Fire screamed. Not metaphorically—actually screamed, as if the flames themselves were alive and furious at being torn apart. The ritual circle convulsed, jagged cracks ripping through the chalk lines as magic unraveled violently. Sparks snapped like dying stars.
Raj fell hard. His small body slammed into stone, the breath knocked clean out of him. Pain bloomed everywhere at once—ribs, arms, knees, places he didn't even know how to name yet. This body was wrong. Too light. Too fragile.
Then he felt it. The ropes didn't simply snap. They rejected him.
Fibers recoiled as if burned, whipping back into the darkness. The chalk symbols peeled themselves off the stone floor like frightened insects, dissolving into ash.
The witches screamed. Not in rage. In fear.
"I'm— I'm a kid," Raj whispered hoarsely, staring at his hands. Small. Shaking. "I'm actually a kid." The Ashen Drum pounded wildly in his chest.
THADUM. THADUM. THADUM.
Not strength. Not courage. "Warning."
"Contain him!" someone shouted.
"No—he broke the seal!"
"Kill the vessel before it stabilizes!"
Raj scrambled backward, palms burning against hot stone. His legs refused to cooperate—too short, too weak. Someone grabbed his ankle.
He kicked blindly. Missed. A red spell cracked past his head and exploded against the cavern wall. Stone rained down. Dust choked his lungs.
RUN. The Drum's rhythm shifted—uneven, frantic.
Left. Then down. Raj didn't know how he knew. He just followed the beat, diving through smoke toward a narrow hole in the cavern wall he hadn't noticed before. A witch lunged after him. Too slow. The ceiling groaned. Then collapsed. Stone buried her scream.
Raj crawled through the gap just as the cavern behind him caved in completely. The impact hurled him forward into darkness—rolling, bouncing, slamming—until icy water swallowed him whole. The shock stole his breath. He went under. Panic detonated.
I can't swim—
No—wait—
I can, but not like this—
His limbs flailed uselessly. His clothes dragged him down. Water filled his ears. The Drum slowed.
THADUM.
Not warning. Timing.
A sudden current yanked him sideways, spitting him violently into a narrow underground stream. He slammed against the bank, coughing, sobbing uncontrollably.
Alive. Barely. Above him, the mountain shook again—but this time the magic felt different.
Sharper. Cleaner. Official. Raj didn't know the word Auror.
But the Drum did.
THADUM — relief.
Blue-white light sliced through cracks in the stone ceiling as coordinated spells struck from above. Voices echoed faintly.
"—illegal ritual confirmed—"
"—multiple dark signatures—"
"—Merlin's beard, this place is crawling—"
Raj froze.
If they find me—
They'll ask questions—
They'll take me back—
The Veinbound Ring burned softly. Fear didn't vanish. It compressed. Stored. Not power. Resolve. Raj crawled. Every movement hurt. His fingers bled. His legs buckled twice. At one point he bit his own arm just to stay conscious.
The Drum guided him again—not toward safety, but away from attention. Luck, not destiny.
A side tunnel. A fallen root. A rusted grate already broken by age. He slipped through seconds before Auror light flooded the stream behind him. "Nothing here—just runoff!"
"Then where did the backlash go?" "Dissipated. Or the vessel didn't survive."
Raj pressed himself into mud and roots, shaking violently as boots passed meters away.
Please don't look.
Please don't feel me.
Please—
The Drum went quiet. Not silent. Dormant. Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Eventually, the voices faded. The light vanished. The mountain stilled. Raj collapsed fully then—too exhausted to cry. A small body. A stolen life. A night survived by instinct, terror, and luck. Far away, Albus Dumbledore paused mid-step, fingers tightening around his wand. "Curious," he murmured. For just a moment, the stars had slipped… out of rhythm.
TRIAL ONE STATUS
Survived ✔
Time Remaining: 00:00:00
Reward Granted:Instinctive Magical Awareness (Passive)
You feel magic before you see it. Nothing more.
The Drum beat once. Soft. Almost proud. Raj slept—muddy, freezing, alive—while the wizarding world argued over a ritual gone wrong, never realizing the boy meant to empower Voldemort had simply…
…slipped away.
Lucky.
Just lucky.