Chapter 8: The Descent into Shadows

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a cold, violet light over the snow-dusted peaks of the Durmstrang mountains. By nightfall, the castle was cloaked in darkness, the chill of winter seeping through the ancient stone walls like an ever-present reminder of the harshness that surrounded them. Tonight, however, the cold felt different—more oppressive, more foreboding—as if the castle itself was preparing for what was about to unfold.

Dorian moved silently through the darkened corridors, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. His heartbeat remained steady, his mind sharp. Every step brought him closer to the chamber beneath the castle, closer to unlocking the secrets that had been hidden for centuries. But he wasn't alone in his quest.

Ingrid Ravnsborg waited for him near the entrance to the Våld House, just as she had promised. She stood near the base of a large stone statue—a serpent coiled around a sword—that marked the boundary between Durmstrang's public halls and its more private, restricted areas. Ingrid's face was calm, her posture relaxed, but Dorian could see the glint of anticipation in her eyes. Whatever her motivations were, Ingrid clearly wanted access to the chamber as much as he did.

"You're right on time," Ingrid said quietly as Dorian approached. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, it carried easily.

Dorian nodded, his expression unreadable. "Are you ready?"

Ingrid's lips curled into a faint smile. "I was born ready."

Without another word, Ingrid turned and began leading him through a narrow passageway that wound deeper into the castle's foundation. The air grew colder as they descended, the stone walls damp with moisture from the melting snow above. The torches lining the walls flickered weakly, their flames struggling against the oppressive darkness that seemed to close in around them.

Dorian followed her in silence, his senses heightened, his hand never far from the wand tucked inside his cloak. He didn't trust Ingrid, not fully. She was too sharp, too calculating. Her eagerness to share in the chamber's power made him uneasy, but for now, their goals aligned. He would let her guide him to the entrance, and once the chamber was open, he would decide how useful she would continue to be.

The passageway grew narrower the farther they went, the ceiling pressing lower until they had to duck to avoid hitting their heads. Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, the corridor opened into a small, circular chamber. The walls here were covered in ancient runes, glowing faintly in the dim light. At the center of the room was a stone platform, its surface etched with symbols that Dorian recognized immediately—symbols of protection and binding, written in the old language.

"We're here," Ingrid said softly, stepping aside to let Dorian examine the platform.

Dorian moved closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the carvings. The symbols were similar to those in Salazar Slytherin's journal, but these were far older, their meaning more obscure. He could feel the magic emanating from the platform, a faint hum that vibrated through the stone and into the air around them. This was it—the entrance to the chamber.

"This is it?" Dorian asked, his voice low.

Ingrid nodded, stepping forward to stand beside him. "The chamber is beneath us. But the wards protecting it are ancient, and they require a specific kind of magic to unlock."

Dorian glanced at her. "And you know how to break them?"

Ingrid met his gaze, her expression calm. "Not exactly. But I know enough to get us started."

Without waiting for a response, Ingrid raised her wand and began to trace a series of intricate patterns in the air above the platform. The symbols on the stone began to glow brighter, pulsing in time with the movements of her wand. Dorian watched her carefully, noting the precision with which she cast each spell. Ingrid was not only powerful, but she had a deep understanding of magic that went beyond what most students at Durmstrang possessed.

As the final symbol was traced, Ingrid stepped back, lowering her wand. The air in the chamber grew still, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sudden surge of energy, the platform began to shift. The stone groaned as it moved, the symbols rearranging themselves into a new configuration. A faint clicking sound echoed through the chamber, and a section of the floor slid away, revealing a dark staircase descending into the depths of the castle.

Dorian's pulse quickened as he stared down into the black abyss below. This was it. The chamber. The source of the power he had been seeking.

"Impressive," Dorian said quietly, glancing at Ingrid.

Ingrid smirked, tucking her wand into her cloak. "We're not done yet. The wards are weakened, but the chamber itself will be heavily protected. I suggest you stay sharp."

Dorian didn't need the warning. He had already sensed the danger lurking below. The magic emanating from the chamber was old—older than any he had encountered before—and it was not welcoming. It was the kind of magic that required sacrifice, that demanded obedience. But Dorian was no stranger to such forces. He had been raised in their shadow, trained to master them.

He stepped forward, his wand raised, and began descending the staircase. The darkness closed in around him, thick and oppressive, but Dorian pressed on, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Ingrid followed closely behind, her presence a silent reminder that he wasn't the only one seeking what lay ahead.

The staircase wound downward for what felt like miles, deeper and deeper into the earth. The cold grew more intense with each step, biting into Dorian's skin despite the warmth of his cloak. At last, the stairs ended, and they found themselves standing at the entrance to a vast underground chamber.

The walls were made of black stone, slick with condensation, and the ceiling stretched high above them, disappearing into the shadows. In the center of the chamber was a large, circular pool of water, its surface eerily still despite the frigid air. Around the pool stood four tall pillars, each one carved with runes similar to those Dorian had seen earlier. But these runes were different—they pulsed with an ominous energy, the power they contained palpable.

"This is it," Ingrid whispered, her voice echoing in the vast space.

Dorian stepped forward, his eyes scanning the chamber. The magic here was stronger than anything he had felt before. It clung to the air like a thick fog, making it difficult to breathe, difficult to think. But beneath the suffocating weight of the magic, Dorian felt something else—a pull, a connection to the power that lay hidden here.

"This place…" Dorian murmured, his voice trailing off as he approached the edge of the pool.

The water was dark, its surface reflecting nothing. It was as if it absorbed the light around it, pulling everything into its depths. Dorian knelt, extending a hand toward the water. As his fingers hovered just above the surface, he felt a surge of energy rush through him, so powerful it nearly knocked him off balance. He pulled his hand back quickly, his pulse racing.

"It's bound," Ingrid said quietly, stepping beside him. "Whatever is in that pool is bound by the magic of the founders. Only someone with the right bloodline can unlock it."

Dorian didn't need her to elaborate. He knew what she meant. The chamber had been sealed by Durmstrang's founders, likely under the influence of Salazar Slytherin himself. The bloodline she referred to—his bloodline—was the key.

He stood, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself. This was the moment he had been working toward since the day he found the journal. The ritual would begin here, and once it was complete, he would have access to the power that had been hidden for centuries.

Dorian raised his wand, his mind focused on the symbols he had studied in the journal. The incantation was ancient, its words foreign even to him, but he had practiced them until they were burned into his memory. He began to speak, his voice low and steady, the ancient language rolling off his tongue like a chant.

The runes on the pillars began to glow brighter as he spoke, their energy surging through the chamber. The pool of water rippled, the dark surface trembling under the weight of the magic. Dorian felt the pull of the old magic growing stronger, latching onto him, recognizing him as one of its own.

Ingrid watched in silence, her expression unreadable, but Dorian could sense her anticipation. She wanted the power as much as he did, but this was not her moment. It was his.

As the final words of the incantation left his lips, the chamber fell deathly silent. The runes flickered, then went dark. The pool of water stilled once more, the surface smooth and reflective.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the water exploded upward, spraying out in all directions as a figure began to rise from the pool. The figure was tall, cloaked in shadow, its face obscured by a hood. But Dorian could feel the power radiating from it, a power so ancient and vast that it seemed to fill the entire chamber.

Dorian's breath caught in his throat as the figure turned its head toward him, its empty gaze locking onto his.

And then it spoke, its voice a low, rasping whisper that echoed through the chamber like a death knell.

"Heir of Slytherin… what is it you seek?"