Two months after the first tents went up, the queues still did not shorten. They moved faster now, disciplined by routine, but the hunger behind them had grown teeth.
The selection wave had turned into a public season.
Scholars were invited, then paraded. Archives that had been locked behind polite excuses opened to cameras under controlled conditions. Universities argued on television with the intensity they usually reserved for funding, and the public watched because this time the argument promised power.
The History Channel launched a new series and did not bother pretending it was niche.
The opening shot did not show ruins. It showed a hospital ward.
A Unit Healer stood beside a bed and pressed two fingers to a child's temple. The monitor line settled. A mother's hands shook around a paper cup of water. The camera cut away before anyone could call it a miracle, then cut back to a studio where a presenter smiled too hard under bright lights.
The show's title filled the screen.
Mana Users and Their Place in History.
The presenter spoke with the slow emphasis of someone reading a statement that had been approved by three committees.
"Today, we will examine records of phenomena once filed under miracle and superstition. Healing, Weather control, Elemental manipulation, Enchantments and Potions. We will ask a simple question. Were these stories evidence, or theatre for frightened minds?"
The first episode moved like a knife through soft tissue.
Paintings of saints shifted into depictions of healers. Old parish letters were read aloud, the ink scanned and translated on screen. A scholar from Cambridge pointed at a margin note in a fourteenth-century record and spoke carefully about unusual recoveries, then paused when the presenter asked whether the writer could have been describing mana.
The man hesitated, yet the audience did not.
A second segment moved to storms.
A book lay open under studio lamps. A weather historian traced a finger along a passage describing a clear sky that became a black wall within minutes. The historian tried to speak about coincidence. The show cut the coincidence short by rolling footage of a Unit member coaxing wind into a spiral on a training ground, then letting it die with a snap.
A third segment turned to enchantments.
Metalwork from a museum collection was examined. Strange alloys and odd wear patterns were discussed. A specialist spoke about workmanship and era, then stiffened when a mana user in the studio placed his hand over the artefact and murmured something too soft for the microphone.
A faint glow ran through the metal. The carvings on it flared for a moment and died.
The specialist swallowed hard. The presenter moved on before the man could gather dignity.
The second half of the episode changed the tone.
The set lighting cooled. The presenter stood beside a table stacked with books. Records of the Witch Hunts.
Titles appeared on screen as if they were evidence in court rather than scholarship. The Witch Hunt in Early Modern Europe, Enemies of God, Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England, and De Praestigiis Daemonum.
A historian read from a chapter on accusation patterns, then another read about interrogation, then a third spoke about torture with the careful detachment of a man who had never smelled blood in a room.
Reenactment footage followed.
A woman in a plain dress sat in a chair under a single lamp. A magistrate demanded a confession. Hands forced her wrists to the table. The camera lingered on her face long enough for the public to remember she looked like their neighbours.
The show did not linger on the instruments.
It lingered on the logic.
A man accused, then isolated. A woman accused, then shamed. A child accused, then broken. Neighbours called it righteousness because they feared what they could not control. Clergy offered verses and absolution as if cruelty could be washed clean by scripture.
The presenter's voice stayed calm as the images rolled.
"If mana users existed, the question becomes unavoidable. Did they hide, turn their backs on people? The same people, instead of praising them, decide to hunt them down? Were they driven into hiding?"
The final scene cut to a modern tent, a child holding a wand that flared bright.
The episode ended with a single line on black.
Is it possible that the mana users decided to hide from us?
Across living rooms, the question landed as it had been intended to.
It was not an accusation; it was permission.
--
While the screens argued, governments chased a different kind of salvation.
Green energy stopped being a policy slogan and became a competition. Funding approvals that once took months began to take days. Ministers stood in front of cameras beside solar panels and wave generators, as they had invented them. Companies that had mocked electric cars pivoted with sudden moral passion and cheaper marketing.
Deforestation and warming stopped being lecture topics and became dinner table talk.
Part of it was fear.
Part of it was pride.
A larger part was that mana users appearing on camera made shame tangible.
A lake in one city turned clear in half an hour. A line of Unit members stood on the shore, hands out, palms moving as if they were smoothing fabric. Plastic waste rose in clumps, then vanished in clean bursts that left no residue. A reporter laughed once, nervous and high, then stopped laughing when the water reflected the sky again.
A river in another country ran black at the edges from years of neglect. Mana users walked along the bank and pressed their hands to the mud. The smell eased. The surface stopped foaming. Fish returned within weeks, not as a miracle, but as a consequence.
Planting trees became a trend.
Children posted photographs. Celebrities made speeches. Politicians put shovels into the ground for cameras and then walked away.
The planet did not care who got credit.
-
On the frigate, far from the shouting screens, quiet carried weight.
Elizaveta lay on the bed as naked as the day she was born. The air held her scent, and the linen beneath her held warmth.
Corvus sat beside her with his hand resting on her chest. His palm covered her heartbeat, and his fingers traced the slow rise of breath as if he was counting something precious.
Regeneration.
Longevity.
Deeper mana reserve.
The gifts had settled into her like new bones.
Her eyes stayed closed for a moment, then opened and found him.
His mind went to the moment she answered.
