Tales of the Wheeler Family - Chapter 20 - theMandalorianterminator (2024)

Chapter Text

"And I looked and behold, a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him"

-Revelation 6:2-8

Then

September 27th 1966

A crisp autumn morning painted the grounds of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with vibrant hues of orange and gold. Danny Torrance sat in his Transfiguration class, trying to focus on Professor Gideon's lecture about Vanishing Spells. But his mind kept wandering, distracted by the knot of anxiety that had settled in his stomach. Rumours had been swirling around the school, whispers and sidelong glances that made Danny feel like an outcast. And now, it seemed, the consequences were about to catch up with him.

Suddenly, a knock on the classroom door interrupted the lesson. Professor Gideon paused, looking somewhat surprised, and then nodded toward the door. "Go ahead, Mr. Torrance. It seems the principal needs to speak with you."

Danny's heart sank as he gathered his things and made his way out of the classroom, aware of the curious gazes of his classmates following him. He walked down the corridor, his footsteps heavy with a mix of confusion and dread. What could possibly be so urgent that Principal Abernathy had to summon him out of class?

As Danny reached the principal's office, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The door opened and Danny stepped into a room that exuded an air of quiet power and authority. It was a space that held the weight of countless decisions, both mundane and life-altering, and now it beckoned Danny inside.

The office itself was spacious, with high ceilings and tall, arched windows that bathed the room in soft, filtered light. The walls were adorned with ornate tapestries depicting scenes from magical history, their colours muted with age. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes and aged scrolls, a testament to the knowledge and wisdom contained within.

In the centre of the room sat a large, polished mahogany desk, its surface impeccable and free of clutter.

On the walls behind the desk hung a collection of portraits, each frame holding the likeness of past headmasters and headmistresses who had guided Ilvermorny through the ages. Their eyes seemed to follow Danny as he entered, their expressions a mixture of sternness and benevolence.

The room was adorned with tasteful touches of wizarding décor. Copper cauldrons sat on pedestals, their surfaces gleaming in the soft light, while magical artefacts, carefully placed on elegant stands, whispered of forgotten legends. A delicate silver Pensieve rested on a side table, its surface shimmering with memories waiting to be explored.

As Danny took his seat and waited for Principal Abernathy, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the room pressing down upon him. It was a place where decisions were made, where lives were shaped and destinies altered. The atmosphere crackled with a sense of gravity, reminding him of the magnitude of the situation he found himself in.

The room's ambiance was not devoid of comfort, however. A small, crackling fireplace nestled in the corner, casting a warm glow and emanating a faint scent of burningwood. The scent of aged parchment and old books wafted through the room, mingling with the faint aroma of magical herbs that clung to the tapestries.

The silence stretched on, each passing second thick with unresolved tension. Finally, with a creak, the door swung open, revealing the figure of Principal Abernathy standing in the threshold. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, met Danny's with a mix of recognition and resignation. A flicker of annoyance crossed Abernathy's face, quickly suppressed, as if he begrudgingly accepted the duty of addressing the young man before him

He wore tailored robes of deep navy blue, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that spoke of his position of authority. The robes draped gracefully over his broad shoulders, exuding an air of professionalism and respectability. A silver chain, holding a pendant engraved with the symbol of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hung around his neck, a symbol of his allegiance to the institution.

Danny's gaze, filled with a smouldering resentment, locked onto Abernathy's figure. The principal's presence, once commanding respect, now ignited a seething anger within Danny. The weight of past grievances hung heavy in the room, a reminder of their mutual animosity.

It began two years ago when Danny first entered Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As a young and impressionable student, Danny had hoped for guidance and support from the school's administration, including Principal Abernathy. However, he found himself met with a cold indifference and a lack of understanding that left him feeling isolated and overlooked.

Danny's unique abilities as a psychic, inherited from his troubled past, set him apart from his peers. But instead of nurturing his potential and helping him navigate the challenges that came with his gift, Principal Abernathy seemed dismissive, even resentful, of Danny's abilities. He failed to recognize the importance of Danny's experiences and the potential impact he could have on the school community.

As Danny sought solace and understanding, he found himself at odds with the school's strict disciplinary policies. Abernathy, as the enforcer of these rules, became a symbol of authority that Danny grew to despise. Their interactions were marked by clashes over disciplinary actions, with Danny feeling unfairly targeted and Abernathy adamant in upholding the school's code of conduct.

Danny, meanwhile, took an unconventional approach to magic and refused to conform to certain traditional practices. From the moment he stepped foot into the hallowed halls of the school, Danny made clear his path as a student and wizard would be unique.

This unconventional approach began almost immediately with his decision to forgo the use of a wand. While wands were considered an essential tool for most wizards and witches, Danny felt a deep connection to his innate psychic abilities and believed that they were the true source of his power. He found that relying solely on his own mind and energy allowed him to tap into a wellspring of magical potential that surpassed the limitations of a wand. Guided by this conviction, he chose to explore and hone his innate gift for wandless magic. While wandless magic was often regarded as advanced and esoteric, Danny's determination and natural aptitude allowed him to become proficient in the art. By meticulously studying ancient texts and experimenting with his abilities, Danny unlocked a world of possibilities and demonstrated the formidable scope of his wandless magical prowess.

Equally unconventional was Danny's decision to bypass traditional broomstick flying lessons. Rather than taking to the skies on a broom, he clandestinely pursued his own educational path, sneaking into the library to delve into the intricacies of Apparition. Drawn to the instantaneous and versatile nature of this form of magical transportation, Danny sought to master its techniques. Through self-study and unwavering determination, he honed his Apparition skills, navigating the complexities of space and distance with remarkable finesse. The library became his sanctuary, a place where he immersed himself in the knowledge and practice required to excel in wandless magic and Apparition.

Danny's rejection of wands and broomsticks raised eyebrows and scepticism among his professors and fellow students. Some regarded his choices as disobedient and reckless, viewing them as a departure from established magical traditions. Such clashes were not just between Danny and the teachers, either.

Many students, accustomed to conforming to traditional practices, found it difficult to understand or relate to Danny's refusal to take a wand or participate in broomstick flying lessons. These differences occasionally led to bullying, social isolation, or a sense of being an outsider for Danny.

Despite this, Danny had delved into a wide array of subjects, ranging from potion brewing and spellcasting to the history of wizarding traditions and the intricacies of magical creatures. Danny's natural curiosity and determination to excel propelled him forward, and he embraced every opportunity to learn and grow.

One of Danny's favourite subjects was Charms. He displayed a remarkable aptitude for manipulating magical energies and enchantments. Whether it was mastering the intricacies of wand movements or infusing objects with specific magical properties, Danny had a keen understanding of the subtle nuances of spellcasting. His precise control and innate connection to the magical forces made him excel in this area of magic, earning him recognition from both his professors and fellow students.

Transfiguration was another subject in which Danny demonstrated exceptional skill. The art of transforming one object into another fascinated him, and he approached it with a blend of creativity and precision. Danny's ability to visualize and manifest physical changes with his magic set him apart, and he often impressed his teachers with his innovative approaches to transfiguration spells.

From Abernathy's point of view, Danny's choices represented a flagrant disregard for the rules, traditions, and values of the American Wizarding School.

As the principal, Abernathy had the responsibility to uphold the school's established practices and ensure that students adhered to the prescribed curriculum. From his perspective, Danny's refusal to take a wand and his insistence on pursuing wandless magic undermined the foundational principles of Ilvermorny. Abernathy believed that wand-based spellcasting was an integral part of a witch or wizard's education, and he saw Danny's rejection of wands as a direct challenge to the traditions he held dear.

In Abernathy's eyes, Danny's actions conveyed a sense of arrogance and disregard for the rules that were put in place for the safety and education of students. He viewed Danny as a troublemaker who sought to flout the established norms and disrupt the order within the school.

Abernathy's disapproval of Danny's unconventional approach fuelled a deep-seated animosity towards him, and their encounters were often marked by tension and conflict. Abernathy had often reprimand Danny for his choices, criticizing him for his conform and emphasizing the importance of obedience to the school's traditions.

However, Danny's talents quickly became evident and by his second year of semester at Ilvermorny he had already mastered wandless magic and Apparition, despite the growing loathing between Principal and student.

Principal Abernathy, a seasoned figure of authority, was unaccustomed to such open defiance and disdain. He straightened his posture, a subtle attempt to regain control over the situation and conceal any hint of unease. Abernathy's piercing eyes, though momentarily unsettled, quickly hardened with a steely determination. He met Danny's challenging gaze head-on, refusing to be intimidated by the young man's hostility.

"Danny," Abernathy began, his voice steady but tinged with an unmistakable glee, "there have been rumours circulating within the school community. Disturbing allegations of an inappropriate and sexual relationship between you and Miss Peregrine, your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Danny's eyes widened in disbelief, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through his veins. The accusation pierced his heart like a dagger, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation. His relationship with Miss Peregrine had been one of mentorship, of guidance and support. They had shared a strong bond, but it was purely platonic.

For Danny, Defense Against the Dark Arts was more than just a subject. It was a sanctuary—a place where he could escape the ordinary and delve into a world of magic, mystery, and bravery. And at the heart of his love for the subject stood Miss Peregrine, the enigmatic and captivating teacher who had become more than just an instructor. She had become a motherly figure, a guiding light in Danny's life.

From the moment Danny stepped into her classroom, he was captivated by Miss Peregrine's presence. Her warm smile, framed by silver curls, welcomed him and his classmates into a realm of fantastical possibilities. Her eyes twinkled with knowledge and understanding, as if she held secrets that could unlock the mysteries of the universe.

Miss Peregrine possessed a unique teaching style that blended practicality with whimsy. She brought the magical world to life, weaving captivating tales of bravery and resilience. Her lessons were more than just spells and enchantments; they were life lessons disguised as magical instruction.

But it was in the quieter moments that Miss Peregrine truly shone as a motherly influence on Danny. She recognized the pain and longing in his eyes, the yearning for guidance and understanding. She listened to him, not just as a teacher, but as a confidant and friend. Her wisdom and compassion provided solace in times of uncertainty, and her gentle guidance steered him towards self-discovery.

Like a mother bird tending to her nest, Miss Peregrine nurtured Danny's potential and encouraged him to spread his wings. She saw the spark of greatness within him and pushed him to reach new heights. Whether it was challenging him with advanced magical techniques or offering words of encouragement during moments of self-doubt, she instilled in him a belief in his own abilities.

Outside of the classroom, Miss Peregrine created a safe space for Danny. She welcomed him into her office, where they would share tea and engage in heartfelt conversations. She listened to his concerns, offering advice and support.

"That's not true!" Danny blurted out, his voice filled with indignation. "There was nothing sexual about our relationship. It was all lies and rumours spread by that vampire, Viktor. He's been trying to turn everyone against me!"

"Danny, I want you to understand that these allegations are being taken very seriously. The safety and dignity of our students are of utmost importance. We have launched a thorough investigation to uncover the truth, but due to the seriousness of the allegations, I am left with no choice but to suspend you pending the outcome," Abernathy went on.

The room seemed to spin as Danny absorbed the words. His mind raced, desperately searching for logic and reason amidst the chaos. He had admired Miss Peregrine, respected her as a teacher and mentor. The thought of such allegations tarnishing her reputation, and his own, left him overwhelmed with a mix of disbelief and fury.

Gritting his teeth, Danny locked eyes with Abernathy, his voice trembling with a venomous disdain. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? The power you hold over me, the pleasure of expelling me from this wretched place. You've been waiting for an opportunity like this, relishing in the chance to rid yourself of someone who challenges your authority."

"Danny," Abernathy's voice had taken on an oily, smug tone now, "you must understand that my duty lies in protecting the well-being of our students. These allegations cannot be taken lightly. The investigation will be thorough and impartial, and the truth will be revealed in due course."

Danny's lip curled with bitter contempt. "The truth? Do you even care about the truth, Abernathy? Or are you content with destroying lives to maintain your precious image?"

"In light of the allegations and pending investigation, Miss Peregrine will be henceforth banned from her teaching position," Abernathy continued, ignoring Danny's allegation.

Danny's eyes blazed with a mixture of bewilderment and anger. He couldn't fathom how the truth had become so obscured, how Miss Peregrine, a teacher he had admired and trusted, could be stripped of her role based on unsubstantiated rumours. The injustice of it all coursed through his veins, fuelling his frustration.

"No, you can't do that!" Danny's voice rose, filled with a raw intensity. "I'm telling you, it's Viktor who's been spreading those lies about her! She doesn't deserve this!"

Abernathy's face remained impassive, his eyes cold and distant. "I understand that you have your suspicions, Danny, but the decision has been made. It is not within your authority to dictate the course of action. The reputation of the school and the safety of the students must take precedence."

Danny's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. He felt as if he were trapped in a maddening loop of disbelief and frustration. How could Abernathy refuse to hear him out, to consider the possibility that he was innocent? The weight of the injustice pressed upon him, threatening to suffocate his voice.

"You're making a grave mistake, Sir," Danny seethed, his voice laced with anger and desperation. "I'm telling you the truth. Viktor is the one who started all of this. He's been bullying me since I got here. He's spreading these lies to get me kicked out! You have to listen to me!"

Abernathy's tone grew sharper, his patience wearing thin. "Enough, Danny! The decision is final. I will not entertain baseless accusations without concrete evidence. Your step-father is waiting to pick you up, and you may collect any personal items you have from your dorm room immediately."

Danny's heart sank, the weight of Abernathy's dismissal crashing down upon him. It felt as if the ground had been ripped from beneath his feet, leaving him suspended in a void of injustice and betrayal. With a final, bitter glance, Danny turned and walked out of the office.

Danny's footsteps echoed through the empty corridor as he made his way towards the dormitories. Each step reverberated with a sense of finality, a reminder that his time at Ilvermorny was coming to an abrupt and unjust end. The weight of the accusations and the bitter taste of betrayal clung to him, but he pressed forward, determined to gather his personal belongings and leave the painful memories behind.

As he reached the entrance to the dormitories, Danny's heart sank. The once-familiar surroundings now felt foreign and cold, mirroring the distance that had grown between him and the school he had once called home. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the doors of each dorm room a reminder of the lives he was leaving behind.

His footsteps faltered as he approached his own dorm room. The door stood closed, a barrier between Danny and his former life. With a deep breath, he reached out and turned the doorknob, the creaking sound slicing through the silence like a mournful melody.

The room lay in disarray, remnants of a life that had been abruptly halted. Posters adorned the walls, their vibrant colours now muted in the dim light. Books were strewn across the desk, their pages filled with knowledge that had become tainted with injustice. Danny's eyes scanned the room, searching for the pieces of himself that he could salvage.

He moved with a sense of urgency, gathering his belongings into a duffel bag. Clothes, photographs, and personal mementos were carefully placed within, each item carrying a memory that threatened to consume him.

As he zipped up the bag, a knock on the door startled Danny. He turned to find his two closest friends at Ilvermorny, Diana and Samael, standing in the doorway. Their faces bore a mixture of concern and sadness, mirrored reflections of the turmoil that raged within Danny's own heart.

Diana's voice trembled as she spoke, her words filled with a tender sincerity. "Danny, we just heard what happened. We can't believe it. We know you, and we know Miss Peregrine. This isn't right."

Samael nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with determination. "Always thought I'd get expelled from this place before you."

Danny's throat tightened with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. When Danny first enrolled at Ilvermorny, he found himself sharing a dormitory with none other than Samael, who, unbeknownst to Danny at the time, was none other than Lucifer himself. Samael's presence in Ilvermorny was a result of his father's attempt to "rehabilitate" him, a condition that led to their unexpected pairing as dorm mates.

At first, Danny was unaware of Samael's true identity, and Samael, ever the mischievous spirit, decided to keep his celestial origins a secret. As they spent more time together, however, their shared love for mischief and pranks became apparent, drawing them closer despite their initial differences.

Together, Danny and Samael became a formidable duo, often finding themselves in the midst of playful antics and elaborate practical jokes. Their shared sense of humour and adventurous spirits created a bond that transcended their individual backgrounds.

Diana and Danny's friendship, meanwhile, began on competitive terms as academic rivals in their shared classes. Both possessed a natural aptitude for their studies and a drive to excel, leading to a spirited rivalry that initially defined their interactions.

Diana, known for her love of homework and her diligent approach to her studies, often found herself at the top of the class. Her dedication to academic excellence earned her the admiration of the teachers, making her a favourite among them, much to the chagrin of her classmates.

Danny, on the other hand, possessed a similar thirst for knowledge and a competitive spirit that matched Diana's. Their shared pursuit of excellence led to a clash of egos as they vied for the top spot in their class. Their academic rivalry was marked by friendly challenges, intellectual debates, and a constant push to outperform one another.

However, as time went on, they began to appreciate each other's strengths and talents. Despite their competitive nature, they recognized the value in their shared pursuit of knowledge and the intellectual stimulation that their debates provided. Gradually, their rivalry transformed into a genuine respect for each other's abilities.

The more they worked together, the more they discovered their shared interests and hobbies beyond academic pursuits. They found common ground in their love for magical creatures, their fascination with ancient spells, and their appreciation for the intricacies of potion brewing. These shared passions brought them closer, allowing their friendship to blossom.

Over time, Diana's love for homework and Danny's reputation as a teacher's pet became sources of amusem*nt rather than points of contention. They embraced their unique traits, finding humour in their respective quirks and supporting each other's academic endeavours.

While Diana, with her playful exasperation, sometimes found herself caught up in their antics, she couldn't help but be amused by their infectious enthusiasm. Their mischief became a source of laughter and light-heartedness, even if it occasionally tested her patience.

As time went on, the friendship between Danny and Samael deepened. They discovered that beneath their playful exterior, they shared a genuine understanding and respect for each other. Samael's rebellious nature and Danny's unwavering loyalty created a unique dynamic that allowed them to navigate the challenges of their shared dormitory life.

Diana's exasperation acted as a grounding force, keeping Danny and Samael in check and preventing their pranks from spiralling out of control. Her playful protests and eye-rolls in response to their shenanigans added a touch of comedic relief to the situation, diffusing any potential tension and fostering an atmosphere of camaraderie.

Furthermore, Diana's exasperation highlighted the contrast between her responsible nature and Danny and Samael's mischievous spirits. Her playful resistance to their antics showcased her role as the voice of reason in their friendship, reminding them to consider the consequences of their actions.

At the same time, Diana's exasperation didn't dampen the bond between the three friends. It was a playful exasperation, one that showcased her fondness for Danny and Samael despite their occasional recklessness. Her reactions added to the overall dynamic, emphasizing the diversity of personalities within their friendship.

Samael, his piercing gaze filled with both melancholy and a hint of mischief, broke the silence. "I bet you'll miss the sex parties I held at our dorm," he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. The statement caught Danny off guard, momentarily pulling him out of the sombre atmosphere that enveloped them.

Danny chuckled, a mixture of amusem*nt and nostalgia. "I can't deny that those were some wild nights," he replied, a touch of fondness in his voice.

Diana couldn't help but roll her eyes in playful exasperation. Initially drawn to each other by a potent mix of physical attraction and shared interests, Diana and Samael found solace and comfort in each other's arms. Their friends with benefits arrangement allowed them to explore their desires and enjoy each other's company without the expectations and commitments that often accompany a traditional romantic relationship.

During this time, they had revelled in the passionate moments they shared, finding pleasure and companionship in each other's presence. They indulged in the thrill of their connection, enjoying the freedom and spontaneity of their arrangement.

However, as time passed and their bond deepened, they began to realize that their connection extended beyond physicality. They discovered a profound emotional connection, a strong friendship that served as the foundation of their relationship. It became evident that they valued each other's companionship, support, and understanding far beyond the realm of physical intimacy.

Recognizing the importance of their friendship, Diana and Samael had a heartfelt conversation and decided to transition their relationship back to being solely platonic.

Samael, his mischievous grin widening, observed Diana's eye roll and couldn't help but chuckle. "Diana, my dear," Samael said, his voice carrying a hint of theatricality, "you can't deny that those were memorable times. The energy, the freedom... the love."

Diana crossed her arms, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "There's no denying that your parties added certain... flair to our time at the dorm," she admitted, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Are you two done flirting yet or do you need to get a room?" Danny cut it playfully.

Diana's cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment as she turned to face Danny, trying to regain her composure. "Oh, come on, Danny," she said, her voice tinged with a mix of playfulness and feigned annoyance. "You know we were just joking around. No need to get all flustered."

Samael, ever the charmer, flashed a devilish grin. "Ah, Danny, my boy," he replied, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "You caught us once, did you? Well, rest assured, we'll try to spare you any future encounters that might scar you for life."

Danny rolled his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Please," he retorted, his voice filled with mock exasperation. "I've seen enough awkward moments in my life. Let's keep the boundaries intact, shall we?"

Diana playfully nudged Danny's arm, her eyes sparkling with amusem*nt. "Don't worry, Danny," she said, her voice laced with affectionate teasing. "We'll do our best to spare you any more uncomfortable encounters. Wouldn't want to traumatize you any further."

"Remember that time we decided to attend Divination Class while under the influence of LSD? Oh, we were quite the sight, weren't we?" Samael began, his voice filled with a blend of nostalgia and amusem*nt.

Diana's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, her cheeks flushing as she recalled the hazy memories of that fateful day. "Samael," she exclaimed, her voice a mix of exasperation and laughter. "You had to bring that up, didn't you? We were absolutely off our rockers!"

Danny burst into laughter, the memory of their psychedelic escapade breaking through the seriousness of the moment. "Oh, how could I forget?" he chimed in, his voice filled with amusem*nt. "We were seeing dragons in the teacups and predicting our futures in a haze of psychedelic colours."

Samael's laughter mingled with Danny's, the shared memory weaving a tapestry of camaraderie and shared adventures.

Diana shook her head, a mixture of fondness and mock exasperation evident in her expression. "Well, at least we learned our lesson," she said, her voice laced with laughter. "No more experimenting with mind-altering substances before attending class."

"Always the voice of reason," Samael remarked quietly.

The air was suddenly heavy with a mix of sadness and nostalgia as Danny, Diana, and Samael stood together, facing the inevitable goodbye.

Diana, her eyes filled with empathy, reached out and grasped Danny's hand, offering him a comforting squeeze. Samael, ever the enigmatic figure, stood quietly beside them, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"Danny, I can't believe it has to end like this," Diana said, her voice tinged with sorrow. "You didn't deserve this. We both know it."

Danny managed a weak smile, his eyes welling up with unshed tears. "Thanks, Diana. Your support means the world to me."

Samael, breaking his silence, finally spoke. "I never thought this day would come. Our adventures, the pranks, the laughter... I'll miss it all."

Danny nodded, his voice choked with emotion. "I'll miss it too, Samael. You've been a true friend through thick and thin."

Diana took a deep breath, her resolve evident in her voice. "Danny, remember that this expulsion doesn't define you. You have so much potential, and I believe in you."

Samael, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy, added, "I won't forget you. You're a true friend, Danny."

With one last lingering look, Danny turned away from his friends, his steps heavy with the weight of goodbye. He walked towards the exit, where his step-father stood waiting, a mix of concern and understanding etched on his face.

The seagulls soared overhead, their cries blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves against the sandy shore. Danny Torrance walked along the Georgia beach, his step-father Nicholas by his side. The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the landscape.

Tall and poised, he had a regal aura that seemed to emanate from his very being. With his chiselled jaw line, striking vibrant blue eyes, and perfectly styled dark hair, Nicholas possessed an air of refinement befitting that of nobility.

His tailored suit, adorned with a gold pocket watch chain, emphasized his lean physique and impeccable taste. The intricate pattern on his silk tie seemed to dance in harmony with his movements, exuding an air of sophistication that captivated those in his presence.

Nicholas's demeanour was equally captivating. He carried himself with an effortless grace, each gesture deliberate and precise. His confident posture and the gentle curve of his smile conveyed an innate charisma that drew people towards him, eager to be in his company. There was a magnetism about him, an undeniable presence that commanded attention without a word spoken.

It had been five years after the events at the Overlook Hotel when his mother Wendy attended a support group for survivors of traumatic experiences. As she shared her story, her voice trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes. It was during one of these sessions that Nicholas, who had been attending as a volunteer, listened intently to Wendy's account. His heart went out to her, recognizing the depth of her pain and the resilience she had shown in surviving such a harrowing ordeal.

After the support group meeting, Nicholas approached Wendy gently, offering a kind smile and a sympathetic ear. He expressed his admiration for her strength and courage, assuring her that she was not alone in her struggle. Wendy, her initial scepticism gradually giving way to a glimmer of hope, allowed herself to open up to Nicholas. They began to meet regularly, sharing their stories and forming a deep bond built on empathy and understanding.

Nicholas had introduced her to various therapeutic techniques, such as meditation, mindfulness, and creative outlets like painting and writing. He provided a safe space for her to express her fears, nightmares, and anxieties, offering unwavering support and reassurance.

As time passed, Wendy's healing journey began to bear fruit. Her nightmares became less frequent, and she discovered a renewed sense of purpose and resilience. Nicholas continued to be her rock, providing a steady presence in her life and encouraging her to embrace her newfound strength.

It had been on a tranquil afternoon, as they walked through a serene park that Nicholas had decided to take their relationship to the next level. Underneath the shade of a towering oak tree, Nicholas dropped to one knee, a gleaming ring in his hand, and professed his deep love and commitment to Wendy.

His mother, according to her accounts of the proposal, had squeezed Nicholas's hand, her voice steady with conviction, and accepted.

For his part, Danny regarded his soon-to-be stepfather with a mix of suspicion and apprehension. While he could not deny his mother was deeply in love, Danny feared that Nicholas might change the dynamics of their family, that he might not understand or respect the bond Danny shared with his mother.

Danny's distrust manifested itself in subtle ways. He would observe Nicholas's actions closely, searching for any signs of insincerity or ulterior motives. He would question his mother relentlessly about her new partner, seeking reassurance that she hadn't blindly fallen for someone who might let them down.

And yet, despite his suspicions it was hard for Danny to ignore how Nicholas treated his mother with kindness and respect, how he listened attentively to her concerns, and how he embraced the responsibility of being a positive role model. It became clear that Nicholas's actions aligned with his words, and his love for Wendy was genuine.

In the days leading up to the wedding, Danny allowed himself to be more open to Nicholas's presence in their lives. He began to see the ways in which Nicholas enhanced their family dynamic, bringing a sense of stability and love that Danny had longed for. Slowly but surely, the seed of trust took root and started to grow. In time, Danny's initial suspicion and apprehension transformed into a deep respect and affection for Nicholas.

As husband and wife, Wendy and Nicholas continued to support and uplift each other, nurturing a bond built on trust, understanding, and unwavering love. They cherished the growth they had achieved individually and as a couple, continuously working together to maintain a healthy and fulfilling relationship.

In search of a fresh start and a tranquil environment for their family, Nicholas made the decision to move Wendy and Danny to a picturesque farmhouse in the serene countryside of Georgia. The sprawling property provided a sanctuary where they could find solace amidst nature's embrace. Surrounded by rolling hills, lush greenery, and the soothing sounds of nature, the farmhouse became a haven of peace and healing.

Nicholas, an avid horse enthusiast, saw this move as an opportunity to introduce Danny to the world of horseback riding. The farm housed a stable with gentle and patient horses, offering Danny the chance to learn and bond with these majestic creatures. Under Nicholas's guidance, Danny discovered a newfound passion for riding, finding solace and freedom in the connection between himself and the horses.

It was during one of their rides together, as they trotted through the fields under a golden sunset, that Nicholas had revealed a secret to Danny. With a gentle smile, he spoke of the existence of the Wizarding community in the United States, a hidden world of magic that coexisted alongside the ordinary. He explained that he himself possessed the "Shining" ability, a powerful psychic gift that allowed him to perceive and connect with supernatural forces.

Danny still remembered being enthralled with amazement and curiosity as Nicholas shared stories of wizards, magical creatures, and the intricate workings of this hidden realm. Nicholas assured Danny that he, too, possessed the Shining ability, a gift that ran in their family. He explained that the ability provided them with a heightened intuition, a deeper connection to the energies of the world, and a responsibility to use their gifts for good.

Recognizing the importance of formal magical education and the need for Danny to develop his skills in a safe and nurturing environment, Nicholas had, after consulting with Wendy, made the decision to enrol him in the prestigious Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ilvermorny, located on Mount Greylock in Massachusetts, was renowned for its rich magical curriculum and its commitment to fostering the growth and potential of young witches and wizards.

Nicholas spoke first, his voice filled with gentle concern. "Danny, I've been thinking about your expulsion from Ilvermorny. It was a difficult decision for them to make, and I can see the disappointment in your eyes. I want you to know that I'm here for you, and if there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask."

Danny sighed, his gaze fixed on the waves. "Thanks, Nickolas. I appreciate your support. But honestly, I never really fit in at Ilvermorny. It was like trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find my place there."

Nicholas listened attentively, his eyes filled with empathy. "I understand, Danny. Sometimes, certain environments aren't meant for us, and that's okay. It's important to find a place where you can truly thrive. So, let me ask you this: would you still like to continue your magical education?"

Danny pondered the question, his thoughts swirling in a sea of uncertainties. "I'm not sure, Nickolas. Part of me feels like I've learned all I can from the magical world. Maybe it's time for me to explore something different, something that resonates with who I am."

Nicholas nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand your perspective, Danny. It takes courage to recognize when it's time to move on and embrace new opportunities. Your past does not dictate your future. Remember, as one door closes, another opens," Nicholas said, his tone soothing and encouraging. "This setback doesn't define you, nor does it determine your future. There are countless opportunities waiting for you."

Danny glanced at Nicholas, his eyes still clouded with uncertainty. "But what if I don't know what to do next? What if I don't find my place?"

Nicholas smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting a blend of care and determination. "Danny, life has a way of presenting us with unexpected paths. Sometimes, the detours lead us to places we never could have imagined. It might not be clear right now, but trust that you have the strength and resilience to navigate through this and find your own unique journey."

Nicholas turned his gaze toward Danny, a soft smile gracing his lips. "Danny, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. I've been thinking a lot lately, and I believe now might be the perfect time for you to meet my family."

Danny glanced at Nicholas, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. "Your family? You've mentioned them before, but we've never really talked about it in detail. Why do you think now is the right time?"

Nicholas paused, his steps slowing as he chose his words carefully. "Well, with your recent expulsion from Ilvermorny, it feels like a turning point—a moment of transition in your life. Truth be told, I've been intending to introduce you to them for a while."

The words hung heavy in the air as Danny's voice cut through the gentle rhythm of the crashing waves. "I have no family."

Nicholas paused, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and sadness. He had hoped that the prospect of meeting his own family would bring comfort and a sense of belonging to Danny. But now, faced with Danny's flat response, Nicholas realized that there were deeper wounds that needed healing.

Gently, Nicholas placed both hands on Danny's shoulders, his touch conveying both empathy and determination. "Danny, I understand that you've had a difficult journey, and it may feel like you have no family. But I want you to know that we are here for you. Blood may not bind us, but the love and support we have for you is genuine and unconditional."

Danny's gaze dropped to the sand beneath his feet, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I've always felt like an outsider, like I don't truly belong anywhere."

Nicholas's grip tightened, his voice filled with earnestness. "You belong with us, Danny. We may not share the same blood, but family extends beyond mere biology. It's about the connections we forge, the love we give and receive. And we choose to have you as part of our family because you are special to us, because we care deeply about you."

Danny's eyes met Nicholas's, a flicker of longing mingling with his guarded emotions. "But what if I disappoint you? What if I mess up again?"

Nicholas's voice held unwavering conviction as he met Danny's gaze. "Danny, we all make mistakes. It's part of being human. The love and support we offer you are not contingent on your successes or failures. We are here to guide and uplift you, to help you learn from your experiences and grow into the person you want to become."

A hint of a smile crossed Danny's lips, a glimmer of hope breaking through the barriers he had built around himself. "You really mean that, don't you?"

Nicholas's response was immediate, his voice filled with sincerity. "With all my heart, Danny. We may not be perfect, but we are committed to being a family for you. We will be there to celebrate your victories, to catch you when you stumble, and to remind you that you are never alone."

As they walked along the shore, the conversation between Nicholas and Danny reached a pause, allowing the rhythmic sound of the waves to fill the air. Just then, amidst the grains of sand, a tall wooden door materialized, standing proudly against the backdrop of the beach.

Danny's eyes widened in amazement at the sight of the door. Its presence felt almost mystical, as if it held the key to a realm of possibilities. He turned to Nicholas, his voice filled with wonder. "Is that...?"

Nicholas nodded, a smile gracing his lips. "Yes, Danny. That door leads to my family. They are waiting for you on the other side."

Danny's heart skipped a beat, a mix of curiosity and excitement coursing through his veins. The sight of the door seemed to hold a promise, a chance to discover a place where he could truly belong.

Summoning his courage, Danny approached the door. He reached out, feeling the coolness of the wood against his fingertips. With a deep breath, he gently pushed the door open, and together he and Nickolas crossed the threshold.

Now

Before he had even opened his eyes he was awake enough to feel just how stiff his entire body was. It felt like he hadn't moved the entire night, no twitches or rolling from this side to that; none of that. His legs felt stiff, his hands felt like his fingers hadn't moved at all and were numb, his neck and back could definite do with a good stretch and on both of his sides at his lower back it felt slightly painful. He wasn't great with anatomy, but he was pretty sure that was where his kidneys were.

His whole body arched, save for his head.

Blinking his eyes open, he took in all the light in his room and nothing else. He must have left his curtains open last night. He felt a pain in his chest.

He rubbed his eyes and then opened them and took in his surroundings.

This was definitely not the Wheeler House, or Mike's basem*nt.

Danny Torrance was in a hospital.

The ward was small and rather dingy, as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. The walls were of panelled oak, and there was a large portrait on the wall of a rather handsome looking wizard wearing Revolutionary clothes with a wand and a bone, crossed, in the background of the portrait, captioned:

Albert Hohenheim

Founder of Hohenheim Medical Centre of Magical Illnesses and Affliction 1643-1832

Chief Healer 1759-1812

There were only three patients. Danny was occupying the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window. He took one look at the large portrait looking down at the ward he was in and rolled his eyes. He recalled reading about Albert Hohenheim inHistory of Magicclass at Ilvermorny: it was said that Albert had been the most beautiful wizard in the early days of the American colony. As a rule, beauty earns little esteem amongst witches and wizards, but Albert Hohenheim was so startling in his good looks that other witches and wizards wanted to be seen in his company. He reached the final school year with top grades in ever examination he had taken. Nearly all his classmates had expected spectacular things from him, including a role in politics. But, much to the shock of his rich and powerful admirers, after leaving school he instead decided to become a healer and eventually would go on to found the Hohenheim Medical Centre of Magical Illnesses and Affliction, the very first wizarding hospital in America.

Some said, perhaps jealously, that he was as stupid as he was beautiful (Danny tended to agree.)

"Oh look who's awake!" a nurse said from the doorway. "About time. How are you feeling?" she asked pleasantly. The woman was somewhere around her thirties and lanky with dark hair pulled back into a bun.

The nurse walked around the bed and started waving her wand over Danny to run some tests and Danny honed in on her name tag but his eye sight wasn't letting him focus on the name there.

