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The world shifted around Harry as his right eye burned with newfound power. Through it, he could see pulsing crimson veins beneath Aurelia's skin, like a grotesque roadmap of the Rot flowing through her body. It was horrifying—reminded him of those magical medical books Madam Pomfrey kept locked away from curious students.
"What's wrong, outsider?" Aurelia sneered, her golden eye narrowing. "Dragon got your tongue?"
Harry squared his shoulders. "Last chance," he warned, surprised by the dual-toned echo in his voice. "Let us pass."
"Never." Aurelia's hand twisted in a complex gesture, and suddenly the air between them filled with a cloud of scarlet mist. "Drown in Mother's blessing!"
The Rot cloud engulfed Harry, burning his lungs and stinging his skin—but to his surprise, it felt more like stepping into overly hot bathwater than the acid bath he'd expected. Uncomfortable, but bearable.
He emerged from the mist with a defiant grin. "Is that all you've got? Professor Snape's dungeons smell worse than that."
Aurelia's expression faltered. "Impossible! No one resists the Bloom!"
"Harry's special that way," Millicent called from behind him, her voice tinged with what might have been pride.
A voice whispered in Harry's mind then, slithering through his thoughts like a serpent: Kill her. Consume her flesh. The Rot power will be yours. You'll never be weak again.
The voice reminded him uncomfortably of the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. Harry shuddered, pushing it away.
"Not happening," he muttered to himself, raising his sword defensively.
"Who are you talking to?" Roddard demanded, shifting his spear to cover Harry's flank.
"Nothing. No one," Harry replied, focusing on Aurelia as she prepared another attack.
She flung her arm outward, and a swarm of scarlet butterflies—larger than Millicent's demonstration—spiraled toward them like guided missiles.
"Duck!" Harry shouted to Roddard, dropping flat as the first wave sizzled over his head. The heat of them singed his hair, but his dragon-enhanced resistance held.
So weak. She is nothing. Kill her. Eat her heart like the dragon's. Stronger. You could be stronger.
"Shut UP," Harry hissed, rolling to his feet and countering with a bolt of lightning.
Aurelia dodged, but barely—the bolt scorching her tattered robes. Her face contorted with rage and what might have been fear.
"You think you understand the Rot?" she snarled, retreating a step. "You're nothing but a child playing with powers beyond your comprehension!"
Harry barked a laugh.
More butterflies formed around her, their wings beating in unison as they gathered into a swirling vortex. "I'll show you true power, boy. Bloom Wind!"
She is right to fear you. End her. Take what is yours.
The voice was becoming harder to ignore, its promises seeping into Harry's thoughts like poison. He shook his head violently, trying to clear it.
"Harry, be careful!" Millicent warned. "She's channeling too much! It's unstable!"
Aurelia's remaining arm trembled as the butterfly swarm grew larger, their crimson glow intensifying until it cast the street in bloody light. "Die!"
Harry braced himself, summoning his own power. Lightning encased his blade.
"I've faced worse than you," he called, thinking of Voldemort's face on the back of Quirrell's head, of the basilisk, of a hundred Dementors swarming above the lake. "And I'm still standing."
Harry lunged forward, his lightning-infused sword slicing through the cloud of butterflies. They burst into scarlet mist as his blade cut through them, clearing a path directly to Aurelia.
She snarled, abandoning her spell and drawing her Rot-infused dagger. Metal met metal with a shower of sparks—her dagger sliding against his sword as she parried his attack.
"You fight well for a child," she hissed, her movements unnaturally quick as she circled him.
"Had plenty of practice," Harry retorted, remembering his duel with the basilisk. He might not have Roddard's training, but he had something just as valuable—experience fighting for his life.
They exchanged blows, Aurelia's speed nearly matching Harry's newfound reflexes. But where she was faster, Harry's dragon-enhanced strength gave him the advantage. Each parry sent her skidding back slightly, her single arm trembling with the effort of blocking his strikes.
"You cannot defeat me!" she screamed, slashing wildly. "I am a daughter of the Bloom!"
Harry feinted left, then pivoted right—just as Oliver Wood had taught him to fake out opposing Seekers—and brought his sword down in a crackling arc. The blade sliced through Aurelia's shoulder, drawing a spray of Rot-infused blood that sizzled against the stone street.
