Primordial magic runes are an entirely different breed of power; the relationship between a standard fla rune and the mark of Fiendfyre is a fitting comparison. It is said that the runic structure of Fiendfyre is essentially an ancient fire rune translated directly into a spell with almost no optimization, which explains why the magic is so wild, hungry, and notoriously difficult to control.
*Could this lightning rune be the sa?* Alan watched the interweaving silver and blue light, his excitent mounting.
No. Now was not the ti for field tests. Research of this magnitude required a laboratory and full preparations. Alan suppressed the eagerness in his chest, forcing himself to breathe slowly until he regained his composure. Once his pulse settled, he delved deeper into the "magic book," leafing through the dark arts and curses recorded within its enchanted pages.
As he studied the tool, he realized the most critical aspect of the book wasn't actually the spells themselves—most of those could be found elsewhere if one looked hard enough. The true treasure lay in the usage records.
"Dragon Pox Curse," Alan read aloud, his voice cutting through the silence of the library. He looked up and offered Yulia a thin, sharp smile.
Yulia flinched, her body trembling as if he had just physically struck her. It was the reaction of soone whose darkest secret had been dragged into the light.
"The last recorded use was in 1968," Alan noted, sounding like a casual historian. "I recall the Ministry's first Muggle-born Minister, Nobby Leach, died of dragon pox that very year, didn't he?"
"What are you implying? That has nothing to do with us! Don't you dare slander my family!" Yulia denied it vehently. Her voice was too loud, her defense too sudden; she was essentially confessing through her panic.
Alan's smile widened. Her reaction confird every suspicion.
"Shortly after that, your own father, Abraxas Malfoy, also passed away from a sudden bout of dragon pox. By the way, were you already married into the Travers family then? Sampel is the sa age as I am, born in 1969. So in 1968, you would have already been a Travers, wouldn't you?"
Yulia swallowed hard, her eyes growing unfocused as she stared at a point sowhere over Alan's shoulder.
"Let's construct a hypothesis," Alan said, his voice cold and analytical. "You, a new bride of the Travers house, lent this family heirloom to your father. He used the curse within to murder the Minister of Magic. But sothing went wrong. Due to improper handling or perhaps a lack of protection, your father contracted the very curse he deployed. You indirectly caused the death of your own father, yulia. I wonder... does Lucius know the role you played?"
"Shut up!" Yulia's eyes were bloodshot, her face a contorted mask of fury. She stared at him as if she wanted to tear his throat out, the last shreds of her noble elegance dissolving into a raw, ugly grimace.
"Oh, co now. Why so agitated? I never said I was going to expose you. I'm simply a man who enjoys a good story—especially one that blends cri, political conspiracy, and a touch of family drama."
"Enough! You've already pushed us to the brink. Are you not satisfied? Do you have to keep twisting the knife?" Yulia's voice rose to a hysterical pitch.
"Miserable? You talk as if you're the victims here," Alan said, showing no rcy. "Murdering others only to accidentally kill your own kin is not 'miserable,' it's foolish. And if you want to talk about misery, go speak to the shades of the McKinnons, whom Torquil slaughtered. Perhaps they'd tell you that your current state is exactly what you deserve."
"Have you finished your mockery?" Yulia roared, her chest heaving. "It doesn't matter. You can't replicate this book. Take your copies and get out!"
She found it impossible to stay calm in his presence. Just two encounters with Alan Wilson had pushed her to her breaking point. To her, he wasn't just a wizard; he was a nesis.
"Are you so certain I can't replicate it?" Alan sneered.
"I have to admit, Alan, you are remarkable for finding it, and I didn't expect you to break the seal. My biggest mistake was letting you glimpse these secrets—the hidden history of the Travers and the Malfoys. But do not dream of copying the book itself. This is not a bound text; it is an alchemical masterpiece. I am done wasting my ti. Finish your work and leave!"
Yulia's terror was rooted in the potential leak of these secrets. If the Ministry investigated the tiline of the dragon pox deaths, the reputation of two of the oldest houses in Britain would be annihilated.
Alan, however, was already moving past the drama. He thrived on turning the "impossible" into a weekend project. He ignored her and began to study the book's construction, tapping it occasionally with his specialized hamr and tracing the flow of magic through the cover's rune patterns.
"I see... stacking multiple spell structures to form a complete magical circulation array," he muttered to himself. "The book treats each spell as an independent functional unit, stabilizing it as a single layer. By connecting these layers, it creates a perfect, multi-functional system. It's far more efficient than trying to cram every function onto a single runic surface. There's almost zero magic dissipation. That's why it's so hard to detect—the energy is constantly recycled."
He reached a staggering conclusion: the alchemical value of the book itself far outweighed the spells it contained. The runes were densely packed, with many nodes appearing disconnected yet coexisting in harmony. This was the hallmark of multi-layered runic geotry.
The challenge was twofold: he had to determine exactly how many layers of runes were embedded in the structure, and he had to locate the true connection nodes between those layers. Without those two pieces of information, replication was impossible.
With a clear goal in mind, Alan shifted into high gear, his quill flying across his parchnt as he sketched the theoretical blueprints for a new kind of magic.
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