143 Years Before Part 1

"Night falls over a rugged city, and ghosts start a game of hide and seek. Some panic, striding, falling, and tripping among refuse to hide, while others use torches to search. The slums of a fallen city are a scary place to live, with people always playing the same dangerous game. It was a game often deciding who lived or died. Though there were places and people that not even staunchest slum lords could tread over—ones disallowed to those of their pedigree.

Occasionally, people came from the city above them. The black tower in the distance, pointing threateningly to the sky far from the city center, is a likely destination. Sunken individuals often talk about what it might contain. Even from a distance, it holds an ominous hunger like the walls around the gleaming hill above.

The Gleaming Hill looms above squalor, its glutinous obsidian walls only partially hiding brilliant artificial light, standing like a beacon in the darkness. That place of unimaginable splendor holds creatures able to bend reality to their whim. There was no point in wondering what they do, where they go, and who they take. There was nothing those below can do about it. Weapons and numbers hold no meaning for them, so the individuals of the slums content themselves to scatter like rabbits when they come, but curious as they are, they can't help but admire their city from afar.

Elders speak that it had not always been like this. Verbal tradition tells of a time when those creatures hid from them. They maintained a veil of secrecy so thick that none could pierce it. Until one day, human arrogance overcomes it. They unleashed untold horror as they revealed their presence, thinking their superior numbers would claim victory. Sadly, weapons, armor, and tanks were no help as ritual murder reaped souls directly from their bodies.

Bombs and monsters had been their last resort. The Elders say that they ruined the world with both of them. Ghosts in the slums never saw green or left their little cloisters, so disbelief was expected when they discovered the world was alive once. There had been a time when the sun hadn't burned flesh, and clouds had at one point been beautiful rather than acid lies.

Even among those who believe, many often thought forgetting was best. However, Elders who could tell stories of better times were left off their menu. Only them and very small children can be sure of any safety in the sunken city."

Quotes from Erebus and The Last Muggles of Earth.

—-

One hundred forty-three years before inheritance,

A crashing of discordant noise slapped Theodore from any feeling of comfort. A potent potion tasting of bell metal lingered in the Wizard's mouth, making him unable to hide a scowl of discomfort. Looking next to him, he could see concerned blue eyes monitoring his condition.

Theodore fought to take his ugly expression off his face before turning to the redhead beside him. The room was dark, and the only light source was flames and moonlight streaming through his studies windows, but Theodore, with his keen eyes, could make out his features.

He was a young, freckled man who still looked to be in his early twenties. He had astonishingly bright red hair—smooth pale skin. His blue eyes glowed with magic as if they held fire behind them, as if ready to burn those who looked too closely. The boy looked fierce in his concentrated attention.

"Don't worry so much, Stephen. It isn't as if I will die from something so simple as a Hypnoleach spell."

Stephen tried valiantly to hide his worry, but he didn't fool Theodore. He had known the boy since he was very young and knew when the Weasley tried hiding his thoughts. The way he wrinkled his brow showed that despite his face being straight, his apprentice was much more worried than he let on.

It was understandable, however. It was only recently that the two wizards discovered the spell laid on his palace. The Void's spell was brilliantly hidden in a ritual of hallowed ground. Theodore had never seen it so seamlessly integrated nor so explicitly targeted. Theodore felt he was lucky; only he felt the drug-like pull to stay in his beautiful palace and never venture out.

Even with his mastery of the mind arts, he had almost been subsumed. If Stephen had been targeted, the redhead would no longer be with him. He would have starved himself with his agoraphobic obsession to stay inside. Though then again, perhaps not.

Taking a deep breath, Theodore tasted air sweet like poppy and creamy in such a way it seemed to coat his lungs, feeding his fleshly organs a feast of oxygen. The magic swaddling the air had an earthy taste, carrying the powerful rejuvenating energy of primordial soup.

With the Hypnoleach spell dismantled, The ritually-induced hallowed ground was still active, nurturing those within its barrier ready to heal any wound.

"I can't help but worry, Lord Lupin. Father told me of the last time such a thing was used… I heard torture was the only way to escape its compulsion. I heard many died during the process."

Theodore hummed in acknowledgment of those who were lost. His adopted brother had been among them. Albus had always been one of his favorite siblings. When Theodore had struck out on his own and gotten into alchemy and the blackest magic, Albus still spoke to him even when The rest had abandoned him. It was unfortunate then what that little sapphire pendant had made little Albus do.

