Lucian Vortelan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze cold and unyielding as it settled on the boy bound at the center of the glowing ritual circle.
"I don't expect you to understand the significance of what you carry within your body, boy."
His lips curled faintly—something between disdain and amusement.
"Even the original clan—the Varnak—squandered that power, driving themselves to ruin. For what? Rules? Morals?" He gave a soft, humorless scoff. "Fools."
A slow breath left him, measured, controlled.
"It is time for someone more deserving to claim it. And that… is where you come in."
He began to pace, each step echoing softly against the stone floor.
"In order for that power to be taken, it must first manifest. The so-called 'fated children'… Varnak Seeds." His voice reverberated through the chamber. "Certain conditions must be met. One of them is survival—enduring vampire venom and living through it. Simple in theory… but impractical in execution."
A deliberate pause.
"We couldn't very well abduct and parade children across Europe to Romania without attracting… unwanted attention."
He stopped, turning slightly, his eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction.
"So we devised a simpler method."
Caelum did not respond. Shackled and weakened by blood loss, he met Lucian's words with nothing but a burning, silent fury.
…
Lucian stepped slowly around the runes, stopping directly across from him.
"We took them," he said. "And left them near feral vampire nests. Deep forests. Isolated ruins. Forbidden places." His tone remained almost conversational. "Arranged to look like unfortunate accidents."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Then we observed."
"If they awakened the blood," Lucian continued, "we retrieved them. If not…" He gave a small shrug. "They died. Or they turned. Either way, they served a purpose."
Caelum's throat burned as he rasped, "What about their families?"
Lucian tilted his head, a mockery of sympathy crossing his face.
"Well… we couldn't have them raising alarms, could we?"
Caelum's breath caught.
Lucian sighed, almost theatrically.
"And even with all that effort… over three hundred years, the number of awakened Varnak Seeds remains pathetically small. Fewer still survive extraction." His voice cooled. "Most were hardly worth the trouble. Which is why I've always preferred subtlety—loopholes, quiet arrangements, everything kept… civilized."
His crimson eyes gleamed as they locked onto Caelum.
"Not until you."
With a sweep of his cloak, Lucian stepped into a second spell formation opposite him. The runes flared, glowing a deep, blood-red.
"It's better if you don't resist," Lucian said softly.
"It will be over soon."
…
[St. Mungo's Hospital, London]
"Absolutely not," Amelia Bones snapped. "He's only a child!"
"I'm not saying we abandon him!" Moody growled back. "But you're barely recovered—if we lose you too, we lose one of the few people who still have a chance of understanding this."
Amelia, arm still bandaged and fury in her eyes, looked ready to strike someone.
The door creaked open.
"Perhaps," said a calm, familiar voice, "We might be of help."
Dumbledore stepped inside, robes whispering over the floor. Behind him stood Vesper Blackbourne, pale but resolute, her hands clenched at her sides.
"I believe," Dumbledore continued, "it is time we stop looking at this as an ordinary case."
…
[Back at the Ritual Chamber]
The air had grown heavy, suffocating. Blood rose in thin streams from Caelum's body, drawn by the ritual's pull. The droplets hovered in a crimson spiral.
Lucian's incantations thundered through the walls. The ground trembled.
Caelum's pulse hammered. The sigils flared from gold to blood-red, their rhythm turning frantic. Magic tore through him, raw and relentless—every breath felt like fire. He could feel the ritual nearing its end, the pull tightening around his core until holding on became agony.
The spiral above him shuddered, collapsing inward.
And then—everything stopped.
The light died. The air went still.
Silence.
…
He opened his eyes to find himself not in the chamber, but standing in the middle of a forest.
Moonlight filtered through skeletal branches. The trees were silent, still—familiar.
Everything had lost its color, yet he recognized the scenery. He knew this place. The Forbidden Forest.
Ahead of him, a child lay with his back against a tree, bleeding into the forest floor.
It was himself.
Five years old.
The memory had returned.
He took a shaky step forward, reaching for the younger him.
Another presence stirred. Caelum turned his head slowly.
A man stood beside him.
Pale-skinned. Golden eyes. Regal black robes with golden inlay draped over a frame that exuded no magic—and yet the pressure in the air was immense.
The man spoke without looking away from the child, as if addressing both Caelums at once.
"Hello, Caelum," he said quietly.
Caelum's heart pounded. He stopped beside the stranger, both of them gazing at the crumpled child on the ground.
"You're from the House of Varnak," Caelum said. "I saw you… in the vision shown to me by the Bloodstone, guarded by Gura Umbrei."
"I am," the man replied. "Or more precisely… what remains of him. An echo. A remnant of the soul of the last Patriarch, Aurelian Varnak—awakened by the ritual currently destroying your body."
Caelum clenched his fists. "They call me a Varnak Seed."
"You are."
"Then I deserve the full truth."
The spirit nodded, his expression heavy with centuries of memory.
"The House of Varnak," he began, "was an ancient bloodline of sorcerers—masters of blood magic and fire. Not the elemental kind you learn at school, but the Varnak Flame—unique to ours, born of the soul and bound by legacy."
"For the longest time, we were seen as a clan that walked a narrow path between light and darkness. Vampires, feared by others, were not our enemies—they were our vassals. Allies in shadow… while we stood as their conquerors."
"And for that, the world feared us."
Caelum listened in silence as the spirit continued.
"In our final days, a coalition of Europe's most powerful wizarding houses moved to end us. They branded our practices heresy, fearing what we were—and what we might become. And so, they came for us."
"And Lucian Vortelan—the man standing across from your real body right now—is the heir to the house that once knelt to ours in fealty."
"They were our vassals," the Patriarch said, his voice tightening. "Trusted. Bound to us by blood. But in fear of their own extinction, they betrayed us. Gave up our secrets. Opened our gates."
Caelum's chest burned.
"In that war, I saw the end of the Varnak coming. We all did. And so… we chose sacrifice over erasure. A Grand Ritual. A spell bound not to time—but to fate."
He raised his hand, and the forest shimmered.
Visions bloomed in the trees—elders gathered in a circle, blood streaming into the earth, flames licking the sky.
"We cast our legacy forward through time—into the unborn, into those whom fate alone would summon. Children of no magical lineage, yet bearing the spark—first-generation sorcerers, unbound to wizardkind, destined to carve their own path."
Aurelian's voice echoed, low and resonant.
"That is the first condition we set."
The vision shifted—figures screaming beneath a blood moon, cursed fangs sinking into flesh, magic lashing out in desperate instinct.
"You should already guess the other condition."
Caelum's breath caught.
"Surviving vampiric turning."
Aurelian inclined his head.
"To awaken the fire fully, one must endure death without succumbing to it—survive the venom of those who once betrayed us. Bloodshed was not merely a requirement; it was the crucible."
The images twisted—roots coiling with runes, blood sinking into stone, fire etching itself through ancient soil.
"The ritual was woven into the very earth—buried deep in time and place, designed to remain dormant. No one could study or detect it—not even those who sought to exploit it."
"Only when the conditions are met does the inheritance stir—drawn to the one deemed worthy. The fire would answer, and the legacy chooses. By exacting these two harsh conditions, we ensured that only those capable of bearing our bloodline would inherit it."
Caelum stood silent, his breath shallow.
"Varnak Seeds," he whispered.
The Patriarch turned to him, his gaze piercing.
"You are one of them. Our legacy. Our last flame."