"By the way," Celestia said, her voice slicing through the howling wind like a blade, "I think we forgot one small detail."
Nathael, wrapped in the spiral of white fire that propelled them at superhuman speed, turned his head slightly without veering off course. His eyes—narrowed against the gale—reflected the gray sky and the white peaks stretching to the horizon like the spines of a slumbering dragon.
"And what might that 'small detail' be?" he asked, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips.
"How," Celestia said, her voice rising above the roar, "are we supposed to find something that's a legend even to Muggles… and that not even local wizards have managed to locate in over a thousand years?"
Nathael didn't answer immediately. He only tightened his jaw slightly and raised his right arm—cloaked in his shirt sleeve, but beneath the fabric, the silver armlet rested, cold, silent… waiting.
"The bracelet," he finally said. "Even though it was found in the Yunnan sanctuary, my hunter's instinct tells me it's connected to this place—to Mount Kunlun. And if we draw near… it might resonate."
Celestia, who until now had been enjoying the flight—the wind in her fur, the freedom of defying gravity, the elegance of soaring like a shooting star—shifted her expression to one of deep curiosity.
"If your instinct says so, then we should test it," she said. "But… what if it takes too long?"
The question wasn't idle.
They'd already been flying for five days.
Five days of freezing dawns, burning midday skies at high altitudes, and nights spent taking turns sleeping while the other stood watch, feeding a small fire just to stay warm. Five days of endless peaks, dry valleys, rivers buried under eternal stone. All beautiful, yes—majestic, undeniably—but empty. No trace of magic. No sign of the "divine." Only rock, wind, and solitude.
Nathael chuckled softly, his laughter barely audible over the wind's roar.
"If it takes too long," he said, "then we'll do what we did in Russia."
Celestia, who had been relaxed, instantly tensed. Her ears perked forward, and her sapphire-blue eyes narrowed with a mix of nostalgia and annoyance.
"Oh no," she murmured. "Not again."
She remembered that winter of 1989 perfectly.
They'd received a report from a reliable source: a secret chamber belonging to the first Tsar, hidden in the frozen steppes of the north. Nathael, back then brash with youthful arrogance, had dismissed the mission.
"Muggle treasures don't interest me," he'd said.
But Celestia, ever curious, dug deeper—and uncovered something even classified archives didn't mention: the first Tsar hadn't just been a ruler. He'd been a wizard. Powerful. Ancient. One of the first to fuse Slavic magic with ancestral Nordic traditions. And his chamber didn't hold gold—it held relics of power, maps to other treasures, and grimoires written in dead languages.
They left the next day.
For an entire week, they dug through snow, casting detection spells, heat charms, magical sight enchantments. Nothing. Every time they cleared an area, snow returned within hours—as if the land itself refused to reveal its secret.
That's when Nathael had his "brilliant idea."
"We'll use massive magic," he'd said, eyes gleaming. "We'll demolish the surroundings. If the chamber's there, it'll clash with our magic. We'll feel it."
Celestia had stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Destroy everything? What if we break the chamber? What if we corrupt the grimoires? It'd be like burning a library for a single page!"
"Trust me," he'd replied, with that rare smile reserved only for glorious madness.
And he did it.
He cast an ancestral spell so vast it made the earth tremble for hundreds of kilometers. The sky darkened. The snow evaporated. Trees turned to ash. And at the center of the chaos stood a black stone door—intact, sealed with runes that neither time nor destruction could erase.
Inside, they found treasures even pureblood families couldn't dream of. Some relics went to the Grauheim vault. Others were sold to collectors worldwide. Nathael made a fortune. Celestia gained newfound respect for her companion's madness.
The only problem? The Soviet Ministry declared them persona non grata. The devastation was so immense that even their most powerful Aurors trembled at the sight of the ruins—and panicked even more upon learning of the looting.
"No matter," Nathael had shrugged. "There are many ways to enter without being noticed."
Now, two years later—after the Soviet Union's collapse and the world's descent into political chaos—no one remembered "the Northern Incident."
But Celestia did.
"If you suggest that here again," she said firmly, "I'll leave you alone with this cold and your absurdly dangerous ideas."
Nathael laughed again—but didn't press further.
They flew in silence for hours more. The sun tracked across the sky, shadows lengthened, and despair began to nibble at the edges of their resolve.