She staggered, clutching her wound with disbelief. "Impossible..."
With a howl of rage, Aurelia summoned her remaining strength, calling forth a desperate swarm of butterflies larger than before. "If I fall, you fall with me!"
Strangely, the butterflies faltered, their synchronized flight pattern breaking apart.
"No!" she gasped, trying desperately to reassert her will over them.
"Harry, get back! It's collapsing!" Millicent shouted from behind.
The butterfly swarm imploded, collapsing toward Aurelia in a rush of scarlet energy. For one terrible moment, her face showed fear, and she looked at Harry as if she wanted to beg for help—then the Rot she'd channeled engulfed her in a blinding flash.
Harry threw up his arm to shield his eyes. When he lowered it, his stomach lurched at the sight before him.
The corruption spread visibly through her veins, dissolving her flesh like ice under the sun. Scarlet tendrils erupted from her wound, unfurling into grotesque flowering growths that pierced through her skin.
"No... I was... chosen..." she whispered, as crimson roots burst from her mouth, silencing her final words.
Her remaining arm twisted unnaturally as fungal blooms sprouted between her fingers, spreading up her limb in accelerating corruption. The Rot consumed her from the inside out, using her flesh as fertile soil for its terrible growth. Within seconds, what had been Aurelia was transformed into a grotesque garden of crimson plants—twisted fungi, pulsating flowers, and oozing growths that vaguely retained her human shape.
At the center of this horrific bloom, her face remained partially intact, preserved like a macabre trophy within the largest flowering bud. Her golden eye, wide with shock and eternal horror, stared out from petals that mimicked her features in twisted mockery.
The scarlet tree that grew from her corpse shuddered once more before settling into stillness.
The burning sensation in Harry's right eye faded, his vision returning to normal. The voice in his head fell silent, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness.
"Is she...?" Harry asked, unable to finish the question.
Millicent dragged herself forward, reaching the tree. Her golden eye shimmered with what might have been tears as she touched the carved face of her sister.
"Gone," she whispered.
Harry swallowed hard, guilt washing over him despite knowing he hadn't struck the final blow. "I didn't mean for her to—"
"It wasn't your doing," Millicent interrupted. "She lost control of her own power."
"She was your sister," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry."
Millicent closed her eye briefly. "I never knew her. Not really. But she was of my flesh, born of the same Bloom." She looked up at Harry. "Perhaps if we'd spoken longer, reasoned with her..."
Roddard planted his spear beside her, his armor creaking as he knelt. "Some souls cannot be saved, my lady. Not because they aren't worthy, but because they refuse salvation itself."
"She chose her path long ago. To embrace the Rot fully, to see it as blessing rather than curse. Such minds rarely change course."
Harry sheathed his sword, the weight of what had happened settling uncomfortably in his chest. Just thirteen—nearly fourteen—and he'd seen more death than anyone his age should.
"Come on," he said finally, helping Millicent onto his back once more. "We still need to find that needle. And I'd rather not hang around to see if she has any more sisters lurking about."
As they moved deeper into Sellia's winding streets, Harry couldn't help but glance back at the tree of what had once been Aurelia. The Rot had taken her, just as it had taken so much of this land.
He silently promised himself it wouldn't take Millicent too as he and his odd group of 'friends' entered the town.
The streets of Sellia twisted like a labyrinth, buildings leaning at impossible angles as if they'd been constructed by someone who'd never quite grasped the concept of gravity. Harry adjusted Millicent's weight on his back as they ventured deeper into the abandoned town.
"Bit like Diagon Alley after a really nasty earthquake," Harry muttered, eyeing a tower that curved like a question mark against the blue-tinged sky.
"What's Diagon Alley?" Millicent asked, her chin resting lightly on his shoulder.
"Shopping district back home," Harry replied, feeling a pang of homesickness. "Though the shops there don't usually try to defy physics."
Roddard led the way, his spear held ready as they entered what might have been a town square. A dry fountain stood at its center, the stone basin filled not with water but with floating scrolls and books that hovered a few inches above the surface, pages turning by themselves as if read by invisible scholars.
"That's not creepy at all," Harry said, approaching cautiously. He reached for one of the books, but Roddard knocked his hand away.
