Where The End Started

It was when flames kissed salient shores that the last monster's bellows of cannibal ire expired, and the last muggle cities burned along with their people, that all fell silent.

Nuclear waste ate itself through two ice ages.

Until the wizards hidden behind their thousand-fold wards heard the silver stags whisper the world was safe again.

And over crumbling bones, they marched, the earth's acid tears burning their skin as it touched them.

Yet those wizards were grinning, and it was accompanied by wild laughter.

They had survived, and the relief that brought was beyond bearing.

The first seeds were planted. A hand of green stretched from the soil to reach for the sun, but green would turn yellow.

No matter the measures taken, magical or mundane, no crops would mature. The foul air and raped soil no longer favored life.

Panic would become desperation. Desperation would become anger, and many angry wizards raised even more great plumes of death. Until the war turned into more of a large schoolyard fight under the sheer weight of lives lost.

The last garden was then found amongst black rocks. These were the last traces of Eden, and because it was muggles who had created it, despite wizards' scorn for religion, and perhaps even because of that, it was named Eden's gift.

There was a brief bout of sanity where wizardkind came together and agreed to protect the land.

The first black walls and black gates were crafted to protect Eden's gift.

Sadly, this couldn't be the end of it. Green was more than priceless; it was quite literally everything, and in a world full of murders and bandits, it was only a day before the killing began again.

It was then that Harry Potter returned from his adventures and beat the very world into submission.

Harry's standard flapped atop the bodies of thousands, and the flies fell on corpses in clouds of buzzing black as the Dominion was formed, and Harry made its king.

Those who fought by his side were given fertile land. In exchange, they gave their magical oaths that they would become City Lords, building walls and gates just like those that surrounded Eden's gift.

Walls so thick and robust that should the end come again, their cities would stand.

An apocalyptic typhoon could come with thousand-mile-an-hour winds, and it would feel like a gentle breeze against those city walls.

—-

143 years ago, The City of Nareth

The walls of Nareth were black as night and profoundly invested in magic. The obsidian peel was haunting in its power, but it was never what a weary traveler noticed first.

Above everyone's head was a skyscraper.

The Central Tower, unique amongst the many city-states, had lights gleaming at its peak. The chimes of the day rang through its bulbous lens, making it a beacon to one of the Dominions' only trade cities.

Even now, the morning sun whispered through enchanted glass, and unlike the dusk sun, which was red like angel's blood, or the midday white, which was as blinding as the clap of God performing a miracle, it whispered a dozen shades of entreating yellow across the entire city.

The tower's staggering height and the city's circular shape made it work much like a sundial. Now, it falls over the city's western gate as it did every morning.

The city's seventh-morning bell chimed, plucked by the same watcher with unchanging tradition.

The bankers, those busy bees, ran to whichever pile of coins they'd spend the day counting in anticipation of many loans to be taken out and more gold to be made. The bakers fired their ovens, anticipating more customers than they had bread and sweets to supply. The street merchants bore smiles, knowing all the coins that would soon tumble into their pockets. The pillow houses were the slowest to rise but did so eagerly all the same, knowing soon they'd have more customers than women to handle them.

This city was one of the few that catered to travelers, and because of that, it was special —it even had a name.

Nareth was the Dragon That Flew.

Though that name was not quite as unique as the city itself, draconic themes were common among the myriad city-states after the first Pydragon was bred.

The reason for its unique nature was the danger involved in travel.

Traveling unprotected, with flying carpets or Thestrals rather than porkies or apparitions, sunlight, acid rain, and warped creatures, was dangerous. It required a professional's hand.

Traveling merchants, specifically those of the hundreds-year-old traveler families, were experts in the trade of dangerous adventure. They were the few who traded safety and comfort for gold and adventure.

However, that adventure could be somewhat uncomfortable as two of those traveling merchants were quite familiar with it.

Both huddled over, their hands buried in their cloaks, their chins nestled against their gray wool scarfs, and their warm breaths misting with every word they spoke.

"You hear Ewan, this newest muggles' bane's been more bloody than the last three put together?" asked the thinner man who wore a fraying brown cloak and the tight-beaked wizarding cap typical for merchants of his class. His eyes darted around nervously in a way that might indicate trouble, but his larger friend paid that no mind. It was a nervous trait all travelers shared.