"Where am I?" Danny croaked. At least he had his voice back, raw and hoarse though it was. The fever was still on him, and Danny had no notion of the hour. How long had he slept? He was so weak, so damnably weak. His chest seemed to split from his groin to his armpit. He watched as colours and lights started hovering all over him from the spells the nurse was casting.

"Hohenheim Medical Center of Magical Illnesses and Affliction, Indianapolis branch," the nurse said absentmindedly as she looked at whatever the spells were telling her.

"How-how did I get here?" Danny demanded.

"Our healers received an owl alerting us about your condition and so we sent a team to come and collect you from Hawkins and bring you here," the nurse replied. "All your stats are normal."

"Good. Now get me the hell out of here," Danny urged as he pulled back the sheets and went to climb out of bed. Unbelievable pain tore through his chest and tears were in his eyes by the time he managed to stand. He'd taken two shaky steps forward before his legs buckled under him and the nurse had to catch him before he fell to the ground.

"What the f*ck do you think you're doing?" the nurse declared. "Savage! Get in here!"

A moment later an Auror came running in, both taking Danny under an arm and carefully helping him back into the bed. His breath came out in a whoosh when he was tucked back in and the warm stickiness of blood oozing from his chest made a healer rush back in. It was another fifteen minutes before the healer claimed that he needed to rest.

It took Danny a full minute to catch his breath and to blink back the pain before he could talk. "Why aren't my legs working?" he asked in a panic.

"You've been in a magically induced coma for almost two weeks. In fact, until you woke up today, we sure as hell didn't think you'd survive. I will run a few more tests to see if there is anything else going on that we need to be on the lookout for. Physically you have been doing alright according to the tests I just ran on that showed you are healthy, but we need to be thorough.Especiallyconsidering the condition you were in when you arrived."

"I don't care about more tests! If I'm healthy and physically fine, then I want to leave!" snapped Danny.

"Uncle! You're awake!" Danny looked over to the door and Mike standing there. He was dressed in knee-length shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. He looked hopeful, relieved, and happy at seeing his uncle. "Uncle," he said in a breath and rushed over to his side. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked with concern.

The nurse nodded in reply. "Although I do have a few more tests to run on Mr Deschain if I'm allowed."

At the mention of the fake last name he used, Danny narrowed his eyes at the nurse. She seemed like a pleasant enough women although she did not seem at all afraid or even in awe of him. That was….concerning. "I'm not doing any more tests. I want to leave!" Danny repeated as he again attempted to climb out of bed.

"Uncle, please. Just let them run their tests and then we can leave," Mike said persuasively.

Danny relented and nodded in agreement at the nurse. There was a halo of light that wove around his head as the nurse began running through her tests. "You're lucky to be alive. What the no-Maj's thought was hypothermia actually, we discovered was, in fact, a brutal curse. Every time the healers sealed your wound, it would open bigger and deeper than before. You've been on blood replenishing potions almost hourly just to keep you alive," the nurse explained. "If we'd been five minutes later, you would have died."

"Death," said Danny quietly, "is forotherpeople." He looked down at his chest where bandages covered it almost entirely.

Mike gave his uncle a quizzical look at that statement but said nothing.

"Healers removed your spleen," the nurse continued. "The curse hit your heart and they had to place a protective shield around the wound from cutting into it. That shield has been what has kept you alive. You're on so many potions you shouldn't be able to think straight, but the more blood you lose, the less effective the pain potion is.

"Not to mention that every time the wounds reopen, it gets bigger and deeper than before. The last one gutted around to your back and down towards your groin. Then yesterday it just… stopped."

"How?"

"The healers aren't sure yet, but when it cut into liver, it just started clotting. The curse is still in your system, but healers are working on it. We recommend you take a healing potion hourly otherwise the wound will reopen and you will lose more and more blood until you die."

The nurse finished running her tests and confirmed that Danny was fit to head home with several healing potions to keep the wound from reopening and the curse itself at bay.

Once the nurse left the room and it was the two of them Mike went over to the wardrobe in the corner of the ward and pulled out the fresh clothes he had taken from Hawkins for his uncle to change into and brought them over to the bed.

Danny glared down at the clothes and noticed his hat and guns were missing. They must have been left behind in the forest during the fight with Nyarlathotep. Nyarlathotep, he was still out there somewhere in Hawkins. Where though? Where was he hiding? Moreover, who fired those bullets,hisbullets, which had hurt Nyarlathotep and caused him to flee, quite possibility saving Danny's life?

"I was worried for you, uncle," Mike was saying as he helped his uncle get to his feet and walk the short distance to the bathroom. "Nancy and I really thought you could die. She's waiting outside, by the way."

"Who called the Healers to come collect me?" Danny asked.

"I don't know," said Mike. "They just turned up on the front door in the early morning. Frightened the hell out of Mom as you can imagine."

"Is she here with you?"

Mike gave a sheepish look before he answered. "Um…no. She's back in Hawkins with Holly and the kids."

"That's no surprise," Danny muttered. Karen always liked to preach utter devotion to family except when it concernedhim.

"I'm sorry, uncle," Mike said. "She really was worried about you when those wizards came to take you away."

"I'm sure," Danny said. After a few steps, his legs were already seeming to work properly, if a bit uncoordinated. Closing the door behind him he rested back against it for a moment. Now alone, Danny looked down as he opened his bandage and his eyes widened. He had a narrow incision on his chest about twenty centimetres long. Another incision was lower between his ribs. A large jagged cut was under his heart and it was still oozing a bit of blood. The three cuts were all bright red and ugly looking.

Pain gnawed at him like a toothless dog. Danny hated weakness, especially his own. It shamed him, and shame made him angry.I will kill Nyarlathotep, he told himself.I will kill that monstrosity, I can still do that much at least.

The Tower.

Don't forget your quest, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

Remember Ka is a wheel.

Danny swallowed – his throat was sore and uncomfortable. Flu? A cold, probably –he had no temperature, thank God.I need to spend time with Karen, to figure things out, remove the awkwardness between us. But there's no time!

He could always leave, he supposed. Danny could see it now: an open sky, a cool breeze, a thrill and lust for adventure. To ignore pain, sorrow and frustration. To be free….

That freedom would cost Danny too much. He'd lose Mike, Karen and his family, would lose his veryself. "I can't leave. I won't do that." Ignoring the pain, Danny dressed himself in the clothes Mike had brought for him – loose fitting jeans and a plain green jersey along with fresh socks and shoes. Any movement sent a stab of agony through him. Danny drank a bottle of healing potion to fortify himself, enough to make his wounds bearable for a time.

Even so, he was dizzy by the time he left the ward and walked through the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; each would stare at Danny with looks of frank curiosity every time he passed them and every now and then they heard distant wailing.

Danny's body was still racked with pain, made worse by every movement. The healer who had been at his bed had given him a brown leather briefcase containing around 20 bottles of healing potion with instructions to take the potion hourly.

Mike followed his uncle through to a set of golden gates at the far end of the corridor, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Above the lift hang a sign that read "Fourth Floor, Spell Damage (Unliftable jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly applied charms, etc.)" Mike and Danny joined a crowd around one of them.

With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Mike and Danny moved inside it with the rest of the crowd. Danny found himself jammed against the back wall of the lift. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. He hated being noticed especially in such a weak condition as he was in now. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift descended slowly, chains rattling all the while, while a cool female voice rang out inside the lift as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them.

"Third Floor, potion and plant poisoning, Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc."

One of the wizards in the lift extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered downward again, and the woman's voice said, "Second Floor, Magical Bugs, Contagious maladies, e.g., dragon pox, vanishing sickness, scrofungulus."

Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out, the doors closed and the lift clattered downward again.

"First Floor, Creature-induced injuries, Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc."

A few more witches and wizards hurried out before the doors clanged shut yet again.

"Ground Floor, artefact accidents, Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc."

Everybody, including Danny and Mike, left the lift on this floor. Mike had just enough time to hear the doors close and the cool voice saying, "If you are unsure where to go, incapable of normal speech, or unable to remember why you are here, our Welcome Witch will be pleased to help."

They had stepped into a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies ofWeekly Metropolitan, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises. A sweaty-faced witch in the center of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy ofThe Wizard's Voice,kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth, and a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved, and with each clang his head vibrated horribly, so that he had to seize himself by the ears and hold it steady. Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards. Mike noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.

Danny ignored the looks he got from most of the healers and even some of the patients as he strode out of the reception room and into the outside of a large, old-fashioned, red brick department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read closed for refurbishment.

"I hate hospital," Danny mumbled to himself just loud enough for Mike to hear once he stepped forward through what felt like a sheet of cool water, emerging onto the street corner next to his uncle.

It was early morning, the sun was shining brightly and the street was full of early-morning commuters.

"Did you park close by?" Danny asked in a no-nonsense tone as he took another bottle of healing potion from his briefcase, gulped it down in one go, grimacing as he did.

"Nancy parked a block away," Mike explained, pointing down the end of the street. "The wizards sent us instructions before we left Hawkins on where their medical centre was located and that only one of us would be permitted to enter so I decided to go and get you while Nancy waited for us in the car."

"Fine. We'll walk then," Danny decided before he turned back to look at the department store they had just stepped out off. Raising his hands slowly, he pointed at the store and whispered in a soft, yet audible voice, "Oblivate."

A white, unseen beam of light erupted from Danny's hand and shone over the entire department store before disappearing as if nothing had happened. Mike looked at his uncle in curiosity, wondering what he had just done.

"I wiped the entire medical centre's memories of me," Danny said, putting his hands in his pockets, as he walked out on the sidewalk, heading away from the wizarding hospital, Mike following Danny's quick pace down the street.

"I have a reputation to uphold and having other wizards seeing me in such a weak,patheticcondition would invite whispers and rumours to spread about me. That the Gunslinger isnotwhat he professes to be and thereforenotsomeone to be feared," he continued. "Such rumours would only embolden certain enemies I have to attack you or attack your family as a means of hurting me."

It was the middle of summer, but Mike could have sworn he felt the sidewalk freeze over right where they were standing. "That is something Icannotallow," Danny hissed, glancing left and right down the street before proceeding over the crosswalk.

"So you, what…wiped their memories of seeing you walk out of a hospital bed?" Mike asked, incredulously. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"No," Was the blunt response his uncle gave. "If anything it was an adequate reaction. One must not be seen as weak, Michael. Surely your father taught you that?"

Mike swallowed, the mention of his father causing his expression to sour. He knew that his father was disappointed in his choice of career. He wouldn't say it out loud for fearing of getting into an argument with Karen but Mike could tell Ted was less than pleased with him being an author. It still stung but Mike had given up long ago trying to please his father.

"No he didn't."

Uncle and nephew walked in silence for a few minutes before a thought occurred to Mike, who was eager for the uncomfortable silence to be broken. "Do you have a wand?" He asked suddenly.

"What?"

"A wand," Mike repeated. "I noticed a couple of the other wizards in the reception area had wands and…well I've never noticed you with one before."

"Because I don't have one," his uncle snapped in reply. "Wands are nothing more than sticks of wood. Why any wizard would use one against any opponent is beyond me. The popular belief by non-magical people that a wizard casts a spell by twirling thatstickaround andshouting to your enemy exactly what spell you're about to use against themis a notion I vehemently disagree with.

"What wizarding students aren't taught about nowadays and have thereforefailedto learn is that magic isnotjust one single spell. Rather, magic is defined by human thought. This is why wizards use a variety of dead languages to cast spells. The words simply help the wizard shape exactly what they want the spell to do in their minds. Amateurs need rituals, lengthy chants, and meditation to do even simple spells while more experienced wizards can do the same with a single word. We use a dead language because the magic becomes linked with the word in your mind. Use the word "fire" for fire spells and you'll be burning your house down within a week. Don't use words, on the other hand, and the magic can come out raw.

"Magic is affected and fuelled by emotions. Powerful emotions like rage, fear, true happiness can make spells more powerful than usual or even fuel spells by themselves, but any sort of delicate magic, such as complicated rituals, requires total calm lest they backfire and blow your head off."

"Our wizarding ancestors were stupid to invent thosesticksin the first place. Then again they did used to walk around smoking pipes in search for magical rings to destroy so I suppose its little wonder they thought usingbroomsticksto travel was a good idea, the idiots."

"So if you don't use a broomstick how do you travel then?" Mike asked curiously, eager to hear more about this magical word he had stepped into.

"There's a spell called Apparition; a means to transport oneself from place to place in an instant."

"Like teleportation?" An intrigued Mike asked, ever a fan of superpowers that he was.

A small smirk crossed Danny's face. "Aye, if you prefer that term. Yet, it's more than just the act of appearing elsewhere," he explained. "Apparition requires a clear mind and for you to focus on the place you aim to reach."

"How did you learn it?" Mike asked eagerly.

"By the end of my first year at Ilvermorny, I'd already mastered it," Danny boasted. "My other classmates were focused on broom flying and potion mixing, but I was drawn to learning Apparition and wandless magic."

"Was it difficult?"

"Oh, it was no easy feat, nephew," Danny reminisced. "My teachers' were discouraged at my insistence on learning the subject at such a young age. So I took matters into my own hands. Every night, while the rest of the students slept, I would sneak out of bed and go to the library where I would read and pour over every book on the subject and practice. It took months and months of study and training but I finally mastered the ability."

Mike's mind swirled with questions, eager to unravel the secrets of his uncle's magical prowess. "Tell me more about wandless magic. How does it work?"

Danny's expression grew thoughtful as he considered how best to explain the intricacies of wandless magic to his nephew. "Wandless magic, Michael, is a manifestation of a wizard's internal power. It requires a deep understanding of the fundamental principles of magic and a heightened level of control over one's emotions and thoughts."

He paused, his gaze focused on the path ahead as they continued their leisurely walk. "The key to wandless magic lies in harnessing your inner energy and directing it with precision. It's an art that demands immense concentration and mental discipline. Instead of relying on the physical conduit of a wand, you become the conduit yourself, channelling your magic directly."

"But how do you cast spells without saying the incantations?" Mike asked, his curiosity piqued.

Danny smiled, appreciating his nephew's thirst for knowledge. "Remember what I mentioned earlier about magic being fuelled by human thought? When it comes to wandless magic, the words are still there, but they are spoken within the recesses of your mind. It's a silent dialogue between your thoughts and the magic that resides within you."

He continued, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "You have to visualize the desired outcome clearly, almost as if you're painting a vivid picture in your mind. The words become a mental trigger, a catalyst that shapes your intention and gives form to your magic. With practice, you'll find that the words become secondary, and the essence of the spell flows through your very being."

Mike absorbed Danny's words, his mind racing with the possibilities. He had always been a person of vivid imagination, and the prospect of mastering wandless magic ignited a spark within him

The further they walked, the less people they saw, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a bar and a heavily graffitied wall. Mike approached a very expensive looking sports car. It was a 4 door, its silver paint job gleaming in the sunlight. The car stood out on the street, next to the modest SUV's and used sedans. Danny moved closer. "This is yours?"

"Mine," Nancy's voice said as the driver's seat of the car swung up to reveal his niece. Danny noticed Nancy had grown up. When had that happened?

The look of childhood had completely disappeared from her rich, white features. Her cheeks were sharper and her face more angled.

"Well technically it's Jonathan's. He's become something of a car freak since we moved to DC. I guess some of it rubbed off on me too," She said.

"You cut your hair," Was all Danny could mention, noting Nancy's short, asymmetrical bob. Nancy had always had long, pin straight hair when he had seen her and Mike as children.How long ago was that?He thought to himself.

"Yeah," his niece said. There was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air between the two. Danny had never been particularly close with Nancy compared to Mike and had always struggled to connect with her in any meaningful way. His long absences and reappearances had only made things worse.

"Nice to see you still standing, uncle," Nancy said, breaking the silence. "You're certainlyfarbetter than when you left home."

Danny ran a hand over the smooth silver surface of the car, feeling the energy of the inanimate vehicle tingling under his touch. "Mercedes-Benz C350," he cited, staring at the hood, imagining the engine that was housed underneath.

"I didn't know you liked cars."

"Of course," Danny replied. The top of the convertible was drawn up, even though it was a nice day outside.

"Really? Well she goes 0 to 60 in 3.5," Nancy responded, trying to make small talk.

Danny nodded as Mike swung the passenger door open and both uncle and nephew slid into the car.

The car ride back to Hawkins was filled with the same uncomfortable silence. Danny sat huddled in the back seat of the convertible; his face in deep contemplation throughout much of the drive. No one had spoken to each other the entire drive. Occasionally Mike would drum his finger along the side of the passenger door, earning a glare from his sister and a silent command to stop.

Nancy felt the heavy silence weight down on her shoulders; her fingers gripped tight on the steering wheel. Seeing her uncle again brought back painful memories, memories she had long ago buried within the depths of her mind.

Memories of Barb, she thought bitterly. Even now,yearslater, just thinking about her friend caused a sting in her heart. Nancy had learned not to let her thoughts dwell on Barbara or the night she had died. Selfish though it was, it had helped her sleep better lest she be tormented by the constant nightmares that had plagued her or be crushed by the weight of the guilt she still, to this day, felt.

The circ*mstances of Barbara's death notwithstanding, everyone seemed to expect her to break, that it was impossible for her to be strong and survive and do what she thought was right. No, everyone expected her to fail.

And then there was her uncle….

Nancy had been ten when she and Barbara had asked Danny to use his magic to tell them what they're futures would be like. It had been a stupid, silly thing to ask thinking back on it.

Nancy hadn't been able to sleep the night before and, hearing voices from across the hallway, had crept out of her room. She could see light flickering from underneath the door in Mike's room and, as quietly as she could, slowly opened the door to her brother's room. Making sure the door was ajar slightly, Nancy peered inside and saw her uncle's back to the door. He sat cross-legged on the floor while Mike sat up on his bed. Mike's face was filled with delight as his eyes drifted up and Nancy saw what was causing him such delight. His toys were floating above the ceiling!

"See Michael?" Nancy heard her uncle say. "Magic is real, just like I told you."

Her brother could only nod, his face still flushed with excitement at the spectacle he was watching.

"Now remember Michael," Danny reminded him in a stern voice. "You must not tell anyone what I have just showed you. Not your friends, not even your parents. Do you understand?"

"What about Nancy?" Young Mike asked, his big eyes frowning slightly. "Can I tell her about your magic?"

Nancy held her breath, wondering what her uncle would say.

"No. Not even her," Danny responded and with a wave of his hand the levitating toys all rearranged themselves back in their proper place.

Mike looked sad but nodded all the same.

Nancy watched as their uncle rose to his feet and tucked her brother into his bed, wishing him a good night sleep.

Nancy raced back into her own room before Danny had left and spend the rest of the night thinking about what she had just witnessed. She hadn't been able to stop replaying seeing her brother's toys floating and that magic was real. It wasn't a fairy tale. When Nancy did manage to finally drift off to sleep, she thought about what else her uncle could do with magic.

The next day Barb had come over for a sleepover and Nancy had told her all about how her uncle had made Mike's toys float in mid-air.

"No way," Barb had said, "magic exists. You sure you weren't sleepwalking and just imagined it?"

"I'm serious," Nancy said. "Saw it with my own eyes."

Barb still was in total disbelief so Nancy had decided to show her friend first-hand. Whenever her uncle stayed with them, he slept in the basem*nt.

His face had remained expressionless as she talked about the events of the night before, although his lips did twitch slightly when she mentioned how she had also witnessed the levitating toys.

"You were tired. It was late. You must have dreamed it," Danny responded.

"No I didn't," an impatience Nancy replied. First Barb not believing her and now her uncle was trying to convince her it had been a dream? "I saw those toys floating with my own eyes, uncle. It really happened and you can't convince me otherwise!" There was defiance in her voice as a thought came to Nancy.

Danny let out a slight chuckle. "Okay, say it wasn't a dream and you did witness me performing magic in front of your brother. What makes you think I can't just wipe your memory of that moment?"

Nancy froze; her heartbeat speeding up. Her uncle could actually do that?

"Yes Nancy I can do that," Danny answered, as if he had read her mind. "You really need to work on your poker skills because you just gave yourself up." He rose to his feet and walked towards his niece who flinched in fear.

"Please!" Nancy begged as she back away from him. "Don't wipe my memories! I-I took a picture!"

Danny paused, his eyes lingering on Nancy."You did what?" He snapped.

"Yes!" Nancy said thinking quickly. She hadn't actually taken a picture but in the moment decided to go with it. "I took a picture of Mike's toys levitating last night so even if you wipe my memory I still have this photograph hidden in my room. And what's to say one day I don't find it accidentally?"

Danny stared hard at his niece. "You're lying."

"No I'm not," Nancy shot back, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "Look uncle, I'll give you the photograph on one condition."

"You aren't exactly in the position to make conditions Nancy," her uncle said. "I can do this with or without you."

"But with me would be easier."

"I've never shied away from a challenge."

Nancy leaned forward, meeting his gaze, the glimmer in her eyes matching his. "Neither have I."

"Fine," Danny consented. "What is your condition?"

"You show me and my friend Barb some magic just like you did with Mike last night."

"I'm not some performing monkey for you and your friend," Danny snarled. "You think this is a joke? There are rules in place that prohibit non-magical people from seeing magic. Sure I find them moronic and archaic but even I have to obey them!"

"Just wipe her memory after it's done then," suggested Nancy.

A small smile came over her uncle's face as he considered."You're smarter than I give you credit for, little missy. Okay I'll do it. What display of magic would you like me to show for you and your friend?"

Nancy nodded, accepting the terms. She thought quickly. Of course there was a billion things that she would want to see her uncle do with magic. In the end she settled on what she wanted:

"Can you show us what our future will be like?"

Danny's expression soured. It was clear that was not a question he was expecting. Nancy thought he might go back on his word or tell her to piss off instead of agreeing. She didn't break eye contact with him as she waited for him to speak, hoping he would do as promised.

"Very well. Bring your friend here in the next 20 minutes while I set up the necessities needed for this particular type of magic."

Nancy nodded and did as ordered bringing Barb down in the basem*nt 20 minutes later. Her uncle had set up a wooden table in the middle of the room and three wooden chairs. He mentioned for Nancy and Barb to sit down opposite him. They did so; Barb still deeply sceptical about the whole thing.

Danny lit a few candles and placed them strategically around the table. He then took out a deck of playing cards and shuffled them skilfully.

"Now, girls, I want you to focus your attention on the cards," Danny instructed. "Clear your minds and let the magic guide you."

Nancy and Barb exchanged glances, their curiosity mixed with a hint of scepticism. They had seen enough magic tricks performed by magicians, but this felt different. They knew that Danny possessed real magic, and they couldn't help but wonder what he was about to show them.

Danny spread the deck of cards face down on the table, and with a fluid motion, he waved his hand over them. As if responding to his touch, the cards began to levitate, floating in the air above the table.

Nancy and Barb gasped in amazement, their eyes fixed on the suspended cards. Danny manipulated them with precise movements, causing the cards to spin, twirl, and form intricate patterns in the air.

Then, with another wave of his hand, the cards arranged themselves in a neat stack and gently descended back onto the table.

"Wow," Nancy said, her voice filled with awe.

Barb blinked several times, trying to process what she had just witnessed. "That was incredible! I've never seen anything like it."

Danny smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. He then spread the cards face down on the table, inviting Nancy to choose one.

Nancy hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the cards. She finally selected a card, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Danny turned over the chosen card, revealing the image of a young man and woman, their hands entwined, surrounded by a vibrant garden. "The Lovers card is a symbol of deep connection, harmony, and unity. It represents the bonds that form between two individuals who share a profound and transformative love."

Danny closed his eyes in concentration, his hands resting gently on the card. "But the specifics of that connection elude me," his voice resonated with a serene yet mysterious quality, "It could refer to someone named Steve Harrington or Jonathan Byers, but the clarity escapes my grasp."

Nancy's heart fluttered at the mention of Steve's name, a rosy blush creeping up her cheeks. She couldn't help but entertain the possibility, the idea of Steve being the one with whom the Lovers card was intertwined. From the first time Nancy laid eyes on Steve, her infatuation had taken hold. She admired his effortless confidence, the way he effortlessly navigated social circles, and his ability to make everyone around him feel special. Steve seemed to possess a magnetic charm that captivated Nancy's impressionable heart, and she yearned for his attention.

She often would find herself daydreaming about stolen glances and secret conversations, envisioning a future where they would be the perfect couple, living out their own high school romance. She yearned for the day when she could be the girl on Steve's arm, the one who captured his heart completely. And now, the Lovers card seemed to validate those emotions!

But as Nancy's elation settled, she couldn't help but notice that Barb, who had been sitting silently beside her, seemed uneasy.

Danny's gaze shifted to Barb, his expression growing solemn. "Miss Holland, would you like to see what the cards have to say about your future?"

Barb hesitated, her eyes fixed on the table. After a moment, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, sir."

Danny reached out and selected a card from the deck, placing it face up in front of Barb. The image on the card sent a shiver down Nancy's spine. It depicted the skeletal figure of Death, a grim reminder of mortality.

Barb's face paled, her eyes wide with alarm. "What does this mean?"

Danny's face softened with empathy as he met Barbara's gaze. He spoke in a gentle tone, "Barb, my dear, the Death card is a complex symbol, and its interpretation is not as literal as it may seem. It represents profound change and transformation, the end of one phase and the beginning of another."

Barbara's voice cracked as she interrupted, her fear turning to anger. "But what about the end? What about death? Are you saying I'm going to die?"

"N-no, Barb," Nancy interjected, her voice filled with concern. "Uncle Danny didn't mean it that way. The Death card doesn't necessarily mean literal death. Right, uncle?"

But Danny did not give Nancy the hope she was after. He sighed heavily, his eyes cast downward, before finally meeting Nancy's gaze with a solemn look. "I wish I could say otherwise, Nancy," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "But in tarot readings, the Death card often represents transformation, change, and the end of a chapter. In your friend's case, death itself."

Barbara's frustration boiled over, and tears streamed down her face. She turned her gaze toward Nancy, her voice laced with bitterness. "You don't understand, Nancy! You don't know what it's like to face the possibility of your own death!"

Nancy's face fell, her eyes brimming with tears. She reached out to Barbara, her voice trembling. "Barb, I'm so sorry. I wish I could understand, but I'm here for you. We'll face this together."

Barbara recoiled, pushing Nancy's hand away. "No, Nancy! You don't get it! How can you possibly understand? You're not the one with the Death card hanging over your head. You can't possibly know what it feels like."

Nancy watched, her eyes wide with shock and horror, as Danny stood up, his expression pained yet resolute.

"Barbara," Danny began, his voice now in a tone of determination, "I cannot allow you to carry the burden of this knowledge. You see, my world, the world of wizards and magic, has long been governed by a set of laws—a delicate balance that ensures the secrecy of our existence. One of these laws prohibits non-magical people from witnessing or learning about magic. As a result, I'm going to have to wipe your memory of everything you've seen - the Death Card, the magic, all of it."

Barbara's eyes widened in alarm. "No, Uncle Danny, you can't do this. I want to remember. I want to face whatever comes my way."

Tears welled up in Nancy's eyes as she stepped forward, her voice filled with desperation. "Please, uncle, reconsider. Let her make her own choice. Taking away her memory is a violation of her autonomy."

Before Nancy could respond, Danny raised his hand, a surge of energy emanating from his palm. Barbara gasped as a wave of warmth washed over her, her mind clouding and memories dissipating like smoke. She clutched her head, her voice filled with confusion and fear. "What... What's happening to me?"

Nancy rushed to Barbara's side, her heart breaking as she witnessed the effects of Danny's memory charm. "Barbara, it's going to be okay. Just breathe. I'm here for you."

As the haze lifted, Barbara looked at Nancy, her eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and trust. "Nancy... I... What was I saying? I feel... I feel like I'm forgetting something important."

"It's nothing, Danny replied before Nancy could, his voice now soft and soothing. "Go upstairs to Nancy's room. She'll join you shortly."

Dazed, Barbara obeyed the command and slowly made her way upstairs to Nancy's room. Each step felt heavy, as if a weight had settled upon her shoulders. Confusion swirled in her mind, fragments of memories slipping through her grasp like sand. She couldn't shake the feeling that something crucial was slipping away, lost in the depths of her subconscious.

A heavy silence settled in the basem*nt she had left behind. Nancy's eyes were filled with tears, her body trembling with a mixture of anger and grief. She turned to face Danny, her voice shaking with emotion.

"Uncle, how could you?" Nancy's voice cracked as she struggled to find the right words. "You wiped Barbara's memories, erased everything we shared. She trusted us, and you just took it all away."

Danny's expression remained stoic, unmoved by Nancy's distress. "Nancy, I warned both of you about the price of magic. I told you the risks, the consequences. The rules are in place for a reason. If the existence of magic is revealed, it could bring danger, chaos, and harm to everyone involved. I had no other option."

Nancy's tears flowed freely now, her voice filled with a raw sense of betrayal. "And what about me, Uncle? What about my choice? Did you even consider how this would affect me? Are you going to wipe my memories of magic now too?"

Nancy's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Danny raise his hands, his fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. A surge of energy filled the room, crackling with an otherworldly power. She knew, deep down, that something irreversible was about to happen.

"Uncle, no!" Nancy's voice trembled with a mixture of horror and desperation. "Please, don't do this. I won't reveal the existence of magic. I promise."

As Danny completed the final gestures of the spell, a surge of energy enveloped Nancy, wrapping around her like an invisible shroud. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a sensation of something slipping away, being locked deep within her.

A sudden hollowness filled Nancy's mind, a void where her memories and thoughts about magic once resided. She frantically tried to grasp at them, but they slipped through her fingers like smoke. Panic gripped her chest, her breath coming in short gasps.

"No! What have you done to me?" Nancy's voice cracked, her body trembling with a mixture of horror and betrayal.

A pang of guilt resonated within Danny as he spoke the next words, fully aware of the impact they would have on Nancy. "The spell I just cast on you, Nancy, it will prevent you from revealing the existence of magic to anyone, even yourself. It's not just about keeping the secret; it's about safeguarding the existence of wizards."

With that, Nancy turned away from Danny, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth that was now locked deep within her.

As the door softly closed behind Nancy, Danny stood alone in the room, his face etched with a mixture of guilt and determination. He was now left wondering if the price they were all paying was too high, and if the cost of magic was indeed worth the pain it inflicted.

The memories of the spell cast upon her still haunted Nancy's thoughts, like a ghostly spectre that refused to be banished. The weight of silence felt even heavier now, especially in the wake of Barbara's abduction and murder. The signs had been there all along, hidden in the cryptic messages of the tarot cards. The Death card had come true, as had the Lovers card, though not in the way Nancy had initially interpreted.

Lovers. The word echoed through Nancy's mind, resonating with a newfound clarity. She now understood that the Lovers card referred to her and Jonathan. Their connection had transcended the ordinary, weaving its way through the tapestry of their lives, bringing them together in moments of both joy and tragedy.

As the car moved along the familiar roads of Hawkins, Nancy found solace in the memories she shared with Jonathan. She remembered the stolen glances and secret smiles, the moments of vulnerability and strength they had found in each other's arms. Their love had blossomed amidst the chaos and darkness that had engulfed their small town, and now it would be their anchor in the storm that lay ahead.

As the car pulled up in front of the familiar Wheeler house, a mixture of relief and apprehension filled the air. The journey had come to an end, at least for now, and Nancy felt a surge of emotions as she stared at the place she once called home. With a sigh, she shifted the gear into park and turned off the engine.

Danny knew his legs were still in pain from the injuries he sustained, but he had been hesitant to admit it. Now, he reluctantly acknowledged the need for assistance.

"Nephew," Danny said, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability, "I will need your help getting out of the car."

Mike's eyes softened, and without a word, he opened the car door and carefully supported his uncle as he gingerly stepped out. Danny winced, his body protesting against the movement, but he appreciated Mike's steadying presence.

Nancy emerged from the car, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. Memories flooded her mind, both joyful and painful, as she realized how much had changed since she last stood on this doorstep.

Together, the trio made their way up the front steps of the Wheeler house. The door swung open, revealing Karen, whose expression remained stoic upon seeing her brother.

Danny's gaze hardened, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Surprised to see me still standing?" He asked, his words laced with a hint of resentment.

Karen's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—surprise, concern, and a touch of guilt. She stepped aside, allowing Danny, Mike, and Nancy to enter the house. The air in the hallway felt charged with unspoken tensions as they faced each other, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the silence.

Nancy glanced at her mother, searching for any sign of remorse or understanding, but Karen's face was a mask of stoicism. "Danny," Karen finally spoke, her voice strained, "I didn't expect to see you like this. But you disappeared without a word. We didn't know if you were alive or—"

"Or dead?" Danny interrupted, his tone biting. "You think I would just vanish without a trace? That I would leave you all behind without a second thought?"

Karen's voice dripped with anger as she lashed out, her words biting like shards of broken glass. "It's never stopped you disappearing before, Danny."

Her accusation hung heavy in the air, a raw nerve struck. "You were young, in high school. You had mum and Nicholas looking after you. You didn't need me," Danny told her nonchalantly. Danny recalled by that point he, going by the name Roland Deschain, had completed his training as a gunslinger under the watchful eye of Cort, his mentor, and began defending the realm of the Westlands from various threats. His exceptional combat skills, masterful marksmanship and strategic acumen made him a formidable force to be reckoned with. Whether it was confronting bandits, outlaws, or supernatural adversaries, Roland's indomitable spirit and unwavering determination set him apart from other Gunslingers, earning him a reputation that grew with each passing tale.

Songs and stories had sprung up, weaving legends of Roland's exploits throughout the Westlands. The bards had painted him as larger than life, embellishing his triumphs and creating an aura of invincibility around him as a legendary figure whose exploits were whispered around campfires and sung in taverns. Yet, Roland never begrudged the exaggeration of his many exploits; the truth was often far more harrowing than the tales.

"Besides, you were busy dealing with teenage hormones and the cesspool of high school," Danny added. He leaned in close to Karen and added in a soft, mocking tone, "School was nothing more than a popularity contest for you, wasn't it? Oh by the way how long did it take before you finally worked up the courage to sleep with Ted I wonder?"

Danny's words hung heavily in the air, a harsh truth laid bare in the mist of the exchange. It was a low blow, and Danny knew it.

As the seconds passed, the weight of his words settled in, and a sense of regret washed over him. He had allowed his frustration and envy to get the best of him, and in that moment, he had used his sister's vulnerabilities as a weapon.

Karen, on the receiving end of this emotional strike, felt the impact like a physical blow. Her eyes, glistening with tears, bore into Danny's with a mixture of anger and despair.

"You think it's been easy for me?" Karen's voice trembled, her fists clenched at her sides as if she could physically hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to spill over. The room grew still, the tension palpable, as the siblings stood face to face, their connection strained and fragile.

"Half my life, my brother was gone!" Karen's voice cracked, the pain of years of longing seeping into every syllable. "I needed you, and you weren't there!" Her voice rose, filled with a bitterness she had long held onto, her resentment now finding an outlet.

"And now, what? You think you can just waltz back into our lives expecting us to be welcome with open arms?" Karen's glare intensified, her face contorting with bitterness and pain. The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity.

