Chapter Text
The night air around Number 12 Grimmauld Place did not just grow cold; it died a slow, bitter death. The Fae-glamour that Wikhn had so meticulously woven over the street began to shudder and warp, the illusion of an empty, derelict lot violently peeling back like scorched skin. The muggle streetlights down the block flickered rapidly, humming with a panicked, electrical whine before exploding in showers of white sparks, plunging the street into an unnatural, suffocating darkness.
Theo, Blaise, and Fred were still crouched behind the low, wrought-iron stone wall of the perimeter. The Jokers felt the catastrophic shift in the ambient magic long before they saw the figures approaching. It was a physical weight, a sickening pressure that made their Dragel instincts scream. The air grew rancid, smelling of spoiled meat, ozone, and the distinct, coppery tang of old blood.
From the shadows of the adjacent alleyways, figures began to emerge into the square. Torvaks. They didn't walk; they jerked and twitched. Their limbs were unnaturally stiff, their heads cocked at sharp, bird-like angles that defied human anatomy.
Even worse, there were other figures behind them. Witches, wizards, creatures and humans alike were walking behind the Torvaks with vacant eyes and stiffer movements.
It was like witnessing a mass Imperius curse, but this was something much worse.
Torvak thralls.
Leading them all, clad in deep plum robes adorned with golden stars that fluttered without a single breath of wind, was a figure that made Theo’s blood run cold and his grip on his black-steel sword tighten.
Albus Dumbledore. Or, at least, the ancient, parasitic creature wearing his stolen face.
It was a grotesque mockery of the wizard who had commanded the light. The Torvak’s eyes didn't hold that famous, grandfatherly twinkle. They were solid, fathomless yellow, devoid of pupils, irises, or any shred of humanity. The skin around his jaw was pulled too tight, stretching over bones that seemed to be shifting and reshaping themselves beneath the flesh.
"Not only is he alive," Fred whispered, the horror in his voice quickly swallowed by a rising, infernal fury. His flaming Hellhound blades extended from his gauntlets with a metallic shing, thrumming with lethal, white-hot magic. "But the damn old man is a Torvak Alpha! He must be the one controlling Percy. He’s been pulling the strings this entire time."
"He’s here for Harry," Theo snarled, his Dragel Gheyo magic pushing his senses to their absolute limit. "The suppression Riven found inside...Harry must be breaking it. The old man knows he’s losing his feast."
Fifty yards away, the creature wearing Dumbledore’s face stopped. The yellow eyes locked onto the invisible barrier of Osiris’s wards. Inside the Torvak’s stolen mind, a tempest of livid, insatiable hunger raged. For years, the Torvak had carefully cultivated the Potter boy. It had orchestrated the isolation, the grief, the constant, low-level trauma that kept the Dragel core dormant and bleeding raw magic. Harry Potter was meant to be a permanent, exquisite feast—a battery of pure, Submissive energy to sustain the Torvak Alpha for centuries.
But now, the Torvak could feel the tether snapping. The decadent, suppressed magic it had been siphoning was turning to fire. The boy was awakening. The feast was rebelling.
Dumbledore’s face twisted into a snarl that split his lips, revealing rows of serrated, yellowed teeth. He raised a hand—a hand that ended not in human fingers, but in long, curved, calcified talons—and struck the air with a screech that shattered the remaining windows on the street.
A wave of sickening, concussive magic, yellow and foul, slammed into the invisible wards Osiris had erected. The sidewalk in front of Grimmauld Place groaned, the concrete cracking and buckling under the sheer malice of the assault, but the heavy, abyssal shadows of the Alpha’s wards held firm.
"Spread out," Blaise hissed, his own daggers drawing twilight shadows from the air. "They’re going to try and flank the property."
As those under the thralls lurched forward, the Torvak Alpha waved his clawed hand dramatically once again. A startling crack echoed down the street and one lone figure suddenly appeared. He was twitching unnaturally as he stopped in front of The Torvak wearing Dumbledore’s face. Dressed in his familiarly pristine, pinstriped Ministry uniform with his horn-rimmed glasses sitting askew on his nose.
"Percy," Fred breathed, his fiery blades dimming for a fraction of a second in shock.
