The afternoon was tinged with gold over the hills in the region of Tuscany. The vineyards stretched endlessly, swaying in a warm breeze that slled of rosemary and damp earth.
Among the cobbled paths and ivy-covered ruins, a man walked calmly, wearing a dark green traveling robe and carrying an old suitcase in his hand, his silhouette elongated by the setting sun.
Newt Scamander had spent his life tracking and studying all kinds of creatures. He stopped at the top of a hill, observing the small magical village hidden in the valley.
From that distance, it looked like a peaceful village, with smoke rising from the chimneys, children playing with wooden wands, and vendors closing their shops... But beneath that calm, Newt sensed a subtle vibration, a dark pulse in the magic of the place.
He opened his suitcase and a small green face peered out from between the locks.
"Don't worry, Pickett. I'm not going to get into trouble," he murmured with a tired smile. "I just need to confirm sothing."
Pickett snapped his leaves in complaint, clearly skeptical.
Newt knelt down next to an ancient stone on the path.
On it was a symbol carved with great precision. A triangle, a circle, and a vertical line.
The emblem of the Deathly Hallows.
Newt exhaled slowly, running his fingers over the engraving.
"It can't be a coincidence..." he whispered.
That symbol had been banned in most of Europe after Grindelwald's fall, but in recent weeks it had begun to reappear in specific areas. Germany, Austria, Bulgaria, and now Italy.
Each mark was found near areas with records of anomalous magic. All too recent.
The magizoologist took a small, worn notebook from his pocket. The pages were filled with notes, maps, and nas.
"The Path of the Dark Phoenix" "The Heirs of Nurngard" "The Creed of Truth"
According to reports, they were just a few small groups, but they all had one thing in common.
They kept talking about him.
About Gellert Grindelwald.
Newt turned a page where there was a map of northern Italy with several marks on it.
In the last entry, a contact from the French Ministry had written:
"Rumors of magical activity in the ruins of Volterra. We believe it was a forr refuge of the acolytes. Several locals claim to have seen a blue glow on moonless nights."
"Volterra..." he repeated, closing the notebook. "We always end up returning to the places where it all began."
The wind blew harder, flapping his coat. For a mont, he thought he heard a distant murmur, a voice whispering sothing he knew very well.
"For the greater good..."
His heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the first ti he'd heard that phrase echo in his mind.
"Not again..." he whispered, shaking his head.
With a wave of his wand, he cast a tracking spell.
A beam of golden light spread out in front of him, projecting an ethereal map into the air. Bright dots appeared all over Europe, with one flashing just north of Tuscany being the most intense.
Newt knew where he had to go. Volterra.
He put away his notebook, closed his suitcase, and gently stroked the lid.
"Get ready, Pickett. If it really is the acolytes, we can't just sit idly by... although I hope I'm wrong and it's just rumors."
The little bowtruckle looked at him with concern before hiding again.
Newt took one last look at the symbol carved into the stone.
The triangle seed to glow faintly in the dying sunlight.
It was a warning... or perhaps an invitation.
"If it's true that you're coming back, Gellert..." he said quietly as he walked away down the hill. "You promised that the world would be a place free of fear. But every ti you act, it becos the opposite."
The wind carried his words away toward the horizon, and as the sun set behind the hills, an ancient shadow began to stir among the ruins of the past.
Night had fallen completely when Newt Scamander arrived at the ruins of Volterra.
The air was thick, saturated with magic. The moss-covered stones seed to pulsate in the moonlight. Newt walked slowly, his wand hidden under his sleeve, his senses ever alert.
It wasn't the first ti he had entered a cursed place, but there was sothing about this place that made him nervous. The silence was unnatural, not even the murmur of an insect or the hooting of an owl, just the distant sound of the wind in the distance.
"There's definitely sothing here..." he muttered.
His wand traced a faint pattern on the ground, activating a revealing spell.
The ground began to glow with a bluish light. The footprints looked recent, layers of debris, wax residue, and a series of circles engraved in the ground.
Newt crouched down, examining one. Before he could find anything, footsteps interrupted him.
Shadows moved among the broken columns of the ancient underground amphitheater.
Newt quickly conjured a concealnt spell, lting into the gloom. From his hiding place, he watched as a group of hooded figures descended the central aisle, carrying blue-flad torches.
There were at least a dozen of them.
In the center, a woman walked with a steady gait. Her voice was soft but powerful, almost forcing you to listen to her.
"The ti of waiting is over," she said. "Our master dread of a free world, free from our chains. His symbol will shine again, and with it, his will shall be heard once more."
Newt felt a chill. He knew that voice.
Vinda Rosier.
One of Grindelwald's most loyal followers. They believed she was dead... but there she was, alive, rejuvenated by magic or sothing even more unnatural.
"The world has tried to forget his na," Vinda continued, raising her wand, "but they have not succeeded. Gellert Grindelwald lives as long as his ideals live. The fire of his vision still burns within us, and soon it will consu the darkness of the new century."
The blue torches rose in unison. A guttural chorus echoed among the ruins.
Newt clenched his jaw.
