August 14, 1990
The clearing was bathed in the morning sunlight, with rays filtering through the foliage and creating a mosaic of shadows on the ground. The tall, ancient trees surrounding the clearing seemed to watch silently as if they held ancient secrets that could help him if only they could speak. The gentle breeze carried the scent of damp earth and leaves, a refreshing mix that usually helped Eamon concentrate, but today, his mind was clouded by frustration.
"Somnus Revelare," Eamon murmured for the umpteenth time, his voice tinged with frustration. Nothing. Once again, the counter-curse hadn't worked.
He sighed, letting his arms fall. He had tried multiple times, following every step detailed in the book, but something wasn't fitting. His sixth sense told him he wasn't manifesting his intention clearly, that the "buzz" wasn't correct for the spell to take effect.
He sat on the ground, trying to calm his mind and focus. Thanks to his sixth sense, he remembered how he had mastered each spell quickly. The most challenging spell so far had been "Aguamenti," which had taken him almost three days to conjure, mainly because Alaric's wand resisted him at every step, especially in Transfiguration and its sub-branch, Conjuration. However, this time was different. He had his wand, one that had chosen him and should be completely compatible with him, yet he couldn't produce the spell.
"What am I doing wrong?" he asked aloud, his frustration palpable in the air. He looked around, seeking some sign, some inspiration in the surroundings. The clearing was a quiet, secluded place, perfect for practicing magic. However, today, it seemed to be conspiring against him.
There was something about the spell that eluded him, a crucial piece he couldn't grasp. He felt the magical energy flowing through him, resonating with his wand, but the spell dissolved into the air like smoke at the critical point. It was exasperating, especially for someone who had proven to be a prodigy in learning new spells quickly.
The sunlight began to decline, painting the sky orange and red. Eamon watched the horizon, allowing the beauty of the sunset to calm him a bit. Each sunset reminded him of the world's vastness and how small he was compared. It was a reminder that, despite his failures, he had to keep going.
"Maybe I'm not fully understanding the necessary mindset," he thought. The book had mentioned the importance of concentration and clear intention, but what did that mean for this particular spell?
He stood up slowly, stretching his tired muscles. "I'll have to ask them," he said to himself.
With that decision made, he began walking back to the library. As he left the clearing, his mind was immersed in thoughts. Maybe they could help him understand what he was doing wrong.
Eamon was in the library, the book on the table before him. The candlelight flickered softly, creating dancing shadows on the bookshelf-lined walls. The portraits observed him from their frames.
"The book mentions that to cast the counter-curse, I need a clear intention and precise concentration," Eamon said, pointing to the lines of the ancient text. "I've followed every step, but something is still missing."
Lucian was the first to speak. "Heir, sometimes books can't capture the true essence of magic, especially when it comes to something as complex as a counter-curse. Are you sure you understand the mental state you need to achieve?"
Julian nodded, supporting Lucian's words. "Magic is not just a matter of following instructions. It requires a deep understanding and often a specific emotional state. Frustration can cloud your mind and block the flow of your magical energy."
He frowned, reflecting on what they were saying. "The book doesn't mention anything specific about the mental state beyond concentration. What should I be feeling or thinking?"
"What do you know about magic, heir?" Lucian asked, his voice resonating in the silence of the library.
Eamon frowned at the question. "It's the force that allows us to alter reality, to perform all the magical feats we're capable of," he replied, waving his wand and beginning to levitate some books, manipulating their trajectories as he spoke.
Lucian nodded slowly, watching Eamon's movements. "Force, energy, being; whatever magic is, no one knows for sure. There are legends explaining its origin, but they are just myths, nothing we can verify. But we can take this for granted: to perform any magic, three basic elements are needed."
Julian intervened, his face severe but understanding. "These three components are power, will, and belief. Magic is based on the balance of these elements. If one of them is missing, the other two must compensate, but all must be present at some level for the magic to work."
Eamon paid attention, feeling he was about to understand something crucial.
Lucian continued. "Power refers to the magical energy a wizard possesses and can channel. It's the brute force that fuels the spell. Without power, there is no fuel for the magic."
"Will," Julian continued, "is the wizard's intention for the spell to be carried out. The clarity and strength of your will are crucial for directing and controlling the magic. Without intention, the magic has no direction."
And finally, Lucian added, "Belief is the wizard's faith that the spell will work. Without this confidence, the magic will not manifest, no matter how much energy or intention is applied. You must truly believe in what you are doing."
Eamon nodded, processing the information. "This is the first time I've heard magic explained this way. Why don't any of the magical theory books talk about this?"
Lucian exchanged a glance with Julian before answering. "Most magical theory books are written by wizards who have never left their communities. They are limited to the knowledge passed down from generation to generation within a single cultural context."
Julian added, "Our family has traveled and learned from many cultures. We have seen how magic manifests in diverse ways, but it always depends on these three components and the wizard's mental state."
Eamon frowned, still thinking about the books he had read. "So, I don't find this information in the books because the authors haven't explored beyond their own limited experiences."
