No one knows how long the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts has existed; legend suggests it was already ancient when the castle was first raised from stone and magic.
The trees within it are venerable—some older than the school itself, their trunks as wide as a carriage, roots twisting deep into the earth like the claws of a slumbering beast.
But no matter how long something has existed, there comes a day when it must fall.
Crack.
A tree that had withstood storms and seasons for over a millennium suddenly split in half with a thunderous groan, felled by brutal force. As it toppled, it brushed against a neighboring tree that had grown beside it for centuries—as if bidding farewell. The other tree remained unmoved, allowing its companion to fall, crashing to the earth in a burst of soil and shattered bark.
But the assailant would not let it rest so easily. The massive trunk halted mid-fall, unnaturally suspended in the air—then, with deliberate cruelty, it was hurled downward onto a figure lying prone on the forest floor.
The ground trembled. Pebbles bounced. Dust spiraled into the air.
Everything fell still.
In the clearing, a tall young man with windswept silver-blond hair and an expression of distaste flicked the dust off his long black robes. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored coat, his pale-blue eyes narrowing slightly.
Even fighting a Basilisk didn't kick up this much dirt. Werewolves are such filthy creatures.
Behind him, a twisted shape lay still beneath the fallen tree. A Werewolf, or what had once been one.
He turned to leave—only to freeze as a pained howl echoed through the trees. Wood splinters exploded outward. The beast, bloodied but alive, emerged from the wreckage with a fury only the dying possess.
Tch.
Werewolves weren't just filthy. Their vitality rivaled that of roaches. Persistent, obnoxious, and terribly difficult to put down.
Kai Adler sighed with irritation. This particular Werewolf was unlike its subordinates—it had resisted both the Petrificus Totalus and the Incarcerous charm through sheer brute force.
It was rare to meet magical creatures whose physicality could outmatch spellwork. Rare—and frustrating.
As the creature lunged again, Kai raised a hand. Power surged from his fingertips, his robe flaring from the surge of magic. The Werewolf was caught mid-leap, suspended in the air, arms and legs straining uselessly.
With a flick of his wrist, Kai sent the Werewolf crashing into a nearby boulder.
Boom.
Cracks spidered through the stone. The beast crumpled to the ground, groaning—and staggered back to its feet. Barely.
Still trying, are we?
Kai grimaced. This style of magic—raw force, direct and inelegant—felt beneath him. He preferred precise spellwork, intelligent magic. Using raw power like this was no different from a troll flailing a club. Effective, but crude.
He needed a spell that could do real damage. Something surgical. Perhaps something to sever limbs cleanly.
"Why don't you just kill him?"
The voice was cold, female. He glanced over his shoulder.
The woman—mid-twenties in appearance, with short dark hair and a sharply beautiful face—was leaning against a tree, clutching her leg. Blood seeped through a ripped section of her leather combat suit.
"You should be able to," she added, her expression unreadable.
Kai tilted his head slightly. "I still need to ask them why they came all the way to Hogwarts. And who sent them."
He had tried Legilimency earlier, but the Werewolf's mind was a tangle of rage and instinct. Nothing coherent. If he wanted answers, he would have to wait until the creature was dying—and lucid enough to speak.
The woman didn't reply.
"I know why they came," she said after a pause. "You can ask me."
Kai raised an eyebrow. That would've been helpful ten minutes ago.
He turned toward her, conjuring a small flicker of blue fire on his fingertip. Without looking back, he flicked it toward the Werewolf.
The moment the flame touched its fur, it erupted—blue fire raced across the creature's body like oil-fed inferno. The Werewolf shrieked in agony, thrashing wildly, until it crumpled, blackened and lifeless.
The fire cast a flickering glow on Kai's face as he knelt before the woman. He summoned another flame. This time, it danced between his fingers like a warning.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Now. Tell me everything."
Five minutes later, Kai sat on a tree stump, sipping tea from a conjured porcelain cup. The woman was bandaging her leg.
"You're a Vampire, then?"
"Bloodborn," she corrected icily.
"So you chased the Werewolves into the Forbidden Forest to hunt them—but walked into an ambush?"
She nodded once. "They knew I was coming."
"Silver bullets?" Kai asked, glancing at her wound. "I thought Vamp—Bloodborn—healed quickly."
"They used silver-plated rounds," she said. "Deadly to both Werewolves and my kind."
Kai hummed, sipping his tea. "Interesting choice of weaponry. And you said they knew Dumbledore wasn't at the school?"
"Yes. That's why they dared come this close to Hogwarts." She exhaled sharply. "His name carries weight even among the creatures of the night."
"Do you know where they got that information?"
She shook her head. "Their leader knew. Not these grunts. They were just following orders."
Kai stared into the amber liquid in his cup, frowning slightly.
Whoever leaked Dumbledore's absence had done so with intention. Without constant surveillance, and given the vastness of the Forbidden Forest, it wouldn't be hard for the Werewolves to snatch a student or two without anyone noticing.
And there was a disturbing likelihood they would have succeeded—if he hadn't intervened.
He remembered the two men outside Hagrid's hut the other day. One was middle-aged. The other, Lucius Malfoy.
It was possible the leak originated there.
And then there were those two enigmatic visitors—the young noble with an eyepatch and his butler. Clearly, they were investigating similar disappearances.
It appeared this problem wouldn't resolve itself.
Kai took another slow sip.
Meanwhile, the woman—this Bloodborn—was studying him with sharp eyes. His magic, his restraint, his frightening efficiency. He looked no older than sixteen, yet he had reduced a Werewolf pack to corpses.
She had walked this earth for over three centuries. She had seen ancient Vampires, mad warlocks, even Hunters from the Black Forest. But this boy…
This one was different.
He hadn't killed her yet, but it felt like a decision he was still considering.
She quietly tightened her grip on her pistol.
"Oh," Kai said, looking up. "I never asked for your name."
The woman met his eyes. "Selene."
Pfft.
She frowned. "What's so funny?"
Kai coughed politely. "Nothing. You just remind me of a… 'friend.'"
Selene, goddess of the moon. He thought briefly of Luna, the name Hermione had jokingly given his mischievous Bowtruckle familiar. Also a moon goddess. He found the coincidence oddly amusing.
But Selene's expression remained stone-cold.
Kai cleared his throat. "Selene, one last question."
"And why should I trust you?"
Flames licked to life again across his fingers.
Selene felt a chill creep up her spine. Her hand tensed on the pistol grip. She was fast—but would she be fast enough?