Danny's voice, when it finally came, held a hint of resignation. "I don't expect anything, Karen. I came here out of necessity, not desire." His words were laced with weariness, the weight of his choices and circ*mstances radiating from his weary frame.

Mike, who had been watching this back and forth, tried to intervene, his voice a desperate plea. "Can we please not do this now? Uncle Danny needs rest and recovery." His words were filled with concern, his eyes darting between Karen and Danny, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Karen turned her gaze towards Mike, her anger momentarily redirected. She took a deep breath, her fists slowly unclenching at her sides. The storm within her began to subside, replaced by a weary resignation. She knew Mike was right, that this wasn't the time or place to rehash the past.

With a final lingering look at Danny, Karen nodded, her voice softening. "Fine. But don't think for a second that this changes anything." Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, held a mix of longing and disappointment. She turned away, retreating from the confrontation, her emotions simmering beneath the surface.

"Okay, Uncle Danny, you can stay in the basem*nt. I'll do my best to make you comfortable," Mike said, relieved that the argument had subsided.

Mike guided his uncle down the narrow stairs to the basem*nt, the tension still palpable in the air. The light from the hallway spilled into the basem*nt, revealing a dimly lit expanse shrouded in mystery. The space seemed frozen in time, with the remnants of past eras coexisting among the present.

The walls, painted a pale shade of blue, bore the marks of age and neglect. Faint cracks webbed across the surface, as if the very foundation of the house held its secrets close. Vintage movie posters adorned the walls, their colours faded and edges frayed, evoking a sense of nostalgia for a bygone era.

The scent of dust and dampness hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of old books. A worn-out sofa, covered in a faded floral pattern, sat against one wall. Its cushions sagged with time, inviting weary souls to sink into its embrace. Nearby, a worn coffee table stood, its surface covered in a haphazard arrangement of books and magazines.

A small wooden desk, cluttered with notebooks, sketch pads, and art supplies, stood against one wall. The desk's surface bore the marks of countless creative endeavours, the remnants of artistic journeys yet to be fully realized. A worn armchair, its cushions tattered but comfortable, sat nearby, inviting visitors to sit and lose themselves in the world of imagination.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dog-eared novels, comic books, and fantastical tales that whispered of far-off lands and extraordinary adventures. A vintage record player sat atop a shelf, its needle poised to bring music to life with a crackle and a hum. A collection of vintage board games, their boxes worn from countless playing's, beckoned to be rediscovered.

In his mind's eye, Mike could see the makeshift fort he had constructed for Eleven, using old blankets and discarded boxes. The fort had been a symbol of their friendship, a shelter against the unknown. And now, it lay forgotten, tucked away in the recesses of his memory. A pang of guilt washed over Mike as he realized just how long it had been since he had set foot in this basem*nt.

Life had moved on, their group had grown apart, and the mysteries of the Upside Down seemed like distant nightmares. But now, as he stood there, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for those simpler times. In his mind, Mike could hear the echoes of laughter and whispered conversations he, Lucas, Will and Dustin had had, the excitement of their youthful imaginations running wild.

"You'll be comfortable here, Uncle Danny," Mike said, offering a reassuring smile. "It's not much, but it's quiet and private."

Danny nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing. His face remained stoic, his thoughts a well-guarded fortress.

Mike hesitated before speaking, mustering the courage to broach a topic that had long haunted his thoughts.

"Uncle Danny," he began, his voice filled with a mixture of nervousness and determination. "I've always wondered about our family's past. About my mom and what happened between her and you. Can we talk about it?"

Danny's face tightened, a mix of anger and frustration flickering in his eyes. He took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "There are things in this world, nephew, that are best left undisturbed. My past with Karen is one of them."

Mike's heart sank at his uncle's response, but he understood the weight of unresolved wounds. Still, his curiosity gnawed at him, urging him to press further. "I just thought….well since you're going to be staying with us; it would be a good idea to clear the air about whatever happened to make things so complicated between you, " he suggested gently as possible, his voice tinged with empathy and a genuine desire for resolution.

Danny's voice was a low, simmering growl. "Complicated doesn't begin to describe it. And I don't want to talk about it!"

Mike nodded, understanding his uncle's stance.

"Okay, Uncle Danny," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of acceptance and disappointment. "I won't push any further. I just want you to know that I'm here to help you, whatever you're going through."

For a moment, Danny's expression softened, a fleeting glimpse of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Michael. That means more to me than you know."

With that, Mike left his uncle to his thoughts, bidding him goodnight as he left.

Nancy's heart pounded in her chest as she descended the creaking stairs into the dimly lit basem*nt of the Wheeler house. Shadows danced on the walls, casting an eerie atmosphere that matched the storm brewing inside her. She had rehearsed this moment countless times in her mind, but now, facing her uncle Danny, the words caught in her throat.

When Nancy stepped into the dimly lit room, he looked up with annoyance etched across his face. She could sense his weariness, his desire to be left alone, but she couldn't stay silent any longer.

"I told you, Nancy, I don't wish to be disturbed," he snapped, his voice laced with irritation. The weariness in his eyes intensified, and he seemed on the brink of shutting her out.

Nancy's voice quivered with rage as she retorted, "Well, you're going to listen to me whether you like it or not!"

Danny's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the annoyance in his face softened, replaced by a flicker of shock. "You must be angry, you've never spoken to me like that," He noted, with a hint of amusem*nt in his tone.

Nancy's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice trembling with a blend of frustration and longing. "You and I have never spoken, not really. Not since you showed Barbara and me our future back when I was little. Do you remember?"

Danny's brows furrowed, his irritation mingling with confusion. He struggled to recall the specific incident Nancy referred let out an exasperated sigh, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Is that what this is about?" Danny asked, his tone laced with irritation.

Nancy met Danny's gaze with unwavering determination, her voice steady but tinged with raw emotion. "You didn't answer my question. Do you remember?"

Danny scowled, his eyes narrowing as he listened to Nancy's words. "I've lived long enough, Nancy," he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I can't be expected to remember the names of everyone who has died. I carry enough scars of the dead without having to add to them."

Nancy's eyes welled up with tears, her voice trembling with emotion. "But Barbara was my friend, uncle. She mattered to me. Don't you understand?"

Danny's expression hardened, his voice laced with weariness. "You think I don't understand pain? You think I haven't carried the weight of loss with me? I've seen too many people come and go, Nancy."

Nancy's voice rose to a yell, her words filled with pain. "Her name was Barbara! Barbara Holland! She was my friend, she died in 1983, just like the death card said!"

Recognition flickered in Danny's eyes, but instead of remorse, a cold indifference settled upon his features. "What do you want from me?" he asked callously, as if the news of Barbara's death meant nothing to him.

Nancy's anger flared. "An apology, uncle!" she shouted, her voice sharp with pain. "I want you to acknowledge the pain you caused. You predicted her death, you wiped her memory, and she died!"

Danny's eyes hardened, his voice filled with disdain. "Apology? Fine. I'm sorry, Nancy. Is that what you want to hear?" His words were empty, lacking any sincerity.

But Nancy shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, uncle. It's not good enough," she choked out. "You can't just say the words and expect everything to be forgiven. Barbara deserved better than that, and so do I."

Danny sneered, his words dripping with venom. "You're just like your mother, Nancy. Both of you won't accept my apologies, no matter how many times I say them." He paused, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "The lovers card worked out well for you, didn't it? You married Jonathan, got your dream career. Climbing over someone else to get what you want."

Nancy's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "You don't understand anything," she spat out, her voice shaking with anger and hurt. "I've worked hard for everything I have. And I am never like you, uncle. I actuallycareabout people."

Danny's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he listened to Nancy's words. His voice carried a hint of defensiveness as he responded, "I had to wipe Barbara's memory, Nancy. If I hadn't done it, the Aurors would have. And trust me, they wouldn't have been as gentle. They could have botched the memory charm, leaving both of you with extreme amnesia or even brain damage. You should be grateful that I knew what I was doing and performed the charm properly

A mirthless smile played on Nancy's lips as she gazed at Danny with a mix of sadness and defiance. "It sounds like a lonely way to live, uncle."

Danny's expression flickered, a mixture of resignation and regret etching lines on his face. He watched as Nancy turned away, her steps echoing in the empty basem*nt.

Left alone in the dimly lit room, Danny let out a quiet sigh. His voice, barely above a whisper, escaped into the stillness. "It wasn't always lonely."

A memory flashed vividly in Danny's mind, transporting him to a time long past.

Then

Danny took a deep breath and stepped through the weathered wooden door, his heart pounding with anticipation. As he crossed the threshold, he felt a tingling sensation ripple through his body, a sign of the magic that transported him to the vast nation of Andor in the heart of the Westlands. The world around him shifted, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a bustling city square.

The sights and sounds that greeted him were unlike anything he had ever experienced. Vibrant market stalls lined the cobblestone streets, their colourful awnings fluttering in the breeze. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices blending into a symphony of haggling and banter. The air was thick with the aroma of exotic spices and freshly baked bread, enticing Danny's senses.

Gazing upward, Danny marvelled at the architectural wonders that surrounded him. Towering structures, adorned with intricate stonework and soaring spires, reached for the sky.

The streets were alive with people from all walks of life. Men and women, dressed in a myriad of colourful garments, moved with purpose and determination. Noblewomen in flowing silk robes strolled alongside farmers in worn leather boots. Children played in the open squares, their laughter echoing through the air.

As Danny ventured further into the square, he found himself surrounded by the architectural wonders that defined Andor's landscape. Towering structures rose in elegant splendour, their walls adorned with elaborate stonework and delicate carvings. Arched windows allowed the sunlight to filter through, casting patterns of light and shadow upon the cobblestones below.

The buildings showcased a harmonious blend of styles, reflecting the diverse influences that shaped Andor's history. Turrets and spires reached towards the sky, a testament to the nation's grandeur and ambition. Each structure seemed to have a story of its own, whispering secrets of times long past.

As Nickolas and Danny strolled through the bustling streets of Caemlyn, the capital city of Andor, anticipation hummed in the air. The city thrived with life, its rhythm echoing the heartbeat of a nation steeped in history and tradition. Towering buildings lined the streets, their facades whispering tales of bygone eras.

As they approached the mighty gates of the Royal Palace of Andor, Danny's eyes widened in awe. The palace itself was a sight to behold. It stood tall and proud, with multiple tiers and wings that stretched out in all directions. The central structure, the heart of the palace, rose high into the sky, its architecture a stunning blend of intricate carvings and delicate filigree. Golden accents adorned the windows and balconies, catching the sunlight and casting a warm, ethereal glow.

Flanking the main entrance to the palace were colossal, ornately designed gates. Crafted from iron and reinforced with steel, the gates stood as guardians, protecting the secrets and treasures held within. Elaborate patterns, reminiscent of Andor's heraldry, were intricately wrought into the metal, signifying the lineage and noble heritage of Andor's ruling family.

Nickolas paused, his gaze fixed on the palace, and Danny sensed the weight of history in his stepfather's eyes. It was as if each stone held a story, waiting to be shared.

"Danny," Nickolas began, his voice filled with reverence, "the Royal Palace of Andor represents the heart and soul of our nation. It has stood here for centuries, witnessing the rise and fall of kings and queens, and serving as a beacon of strength and unity."

Two guards, clad in the resplendent armour of the Queen's Guard, stepped forward, their expressions stern and unwavering. With a firm voice, one of the guards commanded, "Halt! State your business and present your credentials."

Danny's heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting between the guards and Nickolas, confusion writ large on his face.

Nickolas, however, remained calm and composed. He straightened his posture, a glint of recognition in his eyes. "I am Barid Farshaw," he declared, his voice steady. "Son of Min Farshaw and Rand al Thor and a member of the royal family. This is my stepson, Danny."

The guards' stern expressions melted into shock and surprise. They exchanged quick glances, their faces paling as they realized the gravity of their mistake. With deep bows and hurried apologies, they stepped aside, allowing Nickolas and Danny to pass.

Danny's mind raced with questions as they walked through the palace gates. The revelation of Nickolas's lineage had shaken him to the core, and he struggled to comprehend the implications of this newfound knowledge. He glanced at Nickolas, his voice trembling as he spoke, "You're... part of the royal family? Why didn't you tell me?"

Nickolas sighed, his gaze filled with regret. "Danny, I wanted to share this part of my life with you in my own time. It's a complicated history, one that I wanted to deal with in my own time before telling either you or your mother. I'm sorry for keeping it a secret."

As they made their way through the palace corridors, the air seemed charged with an air of reverence. Servants scurried to and fro, their eyes widening in recognition as they caught sight of Nickolas. Whispers rippled through the halls, spreading the news of his arrival.

Danny couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and unease. He had always known Nickolas as a kind and caring stepfather, but now he realized that there was a part of him he had never truly understood

As they entered the inner chambers of the palace, Danny's eyes widened at the opulence that surrounded him. The palace's custodians spared no expense in ensuring that every detail was perfect, from the meticulous care given to the ornate furnishings to the floral arrangements that adorned every available surface. The fragrance of roses and lilies danced through the air, mingling with the subtle hint of beeswax, creating an olfactory symphony that added to the grandeur of the surroundings.

As they entered the inner chambers, Danny's eyes widened further, taking in the magnificence that awaited him.

In the center of the chamber stood a massive oak table, polished to a mirror-like sheen. It was adorned with an array of delicacies that could only be described as fit for kings and queens. Platters of roasted game, succulent fruits, and decadent pastries tempted Danny's senses, their tantalizing aromas beckoning him forward.

Servants moved gracefully through the room, attending to the needs of the guests with practiced efficiency. They glided silently, their eyes downcast in deference, their footsteps barely registering on the plush carpets that lined the floor. Their presence added to the sense of opulence, their unwavering dedication a testament to the importance of the event unfolding before them.

Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn, sat at the head of the grand table, his presence commanding attention. Time had etched lines upon his face, weaving a tapestry of wisdom and weariness. Though his once fiery red hair had dulled with age, it still clung to his head in a tousled mane, framing a weathered countenance that bore the weight of countless battles and the burden of prophecy fulfilled. His eyes, once a vibrant shade of blue, held a hint of exhaustion, yet still burned with an indomitable spirit, a reflection of the power that coursed through his veins.

Dressed in fine, tailored robes of deep crimson, Rand cut a striking figure at the table. The fabric, touched by the skilful hands of master craftsmen, fell in graceful folds around his tall frame. Its rich, velvety texture seemed to absorb and reflect the flickering light of the chandeliers, casting a warm, almost ethereal glow upon him.

The robe's sleeves were wide and voluminous, allowing for a range of movement while still maintaining an air of elegance. The cuffs, adorned with intricate golden threadwork, caught the light with every gesture, adding a touch of brilliance to the ensemble.

Around his waist, Rand wore a wide belt, crafted from the finest leather and adorned with a gleaming golden buckle.

Seated to his left was Elayne Trakand, the Queen of Andor, radiating regal grace. Her golden hair, cascading in loose waves, was adorned with a delicate crown, its jewels glittering like stars in the night sky. Her emerald-green eyes, sharp and astute, surveyed the room with a mix of intelligence and maternal warmth. Elayne's attire, a gown of the finest silk in Andor's royal colours, draped elegantly around her form, accentuating her youthful beauty. Its bodice, fashioned from rich, ivory silk, was delicately embroidered with intricate patterns of golden thread, symbolizing the unity and prosperity of the realm she ruled. The neckline, modest yet alluring, drew the eye to her graceful collarbones, accentuated by a necklace of sapphires and diamonds that sparkled like stars in the night sky.

From her waist flowed a voluminous skirt, resplendent in a deep, royal blue hue that mirrored the azure skies of Andor. The silk shimmered with every step, catching the light and casting a soft glow upon her radiant presence. The skirt, expertly tailored, billowed out in gentle waves, gracefully pooling around her feet as she moved.

Beside Elayne sat Aviendha, her presence radiating a captivating blend of strength, grace, and exotic beauty. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back. Her piercing, intense eyes, the colour of deep amber, held a magnetic allure, reflecting her deep connection to the world around her. She wore a flowing dress in earthy tones, mirroring the colours of the Aiel Waste, with delicate beaded fringes that swayed gently as she moved. The dress, made from fine Aiel fabrics, showcased intricate patterns and symbols that bore testament to her warrior lineage and her commitment to honour and duty.

Embroidered on the hem of her dress were representations of the spear, the symbol of her warrior prowess, and the leaf, symbolizing her deep connection to nature and the land. The dress was cinched at the waist with a braided leather belt, adorned with small metal trinkets that jingled softly as she moved, paying homage to her Aiel heritage.

Around her neck, Aviendha wore a necklace crafted from rough-cut gemstones, representing the vibrant colours of the Aiel Waste. The stones, carefully chosen for their hues and energy, caught the light and seemed to flicker with an inner fire, symbolizing her strength and resilience.

Her footwear consisted of sturdy leather boots, designed for traversing various terrains, reflecting her time spent in the harsh desert sands and her readiness for any challenge that lay ahead.

Completing the trio of Rand's wives was Min Farshaw. Her chestnut curls cascaded in loose waves, framing her face and accentuating her expressive hazel eyes that shimmered with intelligence and curiosity.

She wore a form-fitting jacket in deep burgundy accentuating her slender frame with a captivating allure. The leather, soft to the touch, carried a subtle sheen that caught the light, casting a warm glow upon her presence. Intricate stitching adorned the seams, a testament to the attention to detail and craftsmanship that went into its creation, further enhancing its visual appeal.

The jacket's design featured a high collar that accentuated the graceful arc of Min's neck. It tapered down along her torso, following the curves of her body in a tailored embrace, cinching at the waist to emphasize her feminine silhouette. The snug fit of the jacket showcased her slender waist and the elegant lines of her figure, exuding a blend of sensuality and strength.

Paired with the jacket, Min wore slim-fitting pants in a complementary shade of dark charcoal. The tailored cut of the pants elongated her legs, lending an added air of sophistication to her ensemble.

Around her neck, a pendant hung on a delicate chain, featuring a small crystal that seemed to capture and refract light, symbolizing her intuitive powers and connection to the unseen threads of destiny.

The atmosphere in the hall hummed with a mixture of anticipation and revelry, the clinking of goblets and the murmur of voices blending into a cacophony of sound. But amidst the boisterous crowd, Rand's attention was drawn to the figure approaching the table —

Nickolas seemed nervous, his eyes darting back and forth, uncertainty etched across his face. Rand's heart ached at the sight, a mixture of joy and regret welling up within him. He had missed so much of his son's life, and now, faced with this unexpected reunion, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his absence

"Barid," Rand's voice cut through the room, calling Nickolas by his birth name instead of the one he had adopted during his time away. The sound of his father's voice seemed to hang in the air, drawing the attention of those seated around the table.

Min turned her head at the mention of the name. Her eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. She stared at Nickolas, her gaze locked with his, and then, as the truth sank in, she broke into tears.

The room fell silent as Min's sobs filled the air, a raw expression of emotion that echoed through the chamber. All eyes turned to her, the room seemingly holding its breath as the weight of the moment settled over them.

Nickolas, frozen in place, looked at Min with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. He took a hesitant step forward, his voice barely a whisper. "Mother?"

Min, her tears flowing freely, rose from her seat and rushed towards Nickolas. She threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The room seemed to fade away as mother and son were reunited, their shared longing and separation melting away in the warmth of their embrace.

Rand, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him, watched the scene with a mixture of awe and gratitude. He had dreamed of this moment for years, imagined what it would be like to see his son again and witness the reunion between mother and child.

As Min and Nickolas held each other, their tears mingling, Rand felt a profound sense of joy and fulfilment. It was a moment of healing, a moment that made all the sacrifices and hardships they had endured worth it.

Rand stepped forward, joining the embrace of his wife and son.

Nickolas, still embraced by his mother Min, turned his attention towards Aviendha and Elayne, Rand al'Thor's other two wives. They stood side by side, their eyes filled with tears and hope, eager to welcome Nickolas back into their lives.

Aviendha, her voice trembling with raw emotion, took a step forward. Her eyes shone with a mixture of joy and relief. "Barid... we never thought we would see you again," she whispered, her voice laced with gratitude. "You've grown into a remarkable young man, strong and resilient."

Elayne, standing beside Aviendha, nodded in agreement, her voice filled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. "It's truly a miracle to have you back with us, Barid," she said, her voice quivering with suppressed tears. "We've missed you more than words can express, and now that you're here, it feels like a dream come true."

Nickolas, still in the embrace of his mother, released her gentle hold and took a step forward, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you both. I have missed you both dearly."

Aviendha and Elayne, overcome with emotion, rushed forward, enveloping Nickolas in a group hug.

Min's eyes widened as she noticed a glimmer of gold on her son's hand. Her gaze fixated on his ring finger, where a wedding band adorned his finger. A rush of emotions flooded her, catching her off guard.

Her heart raced as she tried to process the sight before her. Nickolas, her sweet boy, was married. It was a realization she had not expected, and it stirred a mix of emotions within her. Pride, joy, and a tinge of sadness intertwined as she gazed at the symbol of commitment on his finger.

"Barid," Min's voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes never leaving his ring. "Is that... a wedding band?"

Nickolas glanced down at his hand, his face filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Yes, Mother. I am married. Wendy is my wife, and this ring represents our love and commitment to one another."

Just as the news began to sink in, Nickolas turned to Danny who had been standing nervously at the edge of the room. Danny, his stepson, looked up at Nickolas with wide eyes, his hands fidgeting with nervous energy.

"And this is Danny," Nickolas introduced him, a smile tugging at his lips. "He's Wendy's son, my stepson. Danny, these are your grandparents, Rand, Elayne, Aviendha and Min."

As Danny's eyes travelled from one figure to the next, he couldn't help but feel a wave of self-consciousness. The contrast between his humble upbringing and the opulence surrounding him was stark, and he worried that he would appear out of place. He took a tentative step forward, his voice filled with a mixture of shyness and curiosity. "Hello, Grandfather and Grandmothers. It's nice to meet you."

Rand's eyes met Danny's and a warm smile creased his weathered face as he placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Welcome, grandson," he said, his face carrying a sense of kinship and understanding. "My son has been gone for some time and to now return with a stepson... it does my heart well."

Danny's nervousness intensified as he heard the word "grandson" escape his now-grandfather's lips. The weight of the moment settled upon him, that he now had a place within this magnificent family.

Rand's eyes seemed to bore into Danny's with an intensity that seemed to penetrate deep into his soul. "You have suffered pain, have you not?" His voice was steady, resonating with a mix of empathy and curiosity.

Danny nodded in agreement.

Rand leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering, and a flicker of recognition danced in his eyes. "You are well now, grandson. There will always be those who are cruel to you. Such is life. But unlike before, you have a family that loves you. Including a grandfather who asks only the chance to act, for once, not as a king, but as a grandfather should," Rand said.

Danny looked over his shoulder at his father. Nickolas nodded slightly, smiling.

Danny looked at Rand.

Danny was many things. He had a furious temper, for one. But he was not, as yet, good at holding grudges.

He nodded.

Rand smiled. "May I give my grandson a hug?" he asked. Despite his immense responsibilities as the Dragon Reborn and King, Rand possessed a surprising tenderness within him, particularly when it came to his friends and family.

Danny nodded again, and embraced his grandfather. As he laid his cheek into the soft fabric of Rand's robes and felt the reassuring solidity of the muscle and bone of his shoulder beneath, Danny felt happy for the first time since the Overlook Hotel and he couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

The memory of embracing his grandfather lingered in his thoughts, its vividness fading but leaving behind a bittersweet residue.

As Danny prepared himself for bed, annoyance washed over him like an unwelcome visitor. He chided himself for allowing such happy moments to seep into his consciousness, for daring to remember the warmth of Rand's embrace and the flicker of hope that he had momentarily believed he had a new family. These memories, though tender and comforting, seemed to taunt him with their fleeting nature, highlighting the stark contrast to his current reality.

Danny sighed, the weight of his emotions settling heavily upon his shoulders. He climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, seeking solace in the darkness that enveloped him.

In his sleep, Danny found himself back at the Overlook Hotel, its grand corridors stretching out before him. The familiar scent of old wood and dust filled his nostrils, triggering a sense of foreboding. As he walked through the desolate hallways, whispers echoed around him, carrying the weight of lost souls. The air grew colder with each step, icy tendrils crawling up his spine, as if warning him of the impending dread that awaited.

The door to Room 237 creaked open, and Danny's heart raced. He knew what awaited him inside—the grotesque woman, the embodiment of his deepest fears. The room was a distorted maze of mirrors, reflecting his terror back at him from all angles. He tried to turn away, but an invisible force compelled him forward.

In the distance, he could hear the faint sound of an axe striking wood, the echoes reverberating off the walls like a macabre symphony. It was the sound that had forever etched itself into his memory—the sound of his father, Jack Torrance, succumbing to the madness that had consumed him.

Danny's heart raced, his body drenched in a cold sweat as he frantically searched for an escape. But the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, leading him deeper into the heart of the hotel's darkness. The flickering light of the overhead lamps cast eerie shadows on the walls, distorting the already twisted reality before him.

As he turned a corner, a door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in an ethereal glow. Danny hesitated, his instincts warning him of the terror that lay within. But a magnetic pull drew him closer, compelling him to step across the threshold into a nightmarish tableau.

The room was frozen in time, frozen in the exact moment when his father had turned on him and his mother, Wendy. The air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. His mother's screams echoed in his ears, each cry piercing through his soul like a knife.

Sweat beaded on Danny's forehead as the nightmares intensified. The Overlook Hotel's malevolence seemed to seep into his very being, its grip tightening around his psyche. He tried to scream, but his voice was stifled, trapped within the ethereal realm of dreams.

Suddenly, Danny awoke with a start, his chest heaving, and his body drenched in perspiration. The room was silent, save for the sound of his own ragged breaths. He sat up, rubbing his temples, desperately trying to shake off the lingering fear.

He took several deep breaths, attempting to steady his racing heart and calm the tremors that still reverberated through his body. The echoes of his mother's screams and the haunting image of his father with the axe lingered in his mind, but he knew he had escaped the clutches of his nightmares, at least for the moment.

Gathering his strength, Danny swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, determined to shake off the lingering terrors that plagued him. His gaze fell upon an old, discarded record player nestled in a corner, partially obscured by a layer of dust.

Danny made his way toward the forgotten relic. He brushed off the layers of neglect, his fingers leaving trails in the dust as he revealed the worn surface beneath.

Danny's eyes darted across the album covers, his fingertips tracing their edges. His search was methodical, yet there was an underlying yearning, a desire to find solace in the familiar strains of a beloved song. And then, as if guided by an unseen force, his eyes fell upon a weathered record sleeve bearing the name "California Dreamin" by The Mamas & the Papas.

Gently, he lifted the record from its resting place, cradling it in his hands. The years had left their mark, etching delicate scratches across its surface, but Danny handled it with care. He blew away the dust, his breath mingling with the echoes of memories that stirred within him.

Placing the record onto the turntable, Danny watched as the needle descended, finding its groove. As the opening notes of the song emerged from the speakers, Danny closed his eyes and in an instant, Danny was transported back to his and Samael's dorm room at Ilvermorny in 1965.

Samael had managed to smuggle in a precious treasure—a record player—along with a collection of vinyl records, including the coveted album "California Dreamin".

As the needle touched the vinyl, the mellow voices of The Mamas & the Papas echoed through the room. The music flowed like a gentle breeze, enveloping them in a cocoon of sound and emotion.

Danny couldn't help but tap his foot to the beat. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he moved to the centre of the room, his body swaying with an infectious rhythm. Samael, unable to resist the call of the music, joined him, his quick feet moving in perfect sync with Danny's.

But it was Diana, with her hair cascading down her back, who added a touch of grace to their exuberance. She danced between the two boys, her movements a delicate balance between freedom and elegance. Alternating waltzes with each of them, she spun, her flowing robes twirling with her, as if caught in the whimsical embrace of the music.

Danny's laughter filled the room as he twirled Diana, his eyes shining with unabashed delight. Samael, his sly smile widening, took turns dancing with both of them, his feet gliding across the floor with effortless grace.

The dorm room seemed to expand, morphing into a boundless dance floor where time stood still. The world outside, with its rules and expectations, ceased to exist.

As the song reached its crescendo, their energy peaked. They collapsed onto the bed and the floor, breathless but exhilarated, laughter mingling with the fading echoes of the music.

Listening to "California Dreamin" had become a ritual for Danny now whenever he had a nightmare of the Overlook Hotel. The memory of Danny, Samael and Diana dancing to the song back at Ilvermorny was one of the few good memories he could call on along with the lyrics to chase away the restless ghosts of the past.

As Danny's eyelids grew heavy with sleep, the vinyl spun lazily on the turntable, its purpose fulfilled for the night. With a contented sigh, Danny finally surrendered to the embrace of slumber.

Two weeks had passed since Danny's return to the Wheeler family home, and during that time, several owls begun turning up at the doorstep, each carrying a letter addressed to him. At first, Danny ignored their presence, as if their hooting and tapping at the windows were mere annoyances.

Then, curiosity began to gnaw at him. He had cautiously accepted the letters but, upon recognising the sender's name, refused to open them, his face a mask of stern resolve.

But as days turned into nights and the letters continued to arrive, something within Danny snapped. One evening, as he sat in the living room with Mike, Karen, Ted and Holly watching television, a particularly ornery owl landed on the front of the doormat, its beak tapping impatiently on the door. The letter it carried was from someone who wouldn't be dismissed so easily.

With a snarl of frustrated, Danny opened the front door, sized the owl, carried it into the living room, grabbed the letter and, without hesitation, thrust it into the fireplace. The parchment curled and blackened as the flames consumed it, his anger manifesting in the furious blaze.

The owl itself screeched in protest, feathers ruffling, and took flight, its indignant hoots echoing as it vanished into the night.

The days turned into a strange and uncertain routine for the Wheeler family. For weeks on end, Danny found solace in the basem*nt, ignoring the persistent hooting of the owls and their unopened letters and refusing to leave or allow anyone to enter. Mike would take to setting down a meal for him outside the door.

Alone, Danny picked at the meals without appetite, though less and less every day, and tried to read, though seldom and attempted to sleep. That he tried more often as the days passed, not caring whether the sun was down or high. Sleep came in fitful snatches, and what harrowed his waking thoughts, also stalked his dreams and chased him awake too soon for any rest. Why would his dreams not let him be? From one dream he always sprang awake before it more then began, to lie there filled with self-loathing and muddled with lack of sleep, but the others...He deserved them all, he knew.

The face of his mother confronted him in his sleep, her voice coldly and loudly calling him a failure. Wendy, along with the members of his original ka-tet who had died for him arrayed behind her in silent staring rank. Judging him, judging his actions. He knew their faces as well as his own. From those dreams, he woke weeping.

Other times he would dream of floating in blackness. These dreams were quite peaceful actually; or at least they started off that way.

The face of Jack Torrance, his father, seemed to float before him in the darkness. Danny heard his laughter in the dark, saw the mockery in his smile. "Look at you," his voice boomed. "My son, the so-called Gunslinger, now can't even sleep properly. So obsessed with the past he has become acoward! A weakling! Pathetic."

"No," Danny whispered quietly.

His father heard him. "Worse than pathetic," he said. "A miserablefailure." Cracks down his face, fissures opening in the flesh, and he reached up and ripped the mask away. It was not Jack at all; it was the Man in Black, grinning, mocking him.

"A miserablefailureindeed," Randall Flagg laughed as the word failure seemed to echo all around Danny until he woke shaking in a cold sweat.

"I am not a coward," Danny whispered at the walls sometimes, and sometimes shouted at them, "I am not a failure!"

Again and again Wendy's face appeared in his dreams, repeating that he was a failure, until he flinched at her words like they were blows of a whip, flinched in his sleep when she appeared. In dreams and waking he raged at them all, Wendy, Nickolas, Jack, Randall, shouted at them, screamed for them, and only silence answered. Alone.

Danny's defiant solitude in the basem*nt persisted, and Mike couldn't help but be curious about what exactly his uncle was doing.

On the morning of the fourth week, when the house was cloaked in a warm and welcoming sunlight, Mike crept to the basem*nt door. Gently, he pushed the door open just a crack, just enough to peer inside. The sight that met his eyes was nothing short of astonishing.

In the brightly lit room, Danny paced back and forth, his steps purposeful but agitated. He had not changed his clothes since first shutting himself away. Floating pencils, enchanted by his magic, danced through the air, their graphite tips tracing intricate lines on the concrete walls. To Mike's amazement, one entire wall of the basem*nt bore a meticulously detailed map of the United States of America, every state labelled with precision. On the opposite wall, a separate map depicted the town of Hawkins, down to the smallest streets.

The basem*nt floor was strewn with a chaotic mess of healing potions and Wizarding newspapers. The remnants of countless letters lay scattered among them, like fallen soldiers in a forgotten battle.

As Mike watched, Danny took a swig from one of the bottles of healing potion, and the flicker of magic around him intensified for a moment before subsiding. It was then that he noticed Mike's presence.

"Michael," Danny's voice was calm but tinged with a weariness that went beyond the physical. "I thought I asked not to be disturbed."

Mike hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the basem*nt, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry, Uncle Danny, but well…you've been down here for weeks and I thought I'd check in on you."

Danny's eyes, normally sharp and commanding, were softer now, and he sighed as he regarded his nephew. "I understand your curiosity, Michael, but there are things here you're better off not knowing."

Mike's gaze fell upon the newspaper headlines, each one a snapshot of a world he barely understood.

"I can't help but worry," Mike admitted. "About you, about what you're doing here. And what's with all the owls outside? And the letters?"

Curiosity mingled with frustration in Mike's eyes as he crossed his arms, awaiting an explanation. Danny took a deep breath, his hands gesturing towards the scattered newspapers and maps.

"I'm looking for a particularly person," he explained vaguely. "This name is Walter but he is known by many names: Randall Flagg, the Man in Black. He is an elusive shadow, a puppeteer pulling strings of fate, sowing chaos and reaping the rewards. I have traversed through the multiverse, visited countless parallel worlds similar to this one. But each time he eludes me, slipping through my fingers just as I have been on the brink of capturing him. In many ways, this pursuit of Walter has become my very existence."

Having absorbed the weight of his uncle words, Mike found his voice trembled slightly as he asked the question he wanted to know, "Uncle, is this Walter the one attacked you in the forest? Is he the reason you were half-dead when we found you?"

Danny shook his head slowly. "No, Michael," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of years of pursuit. "That was not Walter. That was Nyarlathotep; an equally elusive prey who I believe can lead me to Walter, if I can capture him."

Mike's eyes widened in astonishment, his mind struggling to grasp the enormity of the revelation. "Why would capturing Nyarlathotep lead you to Walter?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Danny's solemn expression deepened as he met Mike's gaze. "Because, nephew, Nyarlathotep is Walter's father," he said, his voice a low rumble that carried the weight of a profound truth. "What son wouldn't come to save his father?"

A hushed silence hung in the air as the implications of Roland's words settled upon them.

"Why would Nyarlathotep be here in Hawkins? What purpose could he have in this small town?" Mike asked.

Danny, ever the enigmatic gunslinger, offered a shrug in response, his gaze fixed on some distant point on the horizon. "Nyarlathotep moves like the shifting winds," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "His motivations are as elusive as his true nature. It is difficult to discern why he chooses the places he does."