"If I were to leave this planet, this dimension.."
Her answer came without hesitation.
"Yes," Elizaveta said.
The word landed clean. Love made it heavier.
She pushed herself up and settled into his lap with a practised ease, knees bracketing him, hands sliding to his shoulders. Her small stature made the movement look as cute as it was affectionate. The confidence in her posture removed the joke; she knew his arms would hug her the moment she settled there.
Her eyes locked onto his, glacial blue warmed by intent.
"I know you are absurdly powerful and resourceful."
She spoke like a woman stating a fact for the record.
"I know you do not need my help." Her fingers tightened once on his shoulder, a warning and a promise together. "Yet I will stand by you. Do not leave me behind. Not for other dimensions. Not for your second wife. Not for anyone."
Corvus felt something in his chest crack.
A shift, a weakness he did not mind. His face soured at the last part. The expression was honest enough to be funny.
Elizaveta's mouth curved. "That look is wasted."
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "You are Corvus Black Rosier. Uncle Arcturus and Aunt Vinda want grandchildren."
She pulled back just enough to watch his reaction. "Not from the nests. From you and me and whoever joins us as Lady Rosier."
Her lips trailed his jawline and continued to his neck.
Dry sarcasm came out before he could stop it. "How touching. I will add it to my list of reasons to remain alive."
Her laughter hit his throat like warmth. She kissed him, slow and deliberate, hands sliding down his chest. The kiss barely stayed on the safe side of restraint, but it carried enough promise to make him shift his position.
She broke it first.
Elizaveta stood, the movement smooth, and leaned on him again as if she could not decide whether to keep teasing or keep touching. Corvus opened his arms. She let her head rest against his chest.
"I will not ask questions," she said. "I am, however, thankful."
She lifted her face, smile bright for a second, then softer. "This feeling is amazing."
Her eyes closed as she breathed through the changes. Power sat inside her now, not borrowed or temporary. It was hers. Gifted by him.
She turned and started toward the bathroom with an inviting sway to her hips.
"Will you be joining me?"
The invitation was polite. The intent was not.
Corvus watched her for a beat, then stood.
-
Six months passed, measured by returns to the cavern and returns to the frigate, measured by absorption cycles and the way his body adapted without complaint.
He replicated everything the creatures had.
He absorbed them. Most of the traits merged with what he already had.
Metamorphmagus disappeared from his status and became something simpler and more absolute. Shapeshifting.
Transfiguration, Charms and other branches that had once stood separate collapsed into a single discipline that behaved more like an elder authority than a list of spells and intent. Spellcraft.
Occlumency, Legilimency and Telekinesis became one control suite. Psychic Mastery.
Healing, Life Magic, Aura Manipulation and Regeneration merged and became Biological Mastery.
Death and Soul Magic ceased being awkward cousins and turned to Necromancy.
Elements turned to Elemental Mastery instead of taking space one by one. With Air, Fire, Earth, Water and Lightning under one skill.
Even time shifted. Temporal Magic merging with Chronomancy.
Corvus status was more similar to Fantasy settings instead of Potterverse now. Both his Physical and magical stats sat at a level that made wizarding standards irrelevant.
STATUS
Name: Corvus Black
Age: 20
Race: Ascended Human
Spouse: Elizaveta Volkova
Physical: SSS
Magical: SSS
Talents and Inheritances
Unique: Comprehension Talent, Replication Talent
Animagi Forms
Shadow Raven: Blood Sight, Shadow Step
Tiger
Basilisk: Magical Resistance, Venom Secretion, Deadly Gaze
Skills
Immortality
Sacred Blood
Shape Shifting
Spellcraft
Psychic Mastery
Biological Mastery
Elemental Mastery
Clairvoyance
Necromancy
Chronomancy
Alchemy
Rituals
Extreme Strength, Durability, Speed, Agility.
The knowledge and expertise he got from the Muggle scholars were still his. Yet his new status panel did not deem them worthy to be listed.
He sat in his study with ancient maps on every wall and understood one thing with calm clarity.
His time in this reality was nearing its end. Not because he was being chased, on the contrary, he had already located two of the other immortals.
Gonzalo Diablo, the founder and the head of House Diablo from Magical Spain. Known for his Spatial mastery and attempts to open the door to hell dimensions... Multiple times. Other than being immortal, the man was stubborn. Corvus was not sure he wanted some Demons roaming this world; hence, Spain was next on his schedule. He wondered how Diablo was deciding the location of Hell's dimensions.
After Diablo, there was another name he would visit back in Greece, Herpo the Foul. He was not surprised at all when he learned the old Wizard was still alive. He was, on the contrary, excited about what they could have found to keep these two names alive and powerful. Not powerful to his standards, but strong compared to the rest of the Wizarding World.
His gaze went back to his status. He has three Animagi forms. He wondered if the limit would be changed now that he was a bit different from before.
He decided to visit the man who had taught him the bones of ritual work before the world changed.
Menkara al Zahur.
Back at Durmstrang.
Corvus closed the last map, rolled it tight, and placed it on the table with a controlled motion.
He stood.
The ship's wards hummed around him like a held breath.
He walked toward the cabin door with the certainty of a man who had already decided.