Recently, as trade between the German and British wizarding worlds gradually found its footing, Lys received increasingly frequent invitations to balls and social gatherings.
After roughly figuring out each family's stance, Lys seized an opportunity to demonstrate her true power.
Just this once would be enough—she needed those nobles scheming behind her back about how to profit from her, and those wizards who underestimated her, to shut their mouths and cease their petty machinations. Otherwise, the escalating troubles and conspiracies that would inevitably follow were definitely not something Lys would tolerate.
In the grand, magnificent ballroom, guests in elegant robes mingled with crystal glasses in hand, engaging in refined conversation. As one musical piece neared its end, wizards began approaching their desired partners for the next dance.
On the conductor's platform, the wizard's wand tip traced elaborate, intricate patterns in the air. Magical light streamed upward to the ceiling before transforming into cascading sparkles that danced brilliantly through the air, drifting down toward the dance floor below.
Everything proceeded exactly like countless balls before—the same endless repetition.
But suddenly, the instruments fell silent. The scattered sparkles exploded one by one, and every gaze turned simultaneously toward the edge of the dance floor.
There stood Lys, releasing a weary sigh. Around her, a ring of black flames gradually solidified, emanating an icy chill as they coiled into the shape of an ouroboros.
The ring of fire encircled Lys, gliding and spinning lazily with her movements, leaving trails of silver sparks that captivated every eye in the room.
The moment wizards realized what magic this was, they collectively gasped in horror. Every person on the dance floor fled at breakneck speed from the vicinity of this British witch.
The entire hall fell into deathly silence, shock and terror filling every heart and gaze.
That was Fiendfyre! Though they couldn't understand why it manifested in this particular form.
But still—Fiendfyre!
In Germany, where Dark Magic flourished, in Grindelwald's homeland, no one was ignorant of its fearsome reputation or the fate that awaited anyone it touched.
Several of the most powerful guests exchanged worried glances, wands sliding silently into their hands from within their sleeves.
Fluent, natural German flowed from Lys's lips: "Just an ungrateful British ugly woman—a bastard's daughter, no less. Of course it's an honor to be invited by you; I really shouldn't have refused. So then..."
Lys smiled as she extended her wand-holding right hand. "Take my hand. It's just one dance. Surely you're not... afraid, are you?"
The black Fiendfyre ouroboros flickered silver sparks as it undulated, and Lys's unfinished words carried an unmistakable threat.
The targeted wizard stared at Lys's smiling face, his lips trembling so violently he couldn't utter a single word of refusal.
Watching Lys approach step by step, his face turned so pale it seemed he might collapse at any moment.
Seeing that her demonstration had achieved its intended effect, Lys prepared to add a few closing remarks before dismissing the Fiendfyre. But just then, an amused male voice from the staircase picked up her words.
"Oh, I think he certainly is—after all, such an extraordinary presence isn't someone he should casually invite. But might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you, Miss Stalys Black?"
Though phrased as a question, the speaker strode directly toward Lys and her encircling Fiendfyre.
Menierquaid Karkaroff!
Through her recent interactions with German nobility, Lys now understood exactly what this man's position represented in Germany's wizarding world.
But Lys suspected that refusing him would bring far more trouble than accepting—yes, far more.
Just look at those hungry, predatory stares from families desperate to curry favor with the Karkaroffs.
Once again, Lys felt the harsh reality of Germany's strength-above-all philosophy. What did she look like right now anyway? What was wrong with those women? Was that jealousy in their eyes?!
She desperately wanted to shout at them all: she had absolutely no interest in this man who appeared roughly her father's age.
"Mr. Karkaroff, since I truly don't wish to disturb everyone's pleasant evening," Lys said with a polite smile, twirling her wand once to gradually dismiss the Fiendfyre.
Simultaneously, she raised her left hand slightly, revealing protective bracing from beneath her wizard robes, and continued:
"And I'm also not particularly convenient at the moment, so I'll have to decline dancing with you. I simply hope to establish good, mutually respectful cooperative relationships with Germany's families. If I have that honor, I look forward to future collaboration with you."
Lys's retreat and refusal, however, didn't diminish the man's interest in the slightest. His left hand gripped his wand while he still extended his right hand toward Lys.
Sensing the man gathering magic as he approached, Lys recognized the suppressive intent behind it.
Lys weighed her options between endurance and resistance as she surveyed the surrounding wizards.
Now both their identities transcended mere individuals—they represented a confrontation of status and power between German and British wizards in this collaboration.
Reading the situation, Lys raised her chin slightly, and the flames at her feet surged with even greater intensity.
After more than four years, the two faced off once again.
Looking at those emboldened, insolent stares from people with powerful backing—how were they any different from the Death Eaters of old?
Lys refused to be suppressed by a crowd of inferiors due to fear of one person, especially when this man couldn't possibly kill her over such a trivial matter... He wasn't a Dark Lord with Horcruxes, after all.
As for the business contracts? Lucius would handle those...
With this thought, Lys lifted her chin even higher. The black flames around her licked at her robe hems, making them flutter gently.
Tilting her head slightly, Lys stood within the rising chill, surrounded by what looked like a serpentine crown of black fire. She extended her braced left hand—
I accept. If you have the courage, then take my hand!
The provocative tension between them grew so thick that some bystanders couldn't help whispering among themselves.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Karkaroff, there's something you all need to know. Please address me as Stalys Lam, or Miss Lam, from now on," Lys announced proudly, head held high.
Just as Menierquaid gathered his magic and stepped toward Lys, a frail, elderly voice from a nearby table made him hesitate.
"Quaid, won't you introduce me to such an outstanding young person?"
"Yes, Uncle. This is Stalys... Lam, Miss Lam, who is stationed here as part of our ongoing cooperation with the British wizarding world." He bowed slightly toward the source of the voice.
Seeing Menierquaid dispel his magic and halt his approach, Lys breathed a small sigh of relief. With a flick of her wand tip, she smoothly dismissed the Fiendfyre.
"Excellent, excellent! Each generation of young people grows stronger than the last. Such fine control over magic—truly impressive!"
Perceptive guests gradually began echoing the praise. As the atmosphere lightened, Lys graciously accepted the compliments while signaling the band to resume playing, then walked toward Elder Karkaroff.
As couples began dancing in the ballroom once more, Lys recognized Menierquaid's uncle as the same elderly man who had recounted Grindelwald's exploits at the Black family home.
However, perhaps because Lys's appearance had changed so dramatically due to her weight gain, he didn't immediately recognize her.
After brief pleasantries, Lys tactfully excused herself.
At this stage, the farther Lys stayed from the Karkaroff family, the better it served her needs. As for Menierquaid, judging by his demeanor, he seemed quite obedient to his uncle, so he probably wouldn't target her again in the near future.
Walking out of the ballroom to stand in the courtyard's covered walkway, Lys adjusted her wizard robes and exhaled deeply. That Menierquaid hadn't even considered that by responding to her provocation, regardless of who won or lost, his status as heir to a top German family would be dragged down to an unprecedentedly low level.
Fortunately his uncle had stopped him, or there might have been additional complications later. Reflecting on it, Lys admitted she'd been somewhat excessive tonight, using the pretext of being offended to humiliate the assembled nobility.
But the problem wasn't entirely hers—who could have known that among so many people, there wouldn't be a single one with the courage to step forward and mediate? Lys had to find her own excuse to back down.
The dignity of half the noble circle had to be upheld by their major families' heirs.
When Lys left the ballroom, though the musicians hadn't stopped playing and the dancers hadn't ceased their steps, the atmosphere had completely changed.
Tense. Silent.
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