“He should still be in the basement!” Blaise yelled out, getting ready to fight. “How did the Torvak summon him through the wards?”
Without thinking, Fred launched himself over the stone wall, blurring through the darkness until he materialized directly in the path of his older brother. He grabbed Percy by the lapels of his immaculate robes, slamming him back against the iron fencing.
"Percy! Snap out of it!" Fred roared, shaking him. "What did he do to you? Look at me!"
Percy Weasley blinked. His eyes weren't glowing yellow, but they were horrifyingly blank. The intelligent, pedantic, fiercely ambitious spark that had always defined him was utterly gone, scraped out and leaving him a shell of his former self. He looked at Fred with the mild, confused expression of a man who had forgotten why he walked into a room.
"Hello, Fred," Percy said, his voice completely flat, devoid of any inflection or emotion. "I was told to...file a report on the...the disturbance. The Minister needs a report."
"A report? Perce, you’re in the middle of a war zone!" Fred yelled, his heart breaking as he searched his brother’s face for any sign of life. "He’s a Torvak! He’s using you! Fight it!"
"The parchment needs to be standard thickness," Percy mumbled, his head lolling slightly to the side, completely unresponsive to the roaring flames of Fred's gauntlets or the monstrous shrieks of the thralls pressing against the wards mere feet away. "I must count the offenders and file a report..."
A wave of nausea washed over Fred. There was no mind left to save. Even though Percy had been turned into a Torvak himself; he was weaker than the Alpha. The Torvak disguised as Dumbledore hadn't just mind-controlled his brother; he had hollowed him out, consuming his magical core and leaving behind a biological puppet that only knew how to repeat the last mundane tasks it remembered. Percy was gone.
"I'm sorry, Perce," Fred whispered, tears of absolute rage burning in his eyes. He shoved his hollowed-out brother behind him, away from the immediate line of fire, and turned back to the advancing horde, his Hellhound flames roaring higher than ever before. "Theo! Blaise! Kill them all!"
~~~
Deep within the bowels of the Black family home, Kreacher felt the impact of the Torvak magic against the wards.
It wasn't a sound; it was a vibration that rattled the marrow of his old, frail bones. Kreacher dropped the silver goblet he was polishing. The ancient house-elf’s ears flattened against his skull, and his bulbous eyes widened in absolute, primal terror.
He recognized that magic. It was a scent older than the Black family, older than the house itself. It was the scent of the Great Rot.
Long before the Torvaks had hunted Dragels to near extinction in the earthly realm, they had hunted the Elves. They had fed on the ambient, earthly magic of the house-elf race, binding them, clipping their long ears, and draining them until they turned to dust. The instinct to hide, to protect, and to hoard was written into Kreacher’s very DNA.
"The Carrion Birds", Kreacher croaked, his voice trembling. "They coming for the Master."
Kreacher did not panic. An elf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black knew his duty. The strange, massive men upstairs with the glowing eyes and the dark magic had claimed the Master. They were strong. They would fight. Kreacher’s job was to protect the Master’s treasures.
Muttering a frantic litany of ancient elvish curses, Kreacher began to snap his knobby fingers. He didn't use a wand; he used the raw, thrumming magic of the house.
First, he appeared in Harry’s room, careful to remain unseen. With a wave of his hand, the invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, the battered photo album of Lily and James, and the Firebolt zoomed into a bottomless, enchanted moleskin satchel.
With another snap of his fingers he materialized in the nursery. He packed Teddy’s favorite stuffed wolf, the magical mobile that chimed with starlight, the boy’s clothes, and the remaining supply of the specialized nutrient potions Master Draco had brewed.
He moved with blinding speed, a whirlwind of wrinkles and determination. When the satchel was full, he tied it to his waist. Then, Kreacher went to the doors.
He knew the Torvaks would eventually break the outer wards. The Alpha upstairs was strong, but the house was old, its foundations cracked by years of neglect. Kreacher drew upon the oldest magic he knew. He bit into the flesh of his own palm, his sharp teeth drawing thick, dark elvish blood.
He smeared the blood on the doorframe of the library, tracing archaic runes of sealing. "To keep the rot away," he pledged in elvish. He moved to the drawing-room, the kitchen, the basement, sealing every single room in the house except the master bedroom and the hallway leading to it. The blood runes flared with a blinding, toxic-green light, locking the doors with a magic so dense that even a Torvak would have to tear the house down brick by brick to open them.