Mike's frustration simmered beneath the surface as his uncle's vague answer failed to satisfy his thirst for understanding. He pressed on, determined to unravel the secrets that threatened the safety of his family and his town.

"But is Hawkins safe? Are my family and friends in danger?" Mike's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and urgency, his eyes searching Danny's face for any hint of reassurance.

Danny's steely gaze met Mike's, his features locked in a stoic mask. "Safety is a fleeting concept, nephew," he replied cryptically. "In the presence of a being of unfathomable power such as Nyarlathotep, one can never truly be certain."

Mike's frustration grew, his patience wearing thin. He needed answers, a glimpse of the truth that lay shrouded in secrecy. He stepped closer to his uncle, his voice tinged with desperation.

"But you must know something, Uncle Danny," Mike pleaded, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "I need to know if my family is safe, if the people I care about are in danger. Is that why the owls are here? Are they a warning?"

Danny's gaze remained fixed on the maps. "The owls are irrelevant, as is the message they carry. What matters is finding Nyarlathotep and through him, Walter," he replied, a sense of urgency in his voice.

Mike, torn between concern and anger, pressed further, "But what if we don't want to be involved in all of this? Are we just supposed to accept the hundreds of owls and letters outside our house? We can't ignore this, Uncle Danny!"

"You won't have to worry, nephew," Danny replied. "Because I intend to capture Nyarlathotepalone. The consequences will be mine alone to deal with."

"So, it doesn't matter to you, does it? What happens to my family, or the town for that matter? As long as you get your prey, right?" Mike shot back.

Danny's weathered features remained impassive. "Nephew," he replied, his voice tinged with a solemn tone, "you misunderstand. Any life lost is a tragedy. But sometimes, the pursuit of justice demands sacrifices."

Mike's fists clenched, his frustration boiling over. "Sacrifices? Are you saying that sacrificing innocent lives, destroying an entire town, is justifiable in the name of justice? How can you stand there and be so detached, so uncaring?"

Danny's gaze met Mike's, and for the first time, a flicker of sadness danced within his eyes. "It is not that I am uncaring, Michael," he said. "But I focus on the bigger picture. Indeed for many years I have made it my business to discover as much as I can about Walter's past life. I have travelled widely, keeping an eye open for sources of information that could be of use to me. The identity of his parentage is, I believe, the only way to finally put an end to him once and forever. Nothing else matters. Certainly not several stupid owls."

A tense silence filled the room as Danny's words hung in the air. Mike's anger simmered, his eyes narrowing in defiance. After a moment's hesitation, he exploded, his voice echoing through the basem*nt.

"Read the letter, then! If it's so irrelevant, read it! It's addressed to you specifically!"

Danny's face contorted with surprise, caught off guard by the sudden outburst. He locked eyes with Mike, their gazes locked in a clash of wills. After a brief pause, Danny relented, his expression softening.

"All right, Michael. I'll read the damn letter. But I won't let whatever it says distract me. The search for Nyarlathotep is my priority."

Mike's anger subsided slightly, his shoulders sagging with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. He nodded, his voice now tinged with resignation. "Fine, read it."

Danny stepped outside, his determination unwavering. The owls, perched on the nearby branches, seemed to watch him with a mix of curiosity and caution. He approached them cautiously, his hand reaching out in a swift motion, snatching one of the owls from the air. The creature squawked in protest, feathers ruffled, but Danny paid it no mind.

With the owl secured in his grip, Danny retrieved the letter, its envelope bearing his name in elegant script. He allowed himself a moment of anticipation before carefully opening it, his eyes scanning the words within.

As he read, a mix of surprise and concern washed over Danny's face. The contents of the letter had not been what he expected.

"What does it say, Uncle Danny?"

Danny took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the letter in his hands. "It's an invitation, nephew. I've been invited to attend Sam Owens's funeral. They're laying him to rest today, in New York."

Mike's eyes widened, realization dawning upon him. "New York? Today? That's... that's far away. Are you going?"

Silence enveloped the room once more as Danny retreated into the depths of his thoughts. The internal battle waged within him, weighing the importance of the funeral against the relentless pursuit for Nyarlathotep. After a brief moment, Danny emerged from his contemplation, his decision etched on his face.

A few minutes later, Danny reappeared from the basem*nt, dressed in a dark funeral suit and showered (Mike had all but begged him to). The garment clung to his frame, tailored to perfection. The jacket, black as midnight, hugged his shoulders with a sombre elegance. Its fabric, smooth and rich, carried an air of sophistication and gravity.

The trousers, a matching shade, tapered down his legs, accentuating his purposeful strides. The crisp white shirt, concealed beneath the jacket, provided a stark contrast against the darkness of the suit. The tie, a simple yet refined black silk, added a touch of formality to the ensemble.

Danny's eyes bore into Mike's, a mixture of determination and reassurance.

"Michael, I promise you, as soon as it's over, I'll return to Hawkins. My search won't end."

Mike nodded, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "I trust you, Uncle Danny. Just be careful, alright? And come back soon."

With a nod of gratitude, Danny disapparated from sight with a loud crack. The air shimmered momentarily, as if his presence had been erased from the world. The silence that followed was profound, the echo of his departure lingering in the space they once shared.

The funeral for Sam Owens took place on a crisp, overcast afternoon. The location chosen for this farewell was the historic Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, a place of beauty and tranquillity that offered a stark contrast to the bustling streets of the city.

Green-Wood Cemetery, with its sprawling 478 acres of rolling hills, pristine gardens and centuries-old trees, was a final resting place for many notable figures in New York's history. As attendees arrived at the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, they were met with the hushed ambiance of solemnity and respect that permeated the air.

The funeral procession wound its way through the cemetery's winding roads, lined with tall, ancient tombstones and statues that seemed to watch over the mourners. The path led to a picturesque clearing, where a simple yet elegant canopy had been erected, shielding the gathering from the occasional drizzle that threatened from the sky.

Underneath the canopy, rows of chairs were neatly arranged, and at the front stood a polished wooden casket surrounded by wreaths of flowers in various shades of blue, a nod to Sam's dedication to his work, both as a scientist and a protector of the magical world.

Mourners, a mix of friends, colleagues and representatives from various supernatural communities, began to fill the seats. They came from all walks of life, each with their own unique connection to Sam. Some wore traditional funeral attire, while others donned robes and cloaks.

At the front of the gathering, a podium stood ready for the eulogies and remembrances that would honour Sam's life and work. Behind it, a large picture of Sam in his prime captured his warm smile and keen, inquisitive eyes.

Danny apparated in front of the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. He paused for a moment, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings. The cemetery was eerily quiet, save for the faint whispers of the wind through the leaves.

Feeling a twinge of fatigue from his recent Apparition, Danny reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a bottle of healing potion. He uncorked it and took a sip, feeling the revitalizing energy flow through his body.

As he was about to take another sip, a voice interrupted him. A wizard, wearing sombre robes, approached him with an air of officiousness. "Excuse me," the wizard said, his tone stern. "You can't bring your own alcohol here."

Danny arched an eyebrow, his piercing gaze fixing on the wizard. "It's a healing potion, you idiot," he replied curtly, his voice carrying the unmistakeable edge of irritation.

The wizard blinked, clearly taken aback by Danny's response. He stammered for a moment before regaining his composure. "My apologies, sir," he mumbled, stepping back and quickly retreating.

Danny shook his head in mild frustration then took another sip from the potion. The pain that had gnawed at him just moments ago began to fade, replaced by a renewed sense of vitality.

As he ventured deeper into the cemetery, Danny's footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. As he navigated the labyrinthine paths, he noticed the canopy in the distance.

Each step he took the canopy drew nearer. The sounds of hushed whispers and stifled sobs filled his ears, emphasizing the solemnity of the occasion.

Step by step, the distance between Danny and the canopy diminished. His breath caught in his throat, a knot forming as he seemed to struggle to compose himself. The weight of the loss settled upon his shoulders, threatening to buckle his knees, but he pressed on.

Danny, choosing to keep a low profile, settled in a seat at the far end of the canopy. He watched as one by one the attendees also took their seats.

As the clearing quieted, a hush fell over the gathering. The air crackled with anticipation, and all eyes turned toward the podium. A figure emerged from the gathering. Buffy Summers, the famed Vampire Slayer, stepped forward, her presence commanding attention. She wore a flowing black dress that accentuated her lithe figure, the fabric draping elegantly around her.

Buffy's golden hair cascaded in soft waves around her shoulders, the strands catching the sunlight and shimmering with a touch of sorrow. Her piercing green eyes, usually filled with determination, now held a hint of vulnerability as she approached the podium.

Clearing her throat, Buffy began her eulogy, her voice filled with a mix of reverence and raw emotion.

"Today, we gather to say goodbye to a guardian, a mentor, and a friend. Sam Owens...my godfather," she began, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "He was a guiding light in my life, a source of wisdom and strength when I needed it most."

"Sam knew the true nature of our world, the dangers that lurked in the shadows," Buffy continued, her voice steady but filled with a touch of sadness. "He understood the sacrifices we make, the battles we fight, and the toll it takes on our souls. Yet he never wavered in his commitment to protect and preserve the balance between our realms."

She spoke of Sam's unwavering dedication to fostering peace between all magical beings and his unyielding belief in the power of good. Buffy's words resonated with the mourners, many of whom had faced their own trials and tribulations under Sam's guidance.

"He was a guardian, yes, but he was also a friend," Buffy said, her voice softening. "He showed me that strength is not just about physical prowess, but about the strength of character, compassion, and the willingness to stand up for what is right."

"Sam, you taught me that even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope," Buffy concluded, her voice filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "Your presence will be sorely missed, but your spirit will live on in each of us who had the privilege of knowing you. Rest in peace, my dear godfather, knowing that your legacy will endure."

A hushed silence followed Buffy's eulogy, her words lingering in the air like a solemn vow. Buffy stepped away from the podium, her gaze lingering on the picture of Sam.

As the hushed silence lingered, another figure stepped forward from the gathering. Peter Owens, middle-aged but bearing a resemblance to his late father, approached the podium with a mixture of grief and gratitude etched upon his face. Dressed in a dark suit, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly groomed, Peter took a deep breath and began his own eulogy, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and warmth, resonating with the depth of a son's love for his father.

"Today, we gather not only to mourn the loss of an extraordinary man but to celebrate the life of a remarkable father," he began, his voice tinged with emotion.

Peter's words carried the weight of a lifetime of memories, of a father's unwavering presence and the profound impact he had on shaping the man Peter had become. He spoke of the countless times his father had been there, offering guidance, support, and unconditional love.

Peter's voice trembled slightly as he spoke of the lessons learned from his father, the wisdom imparted through stories and quiet conversations.

"My father was a man of integrity, compassion, and unwavering dedication," Peter said, his voice filled with pride. "He taught me the importance of standing up for what is right, even when it felt like the world was against you. He showed me that true strength lies not in physical might, but in the courage to fight for justice and protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"I stand here today, not only as Sam Owens' son, but as a living testament to his legacy," Peter concluded, his voice filled with a mix of grief and determination. "My father may no longer walk among us, but his spirit lives on in the hearts of all those whose lives he touched. I will carry his love, his teachings, and his unwavering belief in the power of good, for as long as I live."

A profound silence settled over the gathering as Peter stepped away from the podium, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a seasoned veteran of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), stepped forward with a stoic demeanour that belied the depth of his emotions. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his silver hair neatly combed.

Danny couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise as a "muggle" like Gibbs took his place among the witches, wizards, and vampires in the audience.

Gibbs began his eulogy with a steady voice, his tone laced with a touch of nostalgia and admiration. "I first met Sam Owens during Operation Desert Storm," he began, his words resonating with the weight of memories. "I was a Marine sniper, and he was our unit's medic. We were thrown together in the chaos of war, and little did I know that our lives would become forever intertwined."

Gibbs' voice painted a vivid picture of their time in the desert, the dust-filled air, and the constant threat of danger that surrounded them. He spoke of the bonds forged amidst the chaos, the camaraderie that had blossomed in the face of adversity.

"The day Sam saved my life, I'd been caught in a fire fight and been shot five times," Gibbs continued, his voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and solemnity. "I was down, bleeding out, and Sam ... he pulled two .38s out of my arm, and another two out of my thigh. The fifth was in my chest, and my lungs were filling with blood. Owens he... he inserted a needle into my chest and managed to draw the blood away. A few minutes later I was stable enough for surgery. Sam told me he found the .38 lodged inside the wall of my bronchus. And that was that. He stitched me up and because of him I'm alive today now."

"He was more than just a medic," Gibbs said, his voice filled with a gruff tenderness. "He was a guardian angel in the midst of hell. Sam had this way of keeping us grounded, reminding us of the good that still existed in the world, even when we saw what the horrors of war and the evil men can do in front of our eyes."

"As the years went by, Sam and I went our separate ways, but the bond we forged on that battlefield never faded," Gibbs concluded, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. "He was a loyal friend, who saved my life. I am forever grateful for his presence in my life."

The sombre atmosphere held steadfast as the next speaker approached the podium. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward. "Today, we gather to bid farewell to a man who dedicated his life to the pursuit of harmony between muggles and the wizarding communities," he began, his words carrying the weight of his esteemed position. "Sam Owens was not only a dear friend of mine, but a beacon of hope for unity and understanding."

"He possessed an unwavering belief in the power of peaceful coexistence," Kingsley continued, his voice filled with warmth and conviction. "Sam understood that we are all connected, that our differences should be celebrated rather than feared. He tirelessly worked towards bridging the gap between our worlds, fostering friendships and alliances that have had far-reaching impacts."

"With Sam's passing, a gaping hole has been left in our hearts," Kingsley confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "But we must not let grief consume us. We must allow it to fuel our determination to continue his work, to carry his legacy forward."

Kingsley expressed his hope that the loss of such a remarkable individual would inspire others to stand up for what Sam had believed in — a world where muggles and wizards could coexist in harmony.

"And to the person responsible for this heinous act," Kingsley's voice grew firm, his eyes flashing with a mix of sorrow and resolve, "know that we will not rest until justice is served. Sam Owens's light may have been extinguished, but his legacy will endure, and we will ensure that the darkness that took him from us will not prevail."

As Kingsley stepped away from the podium, applause erupted from the mourners, a crescendo of appreciation for the Minister of Magic and his poignant eulogy.

Kingsley, touched by the outpouring of emotion, stood among the applauding crowd with a humbled expression. His eyes shimmered with a mix of pride and sadness as he absorbed the collective appreciation bestowed upon him.

As the applause gradually subsided, the final person to speak rose and walked towards the podium. It was Cathy Owens, Sam's widow. She was clad in a mourning attire of deep, sombre black. The dress, modest in its design, draped gracefully over her form, emphasizing her poise and grace. Its dark hue seemed to absorb the light around her, as if mirroring the heaviness in her heart.

"My friends," Cathy began, her voice tinged with both sadness and gratitude, "today, we gather to remember a man who touched our lives in immeasurable ways. Sam Owens was a beacon of strength, compassion, and unwavering dedication."

"He believed in the power of connection," Cathy continued, her voice filled with warmth. "Sam had a unique ability to truly see people, to listen, and to understand. He possessed an uncanny intuition, knowing when a kind word or a simple gesture could make all the difference in someone's life."

"And let us not forget his love for adventure," Cathy said, a fond smile crossing her lips. "Sam had a spirit that longed for exploration, for discovering the hidden wonders of the world. He instilled that same sense of wonder in our son and goddaughter, guiding them to embrace life's adventures with open arms."

She went on to describe Sam as a devoted father, recounting stories of family trips, laughter-filled evenings, and the countless bedtime stories he had woven with love.

As her words reached their conclusion, Cathy's voice quivered with a mix of sadness and gratitude. "Though our hearts ache with his absence, let us remember that Sam's legacy lives on within each of us," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "His spirit, his kindness, and his unwavering love will forever guide us on our own journeys."

A hush fell over the gathering as Cathy stepped away from the podium. Mourners rose from their seats, offering embraces and words of comfort, their hearts touched by the depth of her words.

The eulogies had come to a close. Now came the hard part for Danny. Mingling, small talk, and navigating social waters had always been a challenge for him, a discomfort rooted deep within his being.

He knew he couldn't simply slip away unnoticed; it was time to pay his respects and offer his condolences to Cathy Owens.

He approached Cathy, who stood surrounded by a small group of well-wishers, their expressions a mix of sombreness and support. Her eyes, still filled with traces of tears, met his, and a soft smile graced her lips. The warmth in her gaze eased Danny's unease, reminding him that he was not alone in his grief.

"Danny," Cathy greeted him, her voice carrying a gentle cadence. "Thank you for being here. Sam spoke of you with great admiration."

"I... I barely knew Sam," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "I only met him three times in my life and even then they were brief and fleeting."

"That may be true, Danny, but sometimes, even brief encounters can leave a lasting impact," Cathy explained, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Sam spoke often of the young boy he spoke to after the destruction of the Overlook Hotel."

"I remember," Danny finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I remember being that boy, lost and scared. Sam... he listened. He understood."

As the conversation continued, Danny found solace in Cathy's presence. She possessed a genuine warmth and a natural ability to put others at ease. It was a stark contrast to his own discomfort in social settings, his mind racing to find the right words and fearing he might stumble over his own thoughts.

Danny approached Buffy, her grief palpable in the heaviness of her eyes and the weight of her shoulders. He knew that words alone could not erase her pain, but he hoped that sharing his own experiences might provide some solace, some understanding in the midst of her sorrow.

"I know how you feel," Danny began gently, his voice carrying the weight of empathy. "A lot of people are gonna tell you that. Whether it's the truth or not, I don't know. But I know it's true when I say it. I have been right where you are, thinking the same thing. Thinking I don't want to live without them. Don't see the point. Still do most days. But here I am... living without them."

Buffy's gaze met Danny's, her eyes searching for a glimmer of understanding. She listened, her heart heavy but open to the words he shared. "Why?"

Danny took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "An Apache scout told me once... that when you love somebody, you trade souls with them. They get a piece of yours, and you get a piece of theirs. But when your love dies... A little piece of you dies with them. That's why you hurt so bad."

He paused, allowing the weight of that truth to sink in. The pain of loss, the emptiness in one's soul, it was all too familiar to him. He understood the depth of Buffy's grief.

"But," Danny continued, his voice filled with a quiet resilience, "that little piece of him is still inside you. And he can use your eyes to see the world."

Danny reached out, gently placing a hand on Buffy's trembling one. "You carry his love, his memory, within you. And through you, he can experience life in a different way. It may not take away the pain, but it gives purpose to your existence, a way to honour his memory and keep him alive within you."

He offered a small, understanding smile as he gave Buffy's trembling hand a reassuring squeeze before stepping back to allow other mourners to offer condolences.

As the group shifted, introducing themselves and sharing memories of Sam, Danny felt a pang of self-consciousness. It wasn't just a recent development; even back in Andor, during his time in the Westlands, he had felt like a fish out of water.

As the mourners began to disperse, Danny found himself lingering on the outskirts of the gathering, observing the subtle dance of conversation between acquaintances. The thought of engaging in small talk made his stomach churn, a sense of dread gnawing at him. He recalled the countless attempts by Min and Elayne to teach him proper royal etiquette

Min had tried to instil in him the importance of charming conversation, of effortlessly navigating social circles with wit and grace. Elayne, on the other hand, had emphasized the significance of diplomacy and the art of small talk in maintaining alliances and fostering goodwill. But try as he might, Danny had never quite grasped the intricacies of these social expectations. Perhaps it was his American heritage, he mused, that caused him to view small talk as superficial and insincere.

As he watched the other mourners engaging effortlessly, Danny's sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar figure he recognized immediately, even from a distance.

"Matthew," Danny murmured under his breath, his lips barely moving as he approached him.

The vampire, Matthew De Clairmont, turned his head in Danny's direction, his keen senses alerting him to the gunslinger's presence. Dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, he exuded an air of refined elegance that seemed to complement the solemnity of the occasion. The suit, crafted from the finest materials, hugged his frame perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean physique.

His jet black hair, swept back with meticulous care, accentuated his angular features and drew attention to his piercing blue eyes, which held a depth and intensity that hinted at centuries of wisdom and experience. The subtle lines etched on his face spoke of a life well-lived, a testament to the passage of time as a creature of the night.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and a knowing smile tugged at the corner of Matthew's mouth. The funeral service continued around them, but the two men paid it little heed as they finally closed the gap and clasped hands in a firm, brotherly handshake.

"Daniel," Matthew said, his voice a low, melodic purr. "It's been far too long."

Danny nodded in agreement, his expression stoic. "Indeed, it has."

Their memories flashed back to the summer in 1994,where they had crossed paths in the south of France. Matthew had invited Danny to his family's chateau in Cannes, a grand estate that had been in the De Clairmont family for generations. It was there, amid the sprawling vineyards and sun-drenched landscapes, that their friendship was born.

"I remember that summer," Danny said, his eyes distant as he recalled those carefree days. "You made me your drinking buddy, and we spent countless nights in the chateau's cellars, sampling the finest wines."

Matthew chuckled, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "You had quite the taste for Bordeaux, if I recall correctly."

"And you, my friend, were an excellent host," Danny replied, a rare hint of warmth in his tone. "We even ended up in that casino in Monte Carlo, trying our luck at the tables. Do you remember?"

Matthew's laughter filled the air, a rich, infectious sound that drew the attention of some nearby mourners. "How could I forget? We were quite the spectacle, weren't we? The casino staff didn't know what to make of us."

"So you were invited to come to this funeral too? How did you know Sam Owens?" Danny asked.

"Sam Owens and I crossed paths years ago," he began, his voice carrying a hint of wisdom. "He was one of the few humans I have ever met that shows respect for my kind. It is only fitting that I pay my respects."

As their conversation unfolded, Danny's eyes caught sight of a nearby waiter, deftly manoeuvring through the crowd, offering glasses of red wine to the mourners. Danny motioned towards the waiter and suggested, "Shall we raise a glass in Sam's honour?"

Matthew, ever the embodiment of grace, welcomed the suggestion with a nod. The two men approached the waiter, each taking a glass.

Raising their glasses in unison, Danny and Matthew paid homage to Sam and took a sip, the taste of the wine lingered on their tongues. The shared act of remembrance brought a brief respite from the weight of grief that permeated the air.

Turning his attention towards Matthew, Danny's voice carried a touch of concern. "Matthew, how are things with your family?"

Matthew's face tightened slightly. The De Clairmonts, led by the formidable patriarch Philippe de Clairmont, held a position of prominence within the vampire hierarchy. As pillars of vampire society, their power and influence extended far beyond the mortal realm, woven intricately into the fabric of European vampire politics.

Within the intricate web of vampire politics, the De Clairmonts stood as key players, their connections and alliances shaping the delicate balance of power. However, beneath their united front lay a deep-rooted rivalry between Matthew and his older brother, Baldwin. Both possessing formidable strengths and unwavering determination, their clash embodied the struggle for dominance within the family.

While Matthew sought to bridge the divide between the vampire and human worlds, embracing scientific knowledge, Baldwin staunchly adhered to the traditional vampire ways. Fiercely protective of their kind, he viewed any deviation from established norms as a threat, resisting Matthew's progressive inclinations.

This rivalry between brothers, fuelled by their differing ideologies, had caused strains and layers of tension to the De Clairmont family.

Matthew sighed heavily, his expression clouded with deep-seated frustration. "Danny, I wish I could say that things have improved with my family, but the truth is, Baldwin and I are still not on speaking terms," he admitted. "It's made even more difficult by the fact that Baldwin seems to be at the beck and call of the Congregation."

"Stupid idiot," Danny said darkly, acutely aware of the strain that the rivalry between Matthew and Baldwin had placed on their relationship. The weight of Baldwin's allegiance to the Congregation had evidently further driven a wedge between the two brothers.

Situated in the enchanting city of Venice, the Congregation served as the main European governing body for the three supernatural races—daemons, witches, and vampires. Led by a council of nine, with three representatives from each order, the Congregation held the weighty responsibility of regulating conduct and maintaining order among the races.

The origins of the Congregation traced back to the time of the crusades, a period marked by the misuse of supernatural abilities that attracted unwanted attention from humans. Recognizing the need to protect their kind from human scrutiny and potential harm, Philippe de Clermont spearheaded the establishment of the Congregation.

The primary objective of the Congregation was to uphold a covenant—a solemn agreement forged among the creatures. This covenant stipulated strict rules and guidelines to prevent interference in human politics and religion. Furthermore, it emphasized the importance of maintaining a clear separation between the various races, discouraging romantic entanglements that could potentially upset the delicate balance of power.

When creatures violated the covenant, it fell upon the Congregation to rectify the situation, acting as the moral compass and enforcer of justice within the supernatural world. Their role extended beyond merely preserving the harmony between the races; they bore the responsibility of safeguarding the secrets and identities of the supernatural beings from the prying eyes of humanity.

"You said it, Danny," Matthew responded, his voice laced with bitterness. "He's become nothing more than a puppet, dancing to the Congregation's tune."

"What about the Magical Congress here in the United States? How do they view the Congregation?" Danny asked.

Matthew's expression turned sombre. "The relationship between MACUSA and the Congregation has been strained for some time now. MACUSA has expressed concerns over the Congregation's overreach of power and their tendency to act without consulting other governing bodies. They believe in a more democratic approach to decision-making and collaboration."

Danny's eyes widened with realization. "So, the Congregation seems to have a history of clashing with other magical governing bodies as well."

"The Congregation was meant to protect us," Matthew mused, his voice tinged with a mix of longing and frustration. "But it feels like we've become prisoners of its regulations. The covenant, the rules... They're suffocating our ability to truly live, to forge our own path."

"Plus, it's not just me or MACUSA who have grievances against the Congregation," Matthew went on. "The International Confederation of Wizards also has long had a contentious relationship with them."

Danny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The International Confederation of Wizards? I had no idea. Why the tension?"

"It seems that the Congregation's practices and policies have rubbed them the wrong way. The ICW perceives the Congregation's strict regulations as stifling and overly controlling. They believe in a more inclusive and progressive approach to supernatural governance."

"What about the vampire families?" Danny asked. "How do they fit into this struggle?"

"The vampire families of Pointe du Lac and the Mikaelson family are no strangers to conflict," Matthew replied. "They have their own histories, feuds and rivalries, but when it comes to the Congregation, they find themselves one the same side more often than not. They view the Congregation as having too much power and authority over vampire politics in Europe."

"This is why I hate politics," Danny muttered, his voice heavy with exasperation. "It seems like there's always some power struggle happening somewhere."

Matthew leaned in, his voice low and contemplative. "The upcoming Presidential election here in America has raised concerns not only among my kind but also among the Congregation and with the Mikaelson family in New Orleans. Viktor de Lioncourt's candidacy has ignited quite a debate."

Danny's eyes twitched slightly at the mention of Viktor de Lioncourt. The name alone carried weight, striking a nerve within him.

"You can't be serious," Danny scoffed, shaking his head. "Viktor de Lioncourt running for President? It's preposterous. The last thing we need is a vampire in the highest office of the land."

Matthew leaned back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Precisely why it has sparked such controversy. Some argue that Viktor's immortality and centuries of experience make him the ideal candidate. They believe his unyielding wisdom and ability to navigate complex issues could bring much-needed change. It's a prospect that's sending ripples of unease through both the Congregation and the Mikaelson family."

Danny absorbed this information, his mind racing through the potential implications. "And what do they fear, precisely?"

Matthew's voice held a note of caution. "The fear is that Viktor, as President, could shift the balance of power in unforeseen ways. There's concern that he might prioritize vampire interests over the delicate equilibrium currently maintained. It could lead to tensions, perhaps even conflict."

As if vampire interests aren't prioritized enough already, Danny thought bitterly. "I've seen how vampire influence can overshadow the concerns of ordinary witches and wizards," Danny said, his voice tinged with frustration. "Our country is already grappling with a lack of positive social action and instead chooses to repress the true self and be a participant of the horrors all around. We have a President currently who is incompetent and unconcerned with justice so long as the status quo of power is maintained. I'd like to have words with him if I could."

"You may get your chance now," Matthew remarked. He pointed towards the front of the seats, where a figure in a tailored suit stood offering his sympathies to the grieving widow. Danny hadn't noticed him while he was sitting in his seat at the far end of the canopy but now he recognised the figure. It was President Jeremiah Thornwood of the Magical Congress of the United States.

Danny's eyes followed Matthew's gesture, and he observed President Thornwood with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The President wore a tailored charcoal-grey suit, expertly crafted to fit his form. The suit's lines were clean and sharp, accentuating his lean physique. A silver pocket square peeked out of his breast pocket, adding a touch of sophistication to his ensemble. Beneath the suit, he wore a crisp white shirt, its collar impeccably starched, and a deep red tie.

President Thornwood's eyes were a striking shade of deep blue, reminiscent of an endless expanse of calm waters.

Approaching Cathy, President Thornwood's expression softened, revealing a genuine compassion for her loss. His voice, a deep and resonant baritone, offered words of comfort and solace.

Danny's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he cast a piercing glare at Matthew. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Matthew taunted, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "You wanted to talk to him."

Danny's response was a mixture of annoyance and determination. With a curt nod, he turned away from Matthew and began to navigate the sea of mourners. The room seemed to grow smaller, and the air seemed to thicken with anticipation as he made his way towards President Thornwood, who was still engrossed in conversation with Cathy Owens.

However, just as Danny took a step forward, his path intercepted by an unexpected obstacle. His heart sank, and he swore under his breath as he recognized the figures approaching from the corner of his eye. It was Viktor de Lioncourt, accompanied by his enigmatic wife, Rose.

Danny's frustration deepened at the sight of the vampire couple. He knew all too well the extent of their sway within the magical community. Their presence at the funeral only served to amplify the sense of disillusionment that had fuelled his grievances.

Viktor de Lioncourt's tall and imposing figure commanded attention as he strode through the crowd, his jet-black hair framing his pale, chiselled face. His eyes, a striking shade of crimson, burned with an intensity that could unsettle even the most resolute of souls. They seemed to hold secrets untold, a depth of knowledge that surpassed the mortal realm. As he moved with effortless grace, his gaze swept across the room, observing everything with a calculated awareness.

Viktor's attire was a testament to his refined taste and status within the vampire hierarchy. He wore a tailored suit that embraced his athletic physique, accentuating his broad shoulders and commanding presence. The suit, a deep shade of midnight blue, was crafted from the finest fabric, its sheen catching the light in a way that hinted at otherworldly allure.

Yet, despite his undeniable charisma and allure, there was an undercurrent of danger that clung to Viktor. It was in the way his eyes lingered on the crowd, as if assessing their worth like a predator sizing up its prey. It was in the subtle curl of his lips, hinting at a hidden smirk that spoke of his calculated nature and the power he held at his fingertips.

The mourners in the room exchanged glances, their gazes shifting nervously as Viktor's presence grew more pronounced. Some whispered among themselves, their voices filled with awe, while others cast wary glances in his direction. His status as a vampire, coupled with his enigmatic nature, made him both intriguing and unsettling to those who stood in his wake.

Arm in arm, Rose walked alongside her husband. As they moved gracefully, the couple seemed to glide through the sea of mourners, their connection apparent in their synchronized steps.

Dressed in a black ensemble, she, like her husband, exuded an air of elegance and sophistication. However, it was the nature of her attire that caught the eye and stirred whispers among the mourners.

Rose's choice of clothing, while undoubtedly striking, bordered on the edge of inappropriateness for such a sombre occasion. Her black dress, with its plunging neckline and form-fitting silhouette, left little to the imagination. The fabric, a luxurious satin, clung to her curves with an audacious confidence that seemed at odds with the solemnity of the funeral.

The neckline, daringly low, revealed a teasing glimpse of décolletage, drawing attention to her ample bosom. It seemed to defy the traditional norms of mourning attire, challenging expectations with its audacious display of sensuality. Delicate lace accents adorned the edges of the neckline, adding a touch of delicate femininity to the otherwise provocative design.

The dress gracefully hugged Rose's hourglass figure, accentuating her curves in a way that seemed almost intentional, as if she sought to assert her allure even in the face of grief. The skirt, cut to just above the knee, showcased her toned legs, further adding to the provocative allure of her ensemble.

As Rose moved, the dress shimmered in the light, its ebony hue mirroring the depths of her husband's immortal gaze. The fabric seemed to caress her every movement, whispering secrets of seduction as it swayed gently against her body.

Completing her daring look, Rose wore a pair of black stiletto heels that added height to her already statuesque frame.

Rose's raven-black hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, framing her striking features. Her makeup, impeccably done, accentuated her natural beauty with a touch of smoky eye shadow, sculpted cheekbones, and a bold red lip. The contrast between her dark attire and the vibrant hue of her lips was a testament to her unapologetic defiance.

Around her neck, Rose wore a single, striking piece of jewellery—a black onyx pendant, intricately designed and suspended from a delicate silver chain. The pendant, a symbol of strength and protection, seemed to mirror her own unwavering resolve.

Whispers circulated among the mourners, their eyes alternating between curiosity and disapproval. Some were taken aback by Rose's bold fashion statement, viewing it as a flagrant display of impropriety. Others, more open-minded, recognized the underlying strength and individuality that radiated from her choice of attire.

Yet, despite the controversy, one thing remained undeniable—Rose's presence along with Viktor's was impossible to ignore.

Viktor's demeanour was as confident as ever, and he wore a self-assured smile as he approached Danny. It was the same smile that had belittled him during his school years, the same expression of superiority that had made Danny's time at Ilvermorny a living nightmare.

Even back then, Viktor had an air of superiority and arrogance that was hard to ignore. It wasn't helped by the fact that Viktor was the first vampire to be enrolled as a student alongside witches and wizards in Ilvermorny's history. Danny, meanwhile, had been a quiet and reserved student, even when he had established his friendship with Samael and Diana. But for some reason, Viktor had singled Danny out for his cruel amusem*nt.

It had started innocently enough; with Viktor mocking Danny's refusal to use a wand in their first year. Little had Danny known that the seemingly harmless taunt would set the stage for a relentless cycle of torment and magical mistreatment. Viktor, always quick to seize an opportunity to belittle Danny, took every chance to ridicule and humiliate him at every turn, calling him weak and unworthy of magic.

Viktor's relentless mockery was a constant presence in Danny's life, a shadow that lurked in every corner of the school. In Potions class, Viktor would snigg*r from across the room as Danny struggled to master the delicate art of potion-making.

During Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, Viktor would intentionally pair up with Danny for duelling practice. He danced around him, his movements fluid and precise, while Danny's spells missed their mark or fizzled out weakly.

With each failed attempt, Danny's frustration grew, a seething anger boiling beneath the surface. He longed to prove himself, to silence Viktor's taunts once and for all. But try as he might, Viktor's mastery of magic seemed insurmountable, as if the vampire had an innate advantage over him.

"Is that all you've got, Danny? Pathetic," Viktor would sneer, his voice carrying a cruel satisfaction.

But the torment did not end there. Viktor's sad*stic nature knew no bounds. During study sessions in the library, Danny would find his concentration shattered by intrusive thoughts and haunting memories. Viktor subtly invaded his mind, planting suggestions and triggering painful recollections that left him emotionally raw and vulnerable.

