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The Mage's Path: Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2024-11-20 09:03:18 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the next chapter. Harry meets Fleur and travels to his island to explore its secrets.
Chapter 16
Harry surveyed the Delacours' potion room with appreciation. Unlike his makeshift setup in his tent, this was a proper brewing space. Crystal-clear windows lined the upper walls, providing natural light while keeping fumes from stagnating. Rows of ingredients in meticulously labelled glass jars lined the oak shelves, and a professional-grade stone workbench dominated the centre of the room.
After exploring more of France the past few days, he had decided to start learning how to brew potions. He wanted to reach a level of proficiency so he could create some quality potions before he stepped back into a dungeon.
He retrieved his copper cauldron from his inventory and placed it on the workbench. He examined it with his Appraisal skill.
======Copper Cauldron | Level: 1 | Common | Type: Equipment | Enchantment Slots: -
Description: A basic cauldron crafted from standard-grade copper. While lacking advanced features, it provides reliable heat distribution and magical conductivity, making it suitable for novice potion-makers.
* Durability: 75/75
* Heat Distribution Rating: Standard
* Magical Conductivity: Low
* Material Purity: 85%.
* Cannot brew potions above the Rare tier.
* Temperature variance: +/- 2°C. ======
The cauldron wasn’t much to speak of, but Professor McGonagall had been the one who purchased it for him. It might lack advanced features, but it would serve his initial brewing needs well enough. He'd consider upgrading once his potions demanded better equipment.
As Harry began arranging his ingredients, a notification appeared in his HUD:
======
New Side Quest: Mastering the Cauldron
Quest Description: Creating potions requires both theoretical knowledge and practical experience. Begin your journey into potion-making by successfully brewing a batch of minor health potions and learning the Potions skill.
Objective(s):
1. Successfully brew five minor health potions of medium quality or higher
2. Continue to brew until the player learns the Potion Brewing skill.
Quest Completion Rewards: 200 XP; 1 PP.
Time Limit: None
Quest Difficulty: Easy
Failure: None.
======
Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised to be assigned a quest in France. The system appeared to allow non-location-specific quests to occur anywhere. It made sense—brewing potions wasn't tied to any particular place.
His thoughts drifted to the quest he'd received about unlocking France, which had triggered before he'd even disembarked from the ferry. The pattern suggested the system operated on its own logic, unconstrained by geographical boundaries. Location-specific quests could trigger outside of the country, even if it wasn’t part of the system yet. He wondered what other quests might trigger the moment he left French soil. The implications warranted further investigation, but for now, he had potions to brew.
Harry started by filling the cauldron with purified water and lighting the flame underneath it. While monitoring the brass thermometer, he prepared his ingredients.
At exactly 85°C, he added the first ingredient. The water turned pale pink, then shifted to a translucent rose colour as he stirred twice clockwise to distribute the contents evenly. He sprinkled in one gram of moonstone powder, watching as the solution stabilised, tiny sparkles dancing across its surface.
"Now for the tricky part," he murmured, picking up the first bloodroot section.
He dropped in each piece at seven-second intervals, watching the potion darken progressively—from pale rose to deep pink to crimson to blood red. The liquid's viscosity increased with each addition, releasing spirals of silver vapour that smelled increasingly metallic.
The recipe called for twelve clockwise stirs, but Harry noticed the potion thickening faster than expected. He dipped his stirring rod in, testing the consistency. The liquid clung to the rod for three seconds before dropping—too thick for twelve stirs.
Making a quick adjustment, he reduced it to ten stirs. Each rotation created a small whirlpool that gleamed with ruby highlights. On the tenth stir, the surface settled into a perfect mirror finish.
Following the potion's natural rotation, he sprinkled in the next ingredient from outside to centre. The powder sparked as it hit the surface, each grain dissolving in a tiny flash of silver light. The potion lightened, acquiring an opalescent sheen that shifted between red and pink as the light hit it.
