The cart jerked forward with the force of a whipcrack, wheels screeching against the ancient rails as it plunged into the yawning dark.
Wind tore past Cassius' face, sharp as broken glass, carrying with it the scent of iron, stone, and something older — the cold musk of deep earth untouched by sun or air for centuries.
The goblin beside him, young but sharp-toothed, smirked.
He leaned into the turns, clearly anticipating Cassius' screams.
But Cassius sat rigid, hands folded neatly in his lap as though he were simply waiting for tea to be served.
The cart careened left, then right, diving at impossible angles, the track corkscrewing into blackness.
Stalactites whipped past overhead, glittering faintly with minerals that caught stray beams of enchanted torchlight.
Below, he caught flashes of underground rivers, their waters glowing with phosphorescence.
The goblin's smirk faltered when the boy remained stoic.
Another sharp drop — enough to wrench the stomach from the unprepared — but Cassius merely tilted his head, gaze intent on the labyrinth unfolding around them.
"Most wizards vomit by now," the goblin muttered, tone tinged with irritation.
Cassius turned to him, eyes flat and unreadable.
"Perhaps they themselves are lacking?"
The goblin frowned, clearly disliking that answer, but something in Cassius' voice left no room for mockery.
Minutes passed in the blur of rails and wind before the cart finally began to slow.
It screeched to a halt before a massive door of black iron, its surface carved with runes that writhed faintly in the torchlight.
A single number glimmered above it: 1337.
The goblin hopped down first, landing lightly on his feet.
"Vault thirteen-thirty-seven. Standard issue. Newly claimed."
Cassius slid from the cart, pocketing the vault key as though it were a sacred relic.
He stepped forward, eyes taking in the doors rough and worn surface.
The iron was cold, but it thrummed faintly — alive with enchantments older than even the Ministry itself.
The goblin inserted the key into the central lock.
The something inside clanked.
Gears the probably the size of carriages groaned, grinding against each other deep within the stone.
The vault door swung outward with the weight of centuries, exhaling a draft of air so stale it seemed to carry whispers.
Inside: emptiness.
A barren stone chamber, its walls damp and lifeless.
Cassius did not flinch.
He simply stepped across the threshold and placed his palm against the wall.
For an instant, nothing.
Then the ceiling shuddered — and coins rained down like a storm.
Gold Galleons clinked against silver Sickles, bronze Knuts scattering like fallen leaves.
The sound rose to a deafening crescendo, metal striking stone, metal striking metal, until the bare vault was knee-deep in fortune.
The goblin's eyes widened despite himself.
Cassius withdrew his hand, expression calm, as though he had expected no less.
The vault smelled now of fresh coin, sharp and metallic, a smell that spoke of power and blood.
Without hesitation, he tapped his foot three times upon the doorframe.
The coins leapt to the walls, sucked into neat, spiraling stacks that rose like soldiers awaiting orders.
Galleons in towers of gleaming gold, Sickles in silver spires, Knuts gathered into squat bronze forts.
A vault made orderly.
Controlled.
His.
The goblin watched, silent but unsettled.
The young man before him should no know the intricate workings of a vault only just acquired and yet...
He was managing it like a seasoned pro.
Cassius withdrew the small coin pouch gifted by the bank.
He crouched, small hands scooping — one hundred Galleons, one hundred Sickles, one hundred Knuts, poured into the pouch's mouth.
The magic swallowed them easily, the bag never growing heavier, never swelling.
A child's wallet — yet it held a nobleman's ransom.
Cassius tied the drawstring shut and clipped it to his belt.
He turned then, running a final gaze over his vault.
Not mountains of treasure, not yet — but the foundation.
A seedbed of wealth, fertile with promise.
And promise was all he required.
He stepped back toward the goblin, who still lingered by the cart, eyes sharp and unblinking.
"You did not scream," the goblin remarked at last.
"No," Cassius replied.
His tone was clipped, aristocratic, far older than his years.
It wasnt unheard of, if he wasnt expecting it, most children would be squealing like stabbed rats watching money raining down from on high, then about the vastness of their wealth boasting about being the richest in the world...
But Cassius a dual lived near thirty-year old had no time for such childish things just quite yet, that part of the play was still yet to come years later.
The goblin bared teeth in something that might have been respect.
"You will be… interesting."
Cassius offered no reply.
Instead, he brushed his fingers once more over the cool iron of his vault door before it swung shut with a final, echoing boom.
The lock clicked.
The key grew warm in his hand, the crest upon its handle seeming to pulse faintly as if acknowledging its master.
The goblin jerked his head toward the cart.
"Back to the surface."
Cassius climbed in.
The rails rattled, the cart lurched, and once more the underground world blurred past in a cacophony of speed and shadow.
This time, the goblin did not smirk.
When at last they returned to the marble grandeur of the Gringotts entrance hall, Cassius descended from the cart with measured grace.
His goblin escort, walked him from the rear halls all the way to the front doors of the bank.
He gave Cassius a curt nod — the closest his kind came to respect.
Cassius inclined his head in return.
"May your vaults overflow," he murmured before once more using the only word he knew in gobbledegook, before dropping one of his gold galleons into the goblins palm.
The goblin's eyes flickered, startled once again.
"May your enemies choke on theirs," he returned, low and rough.
Cassius smiled faintly, the expression never reaching his eyes.
He slipped the key into his pocket, the pouch of coins imaginarily heavy at his belt.
The marble hall loomed before him, wizards bustling, unaware that a child had just carved a foothold in both their world and the one beneath it.
He had claimed his vault.
He had claimed his seat at the table.
And now —
Now the game could begin.
Wherein Arcana could rise up in the wizarding world to become a force rivaling even Albus Dumbledore!