"Yes, I have, dreadful thing. The Western Front's gone to shit. I've given up trading in that direction. Little lordlings." Said the other man, shaking his head. The man was fat and long-armed, with a face stooping like an orangutan, and he wore an orange fraying cloak instead of brown but otherwise looked much the same as the more petite man.

"Those nobles will always want their pound of blood and galleons."

The thin man grunted in agreement, "I hear you. They can't bother keeping their fat noses to themselves. Anyway, I take it that you've not made a contract with Ambrose. He's offering up men for hire. You'll not lose money during the war if you take it."

The larger man gave him a long, suspicious look. "Don't tell me you've fallen in with his lot."

"And if I have."

The large man grunted in disgust and ponderously shook his head, though it was done with nearly enough force to unsaddle his beaked hat. "Something fishy about that man."

"What do you mean? Ambrose is a bit ambitious, but he's not started any muggle's banes That I've heard of."

The larger man's face puckered at that, " He's no Dominion man."

"Neither are fae blade dancers, and yet people seem eager to hire them to protect their packs."

The larger man gave the shorter one a glare at that, "Those fae folk weren't born dominion. It's different."

"Speak plainly, Lancaster. What do you have against the man?" the thin man prodded.

The large man leaned in and cupped a hand before his mouth as if to avoid being heard. "If you ask me, he's scraping for power. Just wait; he's the type to throw us away the second he doesn't need help."

The thin man rolled his eyes. "You Lancasters, it's always the same with you. Bland and unimaginative."

His Lancaster gave a grave chuckle at that. "It's more than just me. You're insulting there." Then he gave an ugly smile, "I've got more family than you have galleons, Marle."

"Wouldn't be so sure of that, Ewan. I'm the better merchant between the two of us."

"You certainly are more flexible, Marle, perhaps. I still remember your black fire deal." Ewan made a ticking sound with his tongue as the brute shook his head in mock disapproval, "Only monsters sell Sunslick during a Muggle Bane,"

Shame tickled the more petite man's cheeks, but it soon turned to anger at having the larger man throw his mistake in his face again.

"You know, I had no idea what we were transporting. The man told me we were slagging rations, and that was all he said about it."

Ewan shrugged and then said in that stolid way he knew would get under the smaller merchant's skin, "A good traveler merchant would have checked. Damn the money. We suffer no filthy death merchants."

Marle turned a puce color after hearing that, "I'm no death merchant! You take that back this instant, you oversized ape!"

Marle's shout caught a few eyes, but soon enough, they turned back to huddling in their warm robes and speaking quietly among their huddle mates when they saw neither man draw wands.

It seemed Ewan hadn't reasonably expected such an outburst, and while he didn't look any less smug, he apologized.

"Fine, friend, you're no death merchant," Ewan granted.

"Thank you," Marle said, though his tone was clipped.

"Still, there is no need to draw me into a high noble conflict, Marle. You know as well as I that it's no good to get involved in one of their little spats."

A put-on, roughspun voice spoke behind them, "I've heard it's not just a noble spat this time. I've heard stories of Death Knights fighting in some of the battles, brittle blades slick with wizard blood and not just the filthy kind."

Marle and Ewan turned to meet a man with a mane of brilliant red hair and blue sapphires for eyes. He looked more like a lion than a man with his predatory pride.

"And who in seven hells asked you," Marle asked, hostile and still a bit angry.

The man wore travelers' clothes and a molt gray cloak, but other than that vague similar appearance to the two of them, he stood just a little too straight. He was undoubtedly noble—perhaps even high noble.

"I've heard that you are men of business. I've heard that Merle is the man to come to if one wants information." The man said, seemingly oblivious to the hostility Marle had shown him.

"It's Marle with an 'A' and who's asking."

The man held out his hand in greeting, and as Marle took it in a bone-crushing grip: "Harold, Harold Travers."

Noblemen often joined the traveling profession—second and third sons who liked nothing better than to get out from under their older brothers' shadows.

Marle looked at Theodore, taking in his well-managed cuticles and golden travers badge, that hint of arrogance that stung even as the man tried to hide it.

On his chest was a field of wheat shorn by a center sickle, the Traver banner. Marle had seen it often enough to know it had all the complexity that belonged to those lord-sworn badges. The scene had the correct bundles of wheat and twisted in the right way to indicate a swaying in the wind. The scythe cut was at the proper angle, too.