"Don't touch anything," the knight warned. "Sorcerers trap their knowledge against thieves."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Could've just said that instead of nearly breaking my fingers."
He peered closer at the books without touching them. The pages contained diagrams of stars and constellations he'd never seen in Professor Sinistra's Astronomy class, alongside mathematical formulas that would have given even Hermione a headache.
"These sorcerers were astronomers?" he asked.
Millicent nodded against his shoulder. "They believed the stars held secrets to greater magic. That's why they built so tall—to be closer to the night sky."
A sudden chill swept through the square, the blue light dimming momentarily. Harry tensed, his hand dropping to his sword hilt.
"We're not alone," Roddard said quietly, his helmet swiveling as he scanned the empty air around them.
At first, Harry saw nothing—then movement caught his eye. A shimmer in the air, like heat rising from summer pavement. The shimmer solidified into a translucent figure in flowing robes, its face obscured by a crystal mask with multiple eye-holes. The figure raised spectral hands, blue energy gathering between its fingertips.
"Duck!" Harry shouted, dropping to one knee while keeping Millicent secure on his back.
A bolt of azure magic sizzled through the space where his head had been. The spectral figure faded back to invisibility, leaving only a lingering chill.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry gasped, scrambling back to his feet.
"Scholars," Millicent whispered. "Or what's left of them. They bound themselves to Sellia's magic when the Rot came, becoming neither living nor dead."
Another shimmer appeared to their right, followed by a third on their left. More crystal-masked figures materialized.
Roddard charged the nearest one, his spear passing harmlessly through its spectral form. The knight cursed, narrowly avoiding a magical counterattack.
"Physical weapons are useless!" he shouted, retreating toward Harry.
One of the spectres glided toward them, raising its hands for another spell. Acting on instinct, Harry drew his sword and channeled the dragon's lightning through the blade.
As the spectre materialized fully to attack, Harry swung his energized blade. To his surprise, it connected, slicing through the ghostly form with a sound like tearing silk. The spectre writhed, its mask cracking before it dissolved into motes of blue light.
"Roddard! They can be hurt by magic!" Harry called, positioning himself to shield Millicent.
The knight grunted in frustration. "Wonderful for you, useless for me!"
Two more spectres appeared, hurling orbs of blue energy. Harry deflected one with his lightning-infused sword, but the other struck Roddard square in the chest, sending him staggering backward.
"This way!" Millicent pointed to a narrow alleyway between two leaning structures. "There's a sorcerer's study tower ahead—they won't follow us inside!"
Harry didn't need telling twice. He sprinted down the alley, Roddard clanking behind them as more spectres materialized in pursuit. The tower Millicent had indicated was squat compared to its neighbors but had intricate runic carvings circling its doorway.
They burst through the entrance, Harry nearly tripping over the threshold. Behind them, the spectres halted abruptly at the doorway, hovering like frustrated wasps unable to enter a closed window.
"Why can't they come in?" Harry panted, lowering Millicent onto a dusty bench.
"Private studies were warded against interference," she explained, catching her breath. "Even from other sorcerers. The wards still hold."
Harry peeked through a window slit, watching the spectres gradually lose interest and fade back to invisibility. The square outside was peaceful once more, as if nothing had happened.
"Mad, the lot of them," he muttered. "Makes the Hogwarts ghosts seem positively friendly."
"Nearly Headless Nick again?" Millicent asked with a small smile.
"Among others," Harry said, glancing around the tower's interior.
The single room was cluttered with astronomical instruments, many resembling the tools from Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower but twisted into strange configurations. Star charts covered the walls, and a large crystal sphere hung from the ceiling, projecting tiny pinpricks of light onto the floor.
From the window, Harry spotted something curious—blue flames flickering atop three distant towers, standing out against the omnipresent red of Caelid's sky beyond the barrier.
"What are those flames for?" he asked, pointing them out to Millicent.
She joined him at the window, her golden eye narrowing as she studied them. "Sellia's seals," she said after a moment. "They're part of the town's warding system."
"They're lit up already," Harry observed.
Millicent shook her head. "No, those are guide flames. The actual seals must be activated at each tower." She turned to him, her expression thoughtful. "They might be our way deeper into Sellia, to where the scholars kept their most valuable knowledge."