The next phase demanded absolute precision: three clockwise stirs at exactly two rotations per second, followed by two anticlockwise stirs at the same speed, with a two-second pause between sets. Harry counted under his breath, watching the potion's surface for signs of proper integration.
As he completed the final stir, the potion settled into a deep ruby colour with golden undertones. Silver sparks occasionally rose to the surface, releasing a faint scent of copper and moonflowers. He extinguished the flame, letting the potion cool naturally.
Harry carefully scooped the mixture into the prepared vials. He sealed them with a cork stopper and held one up for examination.
"Appraisal."
======
Minor Health Potion | Common | Effect: Instant HP Recovery | Quality: Medium
Description: A healing potion brewed with exceptional ingredients and precise technique. The superior quality of the bloodroot has enhanced its primary restoration properties.
* Restores 50 HP instantly
* Increases consumption by 10
* Toxicity: None
======
"Not bad," Harry murmured.
The potion’s quality matched those he'd discovered in the dungeon—remarkable, considering this marked his first brewing attempt. The recipe's precise instructions had served as a foundation, but the true art lay in the subtle adjustments required during stirring. Each ingredient's quality demanded different handling, transforming potion-making from rigid formulas into dynamic crafting.
No recipe could claim perfection—potion brewers constantly refined their formulas, though such experimentation carried both steep costs and significant risks.
If he could improve the quality even further, he would be able to restore more health while maintaining the same consumption cost. This would be invaluable while exploring the dungeons.
Harry brewed four more batches, his confidence growing with each successful attempt. As he completed the fifth batch, a notification pinged in his HUD:
======Congratulations! You have learned a new skill through crafting!
======Potion Brewing | Active | Level 1 | Upgrade: (0/10) | Attribute: PER
Description: The methodical art of creating magical potions through the precise combination of ingredients and techniques. This skill encompasses the entire brewing process, from ingredient preparation to final bottling. Success rates and potion potency increase with mastery.
* Increases base success rates for low, medium, and high-quality potions by +25%, 15%, and 5%, respectively.
* Increases potion potency by 10%
* Reduces ingredient waste by 10%.
* Reduces toxicity by 10%
* Heightened sensitivity to potion consistency changes.
* PER > 30: Enables identification of ingredient quality by sight.
* Upgrades to level 2 after successfully brewing 10 batches of potions. ======
======Congratulations! You have completed the Side Quest: Mastering the Cauldron—Reward: 200 Exp, 1 PP. ======
Harry cleaned his equipment thoroughly with a neutralising solution, ensuring no residue remained that could contaminate future brews. The process had taught him valuable lessons about the subtle art of potion-making—the importance of ingredient quality, the need for precise timing, and most importantly, how to read the visual and physical cues that indicated when adjustments were necessary.
A small head poked around the doorframe, pale blonde hair catching the light. Gabrielle bounced into the room when she spotted Harry cleaning his workspace, her excitement palpable.
"Want to meet Fleur?" she asked in French, her words tumbling out in a rush.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Do your parents know about this?"
Gabrielle shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "They left on business. We're alone."
"I'm certain I need their permission first."
"I know what they'd say," Gabrielle said, waving off his concern. "That's why I didn't ask. Don't you want to meet Fleur?"
Harry couldn't deny his curiosity about Fleur since the incident days ago, but the last thing he needed was to cause trouble. Despite his reservations, he allowed Gabrielle to grab his hand and drag him from the room.
They crossed the grounds towards the tower. A hoot pulled Harry's attention upward. Hedwig perched in a nearby tree, her amber eyes fixed on him. She'd tracked him down two days ago, apparently tired of waiting back in England. Though she could roam freely, he should have made proper arrangements instead of abandoning her for weeks. Hedwig made sure to make her displeasure known.
Gabrielle produced a key and unlocked the heavy door. Harry followed her inside, memories of that evening flashing through his mind. The first floor showed no signs of the previous devastation. A comfortable living room and kitchen occupied the space, with spiral stairs leading to the second floor.