Marle could guess just what sort of noble this Harold Travers was, and it was the type typical of Travers' adoption.

However, the question remained: was he their superficial hire or a son of the wind-swept coast?

Marle gave the boy a bright smile, though it was false, "Tell me how your Paeter is doing. It's been a long time since I saw a son of the oldest traveler family."

Harold returned Merle's smile, and it seemed genuine enough, but it was also empty.

In the merchant world, each traveler's family occasionally needed express travel, especially when things became rough, as they often did far from city-states.

Cargo could be replaced, after all, but a good merchant was… Well, dead was dead.

It was a Paeter, the patriarch of a merchant family, who would rise to nobility simply to acquire an apparition license and protect their merchants. A true Traveling merchant made it a job to know their Paeter and know him well because of that.

Harold continued smiling and did not answer.

Marle quickly interpreted the signal and deemed he was dealing with a noble fop.

"What do you want?" Marle asked even more bluntly as he gripped something tightly and held it inside his cloak.

He held his wand now.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, it's what I want to give you that should interest you. You can even decide the price."

"What could you possibly have that I would need?" Marle asked, his tone mocking now as he barely waited for Harold to finish his little spiel.

Harold pressed his lips together, pretending to consider this, before He nodded, "I've heard of a slaughter bigger than any ever seen in decades. A whole city killed to the last."

Marle snorted, disbelieving, "And my blessed great uncle Draco Malfoy nee Black passed away and left me a billion galleon fortune."

"Well, that's probably not true, but it is true that in the city of Thana, every man, woman, and child was slaughtered, or enslaved or put to the torch." The last part came out in almost a whisper

Marles' disbelief was starting to mount, as was his concern.

There were killings in muggles' banes, but never had a wall of any city-state been breached, nor had war marked any Eden's gift. No one dared risk Harry's ire. In fact, even speaking of it was slightly dangerous. At that thought, Marle looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to what was being said before starting whisper himself.

"You have proof of your claims."

Such news is serious indeed but not likely to be true. Marle would be grinning somewhat, preparing to mock the noble bastard if he didn't feel so anxious. Then Harold reached into his worn sack and withdrew a head with crystals bursting like icicles from its eyes, and Marle forgot any thoughts of mocking him.

Those crystals, in strange spiral patterns, etched bloody lines past eyes and spiraled. It was as if someone had made art in rotting flesh. Marle stared at it, mesmerized.

Harold, in a voice empty of emotion, explained how he'd come by the head before finally describing how he ensured the head's survival throughout his long trek, "I've enchanted the flesh so it can't rot any more than it already has. I've preserved the magic in the crystals. Test them, and you will find them to be flash-transmogrified flesh. It is an effect that can only be made by a death guard's brittle blade. It is proof the death guards sacked the city of Thana."

Harold Held it forward without a second thought. Marle's fingers snatched the ball of rot by the hair, careful not to touch any flesh, before holding it close.

The man recoiled as the scent of flesh decayed entered his nostrils. It was real. A dead man's head sat rotted within his grasp.

Marle looked at Harold, his pale eyes filled with fear now.

Marle was unsure what to make of the disembodied head, and his Lancaster friend was similarly frozen; whether that was from fear or disgust, it was difficult to tell.

Harold, pretending to be unaware of their apprehension, asked Marle the same question, "Can you provide me with a reward for this information? I can give you some time to confirm what I've told you if you need it."

Marle, looking pallid, took a second to hear his words.

"Check?.. Yes, I'll need to check." The man snatched onto that thread of thought with some relief, some color returning to his cheeks and blood flushing to bring some life to his shaking bones.

As if an afterthought, Marle asked the wizard, "How did you enter the city of Thana?'

This question was actually quite reasonable as while City-states had some communication between them; Thana was a place no one could easily access except for the select few death merchants and nobles.

Many wizards knew only about the foreign things that left that city, and the curious few who tried to sneak past its black gates were swallowed up, never to be heard from again.

Harold ignored the question.

"I'll find you then. Please send me an owl when you are ready, but perhaps it is I who will find you," the wizard said, walking off.

There were some grumbles as Theodore cut his way in line, but even hardened merchants made way for him, recognizing high nobility at a glance.

