Corvus took one of the dozens of Frigates and treated it like a moving Manor and a laboratory that happened to carry guns in addition to wards and Magicals. The hull hummed with layered concealment, a calm pressure on the skin that made the air feel thicker when you crossed the ward line. Nestborn crew moved in clean rhythms. Most of them already gone through the operation to merge with their wand cores. Nestborns took the forward compartments, while the Unspeakables kept the others. The Frigate was a living town, and Corvus was happy with it. He was even considering asking Manard to enlarge it to have Medusa and some other Basilisks and Dragons to make it their home as well.
The speed of the vessel was at least three times that of her mundane counterparts. She cut the water with an arrogance no Muggle engine had any right to match. It was not just enchantment on the rudder. It was a whole system. Manard and his team had taken a simple repair principle and turned it into logistics.
A young Nestborn wizard leaned close, eyes narrowed at the runes, then backed off.
"They are reversing combustion," he muttered, pointing at the runic arrays.
The principle was simple in the way poison was simple. Variations of Reparo did not create matter. They restored an object closer to a prior state. If the prior state included a hydrocarbon chain, and if you had enough reference anchoring and control, you could pull the fuel back from the ash, from the residue, from the half-burnt mess that the engine spat out and called waste. Weapons and Artillery, the Magicals confiscated had similar enchantments working like a 'charm'.
The frigate ran like a sinner with a clean conscience.
By the time the Aegean opened under the moon, the ship held its breath and slid east of Mykonos. The eastern side of the island was calmer. Less traffic. Less noise. The water carried the smell of salt and stone. Somewhere in the dark, a beach club played music for people who believed the world ended where their money did.
Corvus stepped onto the deck and let the cool wind fill his lungs. Wards licked at his skin as he crossed their boundary and then settled.
He rolled his shoulders once. Magic rose through him, obedient and impatient. Extreme Speed, Extreme Agility, Phase and Flight came to life. The stack of it did not feel like traits or skills after so much practice. They became the muscle memory for him.
He sank through the deck. Metal, then air, then water.
Sea closed around his head, and the sound of the world went soft. The frigate became a shadow above. Light from the ship's concealed lanterns died within a few metres. Below that, the Aegean turned into a heavy silence.
His body moved fast. Phase made water into suggestion. Flight made direction irrelevant. He went down through layers of temperature, through pressure that would crush a normal chest, through drifting ribbons of weed that tried to cling to him and slipped off as if rejected.
The Aegean's average depth sat around two hundred metres, give or take. He felt it in the way the sea settled, in the way the dark thickened. The deeper trenches near Crete went past two and a half kilometres. He has not gone there yet. He needed a method first.
The surface area was the real insult. Two hundred and fourteen thousand square kilometres of water, riddled with islands, shelves, trenches, coves, and old wrecks that refused to stay dead. The kind of search that would make a sensible wizard take up gardening.
Corvus chose not to be sensible.
He pushed north toward Istanbul instead, because lines and grids were easier to trust than intuition. His target sat at the river mouth of the Nestos. A National Park in Muggle terms. A wide delta, reeds, shallow waters, the kind of place a creature could hide inside without ever showing its face.
When the coastline appeared as a change in current and taste, he let Phase drop. Water hit him properly. Weight returned. He rose once to breathe, took one mouthful of night air, then went under again.
Flight dropped next.
His bones shifted.
Basilisk form came with its own violence. Scale over skin. Muscles thickening and lengthening. A spine that no longer cared about human posture. Venom glands swelled like a promise.
He moved.
The delta floor blurred under him. Silt rose in clouds where his tail brushed it. Fish scattered. A few bold creatures tried to understand what passed them.
His gaze swept left to right, then back. A measured scan. The Deadly Gaze stayed leashed. Hours passed in the way they did when he hunted. Time became distance, and distance became patience.
He found signs. But not what he wanted.
In one pocket between rocks, a cluster of sea serpents slid through the dark like an old myth trying to look harmless. Horse-like heads. Long bodies rising in slow humps as they turned. These were Mediterranean stock, the kind Newt Scamander wrote about with his habit of annoying understatement. No record of harming humans, which would be a comforting line if he were still in human form. Corvus watched them coil, watched them circle a warm current, then left them alone. They were not his answer.
In another area, spines glittered in his peripheral vision. Shrake. Saltwater fish with the spiteful habit of shredding Muggle nets, a magical joke created by wizard fisherfolk who got insulted and decided to reply for a century. Corvus watched one ram into a ghost net, then pull away with spines vibrating. It looked proud of itself. Corvus respected the pettiness.
He found a Ramora once, far from where it was supposed to be, silver as a blade and built like a problem. The creature latched onto a passing ship's anchor chain and sat there, calm as a priest. Indian Ocean origin, if the books were right. It should not have been in the Aegean. That alone made it interesting.
He followed it for an hour. It did nothing except cling and hold. A guardian fish that could anchor a ship. He was not sure if it was lost or if it was a sign that other things had moved in the water as well.