"Kreacher has packed the Master's life," the elf muttered, his bloodied hand leaving a print on the banister as he looked up the stairs toward the source of the golden, Dragel magic. "Kreacher will not let the birds eat Master Harry. Never again."
Kreacher made his way back to the Master bedroom, intent on watching over his Masters and helping keep them safe.
~~~
In the library, Riven felt the sheer force of the Torvak assault rattle his teeth. He rushed to the window, his Mage sight piercing through the darkness and the remnants of Wikhn’s glamour.
"Alpha!" Riven bellowed through the psychic link, his violet magic flaring around his hands as he braced the structural integrity of the walls. "We have a breach attempt! It’s Torvaks! A dozen thralls and an Alpha Torvak leading them!"
Alarmed by Riven’s words, Charlie rushed over to the window to look outside. “It’s Dumbledore!” the Rheyo called out in shock as the glamour finally disappeared, turning towards Raspen and Perry in confusion. “Torvaks can use the same person as a vessel even after the body dies?”
Raspen grimaced in both sympathy and disgust. “Torvak Alpha’s can wear the same skin for centuries,” he told Charlie. “Their vessels are never alive. Torvaks drain the magic out of their victims until their core disappears completely. The people you see are under a Torvak Thrall. They have no control over themselves. When those bodies die, the Alpha can use them like a mask to conceal their true nature.”
“Alpha Torvaks are appalling creatures,” Perry added. “They never wish to show their true form.”
Charlie could only stare out the window in shock as he watched Fred bind Percy in hellfire chains for the second time that night.
“What happens to the people under a Torvak’s Thrall? Do they ever recover?” he asked in a hushed voice, afraid of the answer.
“Those under a thrall are as good as brain dead,” Raspen said factually, unaware of Charlie’s personal interest. “If they are controlled by the Thrall then their magic is already gone. Not many survive without their magic.”
A silent, suffering tear fell down Charlie’s face as he mourned the brother that was standing right outside.
~~~
In the master bedroom, Osiris felt the assault on his wards just before he heard Riven scream for him. His eyes snapped toward the window, his shadows flaring into sharp, jagged blades that seemed to drink the ambient light from the room. The Alpha’s instinct to protect his territory roared to life, demanding blood.
"Alpha," Quinn said urgently into Osiris’s mind. The Healer didn't look toward the window; his glowing, diagnostic eyes were locked entirely on Harry. "The suppression is gone! His core is entirely free of the Torvak suppression, but the energy he exerted to break it was too much. He has fallen into a true, profound resting period. The realignment has forced him into a healing coma. He will not wake for days with this much damage to his core. He is completely, physically defenseless."
Osiris looked back down at the sleeping Submissive. The terrifying Deathly Hallows mark was fading from blinding white into a permanent, molten silver scar on his neck, nestled perfectly between the claims of his Alpha and Beta. The agonizing, bone-breaking tension in Harry’s body had vanished, replaced by the heavy, limp weight of a Dragel in a deep restorative cycle. He looked so small, so devastatingly fragile against the massive pillows.
"The Torvaks’ magic is highly toxic," Aiden growled, stepping away from the bed, his Hellhound instincts overriding his usual composure. His sharp nail extended, ripping through the silk sheets, and his jaw unhinged slightly as his Hellhound teeth lengthened into wicked, serrated fangs. "If the Torvak magic breaches the house while he is in this state, if even a drop of that suppression touches his open core again, it could permanently stunt him. He might never wake."
Osiris made the calculation in a fraction of a second. A Gheyo’s pride demanded they stand on the front steps, unleash their full terrifying might, and slaughter the enemies at the gate. To run from a fight was unacceptable to a warrior, but an Alpha’s duty was different. The safety of the Submissive superseded all pride, all vengeance, and all instinct.
"We do not fight," Osiris commanded, his voice a subsonic boom that rang through the minds of every Dragel in the Circle, carrying the absolute authority of an Immortal Alpha. "Gheyos on the perimeter, fall back to the interior hallway! Yield the lawn! Pareya, prepare the Submissive and the cub for immediate transit. Riven, prepare to tear the veil. Create the portal and hold it open. We are leaving for Nevarah. Now."