Though Theodore supposed that Albus had lived to a ripe old age for a wizard. Many never made it into their second century, and even fewer managed to do it while aging naturally. Albus had refused his offer of the elixir of life. He was stubborn about living a natural life if there was such a thing for wizards.

"I'm surprised you know this spell," Theodore said admiringly at his Weasley apprentice. It had been decades since Alice Caudwell had released her spell. The Dominion forced many people to forget the devastation it caused.

"Why ever wouldn't I? Was the loss of seventy percent of all Archmages, not a historical event? Lord Lupin, did you assume I was uneducated?" Asked Stephen, sounding every bit the pretentious heir. Theodore knew he wasn't nearly as snobby as he pretended to be.

"No, just ignorant. It seems you are still oblivious to the value of your knowledge." Theodore said, guessing that retaining such information would only make sense for the Weasleys. They were the Perevell family's greatest servants and directly related to the Master of Death's children. He grimaced at the thought.

Theodore ignored Stephen's feigned indignation and instead looked at the potion in his hand, listening to the bell-like twinkle it made as its contents sloshed together.

"Don't worry, Heir Weasley. This potion isn't torture. Though it isn't much better."

Theodore could see Stephen's confusion. The Hypnoleach spell requires a master of occlumency to survive. Not to avoid the spell itself that was supposed to be unavoidable, but instead to temper the torture involved, to break its compulsion. Enchanters and Ritualists alike theorized that if caught quickly enough, they could hobble it, but the spell had already long past that point of ingress.

Veins bulged from Theodore's head as the potion began to take effect. They glowed a sickening blue, and a wave of pleasure came with it. Then, the visions started. Shadows flickered as the Hearth stirred its flames, licking brickstone.

"Weasley, you may remain standing where you are, but… under no circumstance come closer, and no matter what happens, don't touch me or let me touch you." Theodore was beginning to fall into a drug-induced hallucination. He could feel the potion pulling him under bit by bit, making him lose hold of reality. "Y-you are powerful enough to withstand the magic I will release, but the pressure will still likely be nigh un-unbearable. Use it to temper yourself, but If it becomes too much, don't hesitate to leave."

Theodore heard Stephen ask one last question, which was unrecognizably garbled before he felt himself slump into his chair. With one final tug, Theodore drifted to a desolate plane overlooking one of Earth's many fortress cities. It seemed he was finally home—the Prime Merlinian plane.

Looking up, he could see the same black acid clouds he remembered. They had become a. mainstay after the small nuclear war that happened toward the end of The Last Wizarding War, as had the taste of acid death in the air.

He was standing on uneven ground that felt all too real for a dream. The discomfort of sharp, jagged rocks and shrapnel mixed with the lack of vegetation made the Wizard appreciate how challenging survival was for those who lived outside. Theodore could only be glad the sun wasn't out, or this would have been tortuous.

As he began walking toward the city, Theodore took note of the familiar dichotomy between the two sections of the city.

Even from a distance, the lower section looked decrepit, as it had fallen into disrepair. All bits and pieces of the old world remained—remnants of a muggle city. Skyscrapers were laid low. Streets were cracked and close to disintegration. Unprotected, the sun and acid rain had slowly begun to melt established structures. All but those under the overcity's shade had utterly fallen apart.

It was a depressing sight, but the Wizard felt more pity for it than he ever remembered feeling. Especially when he was made to remember the non-magical lived there. Almost as if he was being made to feel a kinship with them. The Damned potion was feeding him emotions.

Looming over the muggle city sat a marvel of Wizarding engineering. It was gigantic. A behemoth with slick black walls that looked hungry for light. Inside, it seemed to be the exact opposite. Life could be seen on a gleaming hill.

Paradise was a stone's throw away from impossible squalor. Behind environmental wards and impossibly thick rituals of hallowed ground, wizards thrived. Of course, nothing was equal. Even the world inside those walls was stratified. The Wizard felt a tug, a sudden artificial desire to be elsewhere. The potion wasn't done with him.

Through force of will, Theodore teleported from outside the wizarding city to inside its walls. Thousands of wards ignored in his dream trance. Seeing he had some leeway about where he could arrive, he appeared in a familiar and comfortable place.

In a second, He found himself in Mysthaven's New Diagon Alley. The sights of Olivander's shop, the Bicorn's delight, Gringots made themselves known among others. All of them were larger and grander than before The Last Wizarding War.

