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The Mage's Path: Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2024-11-02 16:20:29 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the next chapter. The next Ash Ascendant chapter will be out later today.
Chapter 15
Harry guided Gabrielle back to the main street. Gabrielle pressed closer, her earlier bravado wavering after the initial shock had worn off. They began searching for her mother, who had to be panicking right now.
A flash of silvery-blonde hair caught Harry's attention through a gap in the crowd. A woman darted between shoppers, her elegant robes swishing as she spun in place. Her movements sparked with barely contained panic as she scanned faces in the crowd. Gabrielle tugged his sleeve, pointing.
"Maman!"
The woman's head snapped towards them. Her face—as beautiful and ethereal as a renaissance painting—transformed from worry to relief as she spotted Gabrielle. She sprinted over, her heels clicking against the cobblestones. She dropped to her knees and wrapped Gabrielle in her arms.
"Mon bébé!" She pressed kisses to Gabrielle's hair, her shoulders shaking. Questions poured from her in rapid French, the words blurring together like water over stones. Harry caught fragments—where, who, hurt—but the rest escaped him.
Gabrielle spoke quickly, her small hands moving as she explained. The woman stiffened, her face draining of colour as her daughter described the kidnapping attempt.
She rose to her feet in one fluid motion, keeping one hand on Gabrielle's shoulder as she turned to Harry. Despite her height—she towered over him in her heels—her presence seemed to fill the entire street. "Gabrielle has explained what happened. Thank you for saving her. My name is Apolline Delacour, Gabrielle's Maman."
"It's fine. I was in the right place at the right time," he replied. "I'm Harry."
Apolline's gaze flickered to his forehead, lingering on his scar for a heartbeat before returning to his eyes. She stepped forward, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks. Heat bloomed across his face at the contact, her perfume enveloping him.
"I will call the Aurors and have them pick up those two cochons." Her voice hardened on the last word,
Gabrielle tugged at her mother's dress, whispering in her mother’s ear when Apolline bent down.
"Gabrielle wants to know if you would come back to our home for lunch," Apolline said, straightening up. "It's the least I can do for saving her."
"Oh, no, I couldn't—"
"I insist." Her tone brooked no argument.
"Really, it's not necessary—"
"S'il te plaît?" Gabrielle's blue eyes widened imploringly, her lower lip quivering.
Harry sighed. "Fine."
After the Aurors arrived, Harry led them down the side street where the two criminals were still lying unconscious. Celeste was perched on a windowsill, swinging her legs with a bored expression on her face.
"About time," she called, zipping over to land on his shoulder. Her tiny face lit up when Harry mentioned lunch. "Finally, some proper French cuisine!"
The Aurors—two stern-faced wizards in midnight blue robes—conducted a brief but thorough investigation. They documented the scene with quick flicks of their wands, producing glowing diagrams that hung in the air. Harry noticed they seemed particularly interested in the scorch marks his spells had left on the walls. They questioned him about the encounter, their eyebrows rising slightly at his account of wandless magic, but didn't press the issue.
After binding the unconscious kidnappers with magical restraints, the Aurors disappeared with twin cracks of apparition. As Harry and Celeste walked back to the main street, he cleared his throat, questions already forming about this family he'd stumbled upon.
"Why would someone want to kidnap Gabrielle?" Harry asked.
Apolline's expression darkened, her perfect features sharpening. "Are you saying you don’t know, Mr Potter?"
"Know what?"
"My daughter and I are Veela," she said. "In some circles, we are prized for our beauty and treated like toys for disgusting men."
Harry's stomach churned. He glanced at Gabrielle, skipping ahead of them. The thought of someone attempting to—he suppressed his rising anger. "What are Veela, exactly?"
"We are magical beings, cousins to the Sirens of old." Apolline's voice took on a melodic quality. "Our magic manifests in our allure—a glamour that enchants men, drawing them to us. When angered..." Her eyes flickered, pupils contracting to pinpricks. "We can transform partially into our Veela form."
Harry watched, fascinated, as scales shimmered beneath her skin for a split second before vanishing. Her fingers flexed, her nails lengthening momentarily into razor-sharp talons before returning to their manicured state.
Across the street, a group of wizards had stopped dead in their tracks. Their conversations cut off mid-sentence, eyes glazing over as they stared. One man walked straight into a lamppost, barely registering the impact. Another dropped his shopping bags, spilling their contents across the cobblestones without notice.