A movement drew his attention upward. Harry's breath caught as Fleur descended the stairs. She emanated otherworldly beauty—platinum blonde hair cascading past her shoulders in silken waves, striking blue eyes, and features that appeared sculpted by a master artist. She was even more beautiful than her mother. At fourteen, she already possessed the grace and figure of a woman.
He noted that her level had dropped back down to level forty-five now that she wasn’t in her Veela transformation.
Gabrielle rushed to embrace her sister before making introductions. Fleur's accent was heavier than her sister's, but her voice carried the same lyrical quality.
"Enchantée," Fleur said, extending her hand.
Harry shook it, fighting to maintain his composure. Though immune to her allure, his hormones posed their own challenge. Angering a Veela through unwanted attention wasn't on his agenda.
"Thank you for saving Gabrielle," Fleur said.
"It was nothing."
Fleur's sapphire eyes studied him, seeming to strip away his defences. After a moment, she gestured to a nearby chair. "Would you like some lunch?"
Harry graciously accepted, and Fleur headed to the kitchen. Suddenly, Gabrielle dashed to the window.
"Maman and Papa are back!"
She rushed to Harry, pressing the key into his palm. "Stay here and get to know my sister while I run interference." The door slammed behind her, leaving Harry alone with Fleur.
Fleur returned with coffee and several dishes, serving them with fluid grace. They ate in silence for a few minutes until she spoke. "Does my condition make you nervous?"
"What do you mean?"
Fleur's perfect brow furrowed. "Don't be obtuse. I’m talking about my transformation."
Harry shrugged, careful to keep his expression neutral. While her transformation posed obvious dangers, his nerves stemmed from an entirely different source. But mentioning that would be inappropriate—she'd likely had enough of men's infatuation over her appearance.
"I just need to avoid upsetting you," he said. "Besides, I'm not completely helpless. I helped your parents contain your flames."
Fleur nodded. "Thank you again for helping my family."
Uneasy with his gratitude, Harry switched topics. "Do you ever get bored being locked in here?"
"Sometimes. But it's necessary. The transformation..." She paused, searching for words. "Better to be isolated than risk hurting someone."
Harry understood isolation all too well. "How long until you can control it?"
"I don’t know if I ever will."
He grimaced. That sounded awful. Was there anything he could do? He didn’t want to see such an incredible girl imprisoned for the rest of his life.
She met his gaze. "You're taking this very calmly."
"Should I not be?"
"When most people meet me, they either run away or..." Her lips twisted. "Make fools of themselves."
"Well, I'm neither scared nor foolish." He paused. "Most of the time, anyway."
A ghost of a smile crossed Fleur's face. "Have you explored much of France?"
Their conversation flowed easily over the next ten minutes, sharing details about themselves. When Harry mentioned his family's island in the North Sea, Fleur perked up.
"You should ask my parents about their yacht," she said. "It's faster than finding someone to transport you, especially as you need to hire a wizard. I wouldn’t recommend having a Muggle take you to an island they cannot see."
“That's too much to ask."
Fleur shook her head. "They'd be happy to help after what you did for us. The alternative is to fly on a broomstick to the island, but it’s a long distance. It shouldn’t take long to get there by yacht."
Harry nodded. The idea had merit. "I will run the idea by them. I will pay for the yacht’s use if needed."
"You should leave soon," Fleur said, glancing at the window. "Before my parents discover you here."
Harry stood, reluctant to end their conversation but mindful of overstaying his welcome.
"It's refreshing to talk with someone new," Fleur said, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "Will you visit again while you're here?"
"Count on it. My partner in crime excels at stealth operations."
"Gabrielle's quite the mastermind." Fleur smiled before hesitating. "May I ask something personal?"
"Shoot."
"How old are you?"
"Eleven."
Her eyes widened. "Impossible. I thought you were thirteen. Have you already experienced your first magical maturity?"