Quills would dance in mid-air, dipping and scribbling on their own accord, mocking Danny's attempts to study. Even his lunch became a source of amusem*nt for Viktor, as sandwiches and apples would suddenly plummet from above, splattering onto the ground with a sickening thud.

In the end, Viktor had succeeded in his malicious quest to destroy Danny's future. Expelled from school, Danny had been left to grapple with the harsh reality that his magical education would forever remain incomplete, his dreams of graduating and securing a job within the esteemed Magical Congress forever out of reach.All because of you and your disgusting lies, Danny thought as anger and resentment coursed through his veins.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Danny. The very person who had orchestrated his downfall now stood on the cusp of even greater heights, using his cunning and manipulation to ascend the ranks of power. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that Viktor was now held up as a great figure of success that could very well make history as the first-ever vampire candidate for President of the Magical Congress should he win the nomination.

Taking his eyes off from Viktor, Danny's gaze settled upon Rose. His eyes narrowed, and a flicker of disbelief passed across his face.What the hell was she wearing? This is a funeral, not a fashion show, he thought to himself, his lip curling in disgust.

The vampire couple looked more suited for an extravagant gala than a funeral in Danny's eyes. This was neither the time nor the place for such flamboyance. Sam Owens deserved a dignified farewell, an occasion where respect and grief took precedence over personal displays of wealth and style.

Danny's anger simmered beneath the surface, intertwining with the resentment he held towards Viktor.

"Danny Torrance," Viktor said with feigned surprise as he reached him, his voice dripping with false charm. "What asurpriseto see you here. I trust you're doing well?"

Danny clenched his jaw, refusing to be baited by Viktor's condescending tone. "As well as can be expected, considering the circ*mstances," he replied evenly.

Viktor's gaze shifted to Matthew, who stood beside Danny. A grin crossed his face and he extended a hand in greeting.

"Matthew, my old friend," Viktor said, his voice friendly and warm as he attempted to grasp Matthew's hand. "It's been too long."

Matthew, however, remained cool and composed. He acknowledged Viktor's extended hand with a nod but didn't make any effort to shake it. His eyes held a hint of scepticism as he regarded Viktor. "Viktor," he replied in polite indifference. "It has indeed been a while."

Matthew's reserved response sent a subtle message, one that Viktor couldn't ignore. He withdrew his outstretched hand, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Viktor quickly regained his composure and turned his attention back to Danny.

"I must say, Danny, I never expected to see you here," Viktor remarked, his voice laced with false concern. "After all that transpired between us, I assumed you would have vanished into obscurity. After all you did always prefer to skulk in the shadows."

Danny's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he locked eyes with Viktor. "While you always enjoyed the spotlight, haven't you, Viktor?" Danny's voice dripped with a mix of disdain and bitterness. "But unlike you, I don't feel the need to show up just for the sake of being seen."

Viktor chuckled condescendingly. "Always the brooding loner, aren't you, Torrance? Some things never change."

Danny's patience wore thin, his frustration boiling over. He shot back, unable to hold back his sarcasm any longer. "And some things change for the worse, Lioncourt? I see you're still as insufferably arrogant as ever."

Danny's biting remark hung in the air, the tension between him and Viktor palpable. The mourners around them exchanged uncomfortable glances, sensing the brewing conflict.

Viktor's crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he regained his composure. He leaned in closer to Danny, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm. "Ah, Danny, still nursing that wounded pride, I see. Tell me, how does it feel to be a failure, destined to wallow in mediocrity?"

Danny took a deep breath, attempting to keep his composure. He wouldn't let Viktor's taunts get to him, not this time.

"Failure?" Danny scoffed, his tone laced with bitter irony. "Funny, coming from the one who thrives on tearing others down to elevate himself. But I suppose that's what makes you the perfect candidate for President, isn't it? A master manipulator, skilled in the art of deceit."

Viktor's gaze flickered with a mixture of amusem*nt and annoyance. "Ah, so you've been keeping up with my political aspirations. I must say, I'm flattered by your interest," he replied, his voice dripping with faux humility. "In my role as Secretary for Foreign Affairs and Magical Cooperation, I am in a unique position to represent vampires on a global scale. The first vampire to hold such a prestigious position, I might add."

It was a not-so-subtle boast, and Danny couldn't help roll his eyes.

"I'm sure your dedication is commendable, Viktor," Matthew said speaking for the first time with a touch of dry humour.

"It's quite impressive that you managed to secure such a high-ranking position within President Thornwood's cabinet. I wonder, was it yourcharmingpersonality or your family's considerable wealth that secured your appointment?" Danny wondered.

Viktor's smirk faltered for a moment, and his eyes flashed with annoyance. But he quickly regained his composure, his smile returning in full force. "Rest assured, my appointment was based solely on merit and my extensive experience in diplomatic affairs. The Thornwood administration recognizes talent when they see it," he replied smoothly.

The implication was not lost on Danny, and his expression darkened. "Talent, is it? Or perhaps it was your father's generous contributions to the President's re-election campaign that secured you the position."

Viktor's grin widened, and he didn't bother to deny it. "In the world of politics one must do what it takes to get ahead. Even if it means leveraging familial connections," he retorted, his voice dripping with smugness.

Danny's voice was firm as he countered, "You seem to think that your appointment as Secretary for Foreign Affairs is some great leap forward in American Wizarding history. But let me remind you, progress is not measured by one's own bloodline or family name. It's about the right individual for the job, someone who canactuallymake a positive impact."

Viktor's crimson eyes burned with fury, his fangs protruding slightly as his grip on his emotions slipped.

"Positive impact, you say?" Viktor's voice was laced with venom, his words dripping with sarcasm. "And what positive impact have you made, Danny? I don't see you making any waves in the magical community. No, you're nothing but an eternal cynic. Tell me, does it bring you joy to wallow in your own bitterness? Or perhaps it's simply your way of coping with the fact that you'll never amount to anything."

Danny clenched his hands into fists at that remark, his face contorting with repressed rage. He could feel his nails digging into his palms, the intense desire to retaliate fuelling his imagination with vivid, violent thoughts. He visualized his hands wrapped around Viktor's neck, tightening the grip until the smug vampire's life force slipped away.

But in the midst of his internal turmoil, a voice of reason whispered in Danny's mind, reminding him of the consequences and the person he aspired to be. He took a deep breath, struggling to regain control over his emotions. Slowly, his hands relaxed, and he forced himself to meet Viktor's gaze once again.

"You have no idea what I have accomplished, what I've been through, what I've suffered," Danny replied, his words dripping with the weight of his past struggles.

Viktor's smug smile widened, his crimson eyes glimmering with a cruel delight. "Oh, pray enlighten us, Danny," he taunted, his voice oozing with derision. "What great accomplishments could a brooding loner like yourself possibly have?"

Danny's eyes blazed with a mix of determination and defiance. "I may not have sought power or the limelight like you, Viktor, but I have made a difference in my own way," he replied, his voice resonating with conviction. "I've fought for justice, helped those in need, and stood up against worst things then you could ever imagine. That, my dear Viktor, is an accomplishment worth more than any title or position you could ever attain."

Viktor's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing. "Save your self-righteous speeches, Torrance. Your noble acts won't change the fact that you're nothing more than a speck in the grand scheme of things," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

The mourners around them exchanged uneasy glances, the tension in the air becoming suffocating. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the outcome of this verbal confrontation.

Danny's voice remained calm, though his words carried an edge to them. "Perhaps I may be a speck, Viktor, but, unlike you, I see the bigger picture," he retorted, his voice filled with unwavering determination. "You think obtaining high office is the big picture but, in all honesty, it's insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Just like you are."

Viktor's anger reached its peak, his control slipping completely. With a snarl, he lunged at Danny, his fangs bared and claws extended. But before he could reach him, a wave of magic surged through the room, knocking Viktor back and sending him crashing into a row of empty chairs.

The mourners gasped in shock as the magical energy dissipated, revealing Matthew, his hand raised, his face stern. "That's enough, Viktor," he declared, his voice commanding. "We're here to pay our respects, not engage in petty squabbles."

Viktor struggled to regain his footing, his rage slowly subsiding. He straightened his suit, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and humiliation. Rose, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally decided to interject.

"Viktor, dear, I think we've overstayed our welcome," Rose said, her voice smooth and melodious. "Let's not waste our time on insignificant squabbles."

Viktor's gaze flickered between Rose and Danny, his expression a mixture of annoyance and amusem*nt. He nodded curtly, acknowledging Rose's suggestion. "You're right, my love," he conceded, his voice dripping with false grace. "We have more pressing matters to attend to."

With that, Viktor turned on his heel, his black suit billowing behind him as he strode away, Rose following in his wake. The crowd parted, giving way to the vampire couple as they made their exit, their presence leaving a lingering sense of unease in their wake.

Danny watched Viktor's confrontation had stirred up old wounds and reignited his deep-seated resentment towards vampires. He couldn't shake the bitterness that had taken hold of him, even as Viktor and Rose disappeared from earshot.

"I hate vampires," Danny muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with venom. He didn't intend for anyone to hear his words, but to his surprise, Matthew's attentive ears caught the statement. Matthew raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his gaze.

"Present company excluded," Danny quickly added, glancing at Matthew. "Most of the time."

"I should hope so," Matthew replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm the only friend you've got here."

Danny chuckled, grateful for Matthew's light-heartedness in that moment. It helped to ease the tension that had settled within him.

The moon hung high in the velvety night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the grounds of the sombre gathering. Mourners slowly dispersed, their faces etched with grief and weariness. Amidst the fading echoes of whispered condolences, Danny decided it was time now to leave the sombre atmosphere. He strolled out of the canopy, his footsteps taking him away from the lingering echoes of the confrontation.

Just as he was about to Disapparate and return to Hawkins, Danny turned around, his eyes widening in surprise as he recognized President Thornwood and Kinsley Shacklebolt, both wearing determined expressions

"What did they want?" Danny thought to himself, a mix of curiosity and apprehension flooding his mind. He had expected the aftermath of the confrontation with Viktor, but encountering these two prominent individuals caught him off guard.

"Mr. Torrance," President Thornwood began, his voice laced with a mixture of sympathy and determination, "we require your assistance in a matter of utmost importance."

Danny's eyebrows furrowed in scepticism. He had long grown accustomed to a life of solitude, wary of entanglements that could unravel his own quest. The request for his help from two influential individuals only deepened his sense of unease. He took a step back, his body instinctively bracing itself for any unforeseen danger.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you," Danny replied, his voice tinged with a touch of defiance. "I have my own battles to fight, and I've had enough of being dragged into other people's problems."

Kingsley, standing silently beside the President, exchanged a knowing glance before speaking up. "Danny, we understand your hesitations," he said, his deep voice resonating with empathy. "But this matter concerns the safety and well-being of the entire magical community. Your unique skills and experiences make you an invaluable asset."

Danny's gaze flickered between the two men, his mind wrestling with conflicting emotions. He was torn between the desire to protect himself and the recognition that his abilities could make a difference in a cause greater than himself. The weight of responsibility settled upon his shoulders, and for a moment, he wavered.

Before Danny could voice his wavering decision, a sudden movement caught him off guard. In a flash, both President Thornwood and Kingsley lunged forward, grabbing his arms with an unexpected strength. Danny struggled against their grip, his muscles straining against their ironclad hold. Panic surged through his veins as he realized their intentions to Apparate him away forcefully.

"No, wait!" Danny protested, struggling against their firm grip. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

The world spun around him in a dizzying blur as the President and Kingsley Apparated, dragging Danny along with them. His surroundings dissolved into a whirlwind of colours and sensations, his body feeling weightless and disoriented. His struggles proved futile as their combined strength overpowered him, rendering him powerless against their determined grasp.

The British Wizarding Embassy in New York was a masterful blend of magical enchantment and architectural finesse. To the untrained eye, it appeared as an ordinary, elegant townhouse nestled among the brownstones of the Upper East Side. But for those with the ability to see beyond the Muggle façade, the true nature of the embassy was unveiled.

Upon approach, the building itself seemed unassuming, with a classic, white-brick exterior and wrought-iron fence. Yet, when wizards and witches approached, a series of protective spells responded. The gate opened by itself, granting access only to those who possessed the appropriate credentials, and ensuring that muggles remained oblivious to the embassy's existence.

Once inside, the embassy revealed itself as a grand and welcoming space. The entrance hall was adorned with polished woodwork and large, ornate chandeliers that emitted a soft, enchanting light. Portraits of esteemed witches and wizards, both British and American, adorned the walls, their eyes following the movement of visitors with subtle curiosity.

The main reception area was a blend of traditional wizarding aesthetics and modern comforts. Plush sofas and armchairs in rich, deep colours invited guests to sit and converse. The wooden floors were polished to a shine, and a fireplace crackled with warm fire, casting a cosy atmosphere over the room.

The centrepiece of the embassy was a massive, enchanted tapestry that depicted the ever-changing climate of the British Isles. With each passing hour, the tapestry transformed to reflect the current weather happening in Britain, from rolling green hills under sunny skies to dramatic thunderstorms over the rugged coast.

The embassy staff, dressed in robes adorned with the Union Jack, bustled about discreetly, attending to the needs of visiting witches and wizards.

As Danny was forcefully Apparated into the embassy's entrance hall, the disorienting whirlwind of colours and sensations gradually subsided. His body gradually regained its bearings, and he caught sight of President Thornwood and Kingsley Shacklebolt standing next to him. Their presence amidst the staff indicated the importance of the situation at hand. Danny's mind raced, trying to make sense of the abrupt turn of events and the significance of this seemingly clandestine meeting.

President Thornwood approached Danny, his expression a mix of urgency and determination. "Welcome to the British Wizarding Embassy, Mr Torrance," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "We apologize for the forceful means by which we brought you here, but time is of the essence, and we needed to ensure your safety and our ability to speak uninterrupted."

Danny's initial resistance began to ebb away, replaced by a growing curiosity. The grandeur of the embassy and the gravity of the situation converged, sparking a flicker of anticipation within him. He took a moment to collect himself before his temper got the better of him.

Danny lunged forward, grabbing the collar of the president's shirt firmly. "I don't care who you are," he said in a warning tone, his voice laced with anger. "But don't ever, ever Apparate me against my will again."

As Danny's words hung in the air, several security Aurors swiftly surrounded him, their wands pointed in his direction. The tension in the room escalated, and a brief moment of uncertainty enveloped the space.

President Thornwood raised a hand, signalling the Aurors to lower their wands. "Stand down," he commanded firmly. "He has every right to be upset."

The Aurors hesitated but eventually complied, their wands returning to the insides of the robes. Danny's grip on the President's collar loosened slightly. He released his hold and took a step back; his fingertips tingled with residual energy, his body primed for action if necessary. He maintained his guarded stance, eyes fixed on President Thornwood.

The President sighed, his expression a mix of understanding and regret. "Danny, I apologize for our actions," he said, his voice sincere. "We did not intend to cause you distress or violate your trust. We thought it necessary to bring you here urgently, but we should have explained ourselves more thoroughly."

Danny's anger simmered, his initial outburst tempered by the President's acknowledgment of their mistake. He took a deep breath, willing himself to remain composed. Danny's gaze shifted from the President to Kingsley, his curiosity reignited. "So, what exactly is it that you need from me?" he asked, his voice now tinged with a mix of caution and intrigue.

Kingsley and the President exchanged a brief nod before leading Danny down a corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. The air grew cooler as they reached the end of the hallway, where a small, secure room awaited them. The room's entrance was guarded by a massive wooden door, reinforced with intricate enchantments.

President Thornwood placed his hand on the door, muttering a series of incantations. The door responded, unlocking with a soft click, and swung open to reveal a space that was both humble and utilitarian. The room was small, with stone walls that exuded a sense of solidity. The only source of light came from a single, dimly lit magical lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting elongated shadows on the floor.

The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a sturdy wooden table and a few chairs. President Thornwood gestured for Danny to take a seat at the table, while Kingsley stood beside him, his gaze fixed on Danny with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. The young man could sense the weight of their expectations as he settled into the chair, his eyes darting between the two men.

President Thornwood took a seat opposite Danny, his expression serious but tinged with hope. "Danny," he began, his voice measured, "I understand that you were present when Auror Abernathy was taken."

Danny's breath caught in his throat, and he blinked, momentarily taken aback by the directness of the question. His voice turned cold, laced with a hint of bitterness. "Is that what this is about?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"Our government needs to ascertain if Abernathy was killed or taken alive," President Thornwood responded, his voice steady and composed.

Danny's eyes narrowed a flicker of defiance in his expression. "Just because she wasn't magical doesn't mean Mary isn't powerful," he retorted, his voice tinged with conviction. "She may not possess supernatural abilities, but her strength lies in her resourcefulness and adaptability. She can assess a situation and find the most effective way to neutralize any threat."

President Thornwood leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Danny with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "Astonishing," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine surprise. "To think that a non-magical person could get the jump on a fully trained Auror like Abernathy."

"Power comes in many forms," Danny stated. "Magic is undoubtedly potent, but it's not the only path to strength. Mary possesses...otherabilities that make her formidable."

"Tell us more about Mary," President Thornwood urged, his tone laced with genuine interest.

Danny took a deep breath, his mind racing with memories of Mary's past. "She was a soldier in Vietnam," he began, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and sorrow. "But her true strength came from her involvement in the MK-ULTRA program."

The President's eyebrows arched, a mixture of surprise and intrigue evident on his face. "MK-ULTRA?" he repeated, his tone laced with curiosity.

Danny nodded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Yes. It was a muggle government program aimed at exploring the potential of mind control and psychological manipulation. Mary's involvement in that program granted her unique abilities. She can tap into a person's deepest fears and make them manifest right before their eyes."

President Thornwood's eyes widened, his astonishment palpable. "Incredible," he murmured, his voice filled with both admiration and concern. "To wield such power without relying on magic... Mary truly is an extraordinary individual."

Kingsley, who had been standing silently, finally spoke up, his voice steady. "Danny, we need to understand if there is a larger threat at play here," he said. "If someone without magical abilities can successfully target an Auror, it raises questions about the security of our community. We cannot afford to ignore this."

President Thornwood's voice carried a sense of urgency as he leaned forward, his gaze locked onto Danny with unwavering intensity. "Danny, I need you to find out the truth. Is Abernathy alive? And if so, we must recover him as soon as possible."

Danny's scepticism grew as he listened to the President's words. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story than what he was being told. Abernathy, his former principal, had always been a strict and dominating figure, but he never imagined her disappearance would prompt such urgency from the highest levels of the American magical government.

With a scoff, Danny leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "Forgive me, Mr. President, but I find it hard to believe that recovering Abernathy is the sole reason for all this urgency," he said, his voice laced with suspicion. "There must be something more at stake here."

President Thornwood's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "In a time of political turmoil and uncertainty, the sudden absence of a Presidential candidate would undoubtedly create speculation. The press would jump on the story, probing for answers, and it could potentially derail the entire election."

"So as usual, you're concerned with politics," Danny said, his voice dripping with scorn.

President Thornwood's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. "Politics is an integral part of governing, Danny," he replied firmly. "We cannot afford to overlook the potential consequences of Abernathy's disappearance on the stability of our nation and the trust of our citizens."

"Fine," Danny said, his voice laced with reluctant acceptance. "But why me? Why not send a team of trained Aurors to handle the situation?"

The President's eyes bore into Danny's, his voice steady and composed. "Because, as a Gunslinger, you have a unique set of skills that make you the ideal candidate for this mission. Your ability to navigate both the magical and non-magical worlds, your resourcefulness, and your discreet nature makes you the only person to handle this assignment."

"Furthermore," President Thornwood continued, his voice filled with determination, "sending in a team of trained Aurors might draw unnecessary attention and escalate the situation. We need someone who can operate discreetly, gather information, and recover Abernathy, dead or alive."

"And," Kingsley added, glancing at President Thornwood, "we need you to eliminate Mary too during this assignment."

A small smile came over Danny's face. "We?" he asked. "Or you?" His voice carried a tinge of scepticism, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kingsley's expression. Before Kingsley could reply, Danny pressed on, his tone now laced with accusation. "Cut the crap. This is about revenge for you, isn't it? Mary kills Owens, so now you want her dead, don't you?"

Kingsley's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing as he met Danny's gaze head-on. "You have no right to make such accusations," he retorted, his voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and anger. "This isn't about personal vendettas. Mary is a threat, and we cannot afford to let her roam free. Her actions have proven that she is dangerous and unpredictable."

Danny's smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, his eyes locked onto Kingsley's. "I won't argue that Mary is a threat," he said, his voice firm but measured. "But I won't be a pawn in your game of revenge either. I'm no one's personal assassin."

President Thornwood's voice turned cold, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Danny with a piercing gaze. "I thought that's what gunslingers were – killers. Or perhaps you're just a coward," he sneered, his words laced with contempt.

Danny's eyes blazed with fury, an intense fire burning within him. "I have done things you couldneverunderstand," he said, his voice low and seething. "I have spilled blood in faraway lands, fighting battles that threatened the very fabric of existence. I have seen people I care about butchered before my eyes, their lives extinguished in the blink of an eye. I've witnessed horrors that would haunt lesser men for eternity."

"I ammanythings, Mr. President," he declared, his words cutting through the room like a blade. "A warrior, honed by the crucible of battle. A protector, sworn to defend those who cannot defend themselves. A survivor, hardened by the trials that life has thrown at me. But make no mistake; a cowardisn'tone of them."

The audacity of being labelled a coward gnawed at him, fuelling a surge of indignation that threatened to consume his every thought. In that moment, he made a resolute decision – he would not lend his aid to those who dared to question his valour.

Rising from his seat, Danny's movements were swift and deliberate. He turned on his heels, his boots echoing against the polished marble floor of the opulent chamber.

But as Danny's hand reached for the doorknob, ready to push open the heavy wooden door and leave the room behind, President Thornwood's voice pierced through the silence, laden with an unexpected offer.

"What if we offer you something in return?" President Thornwood's tone carried a hint of intrigue. Danny's eyes narrowed, suspicion etched across his face, as he turned to face the President once more. "What could you possibly have to offer me?" he questioned, his voice laced with scepticism. He had had enough of empty promises and hollow gestures

In response, President Thornwood retrieved a small wooden box from his pocket. The box was meticulously crafted, its dark, polished wood adorned with intricate carvings that showcased the Al Thor family crest in all its regal glory. The etchings danced across the surface, depicting a powerful lion rampant, its majestic mane flowing with an air of authority.

With a flick of his wrist, President Thornwood opened the box, revealing a sight that caused Danny's eyes to widen in disbelief. Held within the box was a gleaming golden key, its surface adorned with delicate engravings that mirrored the intricate carvings on the box itself. The key seemed to radiate a subtle energy, an aura of significance that Danny couldn't ignore.

As if sensing his presence, the key leaped forth. In a surreal display of supernatural power, the key soared through the air, defying the laws of gravity. It moved with purpose, propelled by an invisible energy that seemed to emanate from the very core of Danny's being. The key traversed the distance between the box and Danny's outstretched hand with astonishing speed, its path unwavering and resolute.

A gasp caught in Danny's throat as he watched in awe and disbelief. Time appeared to slow down, the world around him fading into the background as his focus fixated on the golden key hurtling toward him. In that suspended moment, he felt a surge of anticipation and a tingling sensation that prickled his skin, as if the key itself recognized him, acknowledging the connection they shared.

With uncanny precision, the key nestled into the palm of Danny's outstretched hand. Its coolness sent a shiver down his spine, and its weighty presence grounded him in the reality of the moment. Danny's fingers closed around the key, holding it tightly as if to anchor himself to the significance of its symbolism.

As the key settled in his hand, Danny's mind swirled with a whirlwind of emotions. The implications of its sudden appearance washed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf his thoughts.

Danny's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the key, its symbolism and implications washing over him. "How... how do you have this?" he finally managed to utter, his voice quivering with a mix of astonishment and confusion. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the key's sudden reappearance. Memories flooded his thoughts, memories of the last time he had held this key in his hands.

The last time Danny had seen this key was upon his return from the Westlands, his parent's lifeless bodies in tow with him.

Despite the insistence of Rand and the rest of the Al Thor family, Danny had adamantly refused to bury Wendy and Nicholas in the Trakand family tombs within the Royal Palace of Andor. It was a decision that had sparked heated debates and strained relationships, but Danny stood firm, determined that parents' connection to his own world, to the place they had called home, deserved respect and recognition.

His thoughts then shifted to the difficult task he had undertaken upon his return—the responsibility of informing his estranged sister, Karen, about their parents' tragic deaths. The memory of that encounter was etched in his mind, each detail vivid and raw.

Danny had not seen Karen in years, their paths diverging as they pursued separate lives. The awkwardness and discomfort that hung heavy in the air only added to the weight of grief already burdening them.

The service that followed had been solemn and intimate, a private moment shared between Karen, Danny, and Wendy's fragile middle sister, Emma. The weight of his parent's deaths had pressed heavily upon Danny, threatening to consume him with grief.

And then, in the midst of that sorrow-soaked moment, the key had reappeared. Accompanied by an owl carrying a letter, it had materialized, interrupting the dark thoughts that plagued his mind. Danny had recognized it instantly, even with the gun in his mouth, his finger hovering over the trigger, poised to end his own life. The sight of the key had jolted him from the edge of despair, drawing his attention away from the abyss.

Curse that key and owl, he thought bitterly, as the memories flooded his thoughts once more. Their unexpected intrusion had disrupted his darkest hour, forcing him to confront the pain and suffering that enveloped him.

In a fit of anger and desperation, Danny had unleashed his fury upon the owl. He had shouted at it, hurling expletives and curses into the void. His rage had fuelled his actions, prompting him to even unload a couple of shots at the animal.

But as the echoes of the gunshots faded into the air, a profound stillness settled upon Danny. The anger that had consumed him began to wane, replaced by a sombre realization. The owl, despite its intrusion and the tumultuous emotions it and the key had stirred within him, carried a message—a message that was not so easy to dismiss.

As the weight of the key settled in Danny's hand, a voice cut through the air, startling him from his contemplation. "In accordance with the late Nicholas's will, the key was intended to be passed down the direct line, from him to you," President Thornwood revealed, his words laden with significance. "Though you may have renounced that will in the past, its magical ties persist. The key and all the possessions that Nicholas left for you are still waiting, patiently, for their rightful owner to claim them."

"I don't want it," Danny gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ineverwanted it."

"Be that as it may, the key and Nicholas's will itself has remained in the Magical Wills Registry ever since you renounced it," Thornwood said gently.

The origins of the Magical Wills Registry trace back to the founding era of the wizarding nation. As the magical community grew and evolved, it became apparent that a centralized authority was required to manage the intricate and often enchanted nature of wills. Out of this necessity, the Registry was born.

The founders of the Registry were a group of esteemed wizards and witches renowned for their expertise in magical law and the preservation of magical legacies. Combining their knowledge and magical prowess, they constructed a grand edifice in the heart of the capital, a place where the wills of the departed could find safekeeping and be treated with utmost reverence.

Each will was stored in a meticulously crafted vault, imbued with protective spells that prevented unauthorized opening. Only the rightful heirs, as designated by the testators, could access the vaults and unlock the secrets within.

Danny had heard tales of its strict code of ethics and the expertise of the wizards and witches who oversaw its operations. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the key in his hand. It shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow.

President Thornwood's voice drew him back to the present. "The choice is yours, Danny. The Magical Wills Registry exists to honour the final wishes of those who have passed. If you complete this assignment on behalf of both our governments in return you can decide what to do with Nicholas's will and the possessions he left for you."

Danny's heart pounded in his chest as he considered his options. The weight of the key felt heavier now, burdened with not only personal implications but also the potential to impact the wider wizarding world.

With resolution in his eyes, Danny looked directly at President Thornwood. "I accept your offer," he declared, his voice firm and resolute. "I will complete the assignment. But let it be clear—I will complete it on my terms. I don't want any interference from either of your governments."

The room fell into a stunned silence. The two leaders, accustomed to navigating the intricacies of power and diplomacy, were taken aback by Danny's directness and the unwavering demand for autonomy. They exchanged another glance, realizing that they were dealing with a force beyond their control.

Danny's warning hung heavy in the air as he continued. "Oh and don't ever ask me to do your dirty work ever again," he declared, his words piercing the room.

Without waiting for a response, Danny turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the door. The room remained still, the silence punctuated only by the sound of his departing footsteps.

Danny stepped out of the embassy, the heavy oak door closing behind him with a soft thud. The cool evening breeze brushed against his face, carrying with it the crisp scent of autumn.

The street was bathed in soft lamplight, casting a warm glow on the cobblestones. Danny took a deep breath, allowing the cool air to fill his lungs, momentarily washing away the tension that had accumulated within the embassy's walls. The bustling sounds of the city surrounded him—a distant car horn, snippets of conversation, and the occasional trill of laughter echoing through the night.

With a determined stride, Danny walked a few steps, his mind focused on the path ahead. And then, without hesitation, he Apparated, the world around him twisting and shifting in a blur of colours and sensations. In an instant, he found himself in the heart of Central Park.

The park, usually teeming with activity, now embraced a serene stillness. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the trees, their leaves showcasing vibrant shades of red, orange, and gold. The sound of his footsteps against the paved path echoed faintly in the quietude, a solitary rhythm amidst the tranquillity.

Danny walked silently through the park, his thoughts enveloping him like a thick fog. The weight of his decision and the gravity of the task ahead weighed heavily on his mind.

Lost in contemplation, he found himself drawn to a lone park bench nestled beneath the outstretched branches of an ancient oak tree. Its weathered wooden slats showed signs of countless visitors seeking solace or respite from the bustling city. Danny took a seat, the coolness of the wood seeping through his clothes, grounding him in the present moment.

From this vantage point, he beheld the expanse of the park before him. The moonlight danced upon the surface of the nearby pond, casting shimmering ripples that mirrored the vastness of his thoughts. The distant glow of city lights peeked through the surrounding trees, a reminder of the world beyond the park's boundaries.

As he sat in silence, nature's orchestra serenaded him—a symphony of rustling leaves, the gentle hoot of an owl, and the occasional chirping of nocturnal creatures. The cool evening breeze tugged at his hair and ruffled the pages of his thoughts, offering a sense of solace and clarity.

The more he sat there, amidst the quietude, the heavier the weight of his decision settled upon his shoulders. His mind churned with thoughts and doubts, questioning the path he had chosen. Had he made the right choice by agreeing to find Abernathy and carry out such a grave task? The gravity of taking a life weighed heavily on his conscience.

His internal dialogue danced with uncertainty, flickering between conflicting emotions.

In the midst of his contemplation, an unexpected figure sneaked into his mind—Manon Blackbeak. The thought of her, once an integral part of his life, seized his attention. He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on her for years, decades even. The nightmares and dreams that haunted him were one thing, but why was he now thinking about her in this moment?

Danny's mind raced, grasping for an explanation. Perhaps it was the sight of the key, the key that had resurfaced memories and emotions he had long banished to the depths of his mind. The key, a physical manifestation of his family's legacy, had unlocked not only doors but also a whirlpool of emotions that threatened to consume him.

He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog of memories and focus on the task at hand. The present moment demanded his attention, not the ghosts of the past. But try as he might, the thoughts of Manon persisted, overwhelming him with a mix of emotions.

Then

The rest of the day, what little of it was left, after the meeting between Danny and Rand had passed without incident. Danny had had dinner with his new family and they had made conversation, which mostly consisted of Danny getting more acquainted with his three grandmothers.

The next morning had been quiet enough, though Danny had been mind boggled by the sheer size and luxury of his chambers, even if Elayne had specifically tried to make sure that they were not too overwhelming.

After breakfast, he had mostly taken to exploring and wandering the corridors of the royal Palace, and, eventually, he had sat down to think, the bright winter sun shining on him.

After a little while of thinking by himself, he heard a young female voice say thoughtfully, "You look sad."

He turned, looking up into a startling pair of blue eyes, framed by a pretty pale skinned face that promised future beauty, near blossoming already, and wavy dark hair. This face, eyes and hair belonged to a tallish girl who could not be more than eleven or twelve years old. Yet for all that, she had a calm self-confidence about her. Not arrogance, merely certainty.

"I'm not," he said, surprised by the forwardness of this rather petite personage.

She looked at him closely for a few moments in a rather disquieting fashion, as if she could see right through him, then nodded slowly. "No," she agreed. "Not sad. Confused."

"I'm not confused," Danny said, slightly annoyed.

"Yes you are," the girl said calmly, with total assurance.

"How would you know?"

"Auntie Min says that I'm an empath," she replied.

"You can read emotions?" Danny hazarded.

"Uh-huh."

"All the time?"

She shook her head. "Only when someone else is projecting," she said. She stuck out a hand. "I'm Amaris, daughter of Rand and Aviendha."

"I'm Danny," Danny said, then added, "Son of Wendy and Jack Torrance."

"I know," the girl said placidly. "Everyone's been talking about you."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I didn't," Amaris said calmly, though there was a distinct hint of a smirk.

Danny eyed her. "Auntie Min?"

"Mother says that as part of the Bond between her, Auntie Min, Auntie Elayne and Dad, they've become like sisters to her, so it's easy for me to call her Auntie Min," Amaris explained. "So that makes you my nephew too," she added with a winning smile.

Just then, as Danny was trying to adjust, there was the sound of footsteps and Amaris gasped, eyes widening as she looked past Harry, who turned to follow her gaze.

"So you're the Prince everyone in the family's showing up to catch a glimpse of?" A voice asked. It belonged to a tall and lithe woman who walked over to join them. Her hair, the colour of molten gold, fell in loose waves around her face. Each strand seemed to possess a life of its own, catching the light and shimmering like strands of spun sunlight. It tumbled down to her waist, framing her delicate features and drawing the eye to her face.

Her high cheekbones, dusted with a hint of rosy blush, added a touch of elegance to her countenance. But it was her eyes that truly captivated those who beheld her. They were a striking shade of emerald, like the depths of a lush forest, brimming with intensity and intelligence.

"I'm not a prince," Danny replied as he eyed the beautiful stranger before him.

The woman's emerald eyes sparkled with amusem*nt as she met his gaze. "You're certainly not dressed like one," she said. Her gaze travelled over Danny, assessing him with a subtle curiosity. She took in his simple attire, the lack of ostentation that often accompanied royalty. There was a flicker of intrigue in her eyes, as if she saw something beyond the surface, something that piqued her interest.

"But appearances can be deceiving," she continued, her voice holding a note of intrigue. "There is more to a person than their attire. Isn't that right, dear cousin?" She smiled and waved at Amaris, who was suddenly silent, staring at the woman in awe, then blushing and looking away when she noticed the decidedly odd look Danny was giving her.

"You're not talking," Danny said slowly to the little girl. "I've known you for about five minutes, but this is the first time you've stopped talking. And I don't think you stop talking lightly."

Amaris glowered slightly at him and stuck out her tongue, but said nothing. She also clearly had the intention of sticking to saying nothing.

The woman with the golden hair watched the exchange between Danny and Amaris with a bemused smile. She seemed to find their interaction highly entertaining, her emerald eyes twinkling with amusem*nt.

