Firenze stepped forward and seized one of the Acromantula's legs. Bracing his weight, he planted a hoof firmly on the creature's abdomen and gave a powerful tug. The limb tore free with a sickening crunch.
Without hesitation, he set the leg aside, reached into the small pouch at his waist, and withdrew a handful of dried herbs. He scattered them across the Acromantula's carapace.
"Aethrúna valmach dar'thae, cor'mira selundh morén..."
A chant, old as the forest itself, tumbled from Firenze's lips. His voice was low and resonant, like wind whispering through ancient trees.
He raised his arms high, performing one flowing gesture after another, while his hooves struck the earth in a steady rhythm, hollow and melodic. The ritual felt older than Hogwarts, older than the magic carved into its stones.
With a final flourish, he crossed his palms in front of him, linking them atop his shoulders. A shimmering emerald energy field bloomed into existence, surrounding the Acromantula's lifeless form.
Then, in a slow and reverent motion, Firenze knelt. He lowered his forehead to the mossy ground, murmuring in a hoarse whisper:"Silvaneth mor'thiel, laraé thu'malen..."
The magic field pulsed and grew brighter, its light rippling outward in gentle waves. Each ripple soaked into the earth, and with every breath of the forest, the spider's massive body shrank and shriveled — until there was nothing left of it at all.
Only soil remained… and from it, delicate green blades of grass began to rise, quivering as if reborn.
Firenze rose, picked up the Acromantula's severed leg, and turned to Vizet with a warm smile. He beckoned."It's time to go. We've lightened the forest of one more shadow."
Vizet hesitated only a moment before climbing onto Firenze's back.
His knowledge of centaurs came mostly from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and while it was informative, it did little to prepare him for the complexity of the creature beneath him.
Centaurs were regarded as exceptionally intelligent, but due to a controversial Ministry decree, their intellect was labeled merely as "near-human." This classification had deeply offended centaurs.
When the Ministry grouped centaurs, vampires, hags, and merpeople together under the category of "beings," the centaurs had rejected the term outright — preferring instead to remain classified as "beasts." Not out of humility, but pride.
They refused to be associated with vampires and hags, whom they viewed as impure or corrupted. In protest, they chose isolation.
Newt Scamander had once written:
The arrogance of the Ministry has driven a wedge between wizards and centaurs. Once, there was the promise of mutual learning — magical medicine, divination, astronomy — but now, centaurs dwell deep in the forest, guardians of their realm. And wizards? Wizards have paid the price for their pride.
Indeed, most centaurs avoided humans altogether — wizard and Muggle alike. And yet… Firenze was different.
As he carried Vizet through the forest, he spoke often, though his tone remained casual and thoughtful. He would gesture to a plant, naming it and explaining its properties in a soft voice. Or, glancing skyward through the gaps in the trees, he would murmur:
"Mars is always so bright lately. That is no good omen… Do you understand?"
Vizet looked up through the canopy, where the red planet burned like an ember in the sky."Does that mean war is coming?" he asked quietly.
Throughout history, Mars had symbolized bloodshed and conflict. Civilizations across the world had drawn the same conclusion from its crimson glow: disaster, death, and war often followed when Mars loomed large.
Firenze nodded, voice dropping lower. "Yes. Few wizards study the stars with discipline anymore. Most Muggles know more of astronomy than they do."
"Mr. Firenze," Vizet asked hesitantly, "I actually have a question… Why were you there just now? Was it because you sensed the Acromantula?"
"Of course not," Firenze replied, his voice tinged with quiet regret. "We centaurs rarely venture into Acromantula territory. They've grown too numerous… too deeply entrenched. Driving them out is no longer possible."
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the treetops. "I was guided there by a unicorn. I felt its call… as if it were showing me that someone needed help at the other end of the forest."
As they continued walking, their conversation drifted toward lighter topics. Firenze began to speak more freely, pointing out the subtle workings of the Forbidden Forest's complex ecosystem — how certain plants coexisted with magical creatures, how the trees bent subtly toward magic-rich soil, and how the forest breathed with old, wild magic that few humans ever noticed.
Vizet listened closely, absorbing every word. He'd never imagined the forest this way — not just as a dangerous place, but a living web of ancient, magical life.
Just then, the mental map in his mind stirred to life. It flickered faintly, drawing his attention to a thicket off the path.
"Mr. Firenze," he said suddenly, pointing, "What are those stone pillars over there?"
Firenze followed his gaze and raised a brow. "Would you like to take a look?"
He led Vizet into the undergrowth, brushing past ferns and hanging moss. As they stepped into the clearing, Vizet's breath caught.
What he saw was unmistakably an altar — ancient, moss-covered, and humming with forgotten power.
The flat stones at its center formed the shape of a blazing sun, while weathered pillars stood around it like orbiting stars. Most curious of all was the spiral cyclone etched into the altar's heart.
"This altar is old," Firenze said quietly, "Very old. Perhaps even from the days Hogwarts was built."
Vizet's eyes lingered on the spiral pattern. It reminded him of the symbol from A Wizard's Practical Guide.
"Mr. Firenze… if this is really an altar… can it still be used?"
Firenze looked at him with some surprise, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "You mean… you want to use it?"
Before Vizet could answer, a furious voice exploded from the bushes.
"Firenze, you're a disgrace!"
A large, black-haired centaur emerged from the shadows, his hooves stamping into the earth. His upper body rippled with thick muscles, more beast than man. His glare burned with fury.
"You let a human ride your back? Have you no shame?" the centaur snarled. "Have you no pride? You let yourself be treated like a common mule!"
Firenze sighed deeply. "Bane… must you always be so dramatic?"
"Dramatic?!" Bane bellowed, laughing bitterly. "You brought a wizard child to our altar! And now you speak of letting him use it? This is betrayal, Firenze. Betrayal of the stars — of everything we stand for!"
"These altars were built by wizards, Bane," Firenze replied calmly. "Even if we've used them for centuries, their origin is not ours."
"Yes... but you still are desecrating fate by bringing this — this boy?" Bane growled, his eyes flashing. "You've betrayed fate, Firenze!"
Firenze didn't flinch. His voice remained measured. "Vizet was chosen — favored — by a unicorn. It was the unicorn who called me to save him when he was in danger. If following that guidance is betrayal, then so be it."
"You faced the Acromantula yourself?" Bane asked, his tone suddenly sharp. "Are you injured?"
"I arrived too late to fight it," Firenze replied. "The boy defeated it. I merely returned the body to the forest."
Bane narrowed his eyes. "A human child defeated an Acromantula? Do you expect me to believe that?"
He circled Vizet suspiciously, peering at him as though trying to see through him. "Are you truly a child?"
"I'm a first-year at Hogwarts," Vizet said, meeting his gaze evenly. "And it wasn't a full-grown Acromantula — it was small, about one meter tall, maybe three or four feet. I used a shortcut to kill it."
Bane's eyes shifted to the side, skeptical. "Mercury! Firenze, Is this true?"