Chapter 21: Into the Frost: A New Wand Beckons
The journey to Sweden was uneventful, but as Hadrian stepped into the frosty air of Stockholm, he felt the familiar prickle of magic in the air—a sensation powerful and ancient, simmering just beneath the surface of the bustling Muggle city. There was something about this place, something that felt... different.
Hedwig, perched on his shoulder, glanced around with sharp, intelligent eyes. She gave a slight murmur of disapproval before bursting into flame, vanishing to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. Oryou coiled around his wrist and hissed softly before retreating into the tattoo on his skin. "Too cold for my tastes," she whispered, her voice a faint echo in his mind.
Unbothered by the chill, thanks to his demonic blood that kept him comfortably warm, Hadrian made his way through the cobbled streets of Stockholm, dressed in his usual attire—dark coat, combat boots, and fingerless gloves, an attire that drew stares from the more traditionally robed locals. His eyes, mismatched with one electric blue and the other sharp emerald green, scanned the streets as he walked with a steady stride, his aura radiating both power and mystery.
He soon found himself on the outskirts of the city, at the entrance of the Nordhavn Magisk Kvarter—the Northern Haven of Magic District. Crossing the threshold, he felt an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The district was hidden away, concealed from Muggle's eyes, and yet teeming with life. Nordic enchantments glimmered under the twilight sky, casting an ethereal glow over the district. Shops, stalls, and cottages nestled between ancient trees and crooked alleyways, their signs written in intricate runic script.
Hadrian took in the sights as he walked through the district. Unlike other magical communities, this one wasn't limited to just wizards and witches. He spotted dwarves working at a blacksmith stall, their hammers ringing out against enchanted metal, and an elven couple perusing potions at a small apothecary. Even goblins, larger and bulkier than the ones he was used to at Gringotts, walked among the crowd, nodding politely as they passed. This district felt like a gathering place for all magical beings who had found a way to coexist, their lives intertwined in a fragile harmony.
After a while, Hadrian's eyes were drawn to a small, unassuming shop tucked away at the end of an alleyway—Eldrun's Mastercrafted Wands. The shopfront had frosted windows, and a faint, golden glow spilled out onto the snow-covered ground. Something about it tugged at him, compelling him to step inside.
He pushed open the door, and warmth immediately enveloped him. The gentle crackling of fire greeted him, and the air was thick with the scent of ancient wood, herbs, and parchment. The shop was filled with neatly arranged wands displayed on velvet-lined shelves, each radiating a distinct aura.
At the counter stood an older man with a powerful presence. He had a single piercing eye, the other concealed by a dark leather eyepatch. His mane of silver-gray hair and the subtle runic designs woven into his cloak hinted at someone deeply knowledgeable in the mystical arts. This was no ordinary wandmaker.
The man turned his gaze on Hadrian, a subtle gleam in his eye. "Well now," he said, voice deep and resonant. "It's been a while since someone... interesting entered my shop."
Hadrian inclined his head. "I'm looking for a wand. Something... unique."
The man gave a low chuckle, the sound rich with mystery. "Aye, I had a feeling. The name's Eldrun, lad." He extended a weathered hand, which Hadrian shook, feeling the strength hidden in the old man's grip. "Choosing a wand is a delicate affair, especially for someone of your... distinct nature."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. Eldrun's words were carefully chosen, hinting at an understanding without giving too much away.
"Let's see, then," Eldrun said, gesturing for Hadrian to follow. He led him to the back of the shop, where a variety of wood blocks lay on a long, polished table. "Place your hand over each of these. The right one will call to you."
Hadrian moved his hand slowly along the row, feeling nothing from most of the woods. But when he hovered over a particular block of pale, ethereal wood streaked with veins of green and blue, he felt an undeniable connection—a pull that was both grounding and invigorating.
Eldrun's eye gleamed with an approving glint. "Yggdrasil wood," he murmured, a note of respect in his tone. "Rare indeed. This wood is said to carry the essence of the World Tree."
"Yggdrasil... the World Tree?" Hadrian echoed, his curiosity piqued. "Isn't that just a myth?"
Eldrun gave a knowing smile. "Some say myth, others say reality. Yggdrasil is the tree that connects the Nine Realms, with branches that reach across worlds. It's not just a tree, but a crossroads, linking places beyond mortal comprehension." He paused, studying Hadrian closely. "Only a few are chosen by its wood, for it carries a power to perceive beyond the physical world, to walk between realms if one dares."