"What's that?"
"Witches and wizards undergo two magical maturities," Fleur explained. "The first around thirteen or fourteen, the second near twenty. Each brings rapid growth, both physically and magically. Although some outliers experience it earlier or later than the average."
Harry considered this information. The gamer ability could qualify as early magical maturity—it had certainly triggered growth in both his size and magical capacity beyond normal limits for his age.
“How does a magical maturity manifest?” Harry asked. “Is it noticeable? Do you wake up one day completely changed, or is it more gradual?”
“The former.”
Harry frowned. “Well, I don’t think it’s magical maturity. Maybe I’m just an oddball.”
A musical laugh escaped Fleur. “Maybe so. You can cast wandless magic at eleven. I’m interested in discussing this topic further but it will have to wait for next time.”
"Sure," he replied. "Thank you for lunch."
"Au revoir, Harry."
Harry left the tower and locked the door behind him. The click of the lock twisted his gut with guilt. The contrast gnawed at him. This Fleur had shared meals and conversation, so different from the creature who'd looked ready to burn the tower to the ground a few nights ago. She had never tested her confinement, even though the door was unlocked.
Was it necessary to lock her up? He supposed he didn’t know enough about her transformation to have an opinion.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The forty-foot yacht cut through three-foot swells, salt spray coating the deck rails. Harry braced against the roll of the craft, tasting brine on his lips as gusts snapped the mainsail overhead.
Pierre stood at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel as he monitored the chart plotter. The compass read north-northeast, the boat's GPS confirming their position fifty nautical miles off Scotland's coast. After nearly two days of sailing through the North Sea waters, they were within striking distance.
Apolline and Gabrielle reclined on cushioned seats on the aft deck, soaking up the morning sun.
The Delacours had leapt at Harry's request to use their yacht. They thought they needed a vacation, and exploring a mysterious island sounded like a lot of fun. Harry could sense their sadness in not being able to bring Fleur along, though.
"These wards must be remarkable," Pierre said. "The shipping lanes aren't far off the island. It has to prevent Muggles from noticing it or running aground."
Harry nodded. It likely had defences that protected it from wizards accessing the island as well. After decades of abandonment, the island could hold any number of threats. If there were magical creatures on the island that bred uncontrollably, it could be overrun with them.
"I can see the island!" Harry called an hour later, spotting a dark mass in the distance.
Pierre squinted ahead. "I cannot see it. This fog's getting thick. Visibility is down to fifty metres, maybe less."
"What fog?" Harry asked.
"You don't see it?" Gabrielle asked. "It’s everywhere.”
Pierre throttled back the engine. "Must be the island's defensive enchantments. Harry, you will have to guide me in because I’m sailing blind.”
The island materialised fully—far larger than Harry expected. Sheer cliffs rose thirty metres from the water along the southern coast. A small crescent beach interrupted the rocky wall, its golden sand a stark contrast to the imposing stone. Jagged rocks pierced the surface in the shallows, while deeper hazards lurked just beneath the swells.
"We'll anchor here," Pierre decided. "Harry and I will take the raft to scout the island. Apolline, keep Gabrielle aboard until we signal it's safe."
"But Papa—" Gabrielle started, bottom lip jutting out.
"Non, ma petite. No arguments."
Celeste flew up from where she had been resting below deck.
“Feeling better?” Harry asked.
“Don’t ask,” she groaned. “This is the last time I travel by boat. My stomach is killing me.”
Harry helped Pierre lower the rigid inflatable boat from its davits. The smaller craft bobbed in the yacht's wake as they descended the stern ladder. Pierre took the oars and started rowing towards the shore.
“With you here, I should be able to step onto the island as well,” Pierre said.
They threaded through the obstacle course, Harry's directions guiding them through a channel that only he could see clearly. The barrier shimmered ahead—invisible to the others but clear as glass to Harry. His Mana Sense prickled as they crossed the threshold, magic washing over him like a wave of static electricity.