Soon, he was at the front of the line. His apprentice joined him, wearing much the same merchant robes as Theodore's own.

The seven other pix Theodore had snuck through his stygian gate, clad in robes and ritual armor disguised as dwarves, were waiting beside him. Their Hoods stood up to cover their pointed ears, and cloaks draped over the entirety of their thready insect wings.

Theodore gave a nod to the guards, whose pockets he'd already filled with gold, as he and his company were the first to pass through those city gates.

"What next?" Dion asked. His low-ranked ritual armor made heavy clanking sounds as he walked quickly to keep pace with Theodore's much longer stride. The wizard could imagine how exhausting that must be for the fae man, especially as the armor would offer him no assistance moving, but the fae would soon need that armor.

"Next, we find merchants that can quietly smuggle us into Mysthaven. If it pleases you, it would be best if you made the inquiries. I have a few other things I must do in this city."

Dion looked at Theodore skeptically, "You want me to go shopping? I have no money and know nothing of wizards."

Theodore chuckled at the man's bluntness, "I'm sure you know plenty from all your spying."

Dion's face was stony as he grunted, but the fae man said nothing more and seemed to wait.

"Money is no obstacle, and you are a dwarf wearing goblin armor. Neither race is seen much around wizards anymore, and wizards paradoxically care little for things they know nothing about." Theodore tossed the fae a sack thick with coin.

Dion's ever-watchful eye locked onto the sack of coins in an instant, and it was deftly caught. The Faerie man loosened the pouch drawstring, and gold sparkled in his beady eyes.

The pix's eye, turning from the gold, asked the obvious question, "If wizards don't care about strange things, why do we hide our wings?"

"Fae are common in these lands close to the frontier. They made popular slaves for wizards a couple of decades ago. Wizard's obsession with flight. Many think adding a winged being to their bloodline might be beneficial for their families, especially with apparition barriers." Theodore shrugged, "Low-born wizards are a crazy lot."

Dion threw up his bag of coins and caught it a few more times as if weighing it. Then, with a grunt of agreement, he abruptly nodded to the other fae, who flocked behind him.

The group of determined fae trotted off to be swallowed from sight behind the busy crowd without another word or wave goodbye.

Theodore noticed Stephen beside him, watching one of the pix in particular as they left. His eyes lingered on that girl, who still exuded vibrance that could only come from a wasted elixir of life.

Clearing his throat, Theodore caught Stephen's attention.

The Weasley wizard turned to give him a shameless smile, a smile Theodore reluctantly returned.

"We must be off."

Theodore took the lead as the two made their way to Nareth's Myriad palace.

Finely chiseled dens of stone greeted them on their way—buildings leading from fine points to bridges finally into well-made wide roads.

The buildings became more prominent as they approached the palace; some were ten stories high, but none were more significant—except for the myriad palace itself, whose needle tip scraped clouds.

The two only managed to get within eyeshot of the palace gates before guards waylaid them.

In front of the captain, a small man of a robust build with a deep scar across his forehead. Its puckered flesh sat prominently over discomforting mismatched eyes, yellow and black like the two fields of the striped cloak that swept behind him. There was much else notable about the man, his sizeable purple mane of hair, a strange goatee that was gelled to a hard, sharp point, but it was his familiar broad eyebrows that drew his eye as it marked him part fae kin. There was something else in his face that made him sure.

A bout of jealousy took him, as did anger and bitterness for all creatures foreign to Earth's vast deadlands.

This captain was lucky—truly blessed to have a foot outside the boundaries of earthly ties.

"What is your business in the keep?"

The captain kept a respectable distance, wand in hand, as his guards spilled around him like a living cloak, matching his step as he walked toward them.

"I have business with Alexi."

"Business, huh, and what business would a merchant such as yourself have with a city lord? " The half-fae chuckled at his question as if somehow what he said had some surreal humor. It made Theodore want to immolate the man, but he would resist for now.

A mere thought allowed Theodore's robes to shift to his comfortable midnight cloak of hyperfine quality. His merchants camp, making an explosive pop to become his typical pointed wizard's hat instead.

"I have business with your lord, and you would do well not to delay me."

Theodore's sudden change in demeanor didn't faze the captain, "You still have dirt smearing your face, merchant."

Theodore's hand fell across his face, and the dirt peeled away. Then, ignoring a dozen spears pointed at his face, he withdrew his ducal badge.