Olivander's shop used Gold leaf paint that moved with grand silver sparks traveling the length of letters. The Bicorn's delight was a much more posh establishment than the leaky cauldron that came before it. It had patronus-like spectators that danced above, illuminating everything that walked or danced below. Gringots was still a stark image of professionalism, cool, emotionless.

Theodore wanted to feel relief like he did every time he arrived home, but it didn't come. Instead, Theodore felt disgust and hate. Unbidden thoughts went to the muggles that lived below. Those were kept and bred for their value in rituals of protection. To sacrifice when and if enemy wizards or foreign forces attacked Earth's many fortress cities. Unfortunately, Theodore knew such infighting was expected.

Theodore's thoughts were quickly interrupted by the smooth, languid voice of his least favorite brother, James Potter. The King of Monsters, The Marquess of Death.

"So the Summer Prince finally returns."

Theodore looked up to meet his green killing curse eyes, but the familiar hate Theodore felt toward him didn't come. The potion prevented that familiar spell of hate-filled kinship. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders for which Theodore was grateful. It let the Wizard see his brother again with fresh eyes.

James, like always, looked like the very clone of Harry. He had the same raven-black hair and pale skin. The most remarkable difference was the absence of Harry's every present lightning bolt.

His personality also paled to the original. That lackadaisical smirk that infuriated Theodore thousands of times remained plastered across his face. Yet now Theodore saw it as a pretty smile instead of full of malice as he always remembered.

"Perhaps now we can participate in the annual Muggles Bane. Father never did like participating without you by our side." James came closer to sink his claws on Theodore's right shoulder, "It really is quite boring without a bit of competition."

There was no love lost between City lords. The wars between them, or Muggles Bane competitions as they called them, were common. It was said to drive improvement and allowed Wizarding Lords to stay sharp for upcoming conquests. They got their name for a good reason. They were very effective at regulating muggle populations beneath their fortress cities. In reality, it was a game meant for no purpose other than a risky form of entertainment.

With ritual armor and other improved magical protections, it was usually only muggles and those of impure blood that were killed. There were, of course, occasional pureblood massacres. That being said, the wars were usually quite civil.

None wanted to anger Theodore's father, and so killing curses and torture were barred from the fields of battle. Theodore had to admit he used to find such fighting fun, but now Theodore shook James's hand off his shoulder, looking at him with renewed venom.

"What's wrong? You're not afraid of a little blood and gore, are you? Duke of war. No, that is quite impossible. Not after all those tasty little corpses you roasted." James hissed hungrily. His smile became mocking.

Theodore felt the potion tug weaker than the last to the west of where he stood. It was like a string tightening away from him. It wasn't quite taut yet. Theodore felt with a single pull, he would be off, but first.

"Your name suits you," Theodore said, knowing how to cut the man. Just like him, who could never escape being the Prince of Summer. James would always be the King of Monsters. Theodore watched as the dream version of his brother showed his true nature. His beautiful smile fell and became a snarl with flashing incisors.

Few ever came to control the Lycan curse. Those that did, like Greyback, could only partially shift and use parts of the werewolf curse without the full moon present. James was singular in his complete control over his curse.

Even in his dream, Theodore felt primal fear as his adoptive brother transformed his fur, shifting his eyes from green to a predatory red. His teeth lengthened and sharpened. Theodore let himself idly watch as man became a beast until that beast decided to lunge at him.

At that moment, he tugged and was gone, traveling across space, allowing his tether to pull him. Soon, Theodore arrived in front of a bespeckled royal palace with icy black spikes and Magically raised spires. Intricate carving and runes told tales of conquest and death. He arrived at the drawbridge of the royal palace, and royal guards took note.

Death Knight marched in order rank and file to stand in front of Theodore, their full body ritual armor enhanced by swords that gleamed with power. Their icy blue skin was hidden away but around their shark's eyes.

"Why are you here, former Duke of War?" Their leader asked, his voice deep and steady. Theodore recognized the man. He used to be a City Lord once. One Lyle Ramilden. The executor of the last of the Bones family.

Theodore looked straight into his pale blue eyes and knew this must have been his punishment for treading too far in his Muggles Bane. He had become a reminder of why one didn't cross Harry Perevell. He hadn't known the man, but Theodore pitied the cold that embraced him as he hummed mildly in thought.

Usually, Theodore wouldn't mind meeting his father, but now? His already complex emotions toward him needed no more muddling. With this potion much weaker than before, Theodore could feel his control over it grow.

He turned to the royal Guard, noting how life-like he looked despite his dreams. He decided to answer him despite him knowing such a thing was pointless.