Roddard, who had been examining his armor for damage, looked up sharply. "You want to activate ancient sorcery with no idea what it does? Have you both lost your minds?"
Harry grinned. "Pretty much how I've spent the last three years, to be honest." He turned back to the window, studying the distant towers. "Besides, I've got a feeling that's where we'll find answers about this needle we're looking for."
Millicent's hand found his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You catch on quickly for an outsider."
"Anything else I should know? Do the towers shoot fireballs? Turn into dragons? Have a particularly nasty caretaker named Filch?"
Roddard made a sound that might have been a chuckle inside his helmet. "The outsider thinks he's amusing."
"I have my moments," Harry shot back. He turned to Millicent. "So how exactly do I activate these seals?"
"Each tower has a basin at its peak," she explained. "You'll need to channel your power into them—your lightning should work. When all three are lit, the way forward will open."
Harry nodded, strapping his sword more securely to his back. "Right then. First tower, here I come."
Exiting the safety of their hideout required timing and speed. The spectral sorcerers were still patrolling, becoming visible only moments before hurling their magical attacks. Harry darted between buildings, using the crumbling architecture as cover.
The first tower loomed before him—a precarious structure that listed to one side like a drunk trying to stay upright. Its outer wall had partially collapsed, revealing a spiraling interior staircase that had long since crumbled away.
"Of course the stairs would be gone," Harry muttered. "Too easy otherwise."
He eyed the tower's exterior, spotting protruding stonework and decorative carvings that might serve as handholds. With a deep breath, he began to climb.
Three feet off the ground, his foot slipped on a loose stone, sending him crashing back to earth with a thud that knocked the wind from his lungs.
"Graceful," Roddard called from their shelter.
"Shut up," Harry wheezed, picking himself up and dusting off his robes.
His second attempt went marginally better—he managed almost ten feet before finding himself clinging to a gargoyle's head, legs dangling over empty space.
"Come on, Potter," he muttered to himself. "You've almost caught Snitches in thunderstorms. This should be easy."
His third try finally produced results. Moving slowly and testing each handhold, Harry scaled the tower's side, stopping occasionally to rest on whatever stable surface he could find. His arms burned with the effort, and he made a mental note to thank Oliver Wood for all those grueling Quidditch practices if he ever saw him again.
Twenty feet up, a spectral sorcerer materialized right in front of him, floating in mid-air. The crystal mask tilted, regarding Harry with what seemed like curiosity before raising its hands to cast.
"Why are you even here?" Harry exclaimed, clinging one-handed to the wall while drawing his sword with the other. Lightning crackled along the blade as the spectre hurled a blue orb of magic at his head.
Harry swung wildly, nearly losing his grip in the process. The energized blade sliced through both the magical attack and the spectre itself, dissolving it into motes of light.
"This is definitely worse than Quidditch," he panted, resheathing his sword and continuing upward.
After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Harry hauled himself onto the tower's roof. A stone basin stood at its center, filled with what looked like oil but smelled like nothing at all.
"Right. Channel lightning. Simple." He stretched his hand over the basin, focusing on the tingling energy the dragon heart had gifted him. A bolt of electricity shot from his palm, striking the liquid.
Blue flames erupted with a whoosh, shooting twenty feet into the air before settling to a steady burn. Below, the streets shifted subtly, buildings realigning themselves as if the town were a giant puzzle box.
"One down, two to go," Harry said to himself, peering over the edge for a way down. "Now for the fun part."
Getting down proved almost as challenging as climbing up, but he managed with only minor scrapes.
The second tower stood across a small courtyard, surrounded by floating magical sigils. Unlike the first, this tower was intact but impossibly tall, its entrance a good fifteen feet off the ground with no visible way to reach it.
Harry studied the problem, remembering how his dragon-enhanced legs had carried him during their journey. "Worth a try," he muttered, focusing on the dormant power within him.
He felt the change this time—a strengthening in his legs, not quite scales but something he knew a human should not feel. He crouched, then leaped upward.
The jump carried him well above the entrance, high enough that he actually had to grab a windowsill to stop himself from sailing straight past the tower. He landed inside with considerably more grace than his first climbing attempt.
"That's... actually quite useful," he said to himself, grinning.
