The chamber's glow dimmed as the last remnants of ancient magic settled within Hadrian. He felt… different. Stronger. His magic no longer felt like an external force he wielded but something deeply ingrained, a birthright fully realized.
Ignotus watched him with approval, his spectral form flickering like mist.
"Good. You can feel it now, can't you? The difference. The way magic moves through you."
Hadrian flexed his fingers. Even without a wand, power thrummed beneath his skin.
"This is only the beginning," Ignotus continued. "Modern magic has chained itself to wands, words, and gestures. But our ancestors wielded magic differently—with intent, with will."
Hadrian frowned. "I've read about wandless magic, but it's supposed to be incredibly difficult."
Ignotus scoffed. "Because wizards have weakened themselves. A crutch, when overused, becomes a necessity. You will learn what was lost."
He raised a translucent hand, and suddenly, the shadows in the room twisted unnaturally. They coiled around his form, whispering secrets Hadrian couldn't quite hear. Magic without a word.
Hadrian's breath hitched. "How?"
"Magic is not about words," Ignotus said. "It is about command. You do not ask magic to obey—you make it obey."
Hadrian focused, stretching his hand toward a flickering candle. He reached deep within himself, to the power awakened by his bloodline. Instead of whispering a spell, he simply willed the flame to rise.
And it did.
The fire shot upward in a controlled blaze before settling once more. No incantation, no wand. Just will.
Hadrian smirked. This… this was something Hogwarts would never teach him.
"Excellent," Ignotus murmured. "Now, let's see how much further you can go."
—