Damian's return was seamless, completely lacking the disorienting vertigo of his initial crossing.
The red crystal on the metal disc had dimmed significantly, its stored energy completely exhausted. He had chosen to return to his original world before ever reaching White Stone Town.
His sudden departure had been far too rushed. He had only brought his wand, and he needed to make proper preparations before fully integrating into that other world's society.
With a casual wave of his wand, he untransfigured his heavy winter cloak, returning his clothes to their neat, original state. At his feet sat the magically wrapped package containing the corpse of the creature—which he now suspected was closely related to a Demiguise.
Preserved Egg was still sitting in the exact same spot on the storeroom floor.
"Hey, Preserved Egg." Damian scooped up the black Kneazle-mix, stroking its soft fur.
A faint blue light flickered in Damian's eyes as he gently used Legilimency on his pet. Through the feline's memories, he saw his own sudden disappearance. One moment he was holding the metal disc, and the next, he had simply vanished into thin air.
Yet, for the cat, not a single second had passed between his departure and his return. It seemed that while Damian was in the other world, time in this universe completely stood still.
Setting Preserved Egg down, Damian pulled out the worn leather notebook Chris had given him.
It contained the workings of a spell based on Ancient Runes, simply titled Lightning Bolt. The spell was designed to shoot a beam of concentrated lightning at a target, its raw power dictated by the caster's magical core.
This was fundamentally different from the magic he learned at Hogwarts. Wand magic relied heavily on emotion and willpower. A lack of firm belief or intent could easily lead to a spell sputtering or failing entirely.
But the magic of this other world was highly structured. It required first constructing a precise spell model, injecting it with magic, and then using that model to release the energy.
The basic building blocks for these models were Ancient Runes, physically condensed from pure magic!
If the spell model was an engine, the runes were the mechanical parts, and the wizard's magic was the fuel. Through the model's transformation, raw magic was converted into lethal elemental energy.
Damian extended his right hand, concentrating his magic into his palm. Slowly, he shaped the energy into the Ancient Rune representing Light.
The floating rune resembled a pure, crystal-clear pearl, emitting a soft, ethereal glow in the dim room.
Damian frowned and cut the flow of magic, letting the rune dissipate into thin air.
It had taken him over a dozen seconds just to condense that single symbol. With intense practice, he might shave that down to ten seconds. But the Lightning Bolt spell required condensing thirty-two individual Runic Scripts!
To cast a single offensive spell, a wizard would need to stand there weaving runes for several minutes. That was entirely impractical for actual combat. There had to be a way to speed up the condensation process.
Flipping to the end of the Lightning Bolt section, Damian noticed the handwriting on the very last page was heavily blurred by time.
He drew his wand and tapped the parchment. "Reparo!" As if time were flowing backward, the smudged ink shifted and sharpened, restoring the page to its pristine state. There was only a single, cryptic sentence written there:
—I walked in the dim woodland, heard the sound of drums, and saw the panel of shadows.
"Panel of shadows?" Damian murmured. He frowned slightly, unable to decipher any useful meaning from the riddle.
Setting the mystery aside, he tucked the notebook into his robes and left the storeroom, heading down the hall to the study.
Damian knocked lightly on the heavy oak door. "Good afternoon, Grandfather," he said gently as he stepped inside.
"Damian, it is nap time," a lazy, aristocratic voice drawled from a large portrait hanging on the wall.
Inside the gilded frame sat a gentle, kind-looking old man. This was the magical portrait of Damian's grandfather, Alphard Black.
Though Alphard had passed away long before Damian was born, the boy's early magical education had been entirely guided by this painting. Before his death, Alphard had carefully synchronized his vast intellect and memories into the canvas.
Damian's fluency in Ancient Runes was a direct result of Alphard's tutelage, as the man had been a renowned scholar of the subject during his life.
In this life, Damian's father had been an Auror and his mother a Muggle-born witch. Both had been tragically murdered by Death Eaters—specifically by Damian's own aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.
"I don't recall you ever having a habit of napping," Damian retorted with a wry smile.
In the painting, Alphard reached for a bottle of red wine from the painted cabinet behind his armchair. "I certainly did when I was alive."
"Is Grandmother out again?" Damian asked, noticing the empty frame beside Alphard's.
Alphard popped the cork, brought the bottle to his nose, and gently wafted the aroma. "You know how Lina is. She loves to visit people and has portraits scattered all over Britain."
Damian nodded in understanding. "Grandfather, I want to show you something."
He extended his right hand, purposefully drawing on his core to condense an Ancient Rune.
Alphard swirled the freshly poured wine in his glass. "If this is about the practical application of runes, I believe I covered that quite thoroughly in my Collection of Magic Symbols."
"I've read it, of course," Damian replied. "But I recently discovered that runic scripts possess far deeper, practical applications."
With practiced focus, Damian began condensing the thirty-two runes for Lightning Bolt, weaving them together in his palm to form the complex spell model.
Zzz-crack! A blinding light erupted from his hand. The runic structure converted his magic into a violent beam of raw lightning, shooting forward and instantly scorching a smoldering hole straight through the wooden wall.
Damian quickly waved his wand, casting a silent repairing charm to fix the damage.
"Merlin's beard... is that magic formed entirely by combining Ancient Runes?" Alphard's painted face was a mask of pure astonishment.
He knew there were theoretical links between runes and ancient magic. But despite studying the subject for decades, he had only ever seen vague references in crumbling texts. He never imagined his fourteen-year-old grandson would casually master a functional runic spell.
After listening to Damian explain the mechanical principles behind the foreign magic, Alphard stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"No wonder it took you several minutes to weave that spell. I initially assumed it was just a lack of proficiency. But it seems this runic magic is missing a critical catalyst."
"Exactly," Damian sighed in frustration. "Manually condensing the scripts takes far too long for it to be useful in a fight."
Alphard's eyes suddenly lit up as an old memory surfaced. He took a sip of his painted wine. "I once read a heavily guarded manuscript written by Salazar Slytherin himself. In it, he stated that 'Meditation is the key to the Runic Script.'"
Damian raised an eyebrow. "'Meditation' is the key?"
"I have no further clues, I'm afraid," Alphard admitted. "The manuscript mostly recorded obscure definitions for ancient characters. I even cited some of it when compiling my Magic Phonetic Table."
He pointed a painted finger at Damian. "That manuscript should still be restricted within the Hogwarts Library. Perhaps you can track it down once term begins."
Damian nodded, committing the clue to memory.
Just then, an ethereal, melodic voice drifted up from outside the study window.
"Damian~ are you there?"
Damian walked over and pushed the window open. Down below, a girl with dirty-blonde hair and a distinctively dreamy aura was waving up at him.
"Luna! Wait just a moment!" Damian called down to her.
Turning back to the room, he saw Alphard giving him a sly, knowing wink. "Making a young lady wait is hardly the behavior of a proper Black gentleman," the portrait teased.
Damian rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Grandfather, we're literally children!"
Every 100 stones = 1 EXTRA CHAPTER