This tower had intact stairs, making the ascent far easier. At its peak, another basin awaited him. Harry wasted no time, channeling lightning to ignite the flames.
The second seal awakened with a low hum. Through a window, Harry watched as more of Sellia shifted, buildings rotating to create new pathways through the town.
The third tower posed the greatest challenge yet. It stood separated from the rest of Sellia, accessible only via a narrow stone bridge that spanned a dizzying drop to the streets below. Worse, the bridge was studded with what looked like magical pressure plates, each glowing with latent energy.
"Naturally," Harry sighed, eyeing the treacherous crossing. "Couldn't just be a nice, normal walkway."
He studied the pattern of plates, noting that some glowed brighter than others. "Hermione would have figured this out in seconds," he muttered, missing his friend's logical mind.
With no better option, Harry stepped onto the bridge, carefully testing each stone before committing his weight. About halfway across, he misstepped, triggering a plate that shot a bolt of energy skyward.
Harry froze, waiting for something terrible, but the bolt simply dissipated into the air. "Huh. Maybe they're just for show?"
The next plate he triggered answered that question definitively—a blast of force knocked him sideways, nearly sending him over the edge. He caught himself just in time, heart hammering in his chest.
"Definitely not for show," he gasped.
Through careful observation and several close calls, Harry eventually plotted a safe path across. The third tower was the smallest but most ornate, covered in intricate carvings of stars and moons that seemed to shift position when viewed from different angles.
The basin atop this tower contained not oil but what looked like liquid starlight, shimmering with tiny points of light. Harry's lightning struck it, igniting blue flames that burned brighter than the others.
The moment the third seal activated, all three flames shot skyward in unison, connecting in a triangle of blue energy above Sellia. The entire town trembled, buildings shifting with the grinding sound of stone against stone.
In the central plaza, where they had first encountered the spectral scholars, the ground split open to reveal a spiraling staircase descending deep beneath Sellia.
Harry made his way back to Millicent and Roddard, who were watching the transformation with awe.
"I have to say," Harry grinned, brushing dust from his clothes, "that was actually easier than getting past Fluffy. No music required."
"Fluffy?" Millicent questioned.
"Three-headed dog. Long story," Harry replied, helping her onto his back once more. "So, shall we see what's below?"
Roddard led the way toward the newly revealed staircase. "I hope whatever awaits is worth nearly watching you fall to your death three times over."
"I had it completely under control," Harry insisted.
As they approached the staircase, Harry peered into the darkness below. "You know, I'm starting to think my life would be a lot easier if things were ever located on the ground floor."
Millicent's soft laugh tickled his ear as they began their descent into Sellia's hidden depths.
The staircase wound downward in a perfect spiral, each step glowing with faint blue light as their feet touched it. Harry adjusted Millicent's weight on his back, trying to ignore the growing chill as they descended deeper beneath Sellia.
"Reminds me of the dungeons at Hogwarts," Harry remarked, his voice echoing slightly. "Only colder and with fewer angry Potions masters lurking about."
Roddard led the way, spear at the ready, his armor scraping occasionally against the narrow walls. "Stay alert," he warned. "We know not what has survived down here all these centuries."
After what seemed like hundreds of steps, the staircase opened onto a vast circular chamber that took Harry's breath away. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, arranged in concentric circles around a central dais. Countless tomes and scrolls filled the shelves, some bound in materials Harry couldn't identify, others floating gently between stacks like fish in an aquarium.
"Hermione would lose her mind in here," Harry whispered, imagining his friend's reaction to such a treasure trove of knowledge. She'd probably forget to eat or sleep for a week.
Blue light emanated from crystal orbs suspended from the ceiling, casting the library in an ethereal glow. Unlike the abandoned buildings above, this place seemed perfectly preserved, as if time itself had been held at bay.
"The Great Archive of Sellia," Millicent breathed, her voice filled with awe. "I thought it was just a legend."
A sudden movement caught Harry's eye—a shadow darting between bookshelves on the far side of the chamber. He tensed, hand dropping to his sword hilt.
"Someone's here," he murmured. "Behind the tall shelf with the silver bindings."
Roddard advanced cautiously, his spear pointed toward the spot Harry had indicated. "Show yourself!" the knight commanded. "In the name of Prince Miquella!"