That finally seemed enough. Now, they took him seriously.

Theodore's badge was vulgar, cast in gold, and shaped to mimic a dragon's heart, and that alone would have been noble enough. Still, Harry seemed not to think it was gaudy enough, and so at its center was a diamond, flashing blue and gold, the royal colors entwined and swiving to be free.

The badge was enough.

Even the captain was a coward before nobility, and this was not their fault. Years of noble squabbles had taught them what happened to those who interfered in noble squabbles.

Power and blood were the only things that held any respect in the dominion.

The city lord understood this and expected them to keep out the common rabble only. Alexi always knew nobles, those he would have to deal with himself.

The captain nodded, and the guards parted to let them pass without escorting them toward the Myriad palace. In truth, the guards followed at a respectful distance behind them. The mixed breed watched them out of one eye as he pretended to chatter with his men. Soon, they reached the Palace doors.

Those sturdy oak structures wide enough to fit a Hungarian horntail between them fell open to greet them.

A steward came forward and, as if having read their intentions, led them to Alexi Kratch's business office.

Soon, The city lord stood before them, looking down at them from behind his polished oak desk in a suit of shining gold. The nobleman's dark eyes were inscrutable as he watched them, his pools of obsidian black reflecting light rather than drinking it in.

Something about him unsettled Theodore: meeting his eyes was the same as having his face set before obsidian mirrors that stole warmth but gave nothing in return.

Alexi, like Theodore, was an old man in a young man's body. He had been part of the first generation of city lords, part of that generation that had laid the world bare and taken their share of fate.

Theodore, not one to waste time, abandoned his red hair and startling blue eyes for the black hair and green eyes he was known for on the Prime Merlinian Plane.

"Prince of Summer, many blessings upon you."

That name again. Theodore swallowed a grimace, though Theodore saw the expression he made instead in the city lord's eyes and noticed it didn't suit his face.

That twisted expression might have suited the Weasley lips he'd adopted for so long, but he'd forgotten how small and delicate these lips were.

The wizard had made the duke's face for stillness and perhaps gentle smiles, not emotion, as he'd let slip now.

Theodore had barely begun to explain his purpose in his city when the city lord interrupted him.

"Please, Lord Lupin, must we be so hasty. Palis, please retrieve something for Prince Lupin to eat and drink. The prince must be exhausted after such a long journey."

The man's Stewart made his way to leave the room to prepare something before running nose-first into an invisible barrier. One Theodore had hoped would remain unnoticed.

It was unfortunate the old man began to walk before he could stop him.

"Obliviate."

The man's face went blank before a befuddled expression fell across it. Theodore, with another twitch of his wand, stunned the man, and he fell to the ground in an ungainly heap.

"Must we be so crude?" Alexi seemed to whisper, though Theodore could hear his voice trembling with barely constrained rage and something wilder, something feral. It appeared his apprentice had heard it too as Theodore felt him back away a little, but the boy held his silence.

"Yes, we must. However, as a lord, I will allow you a choice. Would you like a bit of truth serum or a spell?"

"And if I said neither."

Theodore's green eyes lost their form and began to shift ceaselessly, "Then I'm afraid I will have to insist."

Alexi withdrew his wand and, in a storm of motion, hurled a pair of killing curses at Theodore and Stephen.

Stephen managed to duck the spell and send his own, but it was easily deflected.

Theodore summoned to himself an enchanted aegis and watched as the killing curse flattened on the silver shield.

Impenetrable magical darkness coated the entire room. All Theodore could see was black now, and like all the other times, Theodore found himself wanting light. However the wizard resisted the temptation to use Lumos, understanding it to be a useless gesture.

Instead, Theodore attempted to summon Alexi's robes and felt nothing.

The Lupin wizard gave a wolf-like grin at that, glad the fight would not be so easily won. In hindsight, it seemed perfectly sensible that a wizard of such esteemed noble blood would foresee such underhanded magic, and Alexi was nothing if not pragmatic.

He'd been quite decisive, too. Even Theodore might have hesitated to start a fight with himself.

Theodore summoned his disgruntled apprentice to his side and overpowered the younger man's considerable magic and made him a beetle, then stowed carelessly in an unbreakable jar, which he promptly glued to his side using a powerful sticking charm. He would be safe there.