The air beca thick with magic, dense and tangible, as if the ruins themselves were responding to the call.
Suddenly, sothing changed.
An arcane pressure struck him, as if an ancient presence had opened its eyes.
In the center of the circle, the blue fire turned white and a blurred silhouette ford for an instant.
A tall, elegant figure with light hair and a cold gaze. A whisper ran through the chamber:
"Für das größere Wohl..."
Newt's heart stopped. The figure vanished, but the energy it left behind was unmistakable. It was him. A projection of his magic.
The layers of his followers swirled around him. Vinda looked up, as if she had sensed an intrusion.
"They're watching us..." she whispered, slowly turning her head in the direction where Newt was hiding.
He backed away carefully, holding his breath. For a second, he thought he had escaped, but a small stone object fell from his robe, making a slight sound.
Vinda's eyes turned crimson.
"There's an intruder!" she shouted, pointing to his location.
Before the wands were raised, Newt activated his suitcase. A golden glow enveloped the place, releasing a torrent of blinding dust. When it cleared, he was no longer there.
Several miles away, he appeared on his knees in a clearing in the forest.
Newt leaned against a tree trunk, still panting, watching as the golden glow of his ergency Portkey slowly faded. Pickett peeked out from under the lapel of his coat, trembling with nerves.
"Calm down, buddy," Newt whispered softly. "It's over. We're safe."
The night wind blew through the trees, carrying with it the scent of damp moss and freshly turned earth.
For a mont, Newt allowed himself to breathe, trying to process what he had seen. The figures in the ruins, the blue fire, Vinda Rosier's voice, and above all... that unmistakable feeling.
Grindelwald's magic.
"The world is not ready for what is coming," he whispered.
From the forest ca a sharp crack, the unmistakable sound of magic cutting through the air.
Newt threw himself to the ground on pure instinct.
A crimson spell grazed his head, striking the tree trunk behind him and exploding instantly. Pickett yelped, clutching his pocket tightly.
Newt rolled to his feet, wand in hand.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
A figure dressed in a dark coat erged from the edge of the clearing. His gait was calm, elegant, with an authority that needed no announcent. When the moonlight bathed his face, Newt felt the air freeze around him.
Percival Graves.
His face was just as he rembered it, only sharper, colder. The eyes that once showed only firmness and justice now shone with an unsettling calm. His wand rested in his right hand, pointing at the ground.
"Percival..." Newt said, incredulous. "It can't be. You... you disappeared. We all thought Grindelwald had killed you."
Graves smiled broadly.
"Oh, he kept alive... he showed what the world really is."
Newt took a step back, without lowering his wand.
"What are you saying? You follow his orders? After everything he did... after what you stood for..."
The forr Auror laughed, a dry, bitter sound.
"Stand for? No, Newt. I was just pretending. Pretending loyalty to a rotten system, to a Ministry blinded by fear of non-magical people."
"That's not true," Newt replied, with a mixture of disappointnt and anger. "You were one of the best, you believed in justice."
Graves looked up, his eyes burning with contempt.
"I believed in order and purity. Grindelwald gave sothing the Ministry could never offer . A worthy cause in which to use my power. I grew tired of hiding my contempt, of smiling at those who fear magic, who belittle it, who force us to hide who we are."
"So now you kill for him?" asked Newt, clutching his wand. "For the greater good?"
"I fight for our world," Graves stepped forward, the glow of his wand casting shadows on the floor. "You were always weak, Scamander. You'd rather talk to beasts than understand humans. But don't worry... I'll do you a favor. You won't suffer much."
The first spell flew through the air like lightning.
Newt barely had ti to raise a translucent barrier. The impact pushed him backward, throwing him against a tree. His gaze hardened.
"I guess words don't work with you," he said, his tone firr than ever.
Graves smiled cruelly.
"Finally, sothing we agree on."
The duel began.
Spells of light and fire flew through the forest, breaking branches and making the air vibrate.
Newt moved quickly, using the terrain to his advantage, casting counter-spells and illusory projections that deflected attacks. But Graves was relentless, his every move with the precision of a veteran Auror and the ferocity of a fanatic.
"Protego Maxima!" Newt shouted, blocking a burst of green fire.
The spell bounced off his shield, lighting up the forest with a flash. Graves twirled his wand, conjuring an ethereal chain that shot toward him.
Newt dodged it by inches and counterattacked with an explosion on the ground, montarily blinding his opponent.
He took advantage of that mont to flee. Pickett peeked out again, nervous, pointing to the right.
Newt understood. There was a stream nearby.
"Co on, Pickett..." he muttered.
Graves stood up in the dust, furious.
"You won't escape !"
Newt didn't answer.
He jumped into the stream, conjuring a shockwave that raised a curtain of water. A light enveloped him completely, disappearing downstream.
When silence returned to the forest, Graves slowly lowered his wand. His eyes reflected a mixture of anger and so satisfaction.
"Run, Scamander," he whispered contemptuously. "Run and warn them. Tell them that the new dawn has already begun."
The moon erged from behind the clouds, bathing the forest in its pale light. In the distance, the echo of a sinister laugh mingled with the wind.
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