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In the suitcase world, inside the vast magical practice field.
Lucien flicked his wand. A point of scarlet flame bloomed at the tip, followed by thin trails of black smoke curling into the air.
Fiendfyre. A Dark curse, but one that could also be classified as fire magic.
Lucien could naturally improve his control over it using the fire elemental rune, but because Fiendfyre burned the soul itself, it was far more violent and difficult to master than ordinary magical flames.
Combined with the notes and guidance Grindelwald had written in that small booklet, Lucien quickly brought the standard Fiendfyre under control.
The scarlet flames danced at the tip of his wand. Though they still radiated a dangerous, restless energy, they now moved according to his will—tracing simple patterns through the air, appearing and disappearing at command. At the very least, he wouldn't burn himself alive the way some careless wizards did.
"Next…"
Lucien followed the private method Grindelwald had described. He tapped his wand lightly, altering the flow of his magic.
A soft hiss filled the air.
A faint blue glow ignited at the heart of the flames.
The moment that blue appeared, the previously obedient Fiendfyre turned violently unstable. The outer scarlet layer flickered and shrank rapidly—not dissipating, but compressing inward, as though being devoured by the blue fire at its core.
As the red flames contracted, the blue fire expanded at a visible rate, swelling from a tiny spark into something the size of a fist.
Lucien felt his control slipping fast. The blue Fiendfyre thrashed like a wild horse fighting the reins of his magic.
Without hesitation, he followed the countermeasure written in the booklet. He swung his wand and extinguished the flames.
"Really hard to control."
Lucien rubbed his wrist and looked at the spot where the fire had been. The ground there was now cracked and scorched.
An idea struck him.
What if he tried the Fire God's Way?
The Fire God's Way—Dumbledore's personal technique for controlling flames—possessed an extremely powerful grip on any fire it touched.
Lucien raised his wand again and summoned Fiendfyre once more. This time the flames were stable. The scarlet fire burned quietly at the tip of his wand, like a tamed beast.
He wrapped the fire in the Fire God's Way, then began guiding his magic.
A single point of blue light appeared once more.
This time it was different. Lucien could clearly feel the blue fire being firmly restrained by the power of the Fire God's Way.
The technique acted like an invisible net, wrapping around the Fiendfyre and suppressing its violent energy within manageable limits.
The blue flames continued to burn. Though no longer as berserk as before, they still radiated a terrifying heat.
Lucien stared at the fire, Grindelwald's words echoing in his mind: to visit that person, he would need some kind of proof of identity. A unique blue Fiendfyre was the best token he could offer.
He tapped his wand lightly. The ball of blue fire slowly rotated in the air, like a tamed star.
…
France. The Bastille.
In Muggle history, this place had witnessed riots, uprisings, and confrontations between prisoners and rulers. But deep beneath it lay a prison that belonged to the wizarding world.
The lowest level was the largest. Only the most vicious and dangerous criminals were held here. Yet the number of cells was surprisingly small—only a handful.
One of those cells looked nothing like a prison. It was elegant and quiet. Paintings hung on the walls. A handwoven carpet covered the floor. There was even a soft sofa.
An old woman with a full head of silver hair sat on the sofa. Her face was lined with the marks of age, but her back remained perfectly straight, like an old tree that had weathered countless storms. Her calm gaze rested on the person standing across from her. Her voice was neither loud nor soft, yet it carried an unshakable firmness.
"Laurent, I told you. I'm not going out."