The idea resonated deeply with Hadrian, echoing the Peverell research he'd been studying about the veil and dimensions beyond. He couldn't help but feel that Yggdrasil wood was more than a simple choice—it felt like destiny.
"I'll take it," he said with a nod, his voice firm.
Eldrun inclined his head. "One last thing," he said. "A wand is most powerful when bonded with something personal."
Eldrun's gaze shifted to where Hedwig was perched, her feathers shimmering. "A feather from your familiar would deepen the bond."
Hedwig, sensing his intent, plucked one of her feathers and dropped it into Hadrian's hand.
"And a drop of venom," Eldrun added, glancing at Oryou's tattoo on Hadrian's wrist.
Oryou's voice echoed in his mind. "For this, I shall oblige." A small, sharp fang extended from the tattoo, allowing Hadrian to collect a single drop of venom into a vial Eldrun provided.
With Yggdrasil wood, Hedwig's feather, and Oryou's venom in hand, Eldrun went to his workbench. "It will take an hour to craft. Feel free to explore the district in the meantime."
Thanking him, Hadrian stepped out into the brisk air of the Nordhavn Magisk Kvarter once more. This time, he took his time exploring, and observing the diversity around him. Magical beings of all kinds walked the streets—dwarves bartering enchanted items, elves discussing spells in low tones, and goblins examining relics with practiced eyes. It was a community bound not by blood or species, but by magic itself, and the sight left Hadrian with a sense of quiet awe.
After a while, he made his way to meet his client. The job didn't originate with Eldrun; instead, it was a man named Frejorn Sigurdsson, a stout, middle-aged wizard with a thick fur cloak and an air of urgency. His face was lined with worry, and his eyes bore the weight of sleepless nights.
"Mr. Sigurdsson?" Hadrian asked as he approached.
The man looked up, giving Hadrian a wary nod. "You must be the one Morrison sent. I didn't expect someone so… young."
"I've had my share of experience," Hadrian replied, taking a seat across from him. "Now, about the job?"
Frejorn glanced around the tavern before leaning in, his voice lowered. "It started with grave robbings—disturbances in some of the ancient burial sites around Stockholm. At first, people thought it was petty thieves or practitioners of dark magic. But then people started disappearing."
Hadrian frowned. "Disappearances? How many?"
"Five, so far. Two were found, but… they weren't exactly alive when we got to them." Soren's expression turned grim. "They were… animated. Like puppets controlled by something dark. Corpses walking, with empty eyes."
Hadrian's expression hardened. "Necromancy?"
"More than just necromancy." Frejorn shuddered. "One survivor—a wizard who barely managed to Apparate away—claims he saw a demon commanding the undead. The Ministry sent a few Aurors, but only one returned, and he didn't last long after. He kept muttering about 'eyes of fire' and 'chains of death.'"
Frejorn's expression grew grave. "Someone has been disturbing the dead, robbing graves, and—worse—making people disappear. Locals have reported seeing the undead prowling the outskirts, and one wizard barely managed to escape after apparating away during an attack."
Hadrian's mind raced. A demon-leading undead was no ordinary foe. If necromancy and demonic power were combined, this would be a dangerous adversary indeed.
"Do you have any clues on where I might find this creature?" he asked.
Frejorn nodded, sliding a worn map across the table. "There's an abandoned church on the outskirts, past the burial grounds. Locals say it's cursed—no one goes near it, especially at night. But that's where the last sighting was."
Hadrian studied the map, committing the location to memory. "Understood. I'll take it from here."
Frejorn's shoulders relaxed slightly, relief evident in his expression. "Thank you. The people here don't deserve to live in fear."
After exchanging a few more details, Hadrian left Frejorn and made his way back through the district, the weight of his task settling over him. He'd faced demons before, but something told him this wouldn't be a straightforward fight. As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched—Eldrun's single eye, sharp as a hawk's, boring into him from the shadows of his memory.
In the distance, a raven's caw echoed faintly, blending with the quiet murmur of the district as Hadrian disappeared into the night, ready to face whatever darkness awaited him.
Chapter 22: The Watcher's Gaze
Hadrian returned to Eldrun's shop just as the last light of day faded, casting long shadows across the small, rune-inscribed storefront. The warmth of the shop welcomed him as he entered, and there, on the counter, was his newly crafted wand. It was a striking piece of craftsmanship—slender and elegant, yet unmistakably powerful.