The boat’s keel scraped sand. They hopped out into knee-deep water and dragged it onto the beach.
Harry scanned the beach, taking in every detail. Wave-smoothed rocks protruded from the pale sand like ancient sentinels. The beach stretched for about ten metres before giving way to a dense forest that filled the gap created by the towering cliffs on either side.
The forest exuded an aura of wildness. Thick undergrowth choked the spaces between the trees, and vines draped from branch to branch like forgotten tapestries. A narrow game trail wound into the green depths, the only hint of passage through the verdant barrier.
"Some ancestral home," Celeste muttered. "Unless your family lived in trees, I'd say this trip's a bust."
Harry shook his head. "I doubt there is a manor here, but I’m sure there is plenty more to discover.”
A thunderous roar shattered the coastal silence, echoing off the cliffs and sending a flock of seabirds wheeling into the air. The sound held raw power, a primal challenge that made Harry's skin crawl.
"Right," Celeste said. "I vote we stay on the beach."
Pierre summoned his wand. "Be ready for anything. The locals might not be feeling particularly welcoming."
They followed the narrow game trail into the trees. Thick trunks, their bark black with age and moisture, pressed in around them. After a minute, birdsong and insect chirps resumed their natural rhythm, as if whatever had roared had temporarily silenced them.
Harry tapped his glasses, activating his HUD. The mini-map slowly filled in as they walked, revealing the twisting path ahead and the elevation changes of the surrounding terrain.
A sharp rustling in the underbrush stopped them in their tracks.
Red Deer - Level 13 - Cervidae
The deer stood frozen between two ancient oaks, its ears pricked forward. After a heartbeat, it bounded away, leaves spraying in its wake.
"Please tell me that was the animal that made that sound," Celeste asked. "It didn’t look so dangerous."
Harry laughed. "I doubt a deer could manage that sound.”
They pressed on for another ten minutes, the path gradually climbing higher. The trees thinned, opening onto a sprawling meadow dotted with purple heather and yellow gorse. Another forest stretched across the far side, with craggy mountains piercing the sky in the distance.
A massive black shape launched itself from the distant treeline, wings spread wide against the clouds, sunlight glinting off obsidian scales.
"Is that a dragon?" Harry asked, his mouth dry. Even at this distance, the creature's size was staggering.
Pierre nodded grimly, raising his hand. "A Norwegian Ridgeback by the look of it. We should retreat."
Before they could move, several enormous shapes erupted from the forest below the dragon. Harry's jaw dropped. Lions twice the size of normal big cats soared through the air on powerful black wings, their golden fur blazing in the sunlight. Their muscles rippled as they attacked the dragon, coordinating their assault with deadly precision. The aerial battle was breathtaking—a dance of teeth, claws, and wings high above the meadow.
Recognition struck Harry like lightning. "They're Grievers!"
He watched the winged lions harass the dragon, darting in to slash with razor-sharp claws before wheeling away from its snapping jaws.
"I've never heard of such creatures," Pierre said. His eyes tracked the battle above, professional curiosity warring with caution on his face.
"They're supposed to be extinct. The Griever is my family's crest—a winged lion that even dragons feared." Harry pointed to his ring where the same creature was etched into the gold. "This island must be their sanctuary."
Pierre stroked his chin, eyes narrowing in thought. "The isolation explains their survival. The wards must have protected them all these years."
"Do you think the wards keep them here?"
"Most likely. We'd have heard reports if creatures like these roamed freely. The Ministry would never allow such powerful beings to exist without monitoring them."
The dragon wheeled away, blood streaming from deep gashes across its flanks and neck. Its wing beats grew laboured as the Grievers pursued it beyond the mountains, their roars of triumph carrying across the valley. One broke away from the pack, banking sharply and diving towards their position. The sight of a lion larger than a horse hurtling through the air sent Harry's heart racing. Sunlight rippled across its tawny fur, and its mane streamed behind it like a banner of war.