A street vendor selling magical trinkets abandoned his cart entirely, taking an unconscious step towards them. His customers remained frozen, hands stretched out mid-purchase, like puppets with cut strings.
Gabrielle skipped ahead, oblivious to the chaos her mother's brief display had caused. Behind them, the affected wizards shook themselves like dogs coming out of water, confusion etched across their faces as they gathered their scattered belongings and dignity.
"Like birds?" Harry asked.
Apolline nodded, the transformation fading. "Our magic grows stronger with age. Gabrielle's allure hasn't manifested yet; thank Merlin, but mine..."
She studied his face, tilting her head. "You don't seem affected at all."
Harry shrugged. “Seems like it.”
A pleased smile curved her lips. "Impressive. Most men can't maintain eye contact with me for more than a few seconds." She quickened her pace to catch up with Gabrielle, her robes swishing against the cobblestones. "Enough of this dreary conversation. Tell me about yourself, Mr Potter. What brings you to Paris?"
Harry's brows furrowed. “How did you know my last name?”
“The scar is famous wherever you go. When I combined that with your first name, I made the connection.”
"I see," Harry said, not liking how easily he was identified. “I needed a specialised wandmaker."
"Ah, you visited Madame Beaumont?" At Harry's nod, she continued. "A controversial figure in wand-making circles, but brilliant. My husband commissioned a wand from her last year—the best decision he ever made, after marrying me, of course."
Her laugh tinkled like crystal.
Apolline guided them through the quieter streets to a small shop tucked between a patisserie and a bookstore. A weathered sign above the door read "Le Passage Rapide" in faded gold letters. Inside, the walls were lined with emerald-tiled fireplaces, each crackling with green flames.
"Our home is just outside Paris," Apolline explained, retrieving a silk purse from her robes. She extracted a pinch of green powder.
She demonstrated the pronunciation—"Maison Delacour." Gabrielle went first, vanishing in a swirl of green flames.
“Have you used the floo network before?” Apolline asked.
Harry shook his head.
"Remember to tuck your chin and your elbows in," Apolline instructed Harry. "The landing is charmed to catch you if needed."
Harry stepped into the flames, and the spinning sensation caused him to become disoriented. The network of fireplaces whirled past in brief flashes of light until he emerged into an airy parlour.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting patterns on the parquet floors through gauzy white curtains that danced in a magical breeze. The furniture spoke of old money—elegant chaises upholstered in cream silk, delicate tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and impressionist paintings that moved subtly, their brushstrokes rearranging themselves when he wasn't looking directly at them.
Apolline stepped out of the fireplace behind him, not a hair out of place. "Welcome to our home." She gestured them through an archway supported by marble columns.
The entrance hall had a sweeping staircase of white marble curved up to the first floor, its bannister carved to resemble flowering vines. Gilt-framed mirrors lined the walls, their reflective surfaces enchanted to catch and amplify the natural light.
"I hope you like French cooking, Mr Potter," Apolline said. "Our house elf, Minette, has quite the talent for traditional cuisine."
"Please, call me Harry."
"Very well, Harry. And who is your fascinating companion?" Her eyes fixed on Celeste with genuine interest.
Celeste preened at the attention, her wings catching the light. "I'm Celeste, an Umbra Fairy."
"I haven't heard of an Umbra Fairy before," Apolline said.
"No one has," Celeste replied, puffing up her tiny chest. "I'm the last of my kind."
A muffled explosion rattled the windows, making Harry and Celeste jump. The sound echoed through the marble halls, followed by the crash of something heavy hitting the floor.
"What the hell was that?" Harry asked, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger.
Apolline sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's nothing to be worried about, I assure you. But I need to deal with it."
She spoke rapidly to Gabrielle in French. The little girl nodded, grabbed Harry's hand, and tugged him towards the dining room.
The meal proved extraordinary—delicate pastries, rich sauces, and dishes Harry couldn't pronounce. All of them were delicious, and his companion seemed to agree. Celeste flitted from plate to plate, sampling everything within reach, her wings quivering with delight at each new taste.
Apolline returned with a tall man in expertly tailored robes. "This is my husband, Pierre."
"Monsieur Potter." Pierre clasped Harry's hand. "Thank you for saving our little girl."
Apolline murmured something to Gabrielle, who bounced up from her chair and scampered from the room.
"Is everything okay?" Harry asked, watching the girl disappear.
"We have an older daughter, Fleur," Pierre explained. "She is worried about her sister. Gabrielle has gone to reassure her she is fine."
