Chapter 52 – The Frostbound Guardians
The next day moved at a crawl. Thomas moved through his classes in a daze—scribbling notes during Charms, feigning interest in History of Magic, and pushing food around on his plate during dinner. His thoughts were locked on the hidden chamber behind the frozen door.
Something waited there. Something ancient and powerful.
That night, long after curfew, Thomas slipped out of the Gryffindor common room, his steps silent on the cold stone floors. He retraced the path he'd taken two nights before, passing through torch-lit corridors and ascending the staircase to the fifth floor. The vanishing steps held solid this time, as if inviting him back.
And there it was.
The icy door.
Still sealed, still glowing faintly with enchanted frost. He took a breath and raised his wand.
"Incendio," he whispered.
A flicker of flame danced at the tip of his wand. Heat surged forward and struck the frost-covered door. Steam hissed into the air. Thin cracks webbed through the ice, deepening with each second. Finally, with a resonant crack, the ice shattered, falling like glass.
The air beyond was bitterly cold, and as he stepped forward, the trap triggered.
A wave of blue light exploded from the ground, wrapping around his legs like chains. Cold surged through him—magical cold, ancient and ruthless.
He gritted his teeth. "Incendio!" he shouted again, but the fire barely flickered in the freezing air. It wasn't enough.
He reached for the magic he knew best.
Blink.
In an instant, space bent around him and he vanished, slipping between folds of air and thought.
He reappeared inside the chamber, crouched and ready.
It was even more massive than he remembered. A domed hall, lined with frozen columns, softly glowing runes on the walls. In the center, a raised platform. And then—they moved.
Three figures stepped forward from the shadows.
Knights.
Forged entirely of ice.
Their armor glistened like diamond, each carrying a massive sword. No eyes showed behind their helms, only silence and the steady, mechanical grace of guardians.
The first knight charged.
Thomas blinked away.
The blade sliced through where he'd been, embedding itself into the stone. Another knight swept in from the side, forcing Thomas to dive aside again.
He blinked short—less than a meter—to avoid the blade, but he was still too slow.
A shallow cut opened across his sleeve. The fabric froze instantly.
Panting, he ducked behind a pillar. "Incendio!" he tried again, firing at the closest knight.
It struck center mass.
And fizzled.
The frost absorbed it.
They weren't just resistant. They were nearly immune.
He had no defense spells. No dueling experience.
But he had space.
And he had Echo.
He shut his eyes and stretched his awareness—not just vision or sound, but the subtle hum of space itself. The contours of the room, the angles of movement, the timing of footsteps, the flow of air. Echo filled his senses like a sixth sense.
He moved again.
Blink.
This time, the shift was fast. Sharp. Instant.
He blinked just behind one knight's knee as it turned, and with a step, let its sword swing into the path of the second knight's blade.
Crash!
Shards of ice scattered into the air. A long gash split down the second knight's chest.
He blinked again—high and fast—appearing mid-air for a split second before landing behind the third.
Its blade was still mid-swing.
Another blink. He appeared between the two knights as they turned.
Too slow.
CRACK!
Their weapons collided.
And this time, armor shattered.
One knight lost an arm. Another's chest splintered. The third, turning to track him, was caught by the downward arc of the broken blade.
BOOM.
With one final blink, Thomas appeared behind the last knight and dropped flat to the ground. Its sword, aimed for his head, cleaved through the knight in front of it.
The entire suit of armor shattered into icy fragments.
One left.
Thomas stood, turned, and with one precise blink, reappeared behind it just as it swung wildly. He sidestepped—
—and it struck the crumbling remains of another knight.
Shatter.
The last ice knight fell in chunks.
Silence.
Frost drifted slowly in the cold air, the remains of enchanted armor scattered across the floor like crystal debris.
He lowered his wand.
Heart pounding. Hands shaking.
He had done it.
Not with force. Not with spells. But with space, with movement, with precision.
FLASH.
The name came to him naturally. A fusion of Blink and Echo. Not just teleporting blindly, but with complete awareness—fast, sharp, deliberate. A spatial strike. A battlefield dance.
He breathed slowly, forcing his heartbeat to settle.
Across the room, the ice runes began to fade to a pale, calming blue. The air grew slightly warmer, and the oppressive pressure of the room began to lift.
Thomas stepped carefully toward the raised platform once more, his breath visible in the icy air. But now that the battle was over, he noticed something he hadn't before.
Not just the sealed black box.
At the base of the platform, half-buried in frost, lay a notebook, the leather cover cracked with age. Nearby, tucked between loose stones, was a wand—splintered cleanly in two, as though snapped in rage or desperation.
He knelt down and touched the notebook.
Faint warmth pulsed beneath the frozen cover, as if the magic inside had survived the years.
He slipped it into his cloak.
Then he reached for the broken wand. The moment his fingers closed around it, a strange echo rippled through his palm. Not pain, but memory. Like it had once belonged to someone who had stood right here… maybe centuries ago.
He didn't know what it meant yet—but it was a clue. A trace.
Maybe even a message.
With both items safely hidden away, Thomas took one last look at the frost-covered chamber.
It was silent now.
Still cold. Still ancient. But no longer hostile.
With a nod, Thomas blinked once more—FLASH—disappearing into the shadows beyond the ruined frost, leaving the ancient vault behind.
For now.