"Exactly," said Julian.
"And where does the wizard's mental state fit into all this? Does it have to do with why dark arts use emotions like hate and anger for many curses?" Eamon asked, beginning to understand.
"To understand this, you can imagine that magic has a sort of memory," Lucian explained, pausing to ensure Eamon followed his thought. "It's as if magic remembers how to manifest specific effects, following 'paths' that have already been traced by other wizards. These paths often require us to be in certain mental states to traverse them correctly."
Eamon nodded, beginning to see the bigger picture.
"Emotions and dark arts are closely linked," Julian added. "The dark arts often require intense emotions to channel the necessary energy. Anger, hate, and fear are common in these spells because they help achieve the level of power, will, and belief required."
"And it's not just the dark arts," Lucian continued. "Some spells, in general, require intense concentration."
Eamon nodded, starting to understand better. "So, if mental states are so important, how are there so many different ways to do magic?"
Lucian smiled, pleased with the question. "That's an excellent observation. The known paths to produce specific magical effects can vary between cultures and magical traditions. Each culture can have different methods and mental states associated with achieving the same effects."
He paused before continuing, "For example, in the Amazon tribes of wizards, magic is closely linked to a connection with nature. They perform long, meditative rituals before any significant spell, invoking the power of the spirits of the jungle to strengthen their belief and will. In contrast, Nordic wizards focus on mental discipline and precision in northern European cultures. Their spells require a cold, calm, and sharp concentration like a sword."
Julian added another example. "In the Sahara Desert, Berber wizards use rhythmic songs and chants to focus their magic. The repetition and music help synchronize their will and belief with the rhythm of the spell. In contrast, Tibetan wizards practice magic through deep meditation and breath control, reaching elevated mental states that allow them to channel their power effectively."
"There are also the Zulu wizards in South Africa," Lucian added. "They use specific dances and body movements to channel their magic, turning their bodies into conduits of magical energy. Each movement, each step of the dance, has a meaning and purpose, allowing them to cast spells without needing a wand."
Julian nodded, complementing the idea. "Wizards primarily use runes carved into stones or seashells in the Polynesian islands. These symbols store and channel magic, allowing spells to last for weeks or even months. However, these spells require a deep understanding of the runic language and extreme precision in their carving."
Lucian continued, expanding the explanation. "On the Asian continent, Song Dynasty wizards developed a method of magic based on calligraphy. Every stroke of the pen on paper must be perfect, as the magic flows through the form and structure of the written character. These spells can be mighty but also extremely difficult to master."
Eamon was fascinated by the diversity of methods and mental states associated with magic in different cultures. "So, magic remembers these paths and allows wizards to follow pre-established routes to achieve their goals."
"Exactly," said Julian. "That's why travel and learning from other cultures are so valuable. They expand our understanding of the mental states and methods necessary to perform magic."
"Try to free yourself from frustration and urgency. Take time to center your mind and focus on the spell's goal. Only then can you manifest the correct intention and achieve the desired result."
"And remember," Julian added. "Meditation can be a useful tool to reach that state of calm and concentration. Unlike when you practice Occlumency, do not channel any magic at all. You're not trying to master a new art; calm your mind. Focus on breathing, focus, and when you feel ready, try the spell again."
Eamon took a deep breath, feeling a bit calmer and more precise in his purpose. "Thank you, I'll do that."
He grabbed his suitcase and placed it on the floor, concentrating on his room. Opening it, he began to descend the suitcase's stairs. A large room was presented to him, with a large bed in the center and the floor covered with rugs. There were enchanted brooms, sweeping even though there was no dust. Some resting furniture was arranged around, creating a cozy and calm environment.
The room was illuminated by a soft golden light emanating from the walls, creating an atmosphere of peace and tranquility. Eamon moved to a corner with a large, comfortable cushion perfect for meditation. He sat down, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, following Julian's instructions.
Meditating without involving magic felt strange, especially after being accustomed to doing it for so long for his Occlumency training. It was more challenging to maintain focus on what he was doing since when he did it with magic, it took over the process quickly, guiding him to relive the past. However, each time he lost focus without magic, he started over without the weight of reliving the memories and emotions that Alastair's process involved.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He continued this indefinitely, and his mind began to relax. For the first time in this life, meditating was an enjoyable experience. He calmed down; the urgency of the future faded, his worries drifted away, and tranquility settled in. Gradually, he entered a state of serenity.
He remained in that state for a while until, just as he had entered, he gradually exited with a calmer mind. Perhaps reaching that state would have been more challenging without the experience of meditating in his past life, but he had done it and lasted in it for as long as he could. He was calmer, and it was time to try the spell.
He stood up from the cushion, feeling renewed. With a new determination, he firmly held his wand and prepared to channel his magic. He closed his eyes momentarily, gathering all the power, will, and belief he needed.
He opened his eyes, focusing on his goal. "Somnus Revelare," he murmured with a clear and firm voice.
Immediately, he felt a difference. His sixth sense indicated that something had changed. A faint silver glow emerged from the tip of his wand, a sign that the spell was working.