A thin, reedy voice answered from the shadows: "M-Miquella? He... he sent you?" The figure emerged slowly, hunched and trembling.
An elderly man stood before them, dressed in pale red robes that hung loosely on his frail frame. His face was deeply lined, eyes wide with fear behind spectacles that seemed to be held together by magic more than metal. A wispy white beard quivered as he wrung his hands nervously.
"Please," the old man pleaded, dropping to his knees. "I've done no wrong! I've kept the knowledge safe, just as I promised!"
Harry exchanged a confused glance with Millicent before addressing the man. "We're not here to harm you," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We're looking for information about a cure for the Scarlet Rot."
The old man's gaze shifted to Millicent, and his demeanor changed instantly. His trembling stopped, eyes widening in recognition. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet and performed a deep bow that seemed to pain his ancient joints.
"My lady," he breathed, "forgiveness. Had I known... after all this time..."
Millicent's grip tightened on Harry's shoulder. "Do I know you?" she asked, her voice uncertain.
"You were but newly bloomed when last I saw you," the man said, straightening with difficulty. "I am Gowry, once chief spellwright to Prince Miquella himself."
Harry carefully lowered Millicent to a nearby reading chair, keeping a watchful eye on the old man. "You served Prince Miquella? But that was centuries ago. How are you still..."
Gowry offered a thin smile. "Alive? The question is whether I truly am, young man. The magic of Sellia preserves in strange ways." He gestured to the library around them. "I have been custodian here since the Rot first bloomed in Caelid. Time passes differently among the tomes."
Millicent leaned forward, studying the old man's face. "There is something familiar about you," she admitted.
"I helped tend to you and your sisters when you first emerged from the Bloom," Gowry explained. "So full of potential, each of you. But the Prince had special plans for you, my lady."
Roddard lowered his spear slightly but remained vigilant. "You were Prince Miquella's teacher? I know all who served the royal household, yet I don't recall your name."
Gowry's laugh was dry as parchment. "I served in shadow, good knight. The Prince's more... experimental studies required discretion. Not all of the Haligtree would have approved of our research."
"What research?" Harry asked. "Something to do with curing the Rot?"
The old man nodded, moving to a nearby shelf and running his fingers lovingly over the spines of several ancient books. "The Prince was brilliant beyond his years—a prodigy in sorcery, though he preferred the golden order incantations. When his twin sister Malenia began to succumb to the Rot, he dedicated himself to finding a cure."
"Did he succeed?" Millicent asked, her golden eye gleaming with hope.
Gowry's expression grew somber. "Nearly. We created a needle of unalloyed gold—metal purified through arcane processes to resist corruption. Early tests were promising, showing the needle could temporarily halt the Rot's spread."
"But?" Harry prompted, sensing the inevitable caveat.
"But it was imperfect," Gowry sighed. "It could stem the tide, not reverse it. And the process of creating even that small needle nearly broke the Prince. He became... obsessed."
The old scholar shuffled to a writing desk, retrieving a scroll that he handled with reverence. "These are his final notes on the needle's creation. He believed with more research, a perfect version could be crafted—one that might truly cure the affliction."
"What happened to the needle?" Harry asked.
"Prince Miquella entrusted it to Commander O'Neil," Gowry replied. "One of his most loyal soldiers was to deliver it to..." he gestured toward Millicent, "to you, my lady."
Millicent's brow furrowed. "I never received any needle. I waited at the church for centuries, but no commander ever came."
"I can't believe it," Roddard muttered. "Commander O'Neil was the finest soldier in our ranks. His loyalty was unquestioned."
Gowry shook his head sadly. "Even the strongest minds falter under the Rot's influence. Perhaps he succumbed before completing his mission."
"Or he's still out there somewhere," Harry suggested, "wandering Caelid with the needle in his possession."
"It's possible," Gowry agreed. "The Commander was remarkably resilient. If anyone could withstand the Rot's corruption, it would be him."
Harry frowned, a question forming in his mind. "Wait a moment. If this needle was so important, why didn't Prince Miquella use it on his own sister? Why give it to Millicent instead?"