"Alexi, there is no need for violence. Truly, I mean you no harm." Theodore felt his voice echo through the void, coming from everywhere at once back to his ear.

"That does not seem to be the case to me, Duke." Alexi's voice filled every corner of the room with that same echoey effect.

"It seems to me you want to force me to admit something through violent means—within my own palace, no less, and with no provocation."

Theodore ignored the City lord and instead focused on how the sound echoed. Something evenly distributed their voices, something highly resonant, likely a cloud of magical material—particles of something that echoed darkness just as it did sound.

Theodore let a gout of solar flame fly to encircle him, and instead of burning what surrounded him, the magic was amplified. A fiery explosion engulfed him, only a snappy flame-freezing charm protecting him from burning to a crisp.

Theodor let out a curse and heard Alexi laugh at his failure.

Sighing, Lord Lupin flared his supersensory charm underneath his skin so that it would not touch the magic surrounding him. His eyes became microscopes, and he could see the substance as it floated in front of his metamorphmagus-induced bioluminescence.

Whatever this substance was, its buoyant force was more powerful than gravity. That, of course, meant this trap was laid, taking gravity into account.

Sadly for Alexi, Theodore had ways of overcoming a buoyant force.

Theodore pointed his wand at the ground, and a shocked Alexi was revealed, a hand of glory in one hand and a wicked sharp knife in the other.

Theodore allowed a frown to touch his face. He felt snubbed that this trap would be so easily dismantled, especially with how perfectly it was laid.

If one tried to disapparate or did other magic, that magic would likely echo just like the sound, darkness, or his flames.

It was difficult enough to survive one splinching; Theodore shuddered at the thought of surviving a couple thousand at once.

Of course, summoning things was fine, and so were many other sympathetic magics that acted directly on objects, but a curse or charm would have ended badly.

Alexi lunged; his magic instantly strengthened his body, and Theodore, who anticipated such a savage attack, Hardened his own body so the blade caused nothing more than a dull ache as its tip glinted off his chest.

Using a bit of his own metamorphmagus enhanced density along with body enhancement magic, he dragged Alexi off of him and held him by his shoulder like one would a naughty child.

Lord Kratch desperately pawed at Theodore, his fingernails sharpening to dagger points, flying across his hand and leaving white marks in their wake.

Theodore held fast until Alexi could no longer bear the press of magic beneath his skin.

Theodore then withdrew his hawthorn wand and pointed it at the city lord. Alexi beat at him like a boneless fish now, but as his flesh was empty of magic, he had no protection. "Imperio." The city lord's head was stuffed full of pleasant fuzz, and with a command, he stood compliant.

"Did you know about Ambrose and his betrayal?"

Alexi gave a nod. His head was lolling back and forth like a child coming down from a sugar high and eager for approval.

"Were you planning to have your Stewart tell him of my arrival on the prime plane?"

Alexi nodded.

"What has he promised you? Was it power, money, or something else?"

"My wife."

"Alexi, your wife is no longer with us."

"He promised he would get her back." the man gave a smile with a faraway look in his eyes.

"He promised you your dead wife?" Theodore asked, having a hard time believing someone so powerful and experienced would be taken in by such a blatant lie.

"Yes," Alexi said, his face was now flaccid.

"How did he convince you?"

"I saw him make life from death. He made a monster." Even as deeply ensorcelled as Alexi was, he seemed to shiver from fright as he thought of the memory, "But it was still life, and it remembered. He created life from death, and he promised He could bring more than monsters from the veil."

Theodore nodded absentmindedly, not minding Alexi as he drunkenly staggered to his chair. Still, there was a click, the slick sound of metal sliding from its sheath, and Alexi's hands being impaled by an enchanted spike popping out of the chair's arms as he sat down. The older man screamed, a sound worse than nails scraping a blackboard; then blood burst beneath the city lord's skin, and he spewed blood all across the room.

There was more boiling, even more flesh and bones spreading crimson red splotches to cover the room. That substance glistened—delicious, crisp apple sweetness—a liquid desiring to be savored.

Theodore could feel its compulsion to embrace the death it offered, but the wizard managed to ignore its call.

Theodore managed to avoid the splatter with a timely shielding charm and found himself glad for his restraint as he watched the alchemically red substance eat through the carpet and bury itself an inch into the stone beneath.