But then—
They stopped abruptly.
Suspended in midair, still wrapped in the white fire, Nathael raised his right wrist. His eyes widened.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he said, a triumphant smile breaking through.
Celestia nodded, pupils dilated with excitement.
"Yes! It's vibrating!"
The silver bracelet—partially sealed by the Grauheim ancestral tree—now pulsed softly but steadily, like the heartbeat of a sleeping heart awakening.
Nathael closed his eyes, sensing the magic flowing from the object, resonating with something… beyond. Something deep.
"I was right," he said. "We're close."
They descended slowly, guided by vibrations growing stronger with every meter. Then, suddenly, the land changed.
Before them stretched a dense, thick mist—almost tangible. It wasn't ordinary fog. It was alive. It throbbed with an energy that made Celestia's fur stand on end.
"Do you feel it?" she whispered.
"Yes," Nathael said. "Ancestral magic. Pure. Primordial."
But that wasn't all.
"There's also a repulsion charm," Celestia added. "Not just against Muggles—but against wizards too. It's like a Fidelius… but a thousand times stronger. Almost mythical."
Nathael nodded. He'd already noticed. The mist didn't fully reject them.
"It's our bloodline," he said. "Grauheim blood resonates with ancestral magic… it connects me to this kind of power. And you…" He looked at Celestia. "You share that bond."
She nodded, pride gleaming in her eyes.
"We are one."
Nathael raised his right arm. The mist trembled—as if responding to his presence—but didn't part. It only… hesitated.
"We need to lift the seal," Celestia said. "The bracelet is partially sealed. As long as it is, it can't fully communicate with what lies inside."
Nathael frowned.
"It would be dangerous. If I break the seal… and something hostile detects it…"
"It's already dangerous," Celestia interrupted. "We're in the land of legends, Nathael. Here, danger isn't the exception—it's the norm."
Nathael fell silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
"You're right."
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing.
In Old Celtic—a tongue remembered only by the most ancient—he wove words with magic. Runes formed in the air around him, glowing with silver light that rivaled the sun. The bracelet on his wrist responded, warming, vibrating with increasing intensity.
Hours passed.
The sun set. The moon rose. And with every syllable, Nathael drained his magical reserves—reserves Celestia claimed were the greatest in the world. And still, the effort left him exhausted. In the end, he collapsed to his knees, sweating, eyes bright with fatigue.
"I did it," he whispered.
The bracelet was no longer sealed—not even partially. It was free.
Instantly, a wave of ancestral energy enveloped them. Celestia inhaled deeply, as if magic itself were pure air.
"I can breathe it," she said in awe. "It's as if the whole world is singing."
Slowly, the mist began to part—not like a door, but like a curtain—revealing what had been hidden for millennia.
Before them stood a monumental entrance, carved from black stone, covered in Chinese characters that seemed to burn with inner light.
Celestia read them aloud, reverently:
"Tàichū Zōng… Sect of the Primordial Heaven."
"It seems the ancient Chinese sages weren't wrong after all," Nathael said, struggling to his feet.
They began ascending the ancient, weathered cobblestone path—worn by time yet intact in essence. With every step, the bracelet vibrated more intensely, as if calling to something… or someone.
And then—they saw it.
Mount Kunlun wasn't a mountain.
It was a world.
Larger than any city they'd ever seen. Temples of jade and marble rose beside crystal-clear waterfalls. Empty training grounds, saturated with lingering magic, awaited warriors who would never return. Intricately carved wooden houses, hanging gardens, and stone bridges connected peaks as if the sky were solid ground.
Yes, it was in ruins. Yes, worn by centuries. Some structures had collapsed, overtaken by vines and moss.
But its aura…
Was unbreakable.
"The ancestral magic here is… omnipresent," Celestia said, eyes wide with wonder. "It's as if time stopped… and history froze."
Nathael didn't answer. He only stared toward the highest peak, where an immense temple—larger than Hogwarts—crowned the entire mountain like a sovereign crown.
Above its door, a symbol: a circle with a tree at its center, roots touching the earth and transforming into runes, beneath which glowed what looked like constellations.
"No… it can't be," Nathael whispered, his voice trembling.
Celestia's fur stood on end.
"It's impossible… how can our family's crest be here?"