"Do you resent my father for making you his guard?" Theodore asked, knowing it was indeed his subconscious mind he was engaging.

He wouldn't have to answer if the man had indeed been a Death Knight, but his mind warped his true form, allowing him more freedom than he usually would. Theodore could see him considering. The Death Knights's pale blue eyes looked out hungrily beyond the palace. It gave him a semblance of humanity. For a moment, Theodore thought he saw embers of the man he was.

"No." The man said in the same deep, steady voice without a hint of emotion. Theodore gave a sad smile before he pulled himself toward his palace.

Soon, the Summer's Kindness appeared before him.

It had a vast central Heliomatic glass dome with six towers looming behind it. They curved like pole blades facing the outside world with sharp and wide tops that reached toward the heavens, their edges made with the same white glass. Moonlight danced over the building's many curves and edges. It played off a theme of war, speaking of its untold violence and elegance, which resonated deeply within him.

'Perhaps he wouldn't have fallen for such a vicious trap if his home wasn't built so beautifully.' Theodore quickly excised the thought from his mind. It had taken a decade for the Hypnoleach trap to ensnare him fully. He had only stayed because of his desperate desire to escape his title, 'Duke of War.'

Theodore could feel the Velvet blanket of comfort torn apart into a thousand pieces as the potion did its work. The fields of grassland that accompanied the house no longer looked lush green but poisonous to the touch. The tower blades that stood as reminders of the wars he had previously fought now bent and arched, threatening him. The Gardens, stocked with potion ingredients, now gave a mandrake wail. When the flashes of red and the sound of laughter as flutterby and lacewing bugs flew about became open flames and shouts of derision, Theodore finally woke.

With a start, the morning sunlight burned Theodore's freshly opened eyes, making them rapidly blink until they adapted. A dull headache remained. Theodore was still in his study, and beside him, He saw a traumatized Weasley. The silly boy must have stayed far past his limit. Theodore gathered his magic into himself, wrapping it like a cloak tightly around his core, and watched as Stephen took a deep, gasping breath, taking a few moments to come back to conscious thought.

"Come, it is time to leave," Theodore said in a way the Wizard was sure could be misconstrued as callously before he called Mipsy to collect his things.

The Weasley would have likely taken weeks to recover if not for where he stood. Magic-laden air smoothed over mental turmoil. In the couple of hours Mipsy took to collect his things, Stephen Weasley became something other than a mumbling mess, but the boy still wouldn't meet Theodore's eyes.

Theodore, eager to be off, ignored the boy. The Wildcard potion had fed him with fearful hate for where he sat. The comfort he felt staying here turned into a strong desire to leave quickly.

"Are you almost done?" Theodore yelled back, growing even more impatient.

Mipsy could be heard grumbling as she began to collect the last of his clothes and bobble. The house elf was skillful in her disorganized rummaging, sucking it all up into a much too small suitcase until his room was barren. With a pop, she met him at the door, handing him his suitcase before popping inside its house elf suite. Mipsy had never liked the house; in fact, she had seen the trap before him. He really did need to listen to her more. The house elf seemed at times to have better instincts than him.

Soon, Theodore dragged Stephen with him into the Ave's Simmering roads. He was feeling relief as he finally left his palace grounds. With a sigh, he looked down and watched his reflection crumple together strangely in the path.

Bits and pieces stretched longer while others fell short grouping together. There were thousands of pieces of Theodore in all the wrong places. Bits of his eyes shifted below his mouth, all while parts of his hair came off his ear.

It was comforting to see one of his creations and remember the effort and time it took to create its effect. Looking at it now, he felt ten years younger. Tugging at the pieces of his mind, he prepared for the journey ahead.

"So that was the power of an Archmage," Stephen spoke suddenly. "Here, I thought it was an honored title given to old men. Are you even human?" The Weasley gave a dark chuckle as he looked down, still hesitant to meet Theodore's eyes when he turned to look at him.

"Did you really think so little of your teacher?" Theodore asked, mock pouting and injecting humor to brighten his pupil's mood.

"No, of course not." Stephen seemed panicked to reassure him, smiling only briefly when he saw his teacher's expression, but Theodore didn't quite make him laugh. The Wizard made a note to work on his silly faces.

Stephen seemed like he wanted to say something but bit his tongue. Theodore, however, knew him too well. It was always in the boy's brows; something was bothering him.

"What is it? Just say it."