"You must forgive Amaris," the woman said. "She is quite... taken by me, aren't you little cousin?"

Ah. So that explained it.

"I'm Danny," Danny said, extending a hand towards the woman. "And you are?"

The woman's delicate hand gracefully met Danny's, her touch as light as a whisper. "I am Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius," she replied.

With a touch of bemusem*nt, Danny regained his composure and couldn't resist letting out a small chuckle. "Well," he said, his voice tinged with a touch of bluntness, "that's quite a mouthful, isn't it?"

Aelin chuckled at Danny's blunt comment, her laughter carrying a hint of mischief. "Yes, I suppose it is," she admitted, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusem*nt. "But you can call me Aelin, if you prefer. It's a pleasure to meet you, Danny."

Danny smiled. "Likewise, Aelin," he replied, a sense of ease settling within him.

"Let us take a walk. I would enjoy your company," Aelin said, and as Danny stood up and Amaris remained seated, she added, "I meant both of you, Amaris."

"Would it be well with you both?" Amaris asked quietly, eyes down.

"Yes," Danny said, "More than well." While Amaris was definitely a little odd, he found himself warming to her, and it cost him nothing to help her out. And, when it came down to it, Danny was not the sort of person to leave a little girl sitting all alone while he walked away with the object of her admiration.

With that in mind, he reached out with his magic, trying to project his emotions at her and the fact he'd like her to join them and knew Aelin would too.

Whether it worked or not – on balance, it probably didn't, Amaris looked up, eyes sparkling with happiness, just as Aelin added kindly, "It would be our pleasure, cousin. Besides I came here a day early purposefully not just to see Rand and the rest of the family, of course, but I also to meet you for myself."

Danny's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Early for what? What's happening tomorrow?"

Aelin raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You mean you don't know?"

Danny shook his head.

"Rand has sent dozens of ravens, invitations sent far and wide, inviting all the noble and dignitary folk from across the Westlands to gather here in Andor. It's a celebration—a celebration of Barid's return and, most importantly, your arrival."

Danny's eyes widened in shock, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I... I don't want a fuss."

Celaena's laughter rang out. "Oh, well, it's too late for that now. The preparations are already in motion, and the excitement among the people is palpable. The Westlands are eager to welcome their newest prince."

"Not to mention the rest of the family are eager to meet you," Amaris added.

"My husband and I received our invitation this morning," Aelin went on. "He'll be arriving tomorrow, along with the rest of our household."

"You keep calling Amaris cousin. How is it you're related exactly?" Danny asked.

"Rand's my godfather," Aelin said. "My father, Perrin, and Rand, along with Mat, were more than friends—they were like brothers. They grew up together in the Two Rivers, a small village far from here."

Danny listened intently.

Aelin continued, her voice filled with warmth. "Rand, with his destiny as the Dragon Reborn to fulfil, faced countless challenges, but his friendship with Perrin and Mat remained steadfast. They supported one another through thick and thin, sharing both joyous and sorrowful moments."

Danny's curiosity grew. "And how did Perrin meet your mother?"

A soft smile graced Aelin's lips as she recalled the tale. "Perrin's path intertwined with that of my mother, Zarine Bashere. She was a strong and fierce woman, a warrior in her own right. When she and Perrin met, their connection was immediate. She adopted the name 'Faile,' which means 'falcon' in the Old Tongue."

Aelin's eyes sparkled with affection as she continued, "Two years after the Last Battle, I was born. Because of the deep bond between my father and Rand, Perrin asked Rand to be my godfather. Rand, without hesitation, accepted."

"Will Perrin and your mother be arriving tomorrow as well?"

Aelin's expression shifted, her features clouded by a sudden sadness. She took a deep breath, her voice barely a whisper. "Both my parents are... dead."

Danny's heart sank, his breath catching in his throat. "I'm...I'm so sorry," he said.

Aelin's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she continued, her voice laced with sorrow. "My parents were murdered;butchered. I alone survived. It was a tragedy that shattered my world, leaving me with a deep void in my heart," she confessed, her voice quivering with the weight of the memories. "In the aftermath, consumed by grief and driven by a burning desire for justice, I made a choice that has shaped the course of my life—I became an assassin."

"I know I don't look like it, but I am a fierce warrior," she said, a spark of confidence dancing in her eyes. "I can hold my own in battle."

"Oh, don't worry, Aelin. I believe you," Danny replied as he and Amaris both shared a chuckle.

"I know how you feel," Danny admitted. "My own father, Jack Torrance, died when I was young. He was... a complicated father."

As his words lingered in the air, something shifted within Danny. A dormant pain, long suppressed and buried, stirred within him like a slumbering beast suddenly awakened.

The memories flooded back with a force he hadn't anticipated. The echoes of his father's rage, the haunting spectre of the Overlook Hotel, and the terror that had once consumed his young heart—all rushed to the forefront of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him.

A tidal wave of emotions crashed over Danny, threatening to drown him in the depths of his past. His hands trembled involuntarily, his breath came in shallow gasps as he fought to regain control. The room seemed to close in around him, the air heavy with memories he had long tried to forget.

"Stop it!"

Danny blinked back to reality at the sound of Amaris's voice and saw, to his horror, that she was clutching her head in pain, and blood was dribbling from her nose.

"I… I didn't… what happened, I didn't mean," he began, confused and horrified.

Aelin, acting swiftly, sat Amaris down at the side of the corridor, and said briskly, "Cloth."

"What?"

"Conjure a cloth, Danny, or replicate one, it matters not," Aelin said firmly, gently tilting Amaris's head back.

Amaris bit her lip, trying not to whimper with pain, and that sight snapped Danny back to reality. He tried a spell, but his hand was shaking too badly. He couldn't concentrate as the maelstrom of new worries whirled around his head.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, drawing on the techniques Nickolas had taught him and his former teachers back in Ilvermorny for clearing and calming his mind. He imagined a diamond clear lake of fresh water, then focused on it to the exclusion of all else, letting it calm him and blot it all out.

As he did, Amaris let out a sigh of relief, and stopped clutching her head, as if the pain had gone.

It was fast and a little rough, but a moment later, he was able get out the incantation to conjure a handkerchief. It was plain, small and dirty white, but Aelin didn't mind, taking it and swiftly but gently wiping away the blood, then staunching the slowing trickle of blood as she supported her cousin's head.

"I didn't mean –" Danny began, but Aelin waved it away.

"I have seen such things before," she said quietly. "In your nieces and nephews, in fact, when they were little more than your age. Your magic manifested by accident uncontrolled and not of your will. None nearby would likely have even noticed it. However, Amaris is an empath, and one young enough, I judge, not to have learned to build any great mental shields. Is that right?"

Amaris gave a shaky nod. She seemed a little pale, but otherwise fine.

Aelin nodded. "It has passed," she said, reaching into a belt pouch and crumbling a healing stone over her nose. Said nose glowed softly, then dimmed. Aelin nodded again, helping the girl up. "Hold this in place for a few more minutes," she instructed. "The slight rupture that provided the blood flow has been healed, but the blood itself remains."

Amaris nodded, and gave Danny a gentle smile. "It's okay," she said, slightly muffled thanks to her blocked nose. "You didn't mean it."

Danny could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who could forgive so quickly and sincerely, because, somehow, he could tell that she was telling the truth.

The three walked on for a while more, Danny and Amaris animatedly discussing various adventures, mishaps and different cultures, and Aelin occasionally adding an observation, but mostly just listening to the sounds of a growing friendship.

It was a pity, then, that they were interrupted.

"Milady Amaris," a guard said. "Your mother, the Lady Aviendha, desires to speak with you in her chambers. I shall escort you to her."

Amaris sighed slightly in annoyance, then started slightly as Aelin put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You had better go," she said gently.

Amaris looked up at her, then at Danny, and managed to admirably convey that she would rather stay with them without even opening her mouth.

"You're going to be at the banquet thingy later, right?" Danny asked, completely missing Aelin's slight wince at this cavalier description of his official introduction to the great and good of the Westlands.

Amaris nodded.

"We can talk then," Danny said.

Amaris grinned cheerfully. "Good."

Then, she looked up at the guard and the grin took a slightly wicked slant.

Danny felt a little sorry for the guard.

"You can escort me… if you can catch me," Amaris said. She took a step back, her small frame poised like a coiled spring ready to be released. With a flicker of concentration, she reached out to the threads of the One Power around her, tapping into the source that flowed through her veins. She wove the skimming gateway, her hands moving with practiced precision, and an ethereal portal materialized before her.

The gateway shimmered, its edges swirling with vibrant hues of blue and silver. Amaris glanced at the guard, her eyes dancing with excitement, before she darted forward and leaped into the gateway before it vanished.

The guard merely sighed, gave Danny a brief bow, murmured, "Milord," then turned to follow wherever Amaris had vanished to at a steady run.

Danny's jaw, meanwhile, was hanging loose.

"Yes," Aelin said, voice thick with amusem*nt. "She has magic."

Danny did not respond.

"Apparently, she's quite good at it. Very promising."

Danny let out a mournful and thoroughly envious little noise, which seemed to say, 'Why not me?'

Aelin laughed, a warm smile spreading across her face. And it was at times like that, some would observe, that she showed her true beauty.

"Worry not, young Prince," she said wryly. "If your stepfather is anything to go by, you'll be channelling the One Power in no time."

This did not seem to reassure him. For now, it puzzled her slightly, but she brushed it aside as Danny commented, "She idolises you."

"That's putting it mildly," Aelin said dryly. "She doesn't bat an eyelid at anyone and though she is not an unusually talkative person, she is remarkably comfortable speaking her mind with all from the lowliest servant to Rand himself. But whenever she meets me, she seems to have no words at all."

"She doesn't want to embarrass herself, maybe?" Danny suggested.

Aelin sighed. "Probably. I wish she would talk to me like she did just then – I have so much advice I'd like to give her," she said.

Danny gave her an inquiring look.

"The Westlands are not precisely unwelcoming to female warriors, and it admires their achievements. But it does not encourage them, either. I found this out myself, as have many," Aelin explained. "The Aes Sedai are admired, yes, but parents do not hold us up as examples for their daughters. Instead, they nod sagely, admire them as heroes and legends, then tell their daughters to get on with their lessons."

"That doesn't seem fair," Danny said frowning.

"Is your earth so different?" Aelin asked. "From what your stepfather has told me, mankind is prone to starting vicious wars, devising terrible weapons and turning on those different to themselves."

They sat where Danny and Amaris had sat only a couple of minutes ago.

"We're also capable of turning our ingenuity in weaponry to greater purpose, and reconciling with our most bitter enemies," Danny countered, speaking softly with a hint of wonder. "The same impulses that drove us to conquer each other were turned to competing in the exploration of space. The same technology, the 'rockets', that once rained death and destruction down upon our greatest and most ancient cities, London, and the innocents within, are now used to reach out to the stars."

Aelin smiled, touched by a glimmer of admiration for Danny's words. "Just as you say, the Westlands, like Earth, have witnessed the devastating consequences of our own conflicts and the destructive power of our ingenuity. But it is in those moments of realization that we have the opportunity to reshape our path and direct our efforts towards a greater purpose."

They rose from their seats, the weight of their conversation still lingering in the air. Aelin's smile radiated warmth as she looked at Danny.

"I have travelled far and met many individuals, but you possess a unique spirit. Your compassion, courage, and unwavering determination are qualities that would make you a remarkable prince."

Danny's eyes widened, his heart touched by her words. To hear such praise from someone as formidable as Aelin was both unexpected and humbling.

"Thank you, Aelin," he replied, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Coming from you, that means a great deal."

As they resumed their walk, the world around them seemed to come alive with new possibilities. The breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the promise of change and growth. Aelin and Danny walked side by side and, for the first time, Danny felt excited for the official introduction tomorrow.

Danny found that he actually rather enjoyed being outfitted for his Andorran clothing. For one thing, Andorrans were a practical people, by and large, and didn't see any reason why you should choose between clothing that looked good and clothing that you could slaughter an invading army in.

They also didn't try to put him in armour, and try and portray him as a young warrior lad in the making, because he would, quite simply, look ridiculous and probably, quite uncomfortable.

Instead, his clothing consisted of a reasonably loose warm golden-yellow silk long sleeved shirt, a burgundy red, gold edged cloak that was held up with a simple yet intricate feather brooch, made of gold. It also, to Danny's relief, reached to his ankles and was designed specifically not to get tangled in his legs.

The ensemble was rounded off with a simple brown leather belt with a gold buckle and small dagger in a sheath at his right hip, burgundy red breeches, matching the cloak, practical warm brown shoes, and, finally and most crucially, a simple, yet intricately designed golden circle, with an elliptical triskelion incised in ruby set in the centre.

This circle, the triskelion to denote his status as one of the House of Trakand and golden to denote his status in relation to the Dragon Reborn, was designed specifically to make sure that everybody knew who and what they were dealing with – a Prince of the Blood.

While this in and of itself made Danny feel a little awkward, he was rather cheered up by the fact that the cloak would manifest a hood, if he willed it, appealing to his fondness for privacy.

This had been added at the suggestion of his stepfather, who well understood what it was like to sometimes want to hide.

"Just don't do it in the middle of the banquet," Nickolas had said, tone lightly amused. "And I won't get in trouble with your grandfather for it."

That just left the banquet itself.

The banquet hall of Andor stood as a true testament to the grandeur and elegance of the realm. From the moment one set foot inside, they were transported to a world of unparalleled beauty and magnificence.

The entrance to the banquet hall was a masterpiece in itself. Towering double doors, intricately carved with glistening gold, beckoned guests into the enchanting space beyond. As the doors swung open, a soft, golden light spilled out, casting a warm and inviting glow.

Tall, arched windows lined the walls, allowing sunlight to filter through delicate, colourful stained glass, casting vibrant patterns of light and shadow on the polished marble floor.

Two long golden tables, inscribed with swirling symbols, set apart to allow people to circulate comfortably, pointing towards the top table, which lay across the room on a set of dais. Above that hung three huge crimson banners, edged and embroidered with gold.

If needs be, it could seat thousands, and comfortably at that.

The sides of the room were relatively open, with a series of arches along the side, the left hand ones leading to a stone balcony from which one could look out and enjoy the night sky.

To enter it, you could come in from the side, but on nights when it was being used, that was mainly reserved for servants or those seeking a quiet exit. Entrances, however, were at the top of the steps that descended into the room.

And that was the part that, right here, right now, with thousands of people looking up at him, bothered Danny.

Then he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and looked up at his grandmother. Tradition dictated that entering a banquet hall be done in pairs where possible, and also be man and woman.

"Calm yourself, grandson," Aviendha said reassuringly. "They're only curious to see the newest Prince of Andor." She smirked. "So let's show them a prince."

Danny smiled slightly, and stood straight, tipping his chin in a slightly defiant fashion, staring bravely at the waiting crowds, for he was just out of sight. He looked every inch a Prince.

That, Aviendha thought, was a smile that charmed all who saw it, and in years to come would draw girls to him like moths to a flame. And, naturally, he would have absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Nickolas looked down at his stepson, standing by Aviendha's side, and smiled. Because when he looked down at him, he felt an up swell of pure love and pride. Not so long ago, he would not have been able to imagine a life like this.

Now, he could not imagine a life without.

He had been a lone wanderer, searching for purpose and belonging. But fate had led him to Wendy, and with her came Danny.

As Nickolas looked at Danny, standing tall and confident, he marvelled at the strength and resilience the young boy had displayed throughout their journey. Danny had embraced his role as a stepson with grace and open-hearted acceptance, never doubting the love that Nickolas and Wendy had offered him.

In their union, Nickolas had found purpose and a sense of belonging that he had longed for. The love they had cultivated as a blended family had become the bedrock upon which their lives were built.

And as they stood there, Nickolas whispered a silent prayer of gratitude to the fates that had brought Wendy and Danny into his life. They had given him a purpose beyond his wildest dreams.

He shared a grin with Danny, then turned and briefly kissed Wendy on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Wendy asked, surprised and blushing slightly.

"Because you're wonderful," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You've given me a love I never thought possible, and together, we've created a family that fills my heart with joy."

Wendy's smile radiated warmth as she reached out and intertwined her fingers with Nickolas'. Nickolas had brought Wendy to the Westlands just the day before, a decision that had filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She had known Nickolas as a loving and caring partner, but little did she suspect the grand secret he had been harbouring all along.

Shock had coursed through her veins, as she struggled to reconcile the image of the man she knew with the grandeur of his true lineage. She had looked into Nickolas' eyes, searching for the truth, and had found a mixture of vulnerability and determination. He had explained the reasons for his secrecy, the weight of responsibility that came with his royal bloodline, and the fear of being judged solely based on his heritage rather than the person he was.

Min's face had lit up with joy as she had embraced Wendy, her excitement palpable. It was as if they were long-time friends reuniting, rather than meeting for the first time. The genuine warmth in Min's embrace washed away any lingering doubts or insecurities that Wendy had carried.

Rand and Min had embraced her unconditionally, seeing her not as an outsider but as a cherished addition to their family.

Nickolas and Wendy stepped forward, into view, immediately getting the attention of all.

"Prince Barid Al Thor of Andor and Lady Wendy of Earth," the Herald announced.

The Herald nodded at Danny, who glanced up at Aviendha, before the two of them stepped forward.

"Prince Danny Al Thor of Andor," the Herald said, and Danny almost completely missed his announcement of Aviendha as he realised one thing.

His life had changed forever.

Despite the initial shock, Danny managed to smile and even essayed a little wave to general approval along the 'he's so sweet and polite' lines, and let Aviendha guide him down the steps.

"Now," Aviendha murmured. "Let me handle the introductions." The first introduction was a tall man with tousled gleaming silver hair and piercing pine-green eyes. The most distinctive aspect of his appearance was the wicked-looking tattoo that adorned the left side of his face. This intricate design started at his temple and gracefully flowed over his strong jaw line, continuing down his throat, where it disappeared beneath his clothing.

Danny liked him immediately, simply because the first thing he did was smile kindly, eyes twinkling, at Danny, then take Aviendha hand and kiss it. "My lady," he murmured.

Aviendha looked amused. "Danny, this is King Rowan Whitethorn of Saldaea, husband to Queen Aelin Galathynius, Lord Protector of the Two Rivers," she said. "One of the greatest warriors in the Westlands." She turned to Rowan. "Rowan, this is Prince Danny Al Thor, my grandson."

"You flatter me," Rowan chuckled, and dipped his head to Danny politely, before giving him a long, assessing look, as if there was something about Danny that was puzzlingly familiar. "Prince Danny Al Thor, it is an honour to finally meet you. My wife already speaks highly of you."

Danny felt a surge of curiosity at Rowan's words, a spark of recognition that danced at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't help but wonder what connection, if any, the King of Saldaea saw in him. However, he decided to set his thoughts aside for the moment and focus on the present.

Danny bowed his head respectfully. "It's an honour to meet you, King Rowan. I am grateful for your kind words."

"You are most welcome, Prince Danny. I sense there is more to you than meets the eye. Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to get to know each other better. My thanks, my lady," he said before strolling away from the pair.

Aviendha turned her attention back to Danny, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I told you this gathering would introduce you to a fascinating array of individuals," she remarked as they moved through the crowd.

The next introduction was to a pair of Aes Sedai which then resulted in a very long twenty minute conversation about the history of the Aes Sedai and the White Tower. Danny, while finding it informative, was grateful when Aviendha finally thanked the pair of Aes Sedai and led him away before the oral history could drag on further.

Danny found that he was actually rather enjoying this banquet. Or rather, banquet to be. The food was apparently not due for another fifteen minutes, to give the guests full time to circulate, chat, threaten, backstab and subvert.

As Aviendha mingled with the guests, Danny suddenly felt a familiar, warm presence, and he looked up to see Amaris making her way over, discretely but definitely towing a tall, beautiful woman who had similar features to her. She had honey brown hair and amber eyes that were filled with fond exasperation aimed at her young charge. But when they landed on Danny, they widened slightly, before narrowing thoughtfully.

"Danny!"

"Hi Amaris," Danny said, smiling. There was something about the girl that made him smile, a warm presence about her that cheered him up. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said cheerfully, and Danny smiled again. "And you?"

"Same as you – fine, really," he said. "No, better than fine."

"Good."

For some reason, she made him smile. If he'd known her for longer, he'd have seen that she unconsciously had that affect on most people, in the same way that he drew them to him without ever realising it. An untrained empath is like as not to project their emotions, so it was fortunate that Diana was a particularly sweet natured girl.

Amaris nudged her chaperone. "This is my older sister, Marinna," she introduced.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Marinna," Danny said, bowing respectfully. "Amaris speaks highly of you."

Marinna's raised eyebrow softened into a knowing smile, her amber eyes filled with a mix of amusem*nt and curiosity. There was an air of maturity about her that hinted at experiences beyond her years, and Danny sensed that she possessed a depth of wisdom to match.

"The pleasure is mine, Prince Danny," Marinna replied. "Amaris has mentioned you as well. It seems you have made quite an impression on her."

Amaris blushed at her sister's remark, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. Danny couldn't help but find her innocence endearing, and he felt a sense of protectiveness towards her.

"He is a little more reticent than I expected," Marinna commented to Amaris.

"He's just a bit shy, Marinna," Amaris said fairly. "This is his first banquet, after all," she reminded her sister.

"Shyness is not a bad trait, indeed, it is preferable to unwarranted arrogance," Marinna said. "A sin I remember Barid being guilty of at his age."

Danny looked up suddenly, surprised. "You knew him when he was a kid?"

Marinna's amber eyes held a hint of nostalgia as she recalled the past. "Oh yes. He had a sharp tongue and a brash confidence that often got him into trouble. But he grew wiser with time, as we all do."

Danny's curiosity piqued, and he leaned in closer, eager to hear more about Nickolas's past. "What was he like back then?"

Amaris giggled softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He wassucha troublemaker. Always getting into scrapes and mischief with me, Chalinda, Janduin and Elan."

"I understand Amaris got into a scrap herself yesterday," Aviendha remarked, approaching her two daughters and glancing down at her youngest.

Danny flushed and Min, who had also walked up to them, frowned. "Aelin has spoken to me of that incident, as has Danny," she said, a hint of rebuke in her tone. "Danny could not control his power and Amaris did not have the mental shields to withstand it."

"That is true. Both need to learn control," Aviendha said, and glanced at youngest daughter again. "I think that it will teach this young lady to attend her lessons and not make the lives of the poor, helpless guards sent to collect her miserable."

"He felt bored," Amaris protested. "And he wasn't bored by the time he caught up to me."

"That much," Aviendha said, tone dry. "Is true." She gave Danny a long look. "Before stands a boy who has chosen the path of a hero."

"I haven't chosen anything," Danny said, surprised.

"Have you not?" Aviendha asked, amused. "Maybe that is call to ask a question," she said, tone cryptic. "Does the Walker choose the Path, or the Path the Walker?"

Min gave her a sharp look. "Or is the Path undecided and the Walker unready?" she retorted.

"The Path is always decided. And readiness is ever mutable," Aviendha responded.

Danny frowned up at the two, puzzled and uneasy, before sharing a look with Amaris and Marinna, who both shrugged. Even empaths can only read so much.

Suddenly, there was a vast horn call, which was less sound than pure force, and Danny nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling, eyes wild, to see the source of the sound.

It belonged to a portly man who was standing on the dais, red faced and beaming as he lowered the horn in the silence. "And now: food!" he cried cheerfully, to applause and scattering of amused laughter.

"That's High Lord Darlin Sisnera," Min whispered to a puzzled Danny. "He's a nobleman hailing from Tear but has since become involved in the politics of Andor. He is well-known for his love for food and possessing a hearty appetite."

"He is harmless enough," Aviendha remarked dryly. "Though he can be a shrewd and strategic thinker when he wants to be. Come, Amaris, Marinna, we must go to our places. I believe we are seated next to your cousin Aelin."

The banquet hall buzzed with the hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware against fine china as Danny navigated the sea of tables adorned with decadent feasts. The aromas of savoury meats, aromatic spices, and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, tantalizing his senses and stirring his hunger.

As Danny settled into his seat, he marvelled at the abundance before him. The banquet showcased a vibrant array of dishes, a culinary tapestry that blended the familiar with the exotic. Platters laden with succulent roasted meats, both familiar and unfamiliar, were expertly carved to perfection. His eyes danced across the table, taking in the vibrant colours of steaming stews, pies brimming with rich fillings, and a medley of vegetables cooked to perfection.

But it was the unfamiliar delicacies that intrigued him the most. Spit-roasted game birds glistened with succulent juices, their aroma mingling with the earthy scent of boiled lambsquarters. Plates adorned with skyr, a creamy and tangy yogurt-like dish, beckoned to him. Fruits and vegetables, their shapes and tastes entirely foreign to him, offered a tantalizing mystery waiting to be unravelled.

The banquet hall was a symphony of activity, with servers rushing back and forth, their arms laden with platters of food. Danny couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for them as they navigated the crowded space, skilfully weaving between the guests, ensuring that the feast flowed seamlessly.

Finding his designated seat, Danny settled down next to Wendy and Nickolas on the left side of the banquet table. Wendy's radiant smile greeted him, and Nickolas nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes bright with anticipation. Danny exchanged pleasantries, sharing in their excitement for the grand event unfolding before them.

As his gaze wandered, Danny's attention was drawn to the figures seated nearby. Rand, as the Dragon Reborn, was seated at the head of the table. On either side of Rand sat Elayne and Aviendha.

Next to Nickolas, Min was seated beside her daughter and Nickolas's younger sister, Chalinda. Chalinda exuded an air of youthful elegance and innocence. Her delicate features were framed by long, flowing auburn curls. Her gown, a masterpiece of intricate design, was a soft shade of lavender that complemented her fair complexion.

Her lips, painted with a soft rose hue, curved into a gentle smile that mirrored the warmth in her eyes. The subtle flush on her cheeks added a touch of innocence to her appearance, as if she were untouched by the complexities of the realm in which she resided.

Seated next to Elayne were her own children. Gareth, Elayne's son, possessed a strong and noble countenance that mirrored his mother's regal beauty. His face bore a striking resemblance to Elayne, every line and contour reminiscent of her grace and strength. However, Gareth's golden hair, inherited from his mother, set him apart, shimmering in the light and framing his face with a radiant halo. His deep blue eyes, inherited from his father, added a touch of intensity to his overall appearance. Gareth's attire was impeccably tailored, a black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and tall stature.

Seated beside Gareth, Mierin Trakand showcased an uncanny resemblance to her mother, Elayne. Her features echoed Elayne's regal beauty, her face a mirror image of the Queen's. However, Mierin's gray-blue eyes, like a stormy sky, added a touch of mystery and depth to her appearance. Her hair, flowing in luxurious waves, bore the same golden hue as her brother's.

Across the table, Aviendha's sons, Janduin and Elan, displayed the sturdy grace of warriors in training. Janduin, with his sun-kissed complexion and chiselled features, embodied a serene sense of confidence. His dark hair, tousled and untamed, hinted at the wildness that simmered within his soul. Janduin's gaze, framed by thick brows, held a quiet intensity that spoke of his dedication to the path of the warrior. Clad in a simple yet well-fitted tunic and trousers, he carried himself with a sturdy grace, every movement purposeful and deliberate.

In contrast, Elan possessed a more mischievous and light-hearted demeanour. His playful charm was evident in his infectious smile and the sparkle in his deep green eyes. With tousled chestnut hair that fell with an air of carefree rebellion, Elan exuded an undeniable magnetism. His attire, a blend of practicality and youthful flair, showcased his vibrant personality.

As Danny made his introduction, he greeted each member of his newfound family with warmth and sincerity. The exchange of pleasantries flowed effortlessly, allowing him to establish a connection with each of them. Chalinda and Elan, in particular, radiated an infectious enthusiasm upon meeting their new family member. Their eyes sparkled with excitement, and their smiles widened as they eagerly embraced Danny, pulling him into tight hugs.

Amaris, in particular, waved at Danny, then pointed to where Aelin and Rowan were seated nearby. She leaned closer to Danny, her voice filled with whispered excitement.

"I get to sit next to her," Amaris shared, her voice barely above a whisper, referring to Aelin. The awe and admiration in her voice were undeniable, as if being seated next to her hero and idol was a cherished honour.

Danny's attention was suddenly captivated by the sight of a woman making her way towards the seat opposite him. Her beauty struck him like a bolt of lightning, even though her expression betrayed a mix of boredom and sullenness.

Before he could ponder further, Aelin recognized the woman and rushed to greet her with an embrace, her joy evident. The woman, whom Aelin introduced to Danny as Manon Blackbeak, wore a mask of indifference as she endured the hug. Aelin, sensing something amiss, whispered a question in a concerned tone, but Manon's response was marked with a glare and a curt declaration that she was fine.

Danny's gaze fell upon Manon, and for the first time, her eyes met his. Manon's alabaster skin glowed with an otherworldly luminescence, a stark contrast to the dark shadows that danced beneath her eyes. Her long, moon-white hair cascaded down her back in a mesmerizing waterfall of silken strands, an ethereal halo framing her face.

But it was her eyes that held him captive. Burnt gold, they shimmered with such an intensity it was as if they could unravel the depths of his very being.

As Danny observed her more closely, he noticed the set of retractable iron fangs and nails, a testament to her lineage as an Ironteeth (Danny made a mental note to ask either Nickolas or Min about them) and fearsome nature. Her red and black dress clung to her form like a second skin. The fabric, a rich blend of crimson and ebony, wove together in a tapestry of contrasting hues that mirrored the duality within her own nature.

The bodice of the dress moulded to Manon's slender waist, emphasizing her graceful silhouette and the subtle strength that lay beneath her elegant exterior. The deep red fabric flowed gracefully, tracing the contours of her curves with a regal grace that demanded attention.

At the waist, a sleek black belt cinched the dress, accentuating her hourglass silhouette and adding a touch of authority to her ensemble. The skirt billowed out from the waist, cascading in layers of black fabric punctuated with intermittent bursts of scarlet. The alternating panels created a mesmerizing effect, as if embers danced amidst shadow, lending an air of mystery and allure.

Despite the sharpness of her fangs and nails, there was a certain allure that emanated from Manon, an irresistible magnetism that seemed to draw Danny in. The clash of her sullen expression and the undeniable allure she possessed only deepened his curiosity. His eyes were inexplicably drawn to her nails, marvelling at the sharpness that coexisted with a graceful femininity.

A tall man in a tailored black tuxedo sat in the seat opposite Manon. Smiling at Danny, he introduced himself as Dorian Havilliard, Manon's husband. Dorian's hair was meticulously styled, his dark locks swept back effortlessly, adding a touch of debonair charm to his countenance.

Danny's eyes flickered between the two figures before him. The revelation took him by surprise, for the pair didn't exactly give off the aura of a married couple.

With a polite smile, Danny extended a hand towards Dorian. "Pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," he greeted.

Dorian's grip was firm, yet his smile held a hint of intrigue. "Likewise, Prince Danny," he replied.

Manon's golden eyes bore into Danny's as she questioned him further, her curiosity and scepticism evident. "So, you're the new prince everyone is here to see?" she inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of scepticism.

Danny nodded, maintaining a calm composure despite the weight of her scrutiny. "Yes, I am," he affirmed, his tone steady and confident.

Manon's voice cut through the air with a dry, sardonic tone as she observed Danny from head to toe. "You're taller than I expected," she remarked, her words laced with a hint of amusem*nt.

Danny couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her comment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, I suppose appearances can be deceiving," he replied, his tone light and playful.

A flicker of something resembling amusem*nt crossed Manon's eyes, the corners of her lips curling ever so slightly.

Danny delved into the banquet, savouring the diverse flavours and textures that graced his plate. The culinary delights presented before him were a testament to the artistry of the chefs, each dish crafted with precision and care. He delighted in the symphony of tastes that danced upon his palate, from the succulent roasted meats to the delicate balance of herbs and spices that infused the vibrant vegetable dishes.

With pure gusto, he tore into the bread, relishing the satisfying crunch and the release of fragrant steam that filled the air.

As Danny savoured each bite, the servers glided gracefully through the banquet hall, their attentive presence ensuring that no guest was left wanting. They executed their duties with a seamless choreography, anticipating the needs of the attendees and offering impeccable service.

Amidst the feast and the bustling atmosphere, Danny couldn't help but notice Manon's occasional piercing gaze. Her long, hard looks lingered on him, filled with a blend of curiosity and scrutiny. It was as if she were trying to unravel the layers of his being, seeking to understand him on a deeper level. While her intense scrutiny could have been unnerving, Danny couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue. He wondered what thoughts and impressions were swirling within her mind.

Was she piecing together fragments of his past, attempting to discern his true intentions? Or perhaps she was merely intrigued by the arrival of a new family member, her analytical nature naturally drawn to understanding the dynamics at play.

As Danny continued to engage with other family members, he found himself stealing glances in Manon's direction. It was as if they were two puzzle pieces, yearning to fit together and reveal a more complete picture.

As if sensing his stare, Manon's silvery eyes snapped up to meet his. Unflinching, yet not unkind. "I heard tell of the... incident, involving the breaking of my young cousin's nose," she commented.

"It was a momentary loss of control," Min interjected gently in Danny's defence. "All those with the One Power know such slip-ups can occur in our youth, before mastery is attained. We are all fortunate young Amaris only sustained a minor injury."

Manon tilted her head, her long hair swaying with every graceful movement. "Magic is but a muscle - it must be honed through practice and use, not feared like some unruly beast." She turned to Danny fully. "Tell me, Prince Daniel, what mastery do you have over your gift?"

Nickolas spoke up smoothly. "Daniel was fortunate to receive schooling at Ilvermorny until recently," he explained. "Much like the esteemed White Tower here, they nurture youths who are born with magic."

That piqued Manon's interest in a way that set Danny on edge. She rose abruptly from the table.

"Then let me test the mettle of this 'schooling'," she declared, steely gaze pinning Danny in place. "Stand, Prince Daniel. I would see your gifts for myself."

Gasps echoed around the table. But Manon's determined gaze held steady on Danny, silently daring refusal.

"Stand, Daniel," she repeated.

With a steadying breath, Danny complied.

The tension in the room grew palpable as Manon beckoned him to step back from the table. Danny took measured steps, putting some distance between himself and the banquet table, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Show me your reflexes, Prince," Manon purred, seemingly at ease while tensions grew around them. Without warning, a blade left her hand, darting swift as a viper toward Danny's unprotected form.

Time slowed. Danny focused inward, calling on lessons learned to calm turbulent power. "Arresto Momentum," he echoed in his mind like a mantra, his concentration unwavering.

The knife hurtled through the air, a glinting sliver of danger aimed directly at Danny's face. But in that suspended moment, as if guided by a force beyond his own, Danny's magic responded. The knife, mere inches from his skin, slowed in its velocity, defying the laws of physics. It was as if time itself had been momentarily tamed by his incantation.

A collective gasp rippled through the room, giving way to an eruption of applause that filled the air like a roaring tide. The family members, their shock transformed into awe, erupted in cheers and exclamations of amazement. Young Elan's voice rose above the clamour, jubilantly proclaiming, "Awesome!"