~~~
The sudden, chaotic spike in adrenaline through the psychic link, the concussive booms echoing from the street outside, and the frantic, sudden movement of the Pareya around him shattered the fragile, golden peace of the room.
Teddy Lupin woke up.
For a moment, the six year old lay perfectly still, his sleepy mind trying to process the overwhelming, terrifying sensory input. The room was far too bright with flashing elemental magic. The massive men rushing around the bed smelled of sweat, bloodlust, and sharp panic. And the warm, steady heartbeat beneath his ear—Harry’s heartbeat, the only constant in his entire life—was wrong. It was too slow, too deep, too distant. Nothing about his surroundings was comforting or familiar.
Teddy sat up, his hair instantly shifting from a sleepy, dusty grey to a vibrant, terrified red. He looked down at Harry. Harry wasn't moving. Harry’s face was deathly pale, his eyes firmly closed, his chest barely rising.
"Papa?" Teddy whimpered, his small, chubby hands patting Harry’s cold cheek. "Papa, wake up!"
Harry didn't stir. He didn't pull Teddy into a hug. He didn't whisper that it was going to be okay.
Panic, unrestrained and primal, seized the child. Teddy let out a piercing wail, a sound of pure, uncontrollable terror that cut through the chaos of the room like a jagged knife. He scrambled backward, out of the circle of Harry’s limp arms, his little chest heaving with hyperventilation. "PAPA!"
"Shh, little cub, it's alright, we have to go, but your Papa will be alright," Ethan said gently, rushing forward. The Earth Pareya reached out with warm, glowing hands, intending to scoop the boy up and carry him to safety.
But Teddy didn't know Ethan. Teddy only knew that the house was shaking, bad men were outside, his Papa wasn't waking up, and a giant stranger was reaching for him.
As Ethan’s hands brushed the boy's arm, Teddy’s Metamorphmagus magic—fueled by his latent werewolf genes—reacted violently. He didn't just change his hair color; he shifted his entire form. His fingernails elongated into sharp, tiny claws. His teeth pointed. His eyes flashed a brilliant, reflective werewolf yellow. He let out a tiny, ferocious growl that sounded like tearing silk, batting Ethan’s massive hands away with surprising strength.
And then, the impossible happened.
Even trapped in the deepest, blackest depths of a restorative coma, Harry’s newly freed Dragel magic responded to his child’s cry of distress.
A dome of crackling, iridescent silver magic erupted from Harry’s unconscious body, expanding violently outward with the force of a bomb. It blasted Ethan backward, lifting the massive, two-hundred-pound Earth Pareya off his feet and throwing him against the far wall. The dome settled rapidly over the bed, encasing Harry and Teddy in a shimmering, impenetrable shield of raw Submissive magic.
"By Kesmar’s trident," Alec gasped, staring at the shield in absolute awe, the gills on his neck flaring. "He’s projecting a physical ward while unconscious. He’s protecting the cub from the depths of his resting period. I’ve never seen anything like it. His core must be monstrous."
Teddy, enclosed within the safety of the silver dome, slowly stopped crying, his heavy sobs turning into wet sniffles. He looked at the shimmering magic around him, recognizing the warm, familiar hum of Harry’s magical signature. It tasted like safety. It smelled like home. He crawled back to Harry’s side, curling his small body tightly against his godfather's ribs. His red hair faded back to his soft, natural brown. He glared out at the Pareya through the shimmering barrier, a tiny, fierce guardian protecting his sleeping father from the giants.
At any other time George would have been laughing, but all he could feel was fear and trepidation.
Quinn let out a choked noise at his side.
"We can't breach that shield without hurting him," the Healer said, frantic enough to revert back to using the vocalized Vocalis spell, his hands flying over his medical instruments. "If we try to shatter it, the magical backlash will rebound straight into his healing core!"
"We don't need to breach it," Osiris said, stepping up to the edge of the bed. He placed his massive, shadow-wrapped hand against the silver dome. It didn't blast him backward. The magic recognized the Alpha’s claim, sensing the bond, and rippled softly around his fingers like water. "We’ll take the entire bed. We transport them both exactly the way they are. Riven! Give me some good news!"