Theodore began walking, letting the road cushion his steps as he began the path down into town. He could have apparated, but doing so would not have given him enough time to enjoy apogee before leaving to parts unknown.

"Teacher, how did you become so powerful?" Stephen's voice was small but held the same fire as before. Theodore, who listened closely, could hear the dark glint of Avarice and fear in his tone.

Theodore knew how Stephen felt. Theodore had known the feeling himself. It had felt like standing next to a typhoon screaming the world's end. When he had seen Harry's barely caged magical furnace, he had not been nearly so calm.

The power that could lay like a slumbering beast within powerful wizards was beyond frightening. Those that wielded magic itself, not spells, were Hegemonic disasters. It was why, despite their much larger numbers, the Dominion elite despised archmages and feared Harry.

Theodore hummed consideringly but didn't stop walking. Attaining such power was complicated. Some were born naturally powerful, and that in itself could be enough. It hadn't been for Theodore, but he had known genetic monsters where that had been the case.

Albus Dumbledore was a good example, as was Grindlewald. Even his name, Sake Albus Perevell, had been a natural Archmage.

Most, however, grew into the role. Ritual magic wasn't enough. There was something more involved, but to reveal that to Weasley when he was still so young and rebellious. Theodore glanced at his eager face.

Only in Theodore's second century had he found the path forward, and even then, full grown, it had been treacherous.

"Don't worry, Stephen. You won't remain weak for long. I asked you to stay not so you would be frightened by my magic but to temper your expectations. You are already magically mature for your age." Theodore reassured Weasley, who finally decided to walk in stride with him. Stephen's blue eyes glowed with magical intensity as the boy hung off every one of Theodore's words, "Soon your magic will fully bloom. Then I will teach you how to nurture and fold magic properly."

"Thank you, Lord Lupin," Stephen's eyes brightened. He likely imagined all the ways his family would benefit from another Archmage in the family.

Theodore let his slightly misleading words settle, allowing silence to fall between them, instead taking time to admire his handy work cutting across fertile grassland. How the Simmering Road captured light and filtered it like a prism into a thousand colors was enthralling.

The sky was so blue one could get lost in its expanse; the sun's warmth felt like a hug rather than punishment. It all made Theodore remember better days before the collapse.

He watched as the Simmering Road's sleek reflectiveness slowly fell away piece by piece and was replaced by a familiar cobblestone. The Berge's brick-stone streets didn't dazzle, but they brought back pleasant memories just as breathtaking. His Blackthorn wand pulsed warmth in his wrist holster as he remembered his first visit to Olivanders.

As Theodore and Stephen traveled the market. Faun, Faerys, Trow, and Centuare roamed and mingled among wizards in the Berge's lively marketplace. Those creatures liberated from mundane oppression looked with wonder at Polished jewels, flying brooms, taste-boggling candies, enchanted amulets, potions of luck and love, and even cursed objects sold. Each shopkeeper owned finely polished, carefully styled shops, inviting customers into their much larger interior stores where even more powerful magic played.

A small but quaint town, the Berge thrived in Tirnac's fertile lands. It had been decades since Dominion had claimed land here. Many of its Fae residents had lived under Burgish rule. Tirnac's true residents were hesitant to come close to the crazy wizards from another world. However, those who had been liberated idolized wand wielders and all they created.

Many even recognized him as the Duke of War. It wasn't difficult. His hair, flame-red as the Weasley standing beside him, stood out even among the crowd of fae folk. The face he wore now had been plastered on every war poster until as long as four years ago. It likely had made its way into their history book, and he looked the same as he did then.

Theodore, with his philosopher stone, kept his prime age and looked like he was in his mid to late twenties. His features were purposefully manipulated to look sharp and handsome. He wore a taller, more streamlined form than the average man, made to tower over even quite tall normal humans. He wore expensive clothing and a gaudy Lupin family signet ring.

He received many kind greetings. Theodore smiled and returned them, happy to finally be outside his country palace. It was rare to have such peaceful circumstances in a conquered world. Theodore felt a deep prick of wild card-induced sadness for the fact muggles were so challenging to get along with, but he managed to ignore it for the most part.

While he technically was the ruler over the Berge and the Ave Dominus district surrounding it, he had never done any hands-on administration, so it was indeed as if he was seeing everything for the first time again. Much had changed with his time away.

There were more houses than before. The burgeoning town is already becoming increasingly smitten with the concept of adding magic to architecture. The trend had already been around for some time. Wizards' oppression against showing their magicalness had been long shed, and a period of open practice came with it.

