The clearing behind the Bones residence was quiet, the early morning air still tinged with the last threads of dawn mist. A soft breeze stirred the grass, and overhead, the sky burned with a faint golden hue. Caelum stood at the center, barefoot on cool earth, wand still untouched at his side.
He closed his eyes.
A pulse echoed within his chest—not a heartbeat, but magic. It surged differently now, no longer the steady stream he'd grown used to over his first year at Hogwarts. This was deeper. Wilder. More powerful, but also completely unrefined.
The forced awakening had shattered whatever limits once tethered his growth. His core had expanded—almost violently so. The pathways through which his magic flowed now thrummed with raw energy, and each time he tried to shape it, the result either overshot or slipped his grasp. The finesse he'd once prided himself on had been buried under brute force he now has to deal with.
"Start slow," he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. "Feel it first."
He extended one hand. A flicker of fire danced across his palm—Luxardent. It flared bright, then surged into a short pillar of blue-white flame. Even without testing it, Caelum could feel the increase in its intensity—it was hotter, sharper, alive. It should be much hotter, he thought. But something else caught his attention. The flame—ever since he'd awakened in the hospital, he had felt it calling to him from the edges of his mind. And now, it was time to answer.
Then, with a soft hiss, something peeled itself from the flame.
A small bat made of living fire fluttered into the air above his hand. Its wings shimmered like embers, its body no bigger than his palm. And yet Caelum could feel it—conscious, curious. Watching him.
He blinked in astonishment.
"You weren't there before," he whispered.
The bat blinked at him with glowing eyes, then flitted around his head, leaving trails of warm light. It wasn't a conjuration. It was Luxardent itself—an extension of his magic, born from the sentience awakened during the ritual.
A guardian. A companion.
A flame that recognized the ancient magic residing within his body.
He reached out with his thoughts, and it answered—not with words, but with intent, emotion, and understanding. Bonded by legacy. It would obey him. Protect him.
Lux, he decided. He'd call it Lux.
The bat squeaked softly in approval.
Caelum smiled faintly, then turned his gaze toward the treeline.
"Let's see what else has changed."
He stepped back, letting the shadows of the forest curl around his feet. He exhaled—and in the next breath, his body blurred.
Voltis.
The shadows beneath him stretched into tendrils of smoke, coiling up and over his body like a second skin. Then—without a sound—he vanished, only to reappear tens of meters ahead in a blur of compressed darkness and heat.
He surged through the courtyard, teleporting in sharp bursts of motion, each jump within sight and straining his limits of control. The number of leaps he could manage in succession had more than doubled. It was enough to tear through the trees like a ghost slipping between cracks in the world.
And now, something new:
The moment he landed, a burst of fire exploded outward in a ring of shockwave flame—as if his transit had packed shadow and heat together in volatile union. The ground around him scorched in a perfect circle, leaves crackling, loose debris blasted outward.
He muttered, panting slightly. "That's new."
Before, Voltis had been purely about speed and stealth. Now it carried force—impact. His landings could disorient enemies. More importantly, the movement didn't disrupt his stealth.
In fact…
He focused again, cloaking himself in stillness. The forest fell silent around him. Even the birds—creatures most sensitive to magic—remained undisturbed.
He reached out to the edge of his awareness.
No signature.
He'd become invisible to magical senses. The shadow didn't just mask sight anymore—it concealed his aura entirely. As long as he remained beneath shadow, he was undetectable. Not silenced, not blocked—but veiled.
He couldn't help but grin. This—this would change everything.
But there was more. One last piece.
He flexed his fingers, drawing on the memory of blood inside his mind.
It answered.
Not in the way his fire or shadow did, but deeper—beneath the skin. A current, like a second heartbeat. He focused on a single bird perched nearby, sensing its life force, extending his will. Not to harm, but to test.
A subtle ripple.
The bird flinched, fluffed its wings—and for a heartbeat, Caelum felt its blood stutter. Not its life, but its magic—flickering like a candle in the wind.
His control faltered quickly, but he pulled back before any harm was done.
He'd never trained in blood magic, yet now, instinctively, he could grasp the threads of it—tugging at the essence within blood that bound life and spellwork.
If he focused… he could disrupt it.
Disarm a wizard without touching their wand. Cut them off from their own magic—temporarily, but cleanly. He didn't need to overpower them. He could undo them from within.
He would call it Bloodlock.
It required immense focus—so much that using it amid battle would be nearly impossible for now.
But the potential of it—this strange, instinctive magic—terrified and thrilled him in equal measure.
He sat down again, Lux curling around his neck like a living scarf of flame, its warmth grounding him as his thoughts churned.
This… this was what he'd become.
The ritual had changed him—but it hadn't broken him.
He would adapt.
He would win.