He spent the rest of the time practicing, perfecting each movement, each inflection of his voice, ensuring the spell manifested correctly. With each attempt, he felt his control over the magic becoming more precise and confident.
Finally, after many hours of practice, Eamon knew he was ready. He had managed to cast the spell consistently, and now it was time to put it into practice. He decided to rest a bit before his mission. He would rescue Lysandra and repay the debt he felt towards her.
August 15, 1990
The Fairbridge Hospital hadn't changed at all in recent years. The building, an old structure of white bricks and large windows, exuded a sense of history and constancy. The hallways were decorated with paintings of serene landscapes, probably chosen to calm patients and visitors. The walls, painted in pastel tones, reflected the soft light entering through the windows, creating a peaceful and welcoming atmosphere. Though worn by time, the marble floors shone with a clean and well-maintained luster.
Eamon walked through the hallways, his steps echoing slightly in the silence. The air was filled with the characteristic smell of hospitals: a mix of antiseptic and the faint aroma of fresh flowers placed in vases along the hallway. Finally, he reached a door with a sign that read "Patient Room." He took a moment to breathe deeply before entering.
As he passed through the door, he saw her—Lysandra, with her dark, straight hair and face in a perpetual state of fatigue. He had visited her secretly a few times, always hoping to find something he could do for her, but so far, without success. The sight of her face always provoked a mix of sadness and determination.
The hospital admission form was in a container in front of her bed, with only the admission date filling the boxes and no other information. They had changed her hospital gown, which was a small comfort. "At least they've checked her recently," Eamon thought, trying to find some positive side to the situation.
He blocked the door with a quick wave of his wand, ensuring he wouldn't be interrupted. He knew he couldn't afford distractions at this crucial moment. He approached Lysandra's bed with his wand ready and his mind focused.
"Somnus Revelare," he murmured, beginning the spell.
The spell manifested as an aura of silver light that surrounded his wand. Eamon could feel the magical energy flowing through him, resonating with his intention and determination. The silver light began to envelop Lysandra, penetrating her skin and delving into her being.
His sixth sense began to give him information he didn't know how to interpret. Every type of magic he had known manifested for him as a buzz, a frequency at which particular magic was, but this curse was different. Maybe the reason was because he was fighting against it, but instead of a buzz, it felt like something viscous, something that didn't want to be removed.
He felt the struggle of the curse, a collision of wills, and suddenly, the silver aura began to tinge with purple, almost black edges. It was chilling to see how the curse seemed to want to devour his magic, refusing to disappear. Sweat began to run down his forehead, and his concentration wavered. The curse darkened more, the light emanating from Lysandra, while Eamon felt he was losing the battle and knew, deep inside, that the curse would not only reclaim the girl but fall upon him as well.
"No!" Eamon thought, his will unyielding as he repeated the spell: "Somnus Revelare." The silver light grew, but the curse continued to resist. Desperate, Eamon gathered all his determination and, with a firm and clear voice, pronounced the spell once more: "Somnus Revelare."
The silver light enveloped the room, completely covering his vision. And suddenly, the light disappeared. He saw Lysandra still asleep, but her face had a calm expression, her chest rising and falling normally, unlike the almost imperceptible movement it had before.
'It worked,' he thought with joy. He was exhausted, wishing for nothing more than to sleep for a long time, but his task wasn't over. He approached Lysandra and lifted her in his arms, noting how they were almost the same height. He pronounced the familiar phrase, and they disappeared.
Upon arriving at the clearing, Lysandra let out a small groan of discomfort. Traveling with two people was undoubtedly more uncomfortable than usual, but it was necessary. Eamon walked towards the ruins of his mansion, each step heavier than the last. The exhaustion was catching up to him, but they were close.
He stood in front of the Stelladeer statue, waiting for it to move and grant him passage to the library, but the animal, resembling a deer, refused to move. "Stella, let me through," he said, but the statue remained still, staring intently at the person in his arms.
"Seriously? Come on, just this once, an exception," he insisted, but the statue didn't blink. "Fine, have it your way," Eamon grumbled as he gently placed Lysandra on the ground. "Take care of her; I'll be right back," he told the statue.
He entered the library, took the suitcase beside the desk, and quickly returned to the mansion's hall. He opened the briefcase before the statue and said, "See you later, Stella," before entering his magical room with Lysandra in his arms.
Relief flooded Eamon as he placed Lysandra on the bed. He carefully moved her among the soft blankets, ensuring she was comfortable. The tension and anguish that had once marked her features had vanished, replaced by a serenity that gave him hope. Eamon sighed, feeling a huge weight lifted from his shoulders.
He felt exhausted, with every fiber of his being clamoring for rest. He barely had the strength to move to one of the pieces of furniture before collapsing onto it. He couldn't help but fall asleep, and the last thing he saw before closing his eyes was his wand on the floor.
A/N: Let me know what you think! Did you like it or hate it? What things can I improve? I greatly appreciate any feedback and hope you enjoyed this chapter.