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."
Chapter 23: Allies in the Ashes
The chill of Stockholm's twilight clung to Hadrian as he left Eldrun's shop. His new Yggdrasil wand, still resonant with the lingering energy of its creation, rested in the Fafnir-scale holster against his side. As the cool night air swept around him, Hedwig shifted her wings and Oryou coiled more securely around his wrist, her red eyes scanning the cobbled streets.
"Feeling a bit ominous tonight, don't you think?" Hedwig's dry tone echoed in his mind, a faint glimmer of amusement behind her wise, watchful demeanor.
"Very poetic of you," Hadrian replied, lips quirking. "Now, if I wanted to play tour guide, where would I start?"
With a shared, silent agreement, they set out, shadows curling around them as they slipped deeper into the Nordhavn Magisk Kvarter. The magical district was an oddity even at night—lamps flickered in hues of silver and emerald, and window displays showcased relics and talismans enchanted to cast shifting lights, creating an aura of surreal mystery. Conversations in low, tense voices drifted from doorways and alleys.
"—another disappearance… I'm telling you, it's dark magic! The city's not safe anymore—"
"There was a figure, cloaked in black, at the church last night. Not a human, if you ask me."
Hadrian picked up threads of conversation as he passed. It seemed like more than just rumor; beneath the facade, fear pulsed, a palpable undercurrent of dread woven through every hushed word and wary glance. His curiosity piqued, and he gathered up enough clues to point him in one direction: an ancient cemetery near an abandoned church at the edge of the city.
The wrought-iron gates of the cemetery loomed ahead, twisted and rusted, as the moon threw its pale, spectral light across the tombstones within. Hadrian's wand was in his hand, almost instinctively, as he felt the atmosphere darken, a sense of foreboding thick in the air.
As they moved cautiously through the cemetery, a sudden crash rang out nearby, the unmistakable sound of metal meeting bone, followed by an animalistic snarl. Hedwig took off, her silver-and-gold feathers a blur, while Oryou shifted from his wrist to coil protectively along Hadrian's arm, her gaze fixed ahead.
"Well," Hadrian murmured with a smirk, "sounds like someone's having all the fun."
"We could just watch," Oryou's voice hissed in his mind, feigning boredom. "Or… let's see if you can get your spells right this time."
They slipped around a mausoleum and halted at the sight before them. A lone figure, silver-grey hair flying wild, wielded a massive sword that was impossible to ignore. The blade was straight and double-edged, a gleaming silver-gray that glinted with a sense of power and restrained fury. The warrior had a slender yet muscular build, his skin slightly tanned, as though touched by fire. His long hair framed an intense face, and his blood-red eyes narrowed in concentration.
The warrior stood back-to-back with a dwindling crowd of Norse undead—Draugr, their withered forms still wrapped in bits of ancient armor, and Skogga, wretched, twisted little demons that looked like shadows come to life, clawing and snapping as they advanced in a swarm.
Hadrian's eyes gleamed as he observed the chaos. "Let's make an entrance, shall we?"
Without another word, he raised his wand and cast, "Lamina Alba."
An ethereal, piercing white lance shot forth, the silver light cutting through the gloom like a blade of judgment. It struck a Draugr square in its chest, and for a moment, its hollow eyes glowed brighter before it crumbled to ash, leaving nothing but the stench of decay behind.
The silver-haired warrior spun around, visibly surprised but wasting no time in taking advantage of the opening. With a swift movement, he cleaved through two nearby Skogga, his massive blade trailing a line of residual energy that crackled through the night.
Not to be outdone, Hadrian stepped forward, his wand slashing through the air as he cast "Protego Diabolica." A barrier of cursed flame erupted around him, blue and hungry, flickering like a spectral wall that allowed Hedwig and Oryou to slip through but burned any undead or demon that dared to approach. The Skogga shrieked as they tried to breach it, only to burst into shadowy embers upon contact.
"Nice sword," Hadrian called out to the stranger, casually deflecting an incoming attack. "Bit oversized, though, don't you think?"
The warrior shot him an unreadable look before lunging to take down two draugr that had tried to flank him. "And here I thought wands were toys."
Hadrian's grin widened, flicking his wand with a flourish to summon another "Lamina Alba" that cut through three demons in one go. "Toys? Please. That's a serious understatement for something that can turn a room full of nightmares into dust."
One particularly bold Draugr lunged at him from behind. Before Hadrian could react, Oryou, still wrapped around his arm, bared her fangs and released a sharp burst of dark energy at the creature. It froze in its tracks, stunned, just in time for Hadrian to dispatch it with a quick "Confringo," sending it into a splatter of charred remains.
After several minutes of intense combat, the last of the undead fell, leaving behind a scene of ashy ruin and flickering spectral flames. The silence returned, heavy and dense, as Hadrian and the stranger straightened, catching their breath.
Hadrian arched an eyebrow, still grinning. "Well, I don't know about you, but that was exactly what I needed tonight. Hadrian Redgrave," he said, offering a mock salute. "Devil Hunter."
The warrior's eyes flickered with a hint of suspicion, though he nodded. "Sieg Völsung, descendant of Siegfried."
"Ah, a descendant of the famed Dragonslayer. You have a lot to live up to." Hadrian shot him a challenging smirk. "Though, I suppose you did manage to keep up."
Sieg's lips quirked, almost a smile. "I'd say the same about you, 'Devil Hunter.' Especially if you think your fire tricks are anything close to dragon-worthy."
Hadrian chuckled, tossing his wand with a bit of dramatic flair before sliding it back into its holster. "Guess we'll see, won't we? I have it on good authority there's a demonic necromancer skulking around down there." He jerked his head toward the church looming behind them. "Care to join me?"
Sieg looked from Hadrian to the church, his expression hardening. "If it means putting a stop to whatever taint is festering here, then yes."
With mutual respect born of battle, they turned to face the shadowed structure, its rotting wood and stone seeming to pulse with malice. Without another word, they moved forward, slipping through the broken doors and into the darkness within.
The air grew thick, weighed down by the scent of rot and an unnatural chill. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the dim light filtering in through cracked windows. They could hear faint whispers echoing from the catacombs below—a chorus of hushed, tormented voices beckoning them deeper.
Sieg's sword gleamed faintly, and Hadrian's fingers brushed his wand, ready for whatever lay ahead. The descent into the catacombs was filled with a charged silence, each step taking them closer to the heart of the necromancer's domain.
Together, they descended, shadows swallowing them whole as the final echo of their footsteps faded into the still, waiting dark.
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