The wand was carved from pale Yggdrasil wood with faint veins of green and silver running through it, shimmering under the shop's dim light. The handle was wrapped in dark, burnished leather with intricate runic engravings, each one pulsing faintly with arcane energy. The tip seemed to catch the light unusually, almost as if it were absorbing and refracting it, giving the wand a luminous yet dark aura.
Eldrun looked up as Hadrian approached, his single eye sharp. "There it is—your wand, crafted from the World Tree itself, bonded with the essence of your familiar and your companion. But there's one last thing."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow as Eldrun produced a small, silver knife from beneath the counter.
"Seven drops of your blood," Eldrun said, his voice carrying an ancient weight. "Blood binds, strengthens, and seals the connection between you and your wand. It will make it yours in a way nothing else can."
Without hesitation, Hadrian took the blade, pricked his finger, and let seven drops of his blood fall onto the wand's shaft. Each drop seemed to sizzle as it made contact, the silver veins in the Yggdrasil wood pulsing with life. The wand absorbed the blood instantly, its glow intensifying for a moment before fading back to a subtle, steady pulse.
Satisfied, Eldrun nodded approvingly, then reached beneath the counter and tossed a wand holster toward Hadrian. He caught it, feeling its surprisingly lightweight and noting its unusual appearance. The holster was crafted from black scales interwoven with dark leather, absorbing the light around it, making it seem like a void in his hand.
Hedwig, perched nearby, tilted her head, her voice a murmur in his mind. "I sense… a powerful dragon. The magic in this leather is potent."
Eldrun's gaze sharpened with a hint of pride. "A keen familiar you have there. Yes, this holster was crafted from Fafnir himself, one of the strongest dragons to ever live."
Hadrian's eyes widened. He'd heard of Fafnir in legends, a dragon of unparalleled strength and ferocity.
"Fafnir's hide is imbued with powerful magic," Eldrun continued, gesturing to the holster. "This isn't just any holster. It's enchanted to be anti-summoning—no one can call your wand away from it. And the wand will return to it on its own if disarmed. It's also charmed to turn invisible once you strap it to your wrist, so only you will know it's there."
Hadrian secured the holster around his wrist, feeling the cool, weightless sensation of the enchantment settling into place. As promised, it vanished from sight, though he could still feel it there, humming with power.
"Thank you, Eldrun," Hadrian said, his tone sincere as he flexed his wrist and felt the wand's presence almost as if it were a part of him now.
Eldrun regarded him with that single, intense eye, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as though the old wandmaker was studying Hadrian, as if trying to peer into the depths of his soul, to understand what lay hidden within him. It was an unsettling gaze, one that felt almost… divine.
"Good luck, lad," Eldrun said quietly, his voice low and thoughtful. "Remember, this path you're on… it's only just begun."
Hadrian nodded, feeling the weight of Eldrun's gaze lingering on him as he left the shop, the crisp night air filling his lungs. But as he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Eldrun than met the eye.
Once Hadrian disappeared into the shadows of the district, two ravens appeared in a flash of light, their feathers sleek and gleaming as they settled on the counter before Eldrun. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural intelligence as they regarded him.
"Allfather," one of the ravens cawed, its voice an eerie echo. "Was it wise to let the Cambion live?"
The weight of Eldrun's gaze shifted, his presence deepening and expanding as he cast off the guise of the humble wandmaker, revealing himself in his true form. No longer just "Eldrun," he stood taller, his aura magnifying, the essence of the Allfather—Odin—now unmistakable in his bearing. The single eye that gleamed under his eyepatch was far more than it seemed, holding a universe's worth of knowledge and ancient wisdom.
"Curiosity is the root of all wisdom, Huginn," Odin replied, his voice resonant and filled with an ageless gravity. "And I am curious to see what a spawn of Sparda and Peverell blood can achieve."
The second raven, Muninn, tilted its head thoughtfully. "And if he grows too powerful, too… unpredictable?"
Odin's eye gleamed with a mix of caution and intrigue. "Then I shall see to it myself. But until then, let him walk his path. The world has yet to see the true potential of one who carries both demonic and Peverell blood. And perhaps," he mused, his voice softer, "he may surprise us all."
The ravens cawed in understanding, their forms shimmering slightly as they prepared to return to their duties. Odin looked toward the doorway where Hadrian had vanished, his eye filled with a pearl of ancient, inscrutable wisdom. In that brief moment, a quiet smile touched the corners of his lips, as though he were contemplating a grand design that only he could see.
"We shall watch him," Odin said, his gaze distant and thoughtful. "For he may be the key to realms even I have yet to glimpse."
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