Wendy, a mix of relief and concern etched on her face, rushed to her son's side, examining him for any signs of harm. Meanwhile, Nickolas, Min, and Aelin - though plainly impressed - all shot disapproving glares at Manon.

Manon watched Danny with a curl of smile, evidently pleased by what she'd witnessed. Danny met her gaze evenly, chest still heaving from adrenaline and exertion. Yet underneath beat another emotion, one that brought a flush of colour to his cheeks under her measured scrutiny.

Pleasure.

At having passed her test of reflex and control so adeptly, proving himself to her. But also simple gratitude for her acceptance - and more mysterious still, the glint of approval in her silvery gaze that sent unfamiliar warmth through him.

Manon's smile held more than satisfaction at a challenge met, though what deeper currents stirred there Danny could not name. Her regard held fast even as conversation around them resumed.

Now

Danny's mind wandered through the memories, each recollection etched with vivid detail. He remembered the stolen glances and the hesitating touches that spoke of feelings deeper than what was said aloud.

Most vivid were the instances of vulnerability they'd shared in private talks before the fire. Manon candidly recounting the tragedy of her six miscarriages and stillbirths, the toll each loss had exacted on her body and spirit. How she'd retreated within herself out of fear of further pain, slowly growing apart from her husband.

Danny alone knew how she'd wept in his arms that night, grief and regret pouring out as the walls cracked in his comforting presence. It was in such moments of open trust their bond had formed, built on understanding each other's struggles in a way few others could.

The world around them had faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them entangled in a web of desire and forbidden love.

When next they found moments alone, the world fell silent around Danny and Manon, leaving only the space between their heaving breaths.

She met his gaze with a hunger to match the ache in his own soul. All restraint crumbled in an instant as lips and limbs entwined, desires kept too long at bay surging to the surface. They tumbled into bed lost in nothing but sensation; the world stripped down to secret whispers and mingled heat.

In the sanctuary of stolen nights, Manon relinquished control and Danny lost himself in worshipping every inch of her skin. Each kiss, gasp and sigh from parted lips was more exquisite than the last. They clung to fleeting glimpses of passion amid responsibilities, memorizing what they weren't meant to have.

After, limbs still trembling, they traded gentle kisses and softer caresses beneath the watchful stars. Words weren't needed - their hearts resounded as one, souls kindling a flame society deemed forbidden.

Danny knew deep down that their affair was built on a foundation of secrets and deception. Each passionate encounter, though offering brief solace, only added bricks to the walls that would one day come crumbling down around them. It was a dangerous game they had played, risking everything - reputations, familial ties - for the sake of their desires.

And inevitably, fate caught up to them in the form of Aelin catching Danny and Manon enwrapped in an intimate moment behind the stables one moonlit evening. Her look of utter shock and betrayal had cut deeper than any rebuke could. From that night, Danny knew their clandestine dalliance could continue no longer.

As he sat pondering these memories now, Danny wondered if things might have turned out differently had they been bold enough to confront their feelings sooner, damn the consequences. Or was their love doomed from the start?

Despite the secret passion she had shared with Danny, Manon's duties to her clan and husband saw her remain by Dorian's side. Months elapsed after Aelin's intrusion ended the forbidden affair, though a small part of Manon's heart would always belong to the young prince.

Then, seemingly by a blessing from the gods themselves, Manon at last felt the first flutters of new life quickening within her womb. Where so many pregnancies had ended in heartbreak, this one held fast.

The night her labor pains began in earnest, Manon clutched Dorian's hand and grit her teeth through wave after wave of agony. But after hours of struggle, a new voice joined the cacophony - the lusty cries of an infant coming into the world.

Aris Sorscha Blackbeak Crochan-Havilliard had entered the world, and with her came a sense of peace and promise for the future for the Seanchan Empire.

In the months that followed, news spread of the Blackbeak heir. Though happy for Manon and her family, Danny's heart had ached with memories of what might have been. All he could do was send word to Manon, offering congratulations and well-wishes for mother and child.

Frustration welled within him. Why was he allowing himself to be distracted by memories? This was not the time for sentimentality or longing. He needed to focus on the task ahead, on the responsibility he had undertaken.

With a deep breath, Danny pushed aside the thoughts of Manon.

As he gazed into the distance, the serenity shattered when a voice pierced through the quietude.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Matthew's voice rang out, a gentle interruption to Danny's solitude. Startled, Danny turned his head to find the vampire standing before him, a curious smile adorning Matthew's face.

"Matthew," Danny greeted softly. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

"Why don't you join me for dinner?" Matthew offered. "No need to talk if you don't want to, but I find a good meal and wine can sometimes lift the heaviest of spirits, even for a short time."

Swallowing his reservations, Danny nodded, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "Alright," he agreed, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Dinner sounds... good."

The two men moved in silence, their footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

As they strolled along the meandering path, the towering skyscrapers of New York City provided a stark backdrop, their imposing presence a testament to the city's relentless energy. Amidst the urban chaos, a sense of tranquillity washed over them, the park offering a brief respite from the cacophony of everyday life.

The Per Se restaurant stood as a testament to culinary artistry, its understated façade exuding an aura of sophistication and exclusivity. The building's exterior was adorned with large glass windows, offering glimpses of the culinary masterpieces created within.

Danny's eyes widened with a mixture of anticipation and awe as they approached the entrance. The heavy wooden door, intricately carved with delicate patterns, swung open, welcoming them into a world of refined tastes and indulgence. The interior was adorned with warm earth tones, the walls adorned with tasteful artwork that whispered of a rich history and appreciation for the finer things in life.

The restaurant's layout was spacious yet intimate, with dimmed lighting casting soft shadows across the room. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their prismatic reflections dancing across the tables set with crisp white linens and polished silverware. The gentle hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter.

They seated themselves at a table near the window, offering a breath-taking view of Central Park's lush greenery and the cityscape beyond. The waiter appeared and handed them the menu.

With a nod and a smile, they placed their orders. The waiter retreated, leaving them to bask in the ambiance of the restaurant and the anticipation of the impending feast.

As the first course arrived, a delicate sea urchin dish accompanied by a glass of aged Chardonnay, Danny reclined in his chair.

Matthew sat forward upon the arrival of their first course, offering an easy smile as he lifted his wine glass in a toast. "The Presidential elections approach for MACUSA. My family, the de Clairmonts, have deep interests in the outcome. My mother Ysabeau has asked me to gather what intelligence I can on the leading candidates and their platforms."

His eyes hardening, Danny met Matthew's gaze directly. "Is that what this was about? Extracting information from me under false pretences?" Beneath the table, his hands curled into fists upon his knees.

Matthew held up a pleading hand. "Please, let me explain fully. My intentions were never deception, only duty, as it so often is. Tell me - why did you leave the British Embassy just now?"

Danny scowled. "Spying on me now? And since when are you your mother's errand boy? I thought you hated each other."

A grimace flashed across Matthew's face before disappearing. "We have our...differences, as all family. But she rules the de Clermont clan, so I do as requested."

"Doesn't sound like you," Danny noted pointedly.

Matthew sighed, running a hand through his hair in a distinctly un-vampiric gesture of frustration. "You're right, of course. But keeping the peace means compromising one's pride at times. And Ysabeau knows my interests in the States run deeper than simple politics. There's a larger game at play, and I wanted to offer you a chance to be a part of it."

Danny raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "A larger game? What do you mean?"

Matthew leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone. "Viktor's candidacy for the presidency of MACUSA concerns me. If he does become President, the consequences could reverberate far beyond the borders of the continent."

Danny's brow furrowed, his concern mirrored in his eyes. "You fear he may ignite tensions and incite a vampire war across Wizarding Europe?"

Matthew nodded, a sombre expression darkening his features. "Indeed, my friend. Viktor's insatiable hunger for power knows no bounds. He has the potential to exploit the fragile relationships between the vampire courts and the wizarding world, causing chaos and bloodshed on a grand scale."

Danny's voice, laced with conviction, cut through the air. "Look I know Viktor. He may be greedy and ambitious, but even he wouldn't be foolish enough to start a war in Europe. He just needs to look at Grindelwald's attempt at conquest and see how that turned out for him."

"You don't seem as concerned as I am about the possibilities of a global war."

Danny's gaze met Matthew's, his eyes reflecting a resolute determination. "Matthew, my focus has always been on a larger goal—a goal that transcends the confines of politics and the delineations of mere lines on a map."

Realisation dawned on Matthew as he finished eating the last of his sea urchin. "You're still on your quest to reach the Dark Tower, aren't you, Danny?"

"And what of your pursuit, Matthew? The elusive Ashmole 782, said to hold the secrets of existence itself. Is it not also a seemingly impossible task, a quest that may lead to disappointment and futility?"

The two men glared at each other, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. A waiter discreetly approached their table. With a polite nod, he swiftly cleared away their empty plates, making way for the second course that had just arrived.

At the centre of each plate, a perfectly seared fillet of tender beef rested atop a bed of creamy mashed potatoes, infused with hints of garlic and herbs. The meat, cooked to perfection, glistened with savoury juices, tantalizing the palate with its rich aroma. Surrounding the beef, an array of vibrant seasonal vegetables adorned the plates.

Matthew's piercing gaze fixed upon Danny, his voice laced with curiosity. "This cut of meat looks superb. Though I must say, the herbal aroma has me wondering what secrets those British diplomats were sharing, to leave you stalking so pensively from their halls," he remarked casually.

Danny paused with his cutlery halfway to his lips, shooting Matthew an irritated side-eye. "You're as insufferable as ever prying into affairs that don't concern you, De Clairmont."

"As a De Clairmont representative it's only right that pertinent details should be shared," Matthew urged between bites of beef.

Danny rolled his eyes, stabbing at a potato with added force. "Arrogance is unbecoming of you, Matthew. But I suppose as a vampire, arrogance comes naturally."

A flash of irritation crossed Matthew's face, though he said nothing, eating in silence.

Danny continued, tone quietly scathing, "Your family's machinations hold no interest for me. I harbour little love for vampires as a whole." His voice hardened briefly. "Even now, so-called progress leaves much to be desired."

Matthew sighed. "We already had this conversation 11 years ago back in France," he reminded Danny. "There is no need for a repeat of it."

"And yet little has changed in that time," Danny replied, a hint of frustration lacing his words. He took a sip of his wine, its rich aroma momentarily distracting him from the weight of the topic at hand. "The Unseelie Accords establish equality before the law, yet loopholes undermine that principle's spirit. The 'separate but equal' policy enforced by MACUSA regarding werewolves is nothing short of a travesty. Much like their European and British counterparts, they're treated as second-class citizens, forced to live in poverty-stricken reservations, away from human and more "civilized" beings."

"Need I remind you that in centuries gone past, vampires, witches and wizards were hunted and killed by humans simply for wanting to exist?" Matthew retorted, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "The struggle for acceptance, equality, and coexistence is not a new one."

Danny's eyebrows furrowed with disbelief despite the smile that crossed his face. "It's funny actually. While my classmates at Ilvermorny only paid attention to American wizarding history, I always found myself drawn to a broader perspective. I wanted to understand the magical history of other countries, to see how different cultures shaped the magical world.

"Mexico, with its vibrant traditions of magic intertwined with Aztec and Mayan influences. Canada, where the indigenous magic thrived alongside European wizardry. France, with its rich magical heritage and the iconic Beauxbatons Academy. Germany, known for its alchemical contributions. England, the land of ancient wizarding families and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And even Russia, with its tales of Baba Yaga and the enigmatic Russian wizards."

"But it was the stories of Regeane and Maeniel that truly captivated me," Danny continued, his voice filled with reverence, "They were pioneers for werewolf rights, fighting for unity and independence. Their efforts were so close to achieving something extraordinary. I even wrote a paper about them for an exam. It became quite the passion project of mine in fact."

Danny's gaze intensified as he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Matthew's. "Do you know how Regeane and Maeniel died?" he asked.

Matthew met Danny's intense stare, his piercing gaze unwavering. He took a final bite of his fillet of tender beef, savouring the flavours before setting his plate aside. "They died in Dark Ages Italy," he answered.

"The ancient city of Verona, actually," Danny corrected. "They were found with their throats ripped out. Alongside them were the members of their werewolf scion, the very clan they were attempting to build."

Danny's expression suddenly darkened. "The Italian Ministry of Magic was under immense pressure to find the culprits responsible," he stated. "The outrage and demand for justice among Italian wizards and witches were relentless."

"You wrote all this for an exam?" Matthew interrupted, his eyebrows raised in astonishment, momentarily breaking the flow of their conversation.

Danny smiled, a flicker of pride evident in his expression. "Yes, believe it or not," he replied a hint of amusem*nt in his voice. "My paper ended up getting the second highest score in my class."

"And the point of all this is, Danny?" Matthew asked.

"After obtaining the memories of several eyewitnesses to the murder, the Italian Ministry of Magic discovered the identity of the culprit," Danny went on. "It was a vampire who took the lives of Regeane and Maeniel."

"Sadly," Danny continued, disappointment now evident in his voice, "when the Italian Aurors confronted the killer, he managed to flee Italy despite being chased by Aurors on brooms. Never caught, and the murder remained unsolved to this day."

Danny paused as he finished eating his own beef fillet, the taste lingering on his palate as he contemplated the weight of his next words. Setting aside his empty plate, he exhaled slowly. "Philippe de Clairmont was that vampire! But, of course, you already know that, don't you? He destroyed any chance of werewolf unification in Europe, leaving chaos and despair in his wake."

Matthew's expression faltered, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, his gaze meeting Danny's with a resolute expression. "The situation in Europe at that time was incredibly volatile," he defended. "The French Vampire Court viewed the unification of werewolf clans as a threat to their power. If my father hadn't taken action, the court most likely would have stepped in, and the outcome might have been even more catastrophic. It wouldn't have matter if they had hid in Rome, Druidic Gaul or Italy."

"Your father killed Regeane and Maeniel, the only two people who were on the cusp of achieving independence for their kind," Danny continued, his voice laced with anger.

"My father was just following orders," Matthew stated defensively as the waiter gracefully cleared their empty plates.

Danny's eyes narrowed, and a bitter scoff escaped his lips. "Oh, so that makes it okay?" he retorted in disbelief. The phrase "just following orders" struck a nerve within him, conjuring images of historical atrocities that had been committed under the same justification.

The waiter returned, bearing a tray adorned with a decadent tiramisu, its layers of mascarpone cream and coffee-soaked ladyfingers meticulously crafted with a dusting of cocoa powder and garnished with a single chocolate curl.

Matthew's expression tightened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of anger and hurt. "My brother and I fought with the French Resistance against the Nazis," he declared, his voice firm and rising in tone. "We risked our lives to stand against the very same atrocities that you're comparing me to."

A wave of realization washed over Danny, his anger momentarily subsiding as he comprehended the weight of Matthew's words. With a heavy sigh, he relented. "I apologize for the comparison," Danny conceded. "It was unfair, and I should not have made light of the sacrifices you and your brother made."

Matthew's features softened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and forgiveness. He recognized the sincerity in Danny's words and understood the weight of his own experiences. "Apology accepted," he replied. "In any case, I'm not proud of what my father did."

As the tiramisu was gently placed before them, its delicate aroma wafting through the air, Danny and Matthew reached for their spoons, ready to savour the flavours that danced upon their palates.

As the words hung in the air, a profound silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the soft clinking of spoons against dessert plates.

With a faint smile, Matthew leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Danny. "Not to sound like a broken record," he began, his tone light yet persistent, "but will you now tell me the reason you were leaving the British Wizarding embassy?"

Danny, caught mid-air with his spoon, chuckled at Matthew's tenacity. He set the spoon down and met Matthew's gaze, a playful glint in his eyes. "Ah, Matthew, you're like a dog with a bone, aren't you?" he quipped, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Leaning forward, Danny placed his elbows on the table, mirroring Matthew's relaxed posture. He took a deep breath, contemplating how much he should reveal.

"Alright," Danny relented, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I suppose it's only fair." He paused, savouring the suspense that hung in the air, before continuing.

"The President of MACUSA and Minister Shacklebolt asked me to investigate the whereabouts of Auror Abernathy," Danny revealed, his gaze fixed on Matthew. "They want me to confirm if he is dead or alive."

Matthew's brows furrowed, a mixture of surprise and concern etching his features. The mention of the high-ranking American Auror's name carried weight, indicating that the matter at hand was of utmost importance.

"Personally," Danny continued, a touch of scepticism in his voice now, "I believe he's dead. However, the President wants to be certain. He wants Abernathy brought back, dead or alive."

Matthew's eyes narrowed, his mind racing to connect the dots. "So, they want to ensure his return before the voting public learns that a potential candidate is missing?" he questioned.

Danny nodded, his expression serious. "Exactly. The timing is critical, and the potential fallout from Abernathy's absence could have far-reaching consequences for the upcoming election," he acknowledged. His brows furrowed, and a deep scowl etched across his face.

"I can count on one hand the five people I hate the most," Danny muttered, his voice filled with frustration and disdain. "And two of them could wind up as this country's next president. God help us if that happens."

A knowing smirk crossed Matthew's face as he took another spoonful of tiramisu. "You really hate politicians, don't you?" he quipped.

Danny sighed, his frustration evident in his voice. "It's not so much the idea of politicians itself, but rather the corruption and self-serving nature that often accompanies their positions of power," he explained, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth. "When those who should serve the people prioritize their own agendas, it's the citizens who suffer the consequences."

Matthew took a thoughtful sip of his wine. "Are we still talking about wizards or vampires?" he asked.

Danny let out a low scoff. "As far as I'm concerned they're all as bad as each other," he retorted.

"That's quite an overly simplistic assessment," Matthew rebuked.

"But it contains a kernel of truth," Danny persisted. "Think about it, Matthew. The Red Court's war against humanity, the warlocks who abuse their magic for personal gain. Grindelwald and Heinrich Kemmler during World War 2 and the atrocities they both committed. Voldemort in England, the list goes on and on."

Matthew leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. "I won't deny that there are those who have fallen, who have chosen the path of darkness," he conceded. "But it is unfair to paint all wizards and vampires with the same brush."

"First of all," Danny continued, his voice carrying a note of exasperation, "MACUSA's bureaucracy is enough to make a person lose their mind. The amount of paperwork and red tape they subject everyone to is simply mind-boggling. It's like they enjoy drowning themselves in piles of pointless documentation."

Matthew chuckled, a low rumble that resonated with Danny's frustrations. He knew all too well the maddening intricacies of bureaucracy.

"And it's not just dark witches and wizards abusing magic," Danny added, his tone growing darker. "It's also the pompous, power-hungry vampire royal families with their opulence and arrogance, particularly the insufferable Twelve Moroi Royal Families."

Matthew sighed, his weariness evident as he anticipated the forthcoming rant. He had hoped to steer Danny away from certain sensitive topics that had a tendency to ignite his friend's passionate tirades. The memory of their first meeting in 1994, when Danny had passionately denounced the Moroi Royals and their extravagant ways, still lingered vividly in his mind. And now, as the conversation veered back towards that familiar territory, Matthew braced himself, knowing that he was about to embark on another journey through Danny's fervent disapproval.

"Here we go," Matthew said under his breath, steeling himself for the impassioned discourse that was about to unfold. He took a long sip of his wine.

"Yes here we go," Danny said glaring at his friend. "Their ostentatious lifestyles, lavish mansions, and indulgent parties may leave others in awe, but to me, it's a stark contrast to the struggles of everyday people and the injustices that permeate the wizarding world; a symbol of a corrupt and decadent elite."

Before Matthew could offer a further response, Danny leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Matthew, let me ask you this. How many schools across the United States are exclusively for vampires?"

Matthew furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. "I don't know the exact number, Danny. But I assume there must be quite a few."

"There's the Evernight Academy, St. Vladimir's Academy, the House of Night school, the Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted, Nightshade Academy in New Orleans, Crimson Academy in Colorado, Moonlight Institute in Oregon, Shadowbrook Academy in Louisiana, Silvercrest Academy in New York, Twilight Haven in Montana, Aurora Academy in Arizona, Starfall Academy in California, Ashwood Academy in Washington state, and let's not forget the Bloodstone School of Sorcery in Colorado," Danny said with a hint of sarcasm as he listed each of the schools on his fingers.

The sheer number was staggering, far more than Matthew had anticipated.

Danny leaned back, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. "Now, Matthew, let me ask you this. How many non-vampire wizarding schools are there in the United States?"

Matthew hesitated, realizing the stark contrast that Danny was about to highlight. "Well, there's Ilvermorny, the Salem Witches Institute, the Randolph-Poythress Institute and Brakebills."

Danny's smile widened as he interjected, pointing out the missing pieces. "Actually, you're missing several. The Allegiance Academy, Laveau Academy, La Academia Occidental, Black Gate Academy, and the Mesa Academy," he revealed, each name punctuating the stark contrast he was about to highlight. "Nine schools for non-vampire wizards and witches in an entire country. The disparity is glaring, isn't it?"

Matthew swallowed, his mind grappling with the implications of Danny's words. He had never considered the stark difference in educational opportunities for vampires and non-vampires in the magical world.

Danny's voice grew more impassioned as he continued, his words punctuated with intensity. "And let's not forget how the De Clairmont vampire family, along with other vampire families, aren't afraid to cosy up with every President of MACUSA America has had for political purposes. It's a tangled web of influence and power, with the needs of the common vampire and non-vampire wizard often forgotten."

"Careful," Matthew warned a touch of caution in his voice. "That's my kin you're talking about."

"I'm sorry," Danny said, his tone dripping with mockery, "is this conversation making you uncomfortable? Am I touching on too many home truths?"

Matthew raised an eyebrow at Danny's sarcastic retort, his calm demeanour undeterred by the tone. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, his voice steady and composed.

"No, Danny," Matthew replied calmly. "It's not a matter of discomfort. It's about acknowledging the depth and complexity of the issues we're discussing. Let us strive for a more nuanced conversation."

Danny's frustration reached a boiling point, his voice laced with exasperation as he emitted a low scoff that punctuated the air around them, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. With the final morsel of tiramisu disappearing from his plate, he could no longer contain his impassioned response. "Please," he snapped, his tone sharp and biting, "there's nothingnuancedabout it. The Moroi Royal Families have their own school, their own bodyguards! They're practically a law unto themselves! Why we ever allowed them sanctuary in this country I'll never understand."

"I would have thought a student of magical history would know exactly why the Magical Congress allowed them to stay here," Matthew responded firmly. "If the twelve families had stayed in Russia, they would have been all killed by the White Court in the early 1800s."

Danny's contemplative thoughts slipped from his lips in a hushed tone, just audible enough for Matthew to catch, as he pondered the situation with a tinge of unsettling reflection, "Perhaps they should have finished the job."

In response, Matthew's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing with disapproval, as he stared back at Danny, desperately hoping to find a glimmer of jest or remorse. Yet, to his dismay, Danny's unwavering gaze met his, unyielding in its defiance. "You don't mean that."

"Maybe I do," Danny answered.

Matthew's eyes widened in disbelief as he heard Danny's response, his hope for a quick resolution shattered by the starkness of his friend's words.

"In my salad years, I would have given anything to have gotten an invitation to attend a Moroi Royal party," Danny mused wistfully, his gaze distant as he momentarily retreated into his memories. "But now I'm glad I never did."

As Danny's statement lingered in the atmosphere, Matthew's patience wore thin, his attempts to steer the conversation away from the contentious topic growing more urgent. Hoping to divert the focus and diffuse the mounting tension, he interjected with a hint of desperation, "Salad years?" The question slipped from his lips, a feeble attempt to latch onto a triviality and redirect their exchange to a lighter realm, even as his frustration threatened to boil over. Matthew's inner turmoil oscillated between the desire to maintain his temper and the overwhelming impulse to lash out physically, a visceral reaction to the conflicting emotions flooding his mind.

Danny's eyes alighted with a glimmer of amusem*nt as they settled on Matthew, a mischievous spark dancing within them. With a playful edge to his voice, he jested, "Don't tell me a learned vampire such as yourself doesn't know Shakespeare?"

The corner of Danny's lips curled into a knowing smile, subtly challenging Matthew's attempt to divert their conversation. "'My salad days, when I was green in judgement and cold in blood.' Something with which I'm sure you are familiar."

Matthew set down his wine glass and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "You know, for all your poetry recitations, I never took you as one much for Shakespeare. Always seemed his works too flowery and dramatic for your tastes."

Danny shrugged. "And I never took you for one to make such judgments,Professor. Last I recalled, pretension was more your domain than mine."

A slight edge had crept into his tone, and Matthew co*cked a questioning brow. "How so?"

"Please, a biochemist at Oxford? And still you find time to play at being a 'gentleman' among the hoi polloi. Spare me the faux humility - we both know intellectual superiority is your drug of choice." Danny waved a dismissive hand. "At least I make no pretence otherwise."

Matthew stiffened, voice dropping to a low rumble. "Careful, Daniel. For all my supposed pretension, at least I devote my lengthy years to meaningful pursuits that improve life. What contributions can you claim, aside from your obsession with climbing the Dark Tower? An obsession by the way, which will probably kill you."

Heat rose in Danny's cheeks at the jab, the barb finding its mark all too accurately. But he would not be cowed, meeting the vampire's cold glare evenly.

"Your 'meaningful pursuits' seem more attempts to dull the inevitability of your cursed existence. Not to mention a good excuse to hide away from your family while searching for a book no one has seen in centuries! Remind me who the obsessed one is again?"

"You know nothing of my family or the choices I've made," Matthew hissed.

Danny's grip tightened around the glass in his hand, his voice laced with both frustration and determination. "Climbing the Dark Tower is more than an obsession; it's a purpose, a quest to uncover truths that could save countless worlds," he said.

Matthew scoffed dismissively, his fangs glistening in the dim light. "Truths that don't exist, Danny. You're chasing shadows, lost in a delusion of grandeur. The Dark Tower has already consumed you, and for what? Empty knowledge that won't change a damn thing."

Danny's face twitched involuntarily, a subtle tell-tale sign of his irritation as Matthew's words echoed in his mind. The vampire's condescending tone had struck a nerve, challenging the very core of Danny's purpose and convictions. The muscles in his jaw tightened and a smouldering fire blazed in his eyes.

In that moment, a flicker of defiance danced in Danny's gaze. He refused to let Matthew's words go unchallenged, and he decided to twist the knife, to make the vampire taste a dose of his own medicine.

With deliberate calmness, Danny leaned forward, his voice dripping with a chilling intensity. "It would be so easy for me to Apparate into your family's home in Sept-Tours," he said, his words laced with a dangerous edge. "I could effortlessly snuff out every last one of them with a single spell."

Matthew's eyes widened in shock, his initial composure crumbling under the weight of Danny's blatant threat. His hand clenched into a tight fist, his control slipping. "You can't be serious, Danny," he stammered, his voice a mix of disbelief and anger.

But Danny's anger burned hot, his words fuelled by a deep-seated rage. "Oh, I assure you, Matthew, I am dead serious," he replied, his voice tinged with a chilling resolve. "In fact on second thought, I should Apparate all across America, wiping out every royal vampire family that lives throughout the country. Just imagine, every one of them; all dead."

In a flash of uncontrollable fury, Matthew lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab Danny by the throat. The force of his grip caused some nearby patrons to turn their heads, their eyes widening in alarm as they witnessed the sudden confrontation.

Danny choked, his eyes wide with shock and fear as Matthew's fingers tightened around his throat. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the restaurant as onlookers watched the horrifying scene unfold, frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

But in the midst of Danny's desperation, a sudden surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins, fuelling him with a primal instinct for survival. His trembling hand reached out, desperately grasping for anything within his reach. And there, amidst the chaos, his fingers closed around the cold handle of a knife on the table.

With a surge of strength, Danny summoned every ounce of willpower he possessed and plunged the blade into Matthew's chest. The vampire's grip around his throat faltered, his eyes widening in a mix of astonishment and agony.

A collective gasp erupted from the onlookers, mingling with the clatter of dishes and the cacophony of voices.

Matthew staggered backward, his hand clutching at the wound in his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his pristine attire. A mixture of pain, shock, and fury contorted his features as he locked eyes with Danny, his gaze filled with a lethal mixture of betrayal and hatred.

Danny coughed, his hand trembling as he reached up to rub his throat.

Matthew threw a disdainful glance at Danny, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't worry about the bill, Danny. I'll take care of it. Consider it a small price to pay for our friendship."

Leaving Danny alone at the table, Matthew strode out of the restaurant, his anger still smouldering within him. As the door closed behind him, Danny sat in silence, swirling the wine in his glass. The grandeur of the restaurant suddenly felt stifling, and the weight of Matthew's words settled on his shoulders. He absentmindedly swirled the deep red liquid, lost in his own thoughts.

Danny's frustration momentarily subsided as he regarded her spectral presence, a mixture of resignation and curiosity flickering in his eyes.

Danny let out an exasperated sigh, his fatigue and weariness becoming more apparent. "Niece, can't you give me a moment's peace?" he grumbled, his voice laced with a tinge of emotional exhaustion.

Abra's ethereal voice carried a haunting resonance as she responded to Danny's outburst. "Oh, I see even more than you think, Uncle," she whispered, her words filled with a wisdom that belied her youthful appearance. "I see your pain, your rage, and the immense loss you've endured. Jack, Wendy, Nicholas... the ghosts of your past that still haunt your every step. And all those who've come since—Jake Chambers, Eddie Dean, Susan Delgado..." Her voice trailed off, the weight of their names hanging heavy in the air.

Danny's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with a mixture of anguish and warning. "Don't say another word," he interjected, his tone filled with a hardened resolve. The mere mention of those names stirred memories too painful to bear.

"Uncle," Abra spoke softly, her voice carrying a ghostly tenderness. "I know the weight you carry, the battles fought, and the lives forever changed. But if you carry on the way you are and push everyone away, you will be left alone. Forever."

"It's better alone," Danny snapped.

Abra's ethereal form flickered, her voice gentle yet persistent. "Is it?" she questioned, her words hanging in the air like a delicate whisper. There was a genuine curiosity in her tone, an urging for Danny to truly reflect upon his chosen path.

"Loss is an inevitable part of life, Uncle," she murmured, her voice resonating with wisdom beyond her years. "But in the midst of that pain, there is also the potential for immense joy, love, and growth. To shut yourself off from that, to stand alone in the face of the world, is to deny yourself the richness of human connection."

Danny took a sip of wine, the bitter taste mingling with the bitterness that had settled within him. He couldn't help but feel a frustration at Abra's persistent presence. With a sarcastic tone, he asked her, "Are you my therapist now?"

Abra's eyes narrowed, a glimmer of determination shining through her ethereal form. "Someone has to be," she replied firmly.

Danny's anger flared, his frustration reaching its peak. "Look, I'm fine," he spat out, his voice laced with defiance. "I don't need you checking up on me. So just leave me alone!"

His outburst hung heavy in the air, the silence that followed punctuating the rift between them. Abra's expression softened, a tinge of sadness colouring her features. She sighed, her voice filled with a mix of resignation and concern. "Very well. If that is what you wish," she uttered, her words dripping with a sense of acceptance. Her ethereal figure began to fade into the ether, slowly dissolving away. "But remember, in vulnerability lies strength, and in connection lies the truest power."

Danny watched as she disappeared, a sense of emptiness settling within him. The room felt colder and lonelier in her absence. The weight of his anger and his self-imposed isolation bore down on him.

A few seats away, Danny's attention was drawn to a couple gathered at a table. His eyes fixated on the husband, who struggled to open a bottle of wine. The man's face contorted with effort, his hands gripping the cork tightly as he twisted and pulled. Danny's gaze lingered, captivated by the scene unfolding before him.

Suddenly, with a loud pop, the cork flew off, propelled by the pressure within the bottle. The sound echoed through the restaurant, cutting through the chatter and clinking of cutlery. Danny jolted in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. The familiar sound reverberated in his ears like the discharge of a gun, triggering a flood of memories that he had fought so hard to suppress.

In an instant, the world around him dissolved, and he was transported back to a hauntingly different time. The memory of that fateful night surged forward, overpowering his senses. He could feel the weight of Manon's lifeless body in his arms, the warmth seeping away, replaced with the scent of blood.

The vivid recollection played out in painful detail—the shock, the disbelief, and the overwhelming grief that had consumed him. The sight of her lifeblood pooling at his feet, staining the floor like a morbid canvas, etched itself into his memory. The echoes of his anguished cries still resonated within him, a haunting melody that refused to fade.

As Danny's trembling hands instinctively reached for his own glass of wine, he found himself unable to take a sip. The glass hovered in the air, its contents untouched, as his mind wrestled with the weight of the past. The scene before him, a simple act of celebration, had unwittingly triggered a torrent of emotions that threatened to suffocate him.

The couple at the nearby table, oblivious to the impact of their celebratory moment, continued to pour the wine into their glasses. Danny's gaze fixated on the liquid, its crimson hue mirroring the blood he saw in his memories.

Danny blinked back tears, his emotions raw and unyielding. The restaurant seemed to blur around him, the noise fading into a distant hum.

Danny took a deep breath as he walked away from the table. His hands were still shaking from the memory of Manon's death.

As Danny pushed open the door to the men's bathroom, the sterile white tiles and bright fluorescent lights were a stark contrast to the warmly lit dining area.

Finding the lavatory empty, Danny stood before the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, a visual reminder of the pain etched upon his face.

But as he gazed into the mirror, movements slowing, a tightness gripped his chest.

He struggled to draw breath, lungs seizing as if filled with lead. A roaring filled his ears, drowning out all other sound. His pulse hammered a frantic staccato, fingers tingling, skin tingling, the world tilting out of focus.

This couldn't be happening - not now, when he so sorely needed clarity of mind. But his body betrayed him, cascading into panic's grips with merciless efficiency. Chest constricting painfully, Danny grappled for something, anything to anchor himself.

The countertop's edge dug into hands gone bloodless white as chalk. He gasped, wheezed, tried to steady rasping breaths that broke and shuddered. Cold sweat dewed his brow though insides roiled with frigid dread.

A whimper escaped his trembling lips. Powerlessness flooded his veins, draining strength and will. Darkness swirled at the corners of vision.

Somehow, with Herculean effort, Danny focused all remaining shreds of focus inward, following guidance etched deep as breathing.

Slowly, painstakingly, his chest untightened. Air flowed in sips rather than desperate gulps. Pulse decelerated from the frenzied thundering it had become. By degrees, the sensations passed, leaving echoing aches and weakness in their wake.

Danny sagged against the wall, dragging his trembling fingers, slick with sweat, through his dishevelled hair, desperate to find some semblance of solace amidst the chaos that ravaged his mind. But there was no escape, no respite from the haunting images that continued to assail him.

Manon, his first love, materialized before him once more. Her ethereal beauty had faded, the vibrant hues drained from her face like a wilting flower. The light that once danced in her eyes had extinguished, leaving nothing but a hollow void. The memory of her life slipping away in his arms clenched Danny's chest, his breaths growing shallow and rapid.

The sensation of Manon's growing coldness seeped into Danny's bones, chilling him to the core. It was as if his very essence was entwined with hers, sharing in the final moments of her existence. The stark reality of her absence gripped him, and he found himself gasping for air, as if struggling to fill the void left by her departure.