Merpeople shadows appeared at the edge of his senses more than once. Not close enough to confirm. Just a movement that held shape too long to be fish. Corvus did not chase them. Merpeople knew these waters better than any wizard. If they wanted to be seen, they would have made it obvious.
The days turned into weeks and weeks into months.
Back on the frigate, the Nestborn breeding programme did not stop because Corvus went swimming. It ran like a machine.
He walked the lower deck once, feet still wet, and watched a line of trainees move through drills. Tall boys, shoulders wide, muscle density climbing with each generation as if the world was paying a debt. Witches moved with different changes. Elegance sharpened. Faces leaned toward symmetry. Posture became instinct. It would have been alarming if it were not planned.
An Unspeakable leaned against a bulkhead and took notes. It was, after all, a good opportunity for outdoor research.
What Corvus cared most about in the breeding programme was to keep the gene pool wide. Samples from every wizarding country under Corvus's control. No repetition or family loops. Being a pureblood does not mean to be inbred. They did not do relative matings. Corvus had no interest in breeding weakness and calling it heritage.
He returned to the sea. The search went further, and he has reached Skyros. The waters around it shifted in temperament. Different currents. Different life. Still no Nereids. Still no whisper of Nereus. Not even a scrap of old magic clinging to a stone, the way it should if a godling had ever bled there.
He came back after another long dive with salt crusted along his collarbones and his hair slicked back. The night air felt warm in comparison to the Aegean water.
Someone stood on the deck that did not belong there.
Elizaveta held the rail with both hands. Her eyes searched the dark water as if she could bully it into giving Corvus back. The wind tugged at her hair, and she ignored it.
Corvus rose out of the sea in human form and let Flight carry him up the last metres. Water ran off him in sheets. His feet touched the deck boards.
Elizaveta turned and took him in from bare feet to wet hair. There was no surprise or panic. Just that slow, glacial stare that made men remember their place.
"The concerning part," she began, "is that your absurdity stopped being surprising."
Corvus stepped closer and let the water drip on the deck. A wizard on watch glanced, then looked away with the speed of a man who enjoyed keeping his eyes.
Elizaveta's gaze dropped to his chest and stayed there with open greed. She did not bother hiding it. Volkova women did not feel ashamed when they had already chosen.
Her fingers touched his arm once. Skin, then muscle. She looked up again, annoyed by her own interest.
"How do you keep getting bigger," she asked, "every time I see you?"
Corvus let one corner of his mouth lift. "Eat your vegetables."
Elizaveta's eyes narrowed. The hint of a smile betrayed her anyway.
She stood tall by any normal measure. Next to Corvus, she looked like the world had shrunk. He had passed seven feet months ago. He matched the Nestborn now. Standing together was starting to look absurd.
Corvus enjoyed that more than he should.
He pulled her in, one arm around her waist, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Her breath caught, a small involuntary sound, then her mouth met his, and the rest of the complaint died.
Salt tasted on his lips. Cold water and warm skin. Elizaveta grabbed his shoulders and held on, nails pressing into him as if the ship might tilt.
He set her down with care. Her arms wrapped around him at once, head against his chest. Her body warmed the cold he carried.
"I missed you," her voice vibrated into his chest.
Corvus conjured a sunbed and then a shade, simple and clean. He sat first, then guided her into his lap. She settled as she belonged there. Her weight anchored him more than any spell.
A house elf appeared with a pop that made her flinch. Tibby carried a tray with two mugs of hot chocolate. The elf placed them down, bowed, and vanished before anyone could pretend it was normal.
Corvus picked up a mug and pressed it into Elizaveta's hands. The smell made her smile.
His attention stayed on her face. "So."
Elizaveta sipped once. Her expression did not change, which meant she approved.
Her studies were done. Core subjects, electives, all the same grind Corvus went through as if education were a siege. Potions and Alchemy sat as her masteries, earned properly. He had pushed medical practice into her head as well, at her request, and she had taken it without complaint.
"I want to be close to you."
The words came plain. No performance or romantic theatre.
"If you need a soldier, I will train until I match your standard. If you need a researcher, I will take a desk and make myself useful. If you need silence, I can be silent. I want to be there when you return, whether you need a hand on a project or a safe place to close your eyes."
She shifted slightly, then finished it without lowering her gaze.
"I want to stand next to you as your wife and let the world learn what that means."
Corvus leaned in and buried his face in her hair. The scent grounded him. Something faintly floral that never became perfume. His shoulders loosened.
"You are here now, Lizaveta."
He lifted his head and looked past her at the black line of sea.
"I need more time in this region."
Elizaveta's posture tightened for a heartbeat, the part of her that heard threat and work.
Corvus continued. "Tomorrow, we will go to the islands for shopping."
Her head snapped up. A flash of pure excitement cut through her controlled expression. It was almost funny how fast it happened.
Corvus pressed a kiss to her temple and let a low chuckle leave him.
Maybe the search would not be boring.
Maybe the sea would finally learn that ignoring him had consequences.