"Time to go!" Celeste squeaked, tugging frantically at Harry's ear.
"Wait." Harry raised his hand, forcing himself to stand still. Deep in his bones, he knew the Griever meant him no harm. The ring on his finger grew warm, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Pierre, get to the trees. I need to face this alone."
"Are you certain?" Pierre's wand remained trained on the approaching creature.
Harry nodded, squaring his shoulders. Celeste trembled on his shoulder but stayed put, her tiny hands gripping his collar.
The Griever landed with an earth-shaking force in front of them, its massive paws leaving deep impressions in the soil.
Griever - Level 67 - Magical Lion
The Griever roared, vibrating through Harry's chest and turning his legs to jelly. Yet as the sound faded, the creature made no move to attack. It simply watched him. The Griever's tail swished once, lowering its head slightly as if waiting for Harry to make the next move.
Harry inched forward until the Griever's hot breath ruffled his hair. Up close, scars criss-crossed its muzzle, a testament to countless battles.
"Hello," he said, voice steadier than he felt. "I'm Harry Potter."
The Griever tilted its massive head, golden eyes studying him with predatory intensity. It nudged Harry's chest with its muzzle, nearly knocking him over. Despite its size, the touch held surprising gentleness.
"How does it recognise me?" Harry asked.
"Must be your magic," Celeste said. "The Potters probably trained them to recognise family members. That knowledge could have passed down to the offspring.”
"Makes sense. They're perfect guardians—as that dragon discovered."
Gaining confidence, Harry reached out and stroked the Griever's mane. The fur felt like warm silk beneath his fingers, each strand shimmering with hints of gold and copper in the sunlight.
"I've got a friend here," he said to the Griever. "Don't eat him, alright?"
Harry waved Pierre forward.
Pierre emerged from the trees, wonder etched on his face. "Magnifique," he breathed.
The Griever moved like lightning. Before Harry could blink, teeth gentle but firm clamped onto his collar, lifting him as easily as a kitten. It deposited him onto its broad back, between two massive shoulder blades.
"Hey!" Celeste zipped away from his shoulder, wings buzzing angrily. "What do you think you're doing with my human?"
Wings spread out on either side of Harry, each spanning at least three metres in length.
"Hold on," he managed to say before powerful muscles bunched beneath him.
The Griever launched skyward with explosive force. The ground fell away in a blur of green and brown. Harry's stomach lurched as they banked sharply, the wind tearing at his clothes and stinging his eyes. He buried his face in the lion's mane to protect himself. When the flight steadied, he risked raising his head.
The island spread beneath him like a living map. A river snaked through the forest, its waters feeding several small lakes that glittered like scattered coins in the afternoon sun. The northern region opened into rolling plateaus and grassy fields. It looked like the perfect spot to set up his manor. Dense patches of forest covered the western slopes, while the eastern side featured rocky outcrops jutting from the greenery.
The mini-map remained stubbornly blank as they soared overhead, the system unable to map terrain from this altitude. Harry made mental notes of areas he'd need to explore properly later.
Movement below caught his eye. Herds of red deer scattered through clearings, while larger, more unusual creatures prowled the forest edges. Something with a silvery coat—perhaps a unicorn—darted between the trees. Near one of the lakes, creatures that might have been hippogriffs took flight at the Grievers' approach. The island seemed to be a sanctuary for both magical and mundane wildlife, existing in careful balance.
The other Grievers joined them, their powerful wings cutting through the air as they escorted Harry's mount back to the meadow. Each creature bore unique battle scars and markings, yet they moved as one unit through the sky.
Harry counted the Grievers flying in formation around him—seven in total. But could the island sustain more? The ecosystem appeared rich, but supporting such massive predators would require significant resources.