"The Prince told me only that Princess Malenia had 'a different role to play. Time had passed, and it was too late now.' That her path and the Rot were... intertwined in ways we couldn't understand." He clasped his hands together, knuckles white with tension. "He didn't explain more to me, I am afraid, and shortly after, I had to leave."
Harry, who had been examining the scroll over Gowry's shoulder, looked up sharply. "These diagrams—they remind me of something Ranni gave me."
He reached into his pocket, producing the silver knife that the four-armed witch had pressed into his hands. "She said it was important, that 'only a Life can pay for another Life.'"
Gowry's eyes widened at the sight of the blade. His hand reached toward it, trembling slightly before pulling back. "That is no ordinary knife," he whispered. "It bears the markings of the Carian Royal Family. Where did you say you obtained this?"
"From Ranni the Witch," Harry replied. "Back in Limgrave."
"Curious indeed," Gowry murmured. "Princess Ranni was once betrothed to Prince Miquella, before... well, before many things changed. That she would give you such an item... I do not understand."
Harry tucked the knife away, making a mental note to examine it more closely later. "So this Commander O'Neil—if he's still alive and has the needle, where would we find him?"
Gowry stroked his wispy beard thoughtfully. "If he still lives, and if he retains any semblance of duty, he would have retreated to where Malenia's forces made their last stand in Caelid."
"Redmane Castle," Roddard supplied, his voice grim.
"Precisely," Gowry nodded. "The journey there will not be easy. The castle stands at the southernmost point of Caelid, and the way is fraught with danger."
Harry sighed, thinking of all the treacherous obstacles they'd already overcome. "Of course it is. Heaven forbid anything in this place be simple or safe."
"I have a map somewhere here, it can help you."
Gowry shuffled between towering bookshelves, pulling volumes, assembling a small mountain of books on a central table, muttering to himself all the while.
"My research over the centuries," Gowry explained, opening a particularly ancient tome with gentle reverence. "Seeking ways to perfect Prince Miquella's needle. The unalloyed gold was only the beginning—the true challenge lay in the enchantment patterns needed to repel the Rot without harming the host."
Harry leaned forward, examining the intricate diagrams that filled the pages. Though he couldn't understand the strange script, the illustrations reminded him vaguely of the runes in Hermione's Ancient Runes textbook.
"Did you make any progress?" he asked.
"Incremental," Gowry sighed. "The Rot adapts, you see. What works against one strain may falter against another. It's like trying to catch smoke with a net—the moment you think you've contained it, it finds another path."
Millicent studied the diagrams with her golden eye, her expression thoughtful. "These patterns... they resemble the markings on Sellia's towers."
"Indeed they do," Gowry nodded, pleased. "The sorcerers of Sellia understood containment magic better than any others in the Lands Between. Their techniques informed much of our work."
Harry flipped through another book, pausing at an illustration of a massive man riding a comically small horse. The rider wore distinctive armor adorned with lion imagery and wielded what appeared to be two massive swords.
"Is that...?"
"General Radahn," Gowry confirmed, a wistful smile crossing his face. "In his prime, before the Rot claimed his mind. He studied here once, you know—the Academy of Raya Lucaria initially, then advanced studies in Sellia."
Harry blinked in surprise. "The same Radahn who fought Malenia? He was a student here?"
"The greatest student of Gravity Magic in the academy's history," Gowry said, tapping the illustration. "Most assume he pursued such magic for warfare, but his initial motivation was far more... sentimental."
Millicent leaned closer to see the image. "His horse," she noted. "It's tiny compared to him."
"Leonard," Gowry nodded. "Radahn's beloved steed from childhood. As the General grew to his immense size—a benefit of his demigod heritage—he refused to abandon his faithful companion. Rather than find a larger mount, he mastered Gravity Magic to lighten his enormous bulk, allowing Leonard to carry him without strain."
Harry couldn't help but smile at that. For all the talk of demigods and their terrifying power, there was something endearing about a massive warrior learning complicated magic just so he could keep riding his favorite horse.
"He learned all that just for his horse?" Harry asked.
"The heart's attachments can inspire great achievements," Gowry replied. "Though I suspect his continued study had additional purposes. The stars themselves were Radahn's true fascination—their movements, their power, their influence on the Lands Between."
Roddard, who had been silently examining the library's defenses, rejoined the conversation. "General Radahne holds the stars with his Gravity Magic. He conquered gravity itself to halt their movement."