"Opening the portal!" Riven shouted breathlessly from the doorway, with Raspen, Perry and Charlie not far behind him.
The Mage stood with his arms spread wide, his violet magic tearing a massive, jagged hole in the very fabric of reality at the center of the room. The air shrieked as time and reality were violently parted. Beyond the tear lay a chaotic swirl of vibrant, shifting colors, violent winds, and echoing silence—the transit void that bridged the gap between Earth and the realm of Nevarah.
“Portal is open, Alpha!” Riven announced, his fingers straining under the immense pressure of holding it open.
“Ergen help us,” Bran muttered under his breath.
~~~
Outside, a massive explosion finally managed to make a spiderweb crack in the abyssal wards, shaking the entire foundation of the house. Plaster rained from the ceiling. The Torvaks and those under their Thralls were getting closer to breaching the front door. The sound of their horrific screeching and the sickening click of their shifting joints echoed from the street, followed immediately by the roaring flames of Fred’s Hellhound fire as the Joker, alongside Theo and Blaise, held the front line from the hallway, furiously retreating step by step.
Their time was up.
"Move!" Osiris roared, his voice battling the deafening sound of the dimensional tear. “Through the Portal, now!”
The Gheyo suite stepped through first, intent on providing a safe arrival for the rest of the Circle.
Charlie, Raspen and Perry stepped through next.
As they disappeared, Ethan, Bran, George, Alec and Ariki surrounded the massive, antique four-poster bed. With a combined, massive surge of elemental magic, they severed the heavy wooden bedposts from the frame and levitated the entire mattress—with the sleeping Harry and the watchful Teddy encased within the silver dome—off the floor.
They pushed the heavy bed toward the swirling rift, but as the leading edge of the mattress crossed the threshold of the portal, touching the chaotic energies of the void, Harry’s magic rebelled violently.
The trauma of his life on Earth, his deep-seated, subconscious fear of the unknown, and the violent instability of his newly healed core reacted to the crushing pressure of the void as if it were a mortal threat. The silver dome flickered wildly, shifting from silver to a violent, aggressively defensive red. Harry’s magic began to lash out, shooting tendrils of raw power that struck the edges of the portal like lightning, actively fighting the transit, trying to anchor himself to the only reality he knew.
"He’s resisting the pull!" Riven yelled over the roar of the vortex. The Mage fell to one knee, blood trickling from his nose as his hands shook violently. He was trying to hold the rift open against the crushing weight of Harry’s massive magical output. "If he fights the void while inside it, the dimensional pressure will tear his core apart! We can't force him through this way!"
Aiden lunged forward, grabbing the foot of the mattress. His Hellhound strength strained to the breaking point, his muscles bulging as he tried to physically pull his mate through the dimensional tear. "Harry, yield! You have to yield! Let us take you to safety, Submissive!"
But Harry was deeply asleep, his conscious mind entirely absent. He was acting purely on biological, defensive instinct. The portal began to shudder and collapse around them, the edges of the rift folding inward, the pressure threatening to crush the entire Circle into subatomic dust.
Suddenly, the ambient temperature in the swirling void dropped to absolute zero.
The chaotic, screaming colors of the portal muted. A shadow, darker than even Osiris’s magic, blacker than a starless night, separated itself from the fabric of the void. It poured out like liquid ink, wrapping gently but firmly around the levitating bed. It enveloped the red, thrashing, panicked dome of Harry’s magic in a cloak of absolute, peaceful, silencing darkness.
Lady Death.
She did not manifest into a corporal form, but her presence was undeniable. She was a cosmic gravity that brought the universe to a standstill.
The crushing, tearing pressure of the dimensional transit vanished instantly. Harry’s defensive magic, sensing the ultimate protector that had just saved his soul from the Torvak, instantly calmed. The violent red dome shifted smoothly back to a soft, stable, thrumming silver.
"Pass, my champions," a voice echoed simultaneously in the minds of every Dragel in the Circle. It was cold as the grave, yet as fiercely protective as a subterranean vault. "Take my Master home."
With the resistance completely gone, the bed slid through the portal effortlessly.