As they descended, Harry couldn't suppress his grin. He'd discovered the seemingly extinct Grievers—living guardians of the Potter legacy, creatures of myth and legend that now answered to him alone. Not to mention the island. With its size, it had to be worth a fortune, with plenty of hidden resources just waiting to be discovered.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry unzipped his tent flap, inhaling the sharp morning air that carried hints of salt and heather. The Griever pride lay curled around his tent, their massive forms creating a living wall of fur and feathers. They'd appointed themselves his guards after he'd set up camp yesterday. After showing the Grievers to Appoline and Gabrielle, he decided to wait until the next day to explore further.
The closest Griever—the one who'd given him the aerial tour—cracked open an eye. Muscles rippled beneath tawny fur as it stretched, displaying rows of teeth that could snap a dragon's bones.
Harry named him Brutus. He was the Alpha, and the six female Grievers belonged to him. As far as he knew, they didn’t have cubs, but they could be hiding them elsewhere.
Communication remained basic despite Harry's attempts at connection. While they understood simple commands and responded to gestures, complex interaction proved impossible. Still, their intelligence shone through in other ways—coordinated hunting patterns that herded prey with military precision, strategic positioning around his tent that left no blind spots, and constant awareness of their surroundings.
What a sight the Griever would make in a dungeon, shredding through monster ranks like paper. But the level restrictions would prevent that, even if Brutus could fit through a dungeon gate.
Pulling out a piece of parchment, Harry reviewed his rough sketch of the island. The outline was crude, marked with hastily scrawled notes from yesterday's flight.
"Ready for another flight?" he asked Brutus. The Griever's tail swished once, indicating his agreement, Harry had discovered.
Minutes later, they soared over the island. Harry added details to his map, marking promising sites for exploration.
One area caught his attention—a section of forest on the western slopes where vegetation appeared sickly, creating a distinct dead zone among the vibrant greens. The pattern matched the corruption he'd seen around the Aspen Horror dungeon. He circled the spot on his map. While he wasn’t going to enter it anytime soon, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out to see what he was dealing with.
Harry returned to his tent to wake up Celeste and prepare some breakfast. An hour later, they set out with Brutus padding silently beside them. His presence acted as a mobile security system—nothing would dare attack with an apex predator as an escort. Well, nothing except that dragon, and Harry doubted it would return after yesterday's mauling.
"Which way first?" Celeste asked, perched on Harry's shoulder and scanning the trees with sharp eyes.
Harry consulted his map, now marked with potential exploration sites. "Let’s explore the forest to the north first. I noticed there is an unusual structure towards the centre.”
Brutus led them along hidden trails, his instincts finding easier paths through the dense undergrowth. The morning sun strengthened as they hiked, burning off the last wisps of mist clinging to the trees. Birds called from the canopy—both ordinary and magical species, from the sound of it. A golden snidget zipped past, its wings humming like a snitch, trailing sparkles in the dappled sunlight.
Harry crouched to examine a patch of unusual flowers growing in a shaded grove. Their petals shimmered between deep purple and midnight blue, seeming to absorb the dappled sunlight rather than reflect it.
"Never seen these before," he muttered, reaching for one.
"Don't touch them!" Celeste darted down, slapping his hand away. "Those are Nightshade Whispers. Highly toxic—one touch can knock you out cold."
Harry pulled back sharply. "How do you know that?"
"We had similar plants in the Shadow Lands.”
Brutus growled softly, his massive head swinging towards the trees. Something crashed through the undergrowth ahead, sending birds scattering skyward.
A unicorn burst into the clearing, its silver coat stained red. Deep claw marks scored its flank, fresh blood matting its fur. It staggered, legs trembling.
"It's hurt," Celeste whispered unnecessarily.
The unicorn's wild eyes locked onto Harry. It pawed the ground once before collapsing, its breathing laboured.
"Whatever did this might still be nearby," Harry said, drawing his dagger.
Brutus bared his teeth as a shape emerged from the underbrush.
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry faces an unusual threat and continues to explore the island.
Thanks for reading.
Comments
kiefer schneider
Where's chapter 17