Harry frowned. If this Fleur was so concerned, why hadn't she come down herself? Something didn't add up.
"Do you speak French?" Pierre asked, breaking into his thoughts.
"Some. I'm still learning," Harry admitted.
Pierre nodded approvingly. "What are your plans? Do you have to return to England immediately?"
"No. Hogwarts doesn't start until September, and my relatives won't miss me." Harry raised his arm. "I need to wait a few weeks for my wand to be finished anyway."
Apolline's face brightened. "Then why don't you stay here until your wand is ready? You can take the time to broaden your French vocabulary. We would love it if you stayed."
Pierre nodded in agreement. "It would be our pleasure."
"I say yes if you keep feeding us this yummy food," Celeste chimed in, licking sauce from her fingers.
Harry sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Well, I don't have a reason not to. I would love to explore more of France as well."
"Perfect." Apolline beamed. "I will get Minette to prepare a room for you."
As the house elf was summoned, Harry couldn't help wondering about the explosion and the mysterious absent sister. The Delacours seemed genuine in their hospitality, but years with the Dursleys had taught him to be wary of things that appeared too good to be true.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The days melted into each other as Harry settled into life with the Delacours. His French improved quickly, and his conversations became smoother with each passing day. After memorising one hundred words, his Language Comprehension skill improved, allowing him to learn languages even more effectively.
Gabrielle proved an enthusiastic study partner. She helped him perfect his pronunciation while he helped her with English. Apolline wanted Gabrielle to learn the language like the rest of the family, and he was happy to return the favour. She was already proficient in the basics, but preferred to speak her native language.
His quest now showed two requirements had been met for unlocking France—reaching level ten and learning basic French. Another potential requirement was to gain a friend in France. While he enjoyed Gabrielle's company, he suspected the system wanted someone closer to his age.
Another requirement posed its own challenge. Exploring one percent of France meant covering significant ground, but the prospect excited him rather than daunted him. He was already itching to go out and explore, as the beauty of the Delacour Estate had lost some of its shine after staying there for a week.
It would have been easier to meet the final requirements by levelling up and conquering more dungeons, but that meant waiting until he returned to England. It didn’t sound like a productive use of his time.
Between language lessons, Harry maintained his training regimen. His physical attributes continued to climb, though more slowly now. Intelligence reached eighteen through a combination of chess matches with Pierre and continuing to work on the rubix cube. He only needed a couple more points to reach the requirement to unlock the new Grimoire.
He wanted to work on Perception next, but it proved to be trickier. The attribute was related to his senses. After several failed attempts, Harry developed a systematic approach. He started with basic sensory exercises—identifying ingredients in Minette's cooking by smell alone and picking out individual instruments in classical music pieces. He found that he had to focus hard for it to have any effect on training the attribute. It wasn’t something he could gain by just passively using his senses.
He progressed to more challenging tasks. Blindfolded navigation through the garden helped sharpen his spatial awareness. He practised tracking Celeste's movements purely by sound as she zipped around him, her wing beats becoming distinct from other ambient noises. Memory games with playing cards taught him to notice minute details—slight creases, variations in pattern, the way the light caught the edges.
The breakthrough occurred when he combined physical and magical awareness. Using his Mana Sense, he learnt to become more sensitive to the buildup of magic before spells were cast, detecting subtle shifts in ambient energy. His Perception began to rise more consistently after that.
Fleur remained conspicuously absent. Questions about her were met with swift topic changes or vague responses. Even Apolline, usually forthright, became evasive when Harry mentioned her elder daughter.
"Fleur is..." Apolline would start, then shake her head. “It’s hard to explain."
The strain in the Delacour household grew more obvious as days passed. Dark circles appeared under Apolline's eyes, her usual grace giving way to distraction.
Hushed conversations drifted from behind closed doors late at night. Harry caught fragments—rapid French punctuated by Fleur's name and words like "dangerous" and "unstable." Once, he heard muffled sobbing from the master bedroom.
The parents' worried glances followed Gabrielle everywhere, though they tried to hide it. Their smiles became forced, their laughter hollow. Even Minette, the house elf, wrung her hands anxiously while preparing meals, muttering to herself in French.
More disturbing were the occasional tremors that shook the grounds—similar to that first explosion but growing stronger. Each time, Apolline would rush outside, returning hours later with tight lips and red-rimmed eyes. Pierre buried himself in his study, emerging only for meals where he picked at his food in silence.
One thing was obvious. The explosions didn’t originate from the house, but they were large enough that they shook the house.