Desperation clawed at Danny's fragile psyche, urging him to flee from the relentless assault of memories. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to shut out the vivid scenes that played out before him. Yet, darkness proved to be no sanctuary. Instead, fragments of the Overlook Hotel tore through his consciousness, a twisted carousel of horror that spun relentlessly.

His father, Jack, emerged in Danny's mind, a figure consumed by madness and wielding an axe with deadly intent. The image of Jack's deranged pursuit, the sound of each heavy footfall echoing through the halls, sent shivers down Danny's spine. He could almost feel the gusts of icy wind that accompanied his father's relentless chase, the taste of fear lingering on his tongue.

But as if in a cruel twist of fate, Danny's recollection shifted once more, plunging him into the depths of his most harrowing memory. It was the day his beloved fiancée, Susan Delgado, faced her tragic fate—burned at the stake as a harvest sacrifice, accused of colluding with Danny, or as he had been called then Roland.

The scene unfolded before Danny's mind's eye, every agonizing detail etched into his soul. He could almost smell the acrid scent of burning wood and hear the crackling flames that devoured Susan's innocence and beauty. Her haunting screams pierced the air, intertwining with the crackling inferno, creating a symphony of anguish that reverberated through Danny's being.

The image of Susan's form engulfed in the all-consuming fire branded itself into his mind, searing his heart with an indelible mark of sorrow. Tears welled in his eyes, mingling with the sheen of sweat on his face. He yearned for respite, for a reprieve from the relentless torment that held him captive.

A guttural howl of anguish escaped Danny's lips as he launched his fist into the mirror, shattering the glass into a spider web of cracks. Pain shot through his knuckles but he welcomed the distraction, using it to fuel his rage.

Danny began kicking violently at the row of sinks, the porcelain and metal denting and breaking under the force. With a primal yell, he punched the damaged sink beside him, reducing it to rubble.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Danny's onslaught continued. Minutes turned into an eternity as grief flowed through his veins, fuelling his actions. The walls bore the marks of his anguish, the sink dented and bruised beneath his relentless assault.

Finally, the storm within him began to subside. Exhausted and emotionally drained, Danny's laboured breaths filled the damaged restroom as he surveyed the wreckage. A bittersweet calm washed over him, a testament to the release of his pent-up rage.

Summoning the remnants of his magic, Danny extended a trembling hand towards the broken mirror. Energy crackled around his fingertips as he focused his power, mending the shattered glass piece by piece. Slowly, the mirror reconstructed itself, returning to its former pristine state, as if the outburst of anger had never occurred.

Taking a final deep breath, Danny turned away from the restored mirror, his eyes lingering on the remnants of his own reflection before exiting out of the bathroom.

Leaving Per Se restaurant behind, Danny stepped out into a world bursting with life. The city sprawled before him, its streets teeming with energy and purpose. The cool night air caressed his skin, offering a momentary respite from the tumult within. He took a deep breath, savouring the crispness of the night, allowing the oxygen to invigorate his weary spirit.

With a graceful stride, Danny seamlessly merged into the crowd, becoming one with the ebb and flow of the city's pulse. As he navigated the labyrinthine streets, his mind was still processing the implications of his encounter with Matthew.

A part of him grappled with regret, regret for the harsh words that had slipped from his lips. The memory of their heated exchange lingered in his thoughts, an echo of anger and frustration. But another part of him, a part hardened by the trials he had faced, was relieved to see the back of the intrusive vampire. Just because they had once been drinking buddies did not mean they were friends.

"I don't need friends," Danny muttered to himself as he darted into a nearby alley.

No sooner had he stepped in the alleyway a subtle sting caught his attention, drawing his gaze towards his hand. There, nestled amidst his trembling fingers, was a small shard of glass, a remnant of his violent encounter with the mirror.

Curiosity mingled with a tinge of pain as Danny examined the shard closely. It glimmered with fractured light, reflecting the torment he had just experienced.

Danny's eyes traced the sharp contours, his mind conjuring images of broken memories and lost loved ones. Carefully, he brought the shard closer to his face, studying its intricate details. His own reflection danced upon its surface, distorted and fragmented, much like his own sense of self.

The small shard of glass seemed to whisper to him, as if it held a message meant only for his ears. It was a symbol of the pain he had carried, a tangible reminder of the healing that was yet to come. Danny's gaze lingered, his thoughts drifting back to a particularly memory.

Then

May 7th 1966

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling grounds of Ilvermorny. Danny, Samael and Diana made their way through the busy corridors from their last class to their free period, their school robes swishing softly against the stone floors.

Diana had her nose buried studying for their Ancient Runes exam, while Danny clutched a small bag tightly in his hand, a sly smile curving his lips. Inside the bag lay the Holy Grail of their musical desires: the brand new CD of the Rolling Stones' latest album. Samael had managed to slip out of school grounds unnoticed, braving the bustling streets of the nearby wizarding town to procure the treasure.

Samael flashed a mischievous grin as he handed the bag off to Danny. "I had to pull off some pretty impressive charms to get my hands on this," he said, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and pride. "The Rolling Stones are shaking up the muggle music scene, and we're about to experience it first-hand."

Danny's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he took the bag, careful not to damage its precious contents. "I can't wait to listen to this one," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

Diana, on the other hand, wore a disapproving frown as she glanced up from her book. "Samael, you know you're not supposed to be leaving the school grounds without permission. What if you had gotten caught?"

Samael rolled his eyes, dismissing Diana's worries with a wave of his hand. "Come on, Di, where's your sense of adventure? We're wizards and witches, after all. Rules were made to be broken, don't you think?"

Diana crossed her arms, her displeasure evident in her voice. "That doesn't mean you have to tempt fate every chance you get. Weshouldbe using this time to study for our upcoming Ancient Runes exam."

Samael smirked, his mischievous nature unfazed by Diana's disapproval. "Come on, Di, it's called afree periodfor a reason. We deserve a break."

"Samael, if you spent as much time studying as you do listening to music and engaging in other distractions, you could easily be at the top of the school. You have so much potential."

Samael chuckled, leaning closer to Danny. "See, this is why Diana used to go crazy every time we went on a date night. She couldn't handle the idea of us having fun and not studying every waking moment." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Isn't that right, Diana?"

Diana's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. "It wasonedate, Samael. We had just lost JFK," she corrected, her voice filled with exasperation.

Samael grinned wickedly, relishing in pushing Diana's buttons. "Oh, is that so? Because if I recall correctly, you had quite a different tune that night, Di. Remember what you whispered in my ear?"

Diana's face reddened even further, and without a moment's hesitation, she reached out and smacked Samael on the back of his head. "Stop it, Samael! This is not the time or place to bring up private matters."

"Come on Di; take a break for one track at least?" Danny pleaded.

Diana snapped her book shut reluctantly. "Onetrack. Then it's back to revision. Anddon'tcall me Di."

"The three of us, here in our dorm. No teachers or rules to stop us from enjoying the sheer brilliance of Mick Jagger's voice and Keith Richards' incredible guitar riffs. Just pure rock 'n' roll," Samael said, his voice dripping with mischief.

As the three rounded a corner, their laughter and animated conversation abruptly halted. Before them stood Viktor and his gang of followers. Viktor's piercing gaze met Danny's, a knowing smirk forming on his lips.

Without warning, Viktor purposefully bumped into Danny, causing the small bag to slip from his grasp. The CD fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Danny's face twisted with fury as he turned to confront Viktor, his eyes burning with anger.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Danny called out.

Viktor, revelling in the chaos he had caused, sneered and replied, "What are you gonna do about it,mudblood?"

Before Danny had a chance to respond, Viktor swiftly slashed his claws across Danny's face, leaving behind deep, bleeding gashes. Danny stumbled backward, his vision blurring as pain surged through his body. He collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Samael's eyes narrowed with fury as he witnessed the brutality inflicted upon his friend. Without a second thought, he lunged at Viktor, his fist connecting with the vampire's jaw. The impact sent shockwaves of pain through Samael's hand, but he refused to back down.

A chaotic fight ensued, punches and kicks exchanged between Samael and Viktor. Samael, agile and quick-witted, dodged Viktor's savage swipes and retaliated with well-aimed strikes of his own.

Meanwhile, Diana rushed to Danny's side, her heart pounding with worry. She knelt beside him, gently shaking his unconscious form, desperately trying to wake him from his dazed state. "Danny! Come on, wake up!" she pleaded, her voice filled with concern.

As Diana tended to their fallen friend, Samael fought on, his determination unwavering. But Viktor, fuelled by his vampire speed and strength, gained the upper hand. Blow after blow landed on Samael's body, threatening to overpower him.

Diana's voice rose above the chaos, her tone commanding and fierce. "Stop! Leave him alone!" she yelled at Viktor, her wand now clutched tightly in her hand. She couldn't bear to see her friends hurt any longer.

Viktor, momentarily distracted by Diana's intervention, turned his attention towards her. With a swift flick of her wand, Diana unleashed a powerful blast, sending Viktor hurtling away from Samael.

Viktor's body crashed through crumbling brick, leaving indentations in the wall from the force of Samael's throw. Though thrown off balance, Viktor twisted with preternatural grace to land in a low crouch, fangs bared in a snarl.

Diana stood protectively over her friends, her wand still pointed at Viktor. Blood trickled down Samael's face, his body battered and bruised, but a flicker of gratitude shone in his eyes.

With lightning-fast speed, Viktor lunged at Diana, his fangs bared, ready to sink into her flesh. But Diana unleashed a barrage of spells with her wand, aiming to incapacitate Viktor.

However, Viktor's agility proved to be unmatched. He dodged Diana's spells effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. In a swift motion, he delivered a powerful punch to her stomach, causing her to double over in pain. Before she could react, he struck her across the face with a forceful blow, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Danny's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred and his head pounding. As he regained consciousness, his immediate instinct kicked in. Without a moment's hesitation, fuelled by a surge of adrenaline and protectiveness, he launched himself at Viktor, his fists clenched tightly.

Crash tackling the vampire with a resounding thud, Danny unleashed a ferocious barrage of punches, each blow fuelled by his determination to defend his friends. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room as his fists connected with Viktor's face, again and again.

But Viktor, a creature of immense strength and supernatural resilience, retaliated with a swift backhand. The force behind the blow was staggering, sending Danny hurtling through the air, his body colliding with a nearby wall. Pain radiated through his body as he crumpled to the ground, his breath stolen by the impact.

Gritting his teeth, Danny fought through the searing pain, his mind consumed by a single thought: protect his friends at all costs. He struggled to push himself up, his muscles protesting against the strain. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, mingling with the sweat that coated his face.

As Danny fought to regain his footing, Viktor loomed above him, a malevolent sneer twisting his features. With a cold, calculated movement, the vampire bent down, his grip closing around Danny's collar. With an effortless display of strength, he hoisted Danny up, his feet dangling above the ground.

Desperation surged within Danny as he stared into Viktor's menacing eyes. The vampire's intentions were clear - to end Danny's life. Fear mingled with determination as Danny's mind raced, searching for a way to escape his impending doom.

But just as hope seemed to dwindle, a figure materialized from the shadows. Samael had appeared behind Viktor and without hesitation, he lunged forward, his hand seizing the back of Viktor's school collar with a firm grip.

With a sudden burst of strength, Samael used all his might to wrench Viktor away from Danny. The vampire's grip on Danny released, and Danny stumbled backward, landing on the ground with a thud. He clutched his throbbing chest, gasping for air as relief washed over him.

Viktor, momentarily caught off guard, stumbled forward, his balance disrupted by Samael's intervention. The vampire's eyes burned with fury as he glared at Samael, his claws extending menacingly from his hand. The room seemed to grow colder as Viktor prepared to strike back, his primal instincts taking over.

But Samael, undeterred by the vampire's threatening display, positioned himself between Viktor and his injured friend, ready to defend Danny with all his might.

With a deadly glint in his eyes, Viktor lunged at Samael with blinding speed.

Samael, relying on his quick reflexes and instincts, sidestepped the vampire's attack, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp claws aimed at him. He retaliated with a swift kick, aiming for Viktor's midsection, but the vampire effortlessly dodged the blow.

Samael launched a series of spells, his wand casting vibrant streaks of light, but Viktor evaded them effortlessly, his preternatural reflexes allowing him to anticipate each attack.

Meanwhile, Danny, battered and bruised, slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his body aching, and his gaze fixed on the intense battle unfolding before him.

Samael, recognizing the dire situation, channelled his inner strength and unleashed a powerful spell, aiming to immobilize Viktor. The crimson light crackled with energy as it raced towards the vampire, but Viktor deflected the spell effortlessly, his eyes glowing with malevolence.

Undeterred, Samael shifted his strategy. He focused his wand on the environment, summoning the elements to his aid. Gusts of wind swirled around him, creating a vortex of energy. Leaves and debris circled in a chaotic dance, forming a barrier between him and Viktor.

Seizing the opportunity, Danny, his face still smeared with blood, mustered his strength and launched himself at Viktor, his fists clenched tightly. Blow after blow landed and the vampire staggered, his usually composed demeanour shaken by the relentless assault. Blood trickled from Viktor's nose and split lip, mirroring Danny's own injuries.

Just as victory seemed within Danny's grasp, a voice echoed from behind him, cutting through the tension-filled air. "Enough!"

The sudden interruption froze Danny and Viktor in their tracks. They turned to face the formidable figure of Principal Abernathy, who stood at the entrance of the corridor, his eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Principal Abernathy's gaze shifted from Danny to Viktor, his expression a mix of sternness and disappointment. "This behaviour is utterly unacceptable," he stated firmly, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. "Violence has no place within these walls."

He motioned for them to follow him, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, all of you, head straight to the healers' office. Your injuries need immediate attention, and I will address this situation further once you've received proper care."

Without a word, the group followed Principal Abernathy as he led them through the school corridors, their collective silence speaking volumes.

Upon arriving at the healers' office, they were greeted by the school's chief healer Penelope Alderwood, her gentle eyes filled with concern as she assessed the group's injuries. The scent of healing herbs wafted through the room.

Known affectionately as "Nurse Penny" among the students and staff of Ilvermorny, she had dark hair, streaked with graceful strands of silver, pulled back into a loose bun.

"Come, my dears. Let us tend to your wounds. We'll have you feeling better in no time," she said soothingly as she ushered them in.

The group shuffled in, their pain and exhaustion palpable. Nurse Penny's eyes flickered with concern as she scanned their battered bodies. She clasped her hands together, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"I can see that you've been through quite a bit," Nurse Penny said, her voice filled with compassion. "But don't worry; I have a blend of healing potions that will work wonders for your injuries."

The students collapsed onto the comfortable healing beds lined along the walls, each sinking into the soft cushions with a sigh of relief. Nurse Penny moved gracefully among them, tending to their wounds with gentle touches and murmured incantations. Viktor, thanks to his vampire abilities that granted him accelerated healing, swiftly mended his broken nose and split lip and left Nurse Penny's office before the others. With a dismissive air, he shot Danny a cold glare.

Meanwhile, Diana and Samael exchanged dark looks back at the vampire. "Git," Samael murmured under his breath as he watched Viktor's departure.

As the tense atmosphere settled within the nurse's office, Danny, Diana, and Samael found themselves seated side by side, awaiting the arrival of Principal Abernathy.

Samael, unable to resist sharing his thoughts, spoke up first. "If I had my full powers," he began, his voice filled with confidence, "I would have put an end to that fight with Viktor effortlessly."

Diana, rolling her eyes at Samael's bold claim, couldn't resist whispering under her breath, "I wonder what story Viktor is spinning to Principal Abernathy."

Danny, ever perceptive, chimed in, responding to Diana's musings. "Probably some fabricated tale about how we instigated the altercation and he was merely defending himself," he suggested.

Just as their speculation reached its peak, the door to the nurse's office swung open, revealing the figure of Principal Abernathy, accompanied by Professor Asha, the Charms Professor and Head of House Wampus.

Principal Abernathy's steely gaze settled on Danny, Diana, and Samael. "Why is it whenever something goes wrong at this school, it isalwaysyou three responsible?" His question echoed through the room, a rhetorical inquiry that left no room for a response.

Samael, ever the nonchalant one, shrugged casually, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Been asking myself that question since I got here, sir," he jested, his voice laced with humour. His attempt to lighten the mood with a touch of sarcasm was met with a swift and stern response.

Abernathy's glare intensified, his eyes narrowing as he shot a warning glance in Samael's direction. "Don't get cute with me," he snapped quietly, his voice a low and ominous growl.

Samael's grin quickly faded, replaced by a more sombre expression. Danny and Diana exchanged glances, a mixture of concern and apprehension etched on their faces. They knew all too well the consequences of testing Principal Abernathy's patience and the potential repercussions that awaited them if they crossed that line.

Principal Abernathy, his frustration palpable, continued to address the trio with a stern voice that brooked no argument. "As a consequence for your involvement in the altercation, each of you will lose 10 points from your respective Houses: Wampus, Horned Serpent, and Thunderbird," he announced.

A collective sense of frustration washed over Danny, Diana, and Samael. However, for Diana, the blow was even greater, as Abernathy continued, "Since you, Diana, are in the same house as Viktor, Horned Serpent will suffer an additional loss of 5 points."

Danny's frustration got the better of him as he protested, "Why do we all lose 10 points each, but Viktor only loses 5 points? It's not fair!"

Principal Abernathy's eyes narrowed his voice growing stern as he warned Danny, "Unless you want to lose an additional 20 points, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

Danny, realizing the futility of his argument in the face of Abernathy's power, reluctantly acquiesced.

Just as they thought they were free to depart, Professor Asha, the usually gentle and soft-spoken Charms Professor, stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Danny. "Mr. Torrance," she said her voice calm yet firm, "I would appreciate a few minutes of your time alone to discuss the events that transpired."

Danny's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, curiosity mingling with a sense of apprehension. He nodded, acknowledging Professor Asha's request, and watched as his friends exited the room, leaving him alone with the professor.

Professor Asha was perhaps Danny's second favourite teacher in Ilvermorny. Her passion for teaching, her unwavering dedication to her students, and her ability to inspire a thirst for knowledge were unmatched. Her teaching style was a perfect blend of expertise, creativity, and a genuine love for the subject. From the moment students stepped into her classroom, they were greeted by an aura of warmth and excitement that set the stage for an immersive learning experience.

Professor Asha's lessons were a symphony of engaging demonstrations, hands-on activities, and lively discussions. She understood that Charms was not merely about memorizing spells, but about connecting with the inherent magic within oneself and the world around them. With her guidance, students delved into the intricacies of wand movements, incantations, and the underlying principles of spellcasting.

Professor Asha possessed a rare ability to truly listen, to understand the concerns and aspirations of her students, and offer guidance that resonated beyond the confines of academia. She took the time to understand her students' strengths and weaknesses, offering personalized guidance and encouragement to help them reach for the stars.

Asha was a tall, slender, beautiful, tan-skinned Afro-Hispanic woman with narrow eyebrows and hazel eyes. Her skin seemed to glow warmly, reminiscent of the sun's caress on a summer's day.

The Charms professor's waist-length hair caught Danny's attention next. It was a rich, chocolate-black shade, intricately braided and swept to her right side. Cornrows adorned the left part of her scalp, adding a unique flair to her hairstyle. As Danny's eyes trailed along her braids, he noticed the small specks of grey hair, the only hint of her age.

Professor Asha's attire complemented her striking appearance. She wore a flowing, dull-lavender dress, its fabric cascading gracefully around her frame. A two-tone purple triangle-inspired design adorned the dress, with magenta threaded seams adding subtle detail. Small, dull-golden decorations adorned the V-cut neckline and short sleeves.

There was even a rumour from the fifth-year students that Professor Asha was actually half Veela and that this explained her timeless appearance and why so many male students throughout Ilvermorny found her irresistibly attractive.

Professor Asha sat down next to Danny and placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Danny, violence is never the ideal solution, but I understand that you were acting out of a sense of loyalty and protection. While I am disappointed in the choices you made, I am also proud that you stood up against a bully and defended your friends. However, it's important to find alternative ways to resolve conflicts in the future."

Danny nodded, grateful for her understanding and guidance. He hadn't anticipated her response to be so balanced.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Professor Asha smiled warmly. "You know, Danny, I've learned a thing or two about growth and change over the years. In fact, let me share a little story with you."

Danny's curiosity was piqued as he listened intently to Professor Asha's tale. She began, "Back in 1866, I first joined the Ilvermorny faculty as a simple substitute teacher. It wasn't until 1875 that I finally obtained the position of Charms Professor, and I have been teaching here ever since."

Danny's eyes widened with surprise. "That's incredible, Professor! You've hardly aged a day."

A hearty laugh escaped Professor Asha's lips, her eyes twinkling with amusem*nt. "Ah, the rumour mill is at work again, I see. Rest assured, Danny, I am not immune to the passage of time. My youthful appearance may be a combination of good genes and a touch of magic, but it's not without its imperfections."

As the laughter echoed through the air, Professor Asha's eyes met Danny's, and she playfully winked at him. It was a gentle reminder that his free period was now underway, and they both knew he had limited time before his next class.

"Thank you, Professor Asha," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. With a quick farewell, he raced out of the nurse's office; his footsteps carrying him swiftly back to his dormitory.

As Danny burst into the room, he found Diana and Samael waiting eagerly, their eyes filled with curiosity. Diana was the first to speak, her voice laced with anticipation. "Danny, how did it go? What did Professor Asha say?"

Danny quickly caught his breath, his excitement evident as he filled them in on his conversation with Professor Asha. Diana and Samael listened intently, captivated by his words.

Amid the conversation, Samael couldn't contain his excitement any longer. With a wide grin, he held up the now-fixed Rolling Stones CD. "Guess what, guys? I managed to repair it! It's good as new!"

Danny's face lit up, a blend of surprise and joy washing over him. He took the CD from Samael's hands, holding it gently as if it were a priceless artifact. "That's amazing, Samael! I can't believe you fixed it!"

With eager anticipation, Danny placed the Rolling Stones CD on the record player, carefully lowering the needle onto the spinning vinyl. The room filled with the opening riff of "Paint it Black," the music enveloping them as they sat together, entranced by the melodic energy.

The room filled with the sounds of Mick Jagger's voice and Keith Richards' guitar, their music intertwining with the laughter and camaraderie of the trio. As the song reached its crescendo, Danny closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him, grateful for the moments of respite and friendship that Ilvermorny had given him.

Now

With a sudden surge of determination, Danny gently pulled the shard free from his hand, wincing as a bead of blood welled up where it had been embedded. He examined the wound, a stark reminder of the price he had paid for his outburst. The pain served as a tangible connection to his emotions, a reminder to tread carefully upon the delicate balance of his heart.

Danny reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief, pressing it against the wound to staunch the bleeding. As he did so, Danny discarded the shard into a nearby bin.

Danny channelled his magical energy, the familiar tingling sensation coursing through his fingertips. The air crackled with anticipation as he prepared to Disapparate, to leave behind the bustling streets of New York and return to the familiar town of Hawkins.

With a whispered incantation, his body dissolved into a flurry of particles, disappearing from view with a soft sound. And then, with a resounding pop, he reappeared outside the Wheeler family house, a sense of both relief and urgency coursing through his veins. The moon, a watchful sentinel, bathed the town in a silvery glow, its ethereal light casting a mystical aura over the familiar streets.

Danny glanced around, ensuring that he had gone unnoticed, before swiftly unlocking the front door with a deft twist of his hand. The door creaked open, granting him access to the sanctuary that lay within.

Danny descended into the basem*nt, the steps creaking softly under his weight. The air grew cooler as he reached the bottom, the dim light casting eerie shadows along the peeling wallpaper.

The sudden transition from the bustling streets of New York to the quiet confines of the basem*nt left Danny disoriented. He stumbled for a moment, his body protesting the abrupt change. A low groan escaped his lips as he clutched his side.

Knowing he needed to tend to his wounds, Danny focused his mind, summoning the remnants of his magical energy. With a fluid motion of his wand, he cast a summoning charm, the words leaving his lips in a hushed incantation. A small vial materialized before him, glimmering with a soft blue light.

Danny wasted no time, his fingers hastily uncorking the vial as he brought it to his lips. The liquid within was cool and soothing as it slid down his throat, spreading a healing warmth throughout his body. He gulped it down in one swift motion, feeling the restorative magic course through his veins.

As the effects of the healing potion took hold, Danny's pain began to subside, replaced by a renewed sense of vigour.

As he gazed around the Wheeler basem*nt, he found himself drawn to the maps that adorned the walls of the room. His eyes fixed upon the intricate layout of Hawkins Lab and a spark of inspiration ignited within him.

In that moment, clarity washed over him, and the solution to the puzzle seemed so glaringly obvious. How had he not seen it before? It was simple, elegant even, in its brilliance.

A wry smile played upon Danny's lips as he marvelled at the clarity of his newfound revelation. The answer had been right in front of him all along. His heart pounded with a mix of determination and nervous energy as he envisioned his next moves.

With a snap of his fingers, the basem*nt was bathed in a warm glow as the ceiling light flickered to life, illuminating the space around him.

In an instant, his funeral suit vanished, replaced by the rugged attire that so defined him. The long, tattered duster coat draped over his frame and his lower half was clad in faded denim pants. Completing his ensemble were the worn leather boots and his weathered, wide-brimmed hat.

He took a moment to adjust the duster coat, ensuring its weight settled comfortably around him.

Gathering magic upon him, Danny Disapparated from the basem*nt into the upstairs bedroom shared by Mike and Eleven. The room was bathed in soft moonlight that filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the space. Wary of disturbing the peaceful slumber of the young couple, Danny treaded carefully, his steps barely making a sound against the wooden floor.

Mike and Eleven lay side by side, their breathing steady and synchronized, lost in peaceful dreams.

Carefully, Danny approached the bedside, careful not to startle them awake. He reached out a hand and gently touched Mike's shoulder, silently urging him to awaken.

Mike stirred from his sleep, his eyes fluttering open. Confusion clouded his expression for a fleeting moment, until recognition dawned upon him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes to clear the remnants of slumber, his gaze fixing upon his uncle's weathered, determined face.

"Uncle Danny?" Mike murmured his voice heavy with sleep and bewilderment. "What are you doing here? When did you get back from the funeral?"

Danny's eyes bore into Mike's, conveying the seriousness of the situation. He stepped closer, his boots making a soft thud against the bedroom floor. "Get dressed and meet me in the basem*nt as quickly as you can," he whispered before Disapparating from the room with a soft pop.

Moving with silent determination, Mike carefully slipped out of bed, mindful not to disturb Eleven who peacefully slumbered beside him. He rummaged through his wardrobe, quickly selecting his attire for the mission that awaited him.

He opted for a pair of dark jeans, a simple black T-shirt and a lightweight jacket. Completing his ensemble, Mike slipped into a pair of sturdy sneakers.

Now dressed, Mike cast a final glance at Eleven, her peaceful form illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. He whispered a silent promise to protect her, to return to her side unscathed.

Stepping out of the bedroom, Mike moved with a cautious grace, navigating the familiar hallways of his home. The creaking of the floorboards beneath his weight seemed to echo in the stillness of the night.

As he descended the staircase, each step taken with deliberate care, the sound of his own heartbeat resonated in his ears. The anticipation mingled with a tinge of apprehension.

Reaching the basem*nt door, Mike gently turned the handle, its familiar click barely audible. With a silent exhale, he pushed the door open and caught a glimpse of Danny's silhouette, his uncle waiting at the centre of the room.

Mike's brow furrowed with curiosity and concern as he neared Danny. His mind buzzed with questions, the remnants of sleep still clinging to his thoughts. He paused for a beat, his voice laced with a touch of sleepiness, as he asked, "What's happened, uncle?"

"How would you like to go on a little adventure with your uncle? Just the two of us," Danny proposed, his words carrying a hint of excitement and urgency.

"Why?" Mike inquired, his voice tinged with both curiosity and weariness. He longed for a few more moments of rest, to gather his thoughts and prepare himself for the unknown that awaited them. But the intensity in Danny's eyes, the unwavering determination etched on his face, made it clear that time was of the essence.

"I need you, Michael," Danny replied. He closed the distance between them, his presence commanding yet comforting. "Now more than ever."

Mike's gaze locked onto Danny's, their eyes becoming mirrors of one another's resolve. A myriad of emotions flickered across Mike's face—anxiety, determination, and a hint of fear—but his trust in his uncle remained unshaken.

"Okay, uncle," Mike finally replied, his voice steady despite the lingering traces of fatigue. "I'm with you. Tell me what we need to do."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Danny's lips as his hand gently rested on Mike's shoulder. "Grab two rucksacks, Mike, and fill them with food and batteries for flashlights," he instructed, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

Eager to contribute to their impending adventure, Mike hurriedly made his way to the storage room and retrieved two sturdy rucksacks. As he packed the bags with non-perishable food and a collection of batteries, his mind raced with questions and anticipation.

With the rucksacks filled, Mike returned to the basem*nt, his curiosity growing. "What now, uncle?" he inquired.

The urgency in Danny's eyes did not waver as he ordered Mike to start his car and drive them into town.

Mike's brows furrowed in confusion, but he trusted his uncle implicitly and moved swiftly to obey. As he started the car's engine his thoughts turned to Eleven. He recognized the need to leave a message for her, a reassurance that would greet her upon waking. With a sense of urgency, he hastily scribbled a letter, expressing his love and promising to return. Placing it in a conspicuous spot, he hoped it would provide solace in his absence.

As the car pulled away from their home, Mike's eyes lingered on the familiar surroundings, a sense of longing tugging at his heart. He turned to Danny, his voice a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "Do you think Eleven could come with us?" he asked, his voice filled with a yearning for the comfort of her presence.

Danny's response was blunt, his words cutting through the air with a resolute finality. "No, nephew," he replied firmly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. The weight of his silence spoke volumes, leaving Mike to grapple with the realization that this journey was meant for only the two of them.

"Where are we going, uncle Danny?" he asked, his mind buzzed with questions.

"We'll talk when we get there," Danny replied cryptically, his voice firm and unmoving. The silence that followed left Mike to ponder the possibilities that lay ahead. The road stretched out before them, winding through familiar streets of Mike's childhood town.

The car pressed on, the hum of the engine and the passing scenery forming a backdrop to their thoughts. As the miles slipped away beneath them, Danny remained silent, his focus unwavering. Mike respected the weight of his uncle's contemplations, allowing the silence to settle between them.

In the silence, Mike's mind raced with anticipation and uncertainty. Where were they going? What was it his uncle needed help with? Already Mike's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

As the car rolled to a stop, Danny's voice broke the silence. "This is the place," he announced, his eyes fixed upon the looming structure before them. Mike's heart quickened, a flurry of emotions swirling within him as he recognized their destination—the abandoned Hawkins Lab.

The building stood as a relic of the past, a haunting reminder of the mysteries and horrors that had once unfolded within its walls. Its towering presence cast an ominous shadow, as if the weight of the secrets it held had seeped into the very foundation.

Mike's gaze traversed the dilapidated structure, his breath hitching at the sight before him. The lab hung open, like a rotting wound on the landscape, its windows shattered and its walls marred with decay. Nature had begun to reclaim its territory, vines creeping up the weathered walls, intertwining with the building's remnants.

The comparison that flickered in Mike's mind was a sombre one. The abandoned Hawkins Lab, with its air of desolation and dark history, bore an uncanny resemblance to the treacherous lands of Mordor, as depicted in the tales of Middle-earth. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, his mind conjuring images of the perilous journey undertaken by Frodo and his companions to destroy the One Ring.

Reluctance etched across Mike's face as he turned to his uncle. "Uncle," he began, his voice tinged with unease, "I can't go in there." His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his concerns. The memories of past encounters with the lab's dark secrets lingered.

"Now is not the time for fear, Michael," Danny urged as he stepped out of the car. Mike didn't move.

With a subtle shift in his tone, Danny approached Mike and placed a hand on his shoulder; his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and calculated intent. "Michael, we're family. We've always been there for each other. And now, in this moment, I need you more than ever."

Mike turned his gaze toward Danny, his eyes filled with concern and a desire to help. "What do you mean, uncle?"

Danny sighed, as if bowing under the weight of a burden that only Mike could alleviate. "You see, nephew, this lab holds answers to questions that have plagued me for years. Secrets that have haunted my every waking moment. I can't face them alone, not anymore. I need you by my side."

A mix of trust and unease flickered across Mike's face. He wasn't entirely sure what secrets Danny was referring to, but he couldn't deny the sincerity in his uncle's words. The weight of Danny's plea tugged at his heartstrings, fuelling a well of conflicted emotions within him. However, as his mind raced with vivid memories from his time in 1984, he couldn't shake the apprehension that coursed through his veins.

"I'm not going in there," Mike gasped a tremor in his voice. The memories of their previous encounters with the Demogorgons flashed in his mind, evoking the sheer terror and helplessness he had experienced. The image of soldiers being ruthlessly attacked while desperately firing their weapons burned into his memory, a haunting reminder of the dangers lurking within those forsaken walls. No, he wouldn't step foot back there.

Danny's brow furrowed, his gaze faltering for a moment as the impact of Mike's words hit him. Deep down, he understood the fears that gripped his nephew. But Danny had initiated this manipulation, and he couldn't afford for Mike to falter now.

Breaking the eye contact, Danny turned away from Mike, his voice softly tinged with disappointment. "I understand, Michael. I shouldn't have asked this of you. I just thought..."

There was a moment of silence as Danny paused, his tone filled with a calculated vulnerability that tugged at Mike's heartstrings. His gaze lingered on the forsaken walls of the lab, as if the weight of his own unfulfilled desires hung heavy in the air. It was a calculated move, meant to evoke sympathy in Mike, to compel him further.

"I just thought that with your courage, your resilience...you could help me put those demons to rest. To face the ghosts of our past," Danny continued, his voice trembling with an underlying tone of genuine need. "But I understand if it's too much. I wouldn't want to put you through any more pain or danger."

As the silence stretched between them, Mike could feel the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. The desire to prove himself, to be the hero his uncle saw in him, warred with the fear that threatened to consume him. But it was the genuine vulnerability in Danny's voice, the raw need palpable in his every word, that finally broke through Mike's defences.

Biting his lip, Mike hesitated for a moment longer before reaching a resolution. "Alright, uncle. I'll go with you."

Danny turned back to face Mike, his eyes sparkling with gratitude and a hint of pride. He knew that his manipulation had led them to this moment, but it was Mike's genuine empathy that broke through the barriers of fear and uncertainty.

As Mike and Danny ventured deep into the abandoned recesses of the Hawkins Lab, the atmosphere grew increasingly suffocating. A labyrinth of dimly lit corridors stretched out before them, like strands of a web leading deeper into the heart of darkness. The air grew heavy with anticipation, a palpable reminder that they were treading dangerous grounds.

The dim light flickered, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to dance just out of reach, teasing the edges of their vision.

"We're getting closer, Michael. We need to get to the central control room," Danny's voice suddenly spoke as he pushed forward, undeterred by the encroaching darkness.

Mike, swallowed by curiosity and a yearning for answers, nodded in agreement. Together, they delved deeper into the shadows, their steps now measured as they traversed the endless corridors. The air grew colder, chilling their bones, and they could almost taste the anticipation that lingered in the stagnant air.

END PART ONE