his eyes. "I think it's alright. This deck has counters, too; it's not that obnoxious."
"But it requires very expensive gold cards." Ron completely missed Harry's hint and continued ranting. "This card is just like its creator – an absolute nightmare to me."
A sinister voice sounded behind him. "Appearing in your dreams would only disgust me, Mr Weasley."
Ron's face instantly paled. He turned stiffly to see Snape standing with folded arms, sneering at him.
"P-professor, that's not what I meant," Ron stammered. "W-we were just discussing the game."
"Do you take me for deaf?"
Snape remained unmoved. "Slandering professors and disrespecting great wizards who invented spells. Congratulations, Weasley – twenty points from Gryffindor."
As Ron opened his mouth to protest, Harry clamped a hand over it, bid Snape a hasty goodbye and dragged Ron away.
Harry knew better than anyone that Snape was just waiting for them to talk back. Any retort would invite an avalanche of increasingly creative point deductions.
There was no limit to the excuses he could invent.
Cutting their losses was the only sensible choice.
The two returned dejectedly to the Common Room, where Wayne was already present, bullying Neville with his maxed-out card deck.
Ron watched with sympathetic dread.
Of course... no matter what game they played, Wayne would always cheat.
"Back already?" Wayne spotted them from the corner of his eye. With a flick of his character's wand – "Avada Kedavra" – he ended the one-sided duel and approached them.
"Looking for me?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Not you. I'm here for Ron," Wayne said, turning to Ron with a gentle smile. "Remember our agreement?"
"When Hufflepuff plays Gryffindor, you'll take the Gender-Swap Mints while Harry and the others cheer as cheerleaders."
Ron's mind went blank. He'd completely forgotten about this.
"You still remember that?" Ron blurted out.
"What, trying to back out now?" Wayne's smile faded.
"No, no!" Fred jumped in to explain. "We just thought you'd forgotten! Don't worry, Ron would never go back on his word."
"Absolutely," Wood added, clapping Ron heavily on the shoulder. The message was clear.
The fate of Gryffindor rests on you, mate.
Faced with so many expectant stares, Ron could only force a smile uglier than a grimace and nod weakly.
"That's more like it." Wayne reverted to his harmless demeanour, producing two mints. "Got them ready for you. Here."
As Ron accepted them, only one thought filled his mind.
Never again would he recklessly suggest anything involving Wayne!
...
Leaving the tower, Wayne headed downstairs. Just as he reached the eighth floor, a delighted voice called out.
"Mr Lawrence! I was just coming to find you."
"Professor? What is it?" Wayne turned to see Dumbledore approaching.
"Ah, not me. Newt needs you," Dumbledore said. "He's run into some trouble and requires your assistance."
Wayne's expression turned serious. "Where is he?"
"He should be at home now."
Screech!~
With a burst of flames, Ho-Oh flew above Wayne's head, and the next moment, both human and bird vanished from the corridor.
Dumbledore stared blankly at the empty space.
"I hadn't finished speaking..."