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Fleur's absence was connected to these disturbances. The timing of the explosions, the parents' reactions, the way they steered conversations away from their elder daughter—it all pointed to something serious. Something they desperately wanted to keep hidden.
He considered asking Gabrielle. The young girl would likely spill everything with minimal prompting, but something held him back. The Delacours had opened their home to him and treated him like family. Manipulating their daughter's trust felt wrong, even if his curiosity burned stronger with each passing day.
Besides, he reasoned, everyone had their secrets. He certainly kept plenty of his own.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Harry!" Celeste's urgent voice pierced his dreams. "Wake up! Something's wrong!"
Harry bolted upright, sheets plastered to his skin with sweat. The air seared his lungs with each breath, the room's temperature approaching that of a furnace. His vision swam as heat waves distorted the air around him. "What's happening?"
"Look outside," Celeste said, hovering by the window.
Harry staggered to join her, his bare feet burning against the heated floorboards. Through the glass, he spotted Apolline and Pierre sprinting across the moonlit lawn in their dressing gowns. Their faces shone with panic as they headed for a stone tower at the property's edge. The structure stood three stories tall, its windows barred like a mediaeval prison cell. Though he'd noticed them during his morning runs, he'd dismissed it as storage or for some other insignificant purpose. Now, orange light flickered behind those bars, casting sinister shadows across the manicured grass.
How could the flames raise the temperature of the surroundings so much?
"What's going on?" Celeste wiped the sweat from her tiny brow. "If I get any hotter, I'm going to roast alive!"
A soft knock interrupted them. Harry opened the door to find Gabrielle, her small frame trembling. Tears tracked down her cheeks, her pink pyjamas rumpled and damp with sweat. Her silver-blonde hair stuck to her forehead in wet strands.
Harry kneeled before her. "What's the matter, Gabi?"
"Fleur is upset," Gabrielle sniffed, her voice quavering. "She's lost control. It's because she learned of the kidnapping attempt."
"How does she know?"
Gabrielle shrugged, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "She always knows what's going on with me. She's very protective."
"Is she in that tower?"
Gabrielle nodded, more tears spilling. "An incident occurred over a year ago. It resulted in some unfortunate consequences that made it necessary for Fleur to be locked in the tower. It's unfair. She didn't mean to hurt anyone!"
The temperature spiked again, making breathing feel like inhaling through hot coals. Sweat trickled down Harry's spine as his decision crystallised. "Stay here," he told Gabrielle, squeezing her shoulder. "Celeste, watch her."
"I'm coming with you," Celeste protested
"No. Keep her safe. If something happens to me—"
"Nothing's going to happen to you," Celeste interrupted fiercely.
Harry bolted downstairs and burst through the front doors and sprinted across the lawn. As he approached the tower, the temperature rose to nearly unbearable levels. The stone walls contained an inferno so intense that the air shimmered and distorted.
He burst through the open door, and the heat slammed into him like a physical wall. His lungs seized, struggling to process air that felt like liquid fire. His eyes watered, his vision blurring as he tried to make sense of the chaos before him.
Apolline and Pierre stood inside, their wands raised as streams of water erupted from the tips. Steam hissed where the water met crimson-streaked flames that didn't behave like natural fire. The flames seemed almost alive, twisting away from the water rather than being extinguished by it. Their unnatural colour cast everything in blood-red shadows.
At the room's centre, a figure writhed and thrashed, clutching her head. An inhuman shriek split the air, setting Harry's teeth on edge. The sound contained equal parts rage and agony.
Harry tapped his glasses, activating the HUD.
Fleur Delacour - Level 61 (45) - Veela/Witch (Veela Transformation)
"Harry!" Apolline's voice cracked with desperation; her usual composure shattered. "Get out! It's too dangerous!"
"Is that Fleur?" Harry asked, squinting through the flames that danced between them like living curtains. "What's wrong with her?"
"No time," Pierre grunted, his arms trembling as he maintained the water spell. His dressing gown was singed at the edges, small burns dotting the fabric. "We need to reach her, but we can't get past these flames."
"Let me try something," Harry said, stepping forward before they could stop him. "Get back!"
The parents exchanged glances, desperation warring with hope, before retreating behind him.
Harry activated Mana Amplification, feeling magic surge through his body like electricity. He thrust out his palm, channelling the energy into Gale Force Push. The amplified spell roared across the room like a hurricane, extinguishing a swath of flames—but not enough to reach the figure at the centre.