"GO! GO! GO!" Osiris bellowed, sensing the end of their time window approaching.
Ethan, Bran, George, Alec and Ariki threw themselves through the portal right after Harry. Aiden vaulted through after them, an invisible Kreacher following not far behind.
Blaise and Theo sprinted up the stairs, throwing themselves blindly into the vortex. Fred was the last. He unleashed one final, massive wave of Hellhound fire down the stairs, incinerating the first three Torvak thralls that breached the doorway, before diving backward into the rift.
It was only Osiris and Riven left. Osiris placed his hand upon Riven’s shoulder and guided them both towards the slowly shrinking portal.
Riven, gasping for air, snapped his hands together the moment they stepped inside.
The portal slammed shut with a thunderous boom, slicing the dimensional fabric clean.
Silence descended on the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place. The Torvak disguised as Albus Dumbledore stepped into the room just as the colors of the rift faded into nothing, his yellow eyes sweeping over the severed bedposts, the scorch marks, and the empty space where the portal had been seconds ago.
The Torvak Alpha let out a screech of frustration and fury, one that shook the dust from the rafters. He was stranded in an empty house with nothing but the lingering, tantalizing scent of a feast he had just lost.
He would not let the largest feast of his entire existence disappear so easily.
~~~
There was a roar of power before the violent, stomach-churning turbulence of the portal gave way abruptly to the breathtaking, hyper-saturated atmosphere of Nevarah.
The sensory shift was staggering. The air here was not grey, stale, or polluted like London’s. It tasted of pure magic, vibrant, blooming life, and ancient, thrumming power. The sky above was a brilliant, impossible shade of violet-blue as night approached.
However, the transition had been brutal. The Circle materialized in chaos.
The Gheyos had jumped into the portal headfirst. They rolled out of it athletically, springing up to their feet. Their hands found the hilts of their weapons instinctively.
Raspen and Perry came through next, utilizing their elements to land gracefully.
Charlie wasn’t so lucky. He collapsed to the ground behind them in an uncoordinated fashion, adrenaline racing through his body.
The bed then landed with a soft thud on the plush, mossy floor of a massive, sun-drenched pavilion.
The Pareya collapsed to their hands and knees seconds later, utterly exhausted from the massive magical expenditure required to levitate the bed through a resisted dimensional tear.
Aiden stepped out of the portal a moment later, falling straight to his knees in relief, his eyes locking onto Harry’s still form.
The Jokers stumbled out of the portal next, coughing and gasping, their armor scorched, covered in soot, and splattered with the foul, black blood of the souls they had freed from their Torvak thralls in mercy.
Riven collapsed the second he landed, stray sparks removing Osiris’ hand from his shoulder. He sprawled out, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His Mage core was completely drained.
Osiris was the only one left standing perfectly upright. He stepped up to the bed, his chest heaving, eyes locked intensely on the silver dome that still flawlessly protected his peacefully sleeping Submissive and the wide-eyed, awestruck cub.
It was in that very moment the Alpha realized they were not alone.
The vast, circular space of the pavilion was lined with people. The Circle had only been gone for a few hours in Nevarah’s time, but so many prominent people vanishing into the earthly realm to search for the Submissive who let out such a devastating Soulscream had shaken Nevarah’s society to its core. The Circle’s return had been highly anticipated, the portal coordinates tracked by the best of the best within Nevarah.
Raspen’s Royal Guards stood at strict attention near the columns, their ornate armor gleaming in the Nevarah sun. The Cunningham’s and other Gheyos related to some of the Circle members stood on the outer perimeter, heavily armed.
Merrow warriors of the Rising Tide lurked at the edges of the water on the opposite side.
Near the fountain in the center of the pavilion, stood the bulk of the Circle’s families and friends.
They were the parents, siblings, cousins, and friends of the Dragels who had pledged their lives to an unknown, unseen Submissive had. They were gathered together by frantic concern. They had heard the tales of the savage Earth realm. They had felt the terrifying spikes of magic through their familial bonds.
They had all expected to see their sons bringing home a broken, weeping, frail Submissive that needed immediate, delicate coddling.
Instead, the portal spat out battle-hardened men looking like they had just crawled out of an active war zone. And in the center of them all, resting on a severed mattress, was a young man encased in a massive, crackling dome of supreme, terrifying Submissive magic.