Houses and cottages That would have had thatch roofs instead bore living tiles that watched their homes when their owners were away. The doors, which were quite ordinary in wizarding villages before the collapse, were no longer always made of wood. Wizards used flames and enchanted glass for decoration. Even the bones of the building were willfully constructed, many of them slanting and towering in odd ways. It was held up by a combination of magic and Atlantean building arts.

Very little thought was put into the layout of buildings, so there were clashing designs, but for the most part, Theodore enjoyed how his little Village had come together.

"Isn't it beautiful, Stephen?" Theodore looked at his young pupil as they made their way through the Berge.

The noble boy in his twenties who had been to Mysthaven and had seen all its splendor had yet to appreciate the natural country air or unaltered countryside nearly as much as Theodore. So unimpressed, he gave a placating nod.

Theodore recognized this lack of enthusiasm and frowned. The Weasley boy had already been to the Village many times; he, unlike Theodore, hadn't remained cooped up in his palace. He must have been bored. Nothing to do but sit and learn from someone who had already spent a couple lifetimes adventuring while engaging in none of his own. Theodore would make sure that changed.

Theodore contented to drag Stephen along, perusing what wears were available, occasionally stopping on a particular enchanted ring or a peculiar broom. All these were things he could make himself, but that wasn't the point of his window shopping.

Whenever he stopped, he would talk to the store owners and ask them questions about their life in the Berge. They were all more than willing to stop what they were doing and converse with him. All of them were quickly enamored in what he liked to call his aura of authority. A small amount of magical pressure made him seem bigger than life. That they knew who he was also immensely helped. One witch particularly bold propositioned him; she seemed particularly susceptible to his pull. Theodore politely refused. Stephen, who overheard profusely, blushed.

"You really should get out more heir, Weasley. It is unbecoming for a noble heir to be flustered so easily. Here, I thought you forged yourself in the political cesspit of Mysthaven." Theodore teased while also genuinely curious.

"I was always guarded against the unwashed masses," Stephen said, only partially joking.

As a scion of a noble family, Theodore knew how protective noble families could be. It was only because he passed his majority and Theodore trained him that Stephen didn't still have body guards.

Theodore shuttered at the thought of putting up Death Knights under his roof. It would have been the breaking point in their contract.

Theodore nodded, and the two continued their walk.

One produce owner, a satyre with short horns and a very large burly brow, Seemed to be very enthused to talk to him.

"Finally, I get to meet the famous lord of war. My pa told stories of all you did since I was a little ram. You must shake my hand." His voice was gruff, coming from the back of his throat as if he was baying.

Theodore felt his hand almost come loose from the rest of his arm as The Satyre by the name of Anidal shook with enthusiastic fury. The two got to talking about how everything was with his business. The produce business was running well. Land in the Ave Dominus district was made unnaturally fertile, so produce was more plentiful than most knew what to do with. It seemed the Berge was idyllic for the satyre until he heard the natives had made attacks.

It was then Theodore heard about the man who had been keeping his territory in order when he had become a temporary agoraphobe.

"Oh yeah, that man is a powerful wand handler. You should have seen what he did when those black-winged tinks came. He fought them off. Even when the stupid tinks started bombing the place, he just swung his wand around, and those stupid tinks fell left and right."

It seemed the alderman had shown up almost as soon as the Hypnoleach spell had fully ensnared him. He had taken up all the duties that would have usually been his. Almost as if he had known something would happen to him.

Theodore smiled at the fawn as he left, walking toward where the alderman's house stood—Stephen, who knew what his smile meant, followed nervously.

When Theodore arrived at the alderman's house, he took note of its stranger-than-usual makeup.

The mansion was long with a wide fish-scale roof. Its siding was made of strange material, chitinous and rounding like tank plating. It had dark edges that spoke of ominous tidings mixed with violent lampshading. Theodore heard that the man who owned that house was one of a lesser pedigree. He managed to sneak into the Ave based on pure skill alone. Theodore had not met the man but felt a sense of kinship in his paranoia. His house was less a mansion than a large bunker.

The craftsman in Theodore guessed that the material at its side was likely some adamantine alloy; it was all in its reflectiveness and magical weight. The material always carried more than physical weight.

Theodore was also vividly aware of the wards surrounding the house. They thrummed with a power similar to his own house wards. Theodore's interest in the man grew.

"COME OUT!" Theodore's voice boomed through the wandless use of the sonorous charm.

Well, away from crowds of the marketplace. Theodore's voice echoed like thunder.