"Wandless magic!" Apolline gasped. "Gabrielle mentioned it, but... c'est impossible!"
The cleared path revealed Fleur in her full, terrifying glory. Her transformation had shredded her white shift to ribbons, leaving her barely covered. Crimson feathers coated her body, gleaming like fresh blood in the firelight. Her hands and feet had twisted into obsidian talons that left deep gouges in the stone floor with each movement. Her face had elongated into a cruel beak, and her eyes—Harry had never seen anything like them. Bottomless pools of darkness.
Flames poured from her form in waves, each pulse accompanied by another ear-splitting shriek. The fire didn't just burn; it seemed to feed on the magic in the air itself, growing stronger with each passing second.
Sweat stung Harry's eyes as he launched several more Gale Force Pushes in quick succession. His MP drained rapidly, but he pressed on, carving a path through the inferno. The heat blistered his skin, his lungs burning with each breath, but he maintained the spell.
The Delacours rushed forward the instant they could. Apolline's transformation took hold as she ran—feathers erupted across her skin, talons extended from her fingers, but her eyes remained clear and focused. Unlike Fleur's violent, uncontrolled change, Apolline's transformation spoke of years of practice and iron control.
She wrapped her arms around her daughter, and the flames surged higher. Harry could hear her speaking rapidly in French, her voice somehow maintaining its melodic quality even through her transformed vocal cords. Pierre circled them, his wand movements growing more precise as he contained the worst of the flames.
"Fleur, ma chérie," Apolline's words carried to Harry. "We're here. You're safe. Gabrielle is safe."
Fleur's response came as another shriek, but this one held a note of something else—recognition, perhaps? The flames flickered, their intensity wavering.
"That's it," Pierre encouraged, his voice hoarse from the heat and smoke. "Come back to us, mon cœur."
Harry maintained his position by the door, ready to help if needed but understanding this was a family moment. His lungs screamed for fresh air, but he couldn't look away from the scene before him—terrible and beautiful in equal measure.
The crimson flames began to recede, pulling back into Fleur's body like water down a drain. Her form shimmered, feathers melting away, talons retracting. As her transformation reversed, Harry caught a glimpse of her human face—startlingly young, with tears cutting tracks through the soot on her cheeks—before she collapsed in her mother's arms.
The temperature in the room plummeted. His legs trembled, threatening to give out as the adrenaline began to fade. The stone walls around them were scorched black, with small fires still flickering in the corners of the room.
"Thank you, Harry," Apolline said softly, cradling her unconscious daughter. Her transformation had receded, though her eyes still held an odd gleam. "For helping us reach her."
Pierre nodded, his face drawn with exhaustion. "We have much to explain, I think."
Harry looked at Fleur's unconscious form, remembering how her level had dropped during the transformation. What kind of magic could drain sixteen levels of power? What had happened a year ago to necessitate her imprisonment in this tower?
"Yes," he agreed, his voice rough from smoke. "I think you do."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The Delacours made their way back inside, Harry following close behind. Pierre guided them to the living room, where they settled into the plush armchairs. The lingering scent of smoke clung to their clothes and hair.
Apolline disappeared upstairs to settle Gabrielle. Several minutes later, she returned with Celeste fluttering beside her. The fairy took up her usual position on his shoulder.
"She's asleep now," Apolline said, sinking into the chair beside her husband.
"I believe we owe you an explanation," Pierre began. His hands shook slightly as he poured himself a measure of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. "About fifteen months ago, our estate was attacked by mercenaries from the Abyss realm."
"The Abyss realm?" Harry leant forward, brows furrowed.
"It's a small dimension that exists alongside Earth," Apolline explained. "Connected, yet separate. Picture a sheet of paper lying atop another—they touch at certain points but remain distinct. The Abyss is a lawless place where criminals find refuge. The sky burns red during the day and pitch black at night, with no stars to guide travellers. Buildings rise like twisted spires from the barren ground, defying the laws of physics as we know them."
She paused, taking a slow sip from her glass. "It also serves as a sanctuary for certain magical species who face persecution in our world. Most of the Veela population resides there, in what we call the main conclave."
Harry processed the revelations about the Abyss Realm. The concept tugged at something in his memory, a connection he couldn't quite grasp. Then it hit him—his conversation with Celeste when they first met. She had called her home a realm, a separate piece of land isolated from the rest of existence. The only way to leave had been through a gate, but it had remained dormant for a long time.