They saw a sleeping boy with a permanent, glowing Deathly Hallows scar on his throat, radiating a raw, untamed power that made the very air in the pavilion hum and vibrate against their teeth. Curled up at the Submissive’s side, they saw a tiny, fierce child with glowing red hair, glaring out from the safety of the shield, guarding his father like a dragon guarding a hoard.
A stunned silence fell over the pavilion. The sheer magnitude of the power radiating from a sleeping Harry Potter was terrifying.
This was no broken bird.
This was a dormant storm.
Everyone stood in shock at the power being displayed from the unconscious Submissive. They were unable to fathom how truly powerful he must be.
Then, the silence broke.
"Ethan!" a woman cried out, surging forward from the crowd toward the exhausted Earth Pareya.
That was all it took for the flood gates to open. Voices spoke over each other, each one louder than the next.
"What happened? Why is there blood?" a patriarch of the Kadel line shouted, stepping toward Bran.
"Let us see the Submissive! Lower the shield!” one of the High Council Earth Royals related to Raspen demanded, stepping out from behind his guards, attempting to exert his political authority over the chaotic scene.
“We have Healers!” someone shouted, various Kalzik’s following close behind.
The crowd surged forward, a tidal wave of well-meaning but overwhelming panic, curiosity, and familial demand.
CRACK.
A shockwave of pure, abyssal darkness exploded outward from the center of the pavilion. It slammed into the advancing crowd, a physical wall of force that brought everyone—families, guards, and Royals alike—to a dead halt. Several people were forced to their knees under the crushing gravitational weight of the magic.
Osiris straightened up to his full, towering height. His Alpha aura—usually kept tightly contained—was unleashed entirely. The shadows in the sun-drenched pavilion elongated, twisting into jagged spikes that aimed themselves at the throats of anyone who had dared to step forward. His eyes were an absolute, unforgiving void of darkness.
He was not a son, a sibling, a cousin, or a friend to anyone present. He was an Immortal Alpha defending his newly claimed, highly vulnerable territory.
"He is resting," Osiris announced. His voice was not loud, but it resonated in the cores of every Dragel present, carrying the terrifying weight of an Immortal Champion returning with his prize.
Osiris turned his gaze directly onto the Earth King who had demanded the shield be lowered, his shadow-spikes inching a fraction closer to the man’s neck.
He challenged the Royal, challenged anyone in the room, to believe they were more important than the safety of his Submissive.
"No one is to approach this bed," Osiris commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No one is to disturb the Heart of this Circle. I do not care about your bloodlines. I do not care about your titles. If you step within ten feet of my Submissive or his Cub while he heals, I will drain the life from your soul and let you be consumed by the fabrine."
The pavilion went dead silent again. The Royal swallowed hard and took a slow, deliberate step backward, bowing his head in submission to the Alpha's domain. The families, realizing the gravity of the situation, stilled completely.
Aiden moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Osiris, his Hellhound eyes scanning the crowd for any sudden movements, his posture screaming lethal intent.
Behind their terrifying defense, and inside the shimmering, impenetrable silver dome, Harry took a deep, even breath.
The Torvak suppression was finally gone. He was surrounded by the comforting magic of his new Circle and the undeniable safety of this new realm.
Harry’s battered soul began the beautiful and profound work of healing, and his Circle was left to handle the chaos of their arrival in Nevarah.
Explanations were given, reports were made, and soon dusk was upon them. Families departed with promises of reunions and proper introductions, and the exhausted Circle retreated into the Estate.
The ancient house was gifted to them by Lady Death herself and they would be responsible for breathing life into it and making it their own.
To start, the Pareya led the rest of the Circle into the den where they got to work on creating a new space for Harry to rest. This one had a bed with more blankets and pillows than any of them could have imagined, but they collectively deemed it necessary, infusing the fabrics with every kind of magic the Circle was capable of.
As Osiris placed the Submissive in the middle of his new nest, within his new home, Harry let out a sigh of contentment in his sleep. His Cub was safe and he could feel his Circle’s magic protecting him. The silvery dome of his subconscious magic fell away and Harry relaxed for the first time since his parents died.
His resting period had officially begun.