"What a mess." The wizard said in a huff.

Theodore flicked his wand, and the liquid vanished, exposing the acid-eaten stone beneath. Reaching for the jar, Theodore let Stephen out, and the Weasley grew to standard size.

Theodore ignored his apprentice's glare as he walked over to Alexi's now-dead steward. The butler's suit was eaten to bits by the acid. His face melted to the bone, and even those were partially eaten.

"What the fuck was that?" Stephen said in a voice just barely beneath a scream.

Theodore, still crouched by the butler, looked over his shoulder to meet Stephen's bluebell flame eyes.

"A man possessed by death."

Stephen ran his fingers through his messy red locks.

"Why did he explode? He was fine, and then he sat down for a second, and he turned to blood."

Theodore shrugged, "It might not have been him. You never know with city lords. I knew a man who liked to make clones. The mind is easy. Human transfiguration covers all the rest."

"Either way, I think we have our answer. It seems Harry isn't as involved in my assassination as I thought, and we've lost the element of surprise."

Something in Theodore strained at that thought, though the wizard knew he'd likely never held the element of surprise with Harry's power over fate.

"Either way, Dion has some explaining to do. His old Speck has been doing some sightseeing."

"Speck?" Stephen asked

"You remember those fae folk talking about a rogue godling up north."

Stephen nodded before remembering Theodore had his back to him, "Yes."

"Well, I'm just guessing, but I do believe I've hosted its invasion."

"Well, that's not good."

"Yes, quite bad, actually." Theodore hid pleasure from his face, "Did I ever teach you how to make a perfect inferni?"

Stephen managed to shake his head no despite how unsettled the fight had made him.

Theodore waved him over to Palis's rotted corpse. After a bit of forbidden magic and a nasty bit of ritual necromancy, the old servant's body stood up and was none the worse for wear.

"Now, this is the important part here," Theodore pointed at a particular ritual symbol he'd carved into the city lord's already half-ruined floor. It glowed with sickly green magic, but Stephen, already somewhat experienced with necromancy, managed to stand the deadman's guise.

"Is that what makes him seem so lifelike? You didn't use a transfiguration charm; it felt more like a make-like."

"Correct, " Theodore beamed at his apprentice, "It is important that no magic is felt in it, or an experienced medi-wizard might tell the difference. Like Reparo, a spell to remind the body where flesh and bones should be is much better and leaves no magical taint."

Stephen gave his nod of assent.

"Now what."

"Palis, would you mind retrieving that guard's captain? What was his name again?"

"Masa Lightveil sir?"

"Yes, him. Tell the man that Alexi demands his service."

The butler left that instant to do his service and returned quickly with the half-fae Theodore sought. The man looked surprised at the state of the room.

"Yes, quite the mess." Theodore acknowledged

Palis moved the stand behind the captain with his wand drawn, and the captain, who seemed to have some of the best situational awareness Theodore had ever seen, took note.

"I take it the City lord's blood bag has expired?"

Theodore gave a chuckle, 'well, that was one thing confirmed.'

'… What an interesting fellow.' The city lord was never likely to disclose a clone look alike. Masa was quite the insightful fellow. Calm, too, despite the obvious danger he was in. Theodore smiled glad he might not have to kill the man.

"He told you about his little cloning spell?"

'Alexi Kratch was not quite dead.' It would explain quite a bit about this encounter. His fight with the city lord had felt too easy.

"You wouldn't happen to know where he stalked off to? would you?"

"Somewhere by Ambrose's side. He and the consortium have grown close over the last century or so."

'That would explain his rabid fanaticism,'

Though to the wizard, that mattered very little now. The captain had no helpful information, and despite Theodore having no desire to kill the man, a half-fae body would have other uses now that he'd thought about it.

Theodore's path was set in steel, and it had no room for mercy when faced with one that could control fate.

If Theodore had wavered from his purpose, then he would have already lost.

Or perhaps he'd already lost, and all this was a vain endeavor. The self-doubt that would cripple any average person filled Theodore to the brim but was spat away like the bile it was.

Theodore had no way to fight or even recognize fate's subtle tugs, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

"Imperio."

—-

Marle rushed to his inn, beads of sweat dripping down his brow so furiously it was as if he'd been swept up in a rainstorm of his own making. He'd seen his Paeter through the flames and asked for the nobleman's right for express transport.