He glanced at the fairy perched on his shoulder, wondering if she'd made the same connection. The dungeons he'd encountered were essentially dimensional cracks that had been converted into structured challenges, designed to contain whatever lay within them. Could the Abyss Realm be something similar—perhaps a dungeon that had experienced a massive break and spilling the monsters onto Earth? Or was it something more primordial, a realm that had always existed?
"I'm assuming the conclave has something to do with the attack on your home," Harry said.
Pierre nodded. "The conclave believes Fleur is their prophesied queen, destined to lead them into a new era. They approached us before, offering riches in exchange for her. When that failed, they turned to threats. They demanded we hand her over, claiming it was her destiny. We refused, of course."
"A new queen?" Harry mused, remembering the raw power he'd witnessed in the tower. "Judging by her power, I can see why they'd be interested."
Apolline shook her head, her expression grave. "The term 'Queen' means more than mere leadership in their prophecies. It designates females with unusual or domineering powers, individuals whose actions are foretold to reshape the very fabric of our world. Males with similar potential are called 'Kings'. These titles carry weight in the magical community.”
A notification icon blinked in Harry's HUD, but he ignored it. This wasn’t the time.
"So, they wanted Fleur for themselves," Harry said. "And you were in the way?"
"They would have done anything to claim her," Pierre's voice hardened, his knuckles whitening around his glass. "Even killing her family. The mercenaries caught us unprepared. They captured us all and planned to force Fleur to watch as they killed us, believing it would break her will to resist.”
“That was their mistake,” Apolline added. “Fleur's transformation unleashed a power that overwhelmed them completely. The magic... I've never seen anything like it. The flames burnt their bodies down to ash."
"Good riddance," Celeste snorted. "Anyone who threatens children deserves what they get."
Apolline sighed. "But unlocking her power had severe consequences. The transformation changed her. It’s not a normal Veela transformation, but something more. She couldn't control it—her emotions would trigger it without warning. At Beauxbatons, a boy..." she hesitated, her perfect features twisting with distaste. "He tried to force himself on her. She transformed and killed him in a fit of rage. Though he was clearly at fault, the school blamed Fleur. She was lucky to only be expelled and not arrested. It was only thanks to a witness that she was able to claim self-defence."
Her hands twisted in her lap, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. "After that, she became more unstable. The smallest things would trigger her transformation. We began fearing for our lives, not because she would intentionally harm us but because she couldn't control the power flowing through her. The tower was our only option until we could find a way to help her. But even that can't always contain her power. When she sensed Gabrielle was nearly kidnapped..."
Harry absorbed their words, sympathy welling up for Fleur. She'd only protected her family from those mercenaries, and now she lived like a caged bird, trapped by her own power. The injustice of it burned in his chest.
"Do you think those men who kidnapped Gabrielle were mercenaries from the Abyss?" he asked, remembering their crude attempt at kidnapping.
"Not directly," Apolline replied, her lip curling with disdain. "They were hired help—local criminals looking for easy money. The Aurors interrogated them thoroughly, but they never met their employer. All arrangements were made through encrypted messages."
Harry sat back, his mind whirling with implications. A parallel dimension filled with criminals and magical refugees. A conclave of Veela seeking their prophesied queen. Fleur, trapped between her power and her family's safety.
None of this felt random. Meeting Gabrielle in that alley, saving her from kidnappers, and being invited to stay with a family that happened to be caught up in incredible events.
Was this Gaia's influence? The entity had already demonstrated its ability to manipulate events, creating opportunities and challenges that pushed him to grow stronger. Had it guided him here deliberately? If so, why? What role did the Delacours—and particularly Fleur—play in whatever grand design Gaia was orchestrating?
Harry excused himself and made his way back up to his room.
Once in his room, he sank onto the edge of his bed, finally allowing himself to check the notification that had been nagging at his HUD. With a thought, he opened the message.
======The player has obtained some information that has revealed one of his titles.
King’s Authority: +1 to WIL per level, +50% effectiveness towards resisting mental manipulations, both magical and mundane.
Harry's eyebrows rose as he stared at the text floating before him. A title he'd had all along, only now revealed because of a chance conversation about Veela prophecies? Nothing about this felt like chance anymore.
He ran a hand through his hair, mind racing. What game was Gaia playing? Was this why he'd been guided to France? Not just for a new wand, but for something larger, something involving Fleur and whatever destiny the Veela had planned for her?
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry meets Fleur and plans a trip to his island.
Thanks for reading.