"But why would anyone want to stop the stars?" Harry asked, confused.
Gowry's expression darkened slightly. "That is a question with many possible answers, none of which I can confirm. Some say he feared what might fall from the cosmos if the stars' paths continued. Others claim he sought to deny fate itself."
The old scholar closed the book with a decisive snap. "But such mysteries are secondary to your quest. You seek the needle, which means you must find Commander O'Neil."
Harry nodded, returning to the matter at hand. "Redmane Castle, you said. What can we expect to find there?"
"If he lives," Gowry replied, "the Commander will be changed by the Rot. How much of the man remains depends on his will." The scholar turned to Roddard. "You knew him. Was his conviction strong?"
Roddard's helmet dipped slightly. "There were none stronger in Malenia's service. His loyalty to the Haligtree was absolute."
"Then perhaps enough of him endures to be reasoned with," Gowry suggested.
Harry exchanged glances with Millicent. "And if he can't be reasoned with?"
"Then you must take the needle by force," Gowry said simply. "Though I warn you—even in his prime, Commander O'Neil was nearly undefeatable in combat."
Roddard planted his spear on the stone floor with a decisive clank. "The boy cannot hope to defeat O'Neil," he stated flatly. "Even I would hesitate to face him alone."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry muttered.
"It's not a question of confidence but reality," Roddard retorted. "O'Neil was the right hand of Princess Malenia herself, privy to techniques known only to the inner circle of Haligtree knights."
Gowry raised a placating hand. "The Rot changes all it touches. If O'Neil still lives, he will be diminished from what he once was. His mind, his reflexes, perhaps even his legendary strength—all may be compromised."
"So we might stand a chance," Harry surmised, "if he's been rotting away for a few centuries."
"An inelegant but accurate assessment," Gowry nodded. "The needle would be his most sacred charge. If anything of the Commander remains, he will have kept it safe."
Harry helped Millicent back onto his back, adjusting her weight comfortably. "Right then. Redmane Castle it is. Just tell me it's all on one level without any more towers to climb."
Gowry's laughter was surprisingly vigorous for such a frail-looking man. "I'm afraid Redmane boasts some of the tallest towers in all of Caelid. It was built to withstand sieges from both land and sky."
"Brilliant," Harry sighed. "More climbing. My favorite."
"Redmane lies across the worst of the Rot-infested lands. Beasts beyond imagining roam the southern wilds."
"We've made it this far," Harry pointed out. "What's a few more deadly monsters between friends?"
Roddard made a sound that might have been a snort inside his helmet. "Your confidence would be admirable if it weren't so misplaced."
"It got us through Sellia, didn't it?" Harry countered.
Millicent's arm tightened slightly around his shoulder. "He's right, Roddard. We wouldn't have made it this far without Harry's... unusual approach."
Gowry studied Harry with newfound interest. "Indeed. Perhaps the unexpected is exactly what's needed in these dire times." He moved to a small chest near his writing desk, retrieving a slender object wrapped in faded cloth.
"Here it is," he said, pressing it into Harry's hand. "A map of southern Caelid, marked with the safest paths to Redmane. It's centuries old, but the landmarks endure even if the land itself has changed."
Harry tucked the map carefully into his pocket. "Thank you, for everything."
As they prepared to leave, Gowry approached Millicent one last time, his expression solemn. "My lady, when you find the needle... use it wisely. All magic carries a price."
Millicent nodded, her golden eye meeting the old scholar's gaze. "I've paid prices all my life, Master Gowry."
They ascended the spiral staircase, leaving the preserved knowledge of Sellia behind them.
Harry took a deep breath of the strange, half-corrupted air. "Redmane Castle," he said, adjusting his grip on Millicent. "I don't suppose we could just send an owl with a polite request for the needle?"
"An owl?" Roddard questioned.
"Never mind," Harry sighed. "Wizard joke. Let's go find this Commander and his magic needle before anything else tries to kill us."
As they prepared to leave Sellia's protective barrier and venture back into the crimson nightmare of Caelid, Harry couldn't help but think that at least in the Forbidden Forest, the trees didn't try to eat you... most of the time.
Hermione, Ron, Sirius. I hope you are all well...
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