It had taken some convincing, but he'd been given it quickly enough.

With it, Marle apparated to the city of Thana and, with not inconsiderable guts considering the fates of travelers that wandered inside, found his way past its gates only to find splotches of dried blood and mutilated bodies already weeks rotted.

Harold had spoken truly. The city of Thana was no more.

Men, women, and children had been slaughtered to the last and left to rot. It wasn't long after he'd apparated back that he received a messenger from his arcanist.

"This is most assuredly flash transmogrified flesh. The work of a death guard's blade, no doubt."

Sink, his arcanist, who was usually a long-winded and flighty creature, had assured him of his results without the hemming and hawing he was prone to. He only gave one explanation instead of the one thousand and one explanations he usually would.

Marle stumbled into the inn, slammed the door to his room wide open, and closed it just as quickly.

He reached for his feather quill and inkwell as he felt a presence slip behind him.

Turning, he found a tall man with black hair and killing-curse green eyes marching from a shadow on his wall. Despite the man being a stranger, he was still familiar, and even beneath dim candlelight, he recognized the adopted son of the Dominion's Emperor. Theodore Remus Lupin, Duke of War, Son of Death, Prince of Scorched Lands and Endless Summer, Archmage of the White Tower.

"I've come to collect my favor Merle."

Marle didn't bother correcting him.

"Favor?" Marle almost whispered

"I trust you've confirmed what I told you of Thana."

Marle was white and pallid once more, "Harold?" he asked.

Theodore gave a theatrical bow, "at your service."

"Favor?"

"Why yes, my good man. Do you remember I bid you a boon for the information?"

"What do I have that you don't?" Marle asked barely above a whisper.

"Connections, dear Merle. It's your connections I seek to use." Theodore's smile widened, though it didn't quite touch his eyes.

'Dangerous,' Marle thought. Though he wouldn't dare act against a prince.

"Good. Get me, fae folk. I will need about a dozen."

A few calls later, more than a dozen favors were called, but Theodore had them,

It turned out that otherkin were easy to find in Nareth. The tricky part was finding Faerish slaves.

A couple of decades had passed since the war, and most fae folk in this world had fallen into the service of one family or another. After years of service, they could no longer be considered slaves but servants instead.

Wizards could be exceptionally sentimental about their belongings, and servants, despite their many similarities, were different from slaves and could not be bought.

Fortunately, Marle knew a few families that bought otherkin in mass and sold otherkin during the war but were unable to rid themself of their stock before the otherkin slave fad had worn thin.

They were eager to sell their remaining stock.

Soon, through various brokers, a dozen thin and badly taken care of fae folk had been gathered before him.

Most looked weary; some were old and frail. Some were still young but thin and sickly from lack of good treatment. All wore rags suited for house elves.

"Mipsy." Ironically, a house elf better dressed than fae slaves popped into existence.

"Get these people some food and water."

Plates of food hovered through the air, and carafes of water made their way around the fae folk who took them both ravenously.

Stephen popped into existence next to him as Mipsy grew busy tending to the abused faes' needs. The Weasley heir nodded to Theodore to let him know the task he had sent him for was done.

"What now?"

"The world will burn."

"Burn?"

"What did you think we were here for Stephen?" Theodore hissed at his apprentice and saw the glint of horror in his blue eyes, and felt a guilty delight.

"You have nothing to worry about; your family no longer lives on the prime plane. They've gone seeking greater fortunes like most of the other high noble families. The city lords and Harry are the only ones still here, slumping it in the Deadlands." Theodore meant it to sound reassuring, but the wizard could see his apprentice was still stricken

"What about Lady Hermione and Daphne?" The lad was pacing now.

"She can die along with all Harry's other corpse wives.."

"What of the commoners?"

"What of them? There are plenty spread among the Dominions' worlds."

"How will you do it?"

"It's already done."

There were still some variables at play.

Theodore knew the situation wasn't quite as bad as he had made it out to be, but he was comfortable with the end of this world, despite its accompanying nostalgia.

Theodore felt something tingle at the edge of his mind, a geas. Touching his own thoughts, he felt a familiar magic. It was his own. Theodore, knowing there must be a reason for enchanting himself, categorically dismissed any thought of breaking the spell.

'It's better for it to go out with a bang than a whisper.'