[TRIAL TWO INITIATED]
Objective: Remain undiscovered for 72 hours
Restrictions:
• No intentional magic
• No external protection
• No identification
Failure: Relocation
Kyle did not ask where.
It was already weird, I should have been one year old. Instead, two years after the first trial, my body looked closer to that of a five-year-old—longer limbs, sharper reflexes, muscles that remembered patterns no child should know. Growth without nourishment. Strength without training.
They had called me a vessel. Who they were was never explained.
I couldn't use magic the way wizards did. No wand. No clean incantations shaping the air. But magic still existed inside me—unshaped, heavy, resistant. I learned to wear it instead, like a mantle pressed close to my skin. When I strained it too long, it generated heat. Not fire. Warmth. Enough to keep blood flowing through cold nights.
That warmth kept me alive. Every day, I exercised quietly—short movements remembered from another life. Martial rhythms. Breath discipline. Patterns drilled into muscle memory long before this body existed. Not to grow stronger, but to stay aligned.
Voldemort was supposed to be dead soon, according to the year I remembered—destroyed by Lily Potter's sacrifice. Still, I didn't trust the magical world. Fanatics lingered. Dark creatures outlived their masters. Horcruxes warped reality long after their creators fell.
So I vanished. No name. No records. No trust.
The Codex gave me a spell—but it felt wrong Not difficult. Unnatural. It required no wand. I think the codex is broken . Only focus. Imagination. A chosen source of power.
I always chose the sun.
In the brightest day,
In the darkest night,
No evil shall escape my sight.
For those who worship evil's might,
None shall escape my sight.
As hope burns bright—
When the spell completed, a vast white-grey circle manifested around the target—smooth, absolute, humming with pressure rather than sound. From its center descended a column of light, shaped entirely by my imagination of power.
The spell didn't burn. It dispersed.
Evil entities caught within it unraveled—magic stripped, intent dissolved, presence rejected by reality itself. Not destroyed in violence.
I didn't know where they went. Only that they didn't remain.
The second trial began with rain. Cold. Relentless. Heavy enough to soak through cloth, skin, bone. I lay pressed into the mud beneath a collapsed fence, breath shallow, heart slowed by discipline rather than fear. I had learned how to disappear.
Then the pressure changed. Not louder. Sharper. Fear has a scent—old sweat, wet rope, rust, blood washed and dried and washed again.
Children.
I lifted my head slightly. Something far away had noticed the world again. Fenrir Greyback had lifted his head. I followed the pressure across the docks. A warehouse. Flickering light. Metal scraping concrete. Shipping pallets stacked unevenly along the walls. Behind them, half-hidden by tarpaulin, a rusted ladder clung to the building's exterior.
From the roof, I saw them. Men with knives and chains.Children packed like cargo. Greyback stood among them, patient. I could leave. Then I saw her. Six years old. Blood on her sleeve. Eyes too calm. Memory crushed the breath from my lungs—another night, another child growing cold in my arms while I whispered apologies too late.
I chuckled softly. "Not this again."
[HOST INTERFERENCE DETECTED]
[TRIAL TWO UPDATED]
Objective:
Survive the Hunt.
Protect the Unmarked.
Choose.
Failure:
Return to the dark.
Hehhe.. I Chuckled even the system understand me. My awareness sharpened. Three Muggles. One wrong presence. Greyback. Of all creatures. A plan formed instantly—commotion first, fire second. Delay long enough for people to notice.
I dropped from the roof.Not clean. Not heroic. I aimed for burlap sacks and rolled on impact—"break the fall, save the spine, sacrifice the skin."
Awareness spread outward — heartbeats, footsteps, intention.
Observation.
[LIBERATION RHYTHM — OBSERVATION ESTABLISHED]
I screamed — not with my voice, but with everything I had left.
Pain bloomed. I stayed standing. "Oi!" a man laughed. "Where'd this rat come from?"
I moved. I grabbed a loose pallet plank and smashed it into a knee. Bone cracked. Screaming followed. I twisted and struck a wrist—knife dropped. Another swing caught a throat.
Not magic. Skill. Greyback watched. Interested. "Oh," he murmured. "There you are." The Drum thundered inside me. THADUM.
The hunt began. Greyback lunged. I twisted aside just in time. Claws tore my side. I slammed into crates, wood exploding around me. I rolled, grabbed a metal rod, struck low—shin—then high—jaw, throat. Greyback laughed through it.
I ran. Up crates. Over gaps. I kicked faces when hands reached for me. I was thrown. Slammed. Lifted. Greyback smashed me into a wall and lifted me one-handed. I drove the rod into his jaw. He roared and hurled me across the warehouse. I hit concrete and tasted blood. The children screamed. Something broke open. I let go. Not of fear. Of restraint. Heat exploded outward. Crates ignited. Chains warped. Fire climbed fast. Men fled. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Greyback charged again. We clashed in smoke and flame—brutal, desperate. I was smaller. Weaker.But I didn't stop.Then he played dirty.He dragged a child forward. The girl. Her hands clawed at his arm as he bared yellow teeth. "What will you do now, brave hero?" he purred. "Run? Or watch?" The Drum didn't stop. It changed rhythm. I screamed—not with my voice, but with my magic flaring as I began the incantation, dragging each word from focus rather than sound.
In the brightest day—
In the darkest night—
A white-grey circle carved itself into the air around him, humming, absolute.
No evil shall escape my sight—
Light descended. Pressure given form.
Greyback howled as magic peeled from him like damp fur torn from flesh.
For those who worship evil's might—
None shall escape my sight—
The spell didn't kill him.
It rejected him.
He dropped the girl and staggered back, smoking, snarling.
"I'll find you," he promised. "I always do."
Then he fled.I caught the girl before she hit the ground. Rain fell harder. Fire died. Sirens screamed. I collapsed with the child in my arms.
[TRIAL TWO COMPLETE]
Choice Accepted.
Light Acknowledged.
Path Updated.
Reward : Breathing Styles
Note: if magic doesn't work fist do
I woke to the smell of antiseptic and old books.Not St. Mungo's.No wand waited for me. Good.
A man sat nearby, coat folded neatly over his arm. His eyes were sharp, tired—eyes that had seen too much. "You saved my daughter," he said quietly. "Her name is Mira."
I listened. "I knew you were running the moment I saw you," he continued. "Kids don't move like that. Don't delay instead of win."
I met his gaze. "I'm a paranormal investigator," he said. "Creatures. Curses. Things people pretend don't exist. Greyback has crossed my path before."
He paused. "For saving Mira, I owe you a favor." "What kind?" I asked. "Officially," the man continued, "you don't exist."
Kyle finally spoke. "What happens to me?"
"Officially? You're adopted," the man said. "Unofficially?" A thin smile. "You'll need a wand eventually. That means stepping into the magical world.Then I help you step into the magical world on your terms." The Drum beat once. Slow. Certain. For the first time since the rain—I wasn't alone.