Senna's POV
One evening, Senna stood outside Struan's door. She hesitated for a moment, wondering how he would react to her intrusion. They had been training together for weeks, and each new subject left her feeling more and more powerful, yet uneasy. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and waited for him to open it. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and she stepped inside.
He was sitting at his desk, flipping through a thick book. Without looking up, he asked, "What brings you here, my love?"
"I wanted to talk to you about the magic we're learning," she said, trying to sound casual.
He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the book. "What about it?"
"I don't understand the new spell you've been teaching me." The latest lessons left her with a knot in her stomach, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. "Can you explain why we need to know the crimson pact?"
"Sure," he said, closing the book and turning to her. "This spell creates a magical bond between two individuals using our blood. The bond forces them to be truthful and obey our commands. Father calls it the Dark Mark, and it's the highest honor to receive."
Senna frowned. She knew her brother was sincere and earnest, but she couldn't imagine a time when they would need such a thing.
"But..." She bit her lip. "Why do we have to rely on such means? Don't our followers fight with us because they admire us and the cause?"
"I understand your concerns," her brother replied. But sometimes, in the heat of battle, we may encounter adversaries who are not easily defeated, and admiration or righteousness alone cannot bring such a gathering to work as a team, as one. The crimson pact is a safeguard, a tool we can use as a last resort to ensure our safety and the success of our mission."
Senna nodded, still feeling uneasy about the idea. "I guess I can see your point, but I hope we never have to use it."
"Agreed," her brother said with a solemn nod. "Let's continue practicing the spell for now, but remember, it's always a last resort."
As they were discussing the magic, Senna noticed a ring on his desk that looked familiar. She picked it up and examined it closely. It was a silver ring with a small green stone in the center.
"Hey, that's mine!" she exclaimed, holding it up.
He looked surprised. "Yours? I don't remember ever seeing it on you before."
Senna frowned. She knew it was hers, but she couldn't remember how she had lost it. "Well, I'm pretty sure it is," she said, holding her hand out to him. "Can I have it back?"
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Sure, take it. I don't need it anyway."
A dark look danced behind his eyes.
Senna took the ring and gently held it in her palm. She couldn't explain it, but she knew that the ring was important to her in some way. As she left his room, she made a mental note to try and remember how she had lost the ring in the first place.
The morning sun filtered through the high windows of Senna's room, casting long, golden beams across the stone floor. She was seated in front of a small mirror, methodically brushing her hair, each stroke slow and contemplative. The events of the previous day played over in her mind, the echoes of dark magic still sending shivers down her spine.
A firm knock at the door snapped her from her reverie. She set down the brush and stood, smoothing the front of her dress before walking to the door. Pulling it open, she found Tusk standing on the other side. His broad figure was intimidating, his face, usually kind, was set in a grim expression.
"The Dark Lord will see you now," Tusk stated, his voice deep but not harsh. His gaze lingered on her for a moment.
She nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "Understood," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.
As they walked through the dimly lit corridors of the dark fortress, Tusk's heavy steps echoed ominously. He turned to her, his eyes narrow slits. "You must understand, the Dark Lord demands the utmost respect," he began, his tone serious. "He is not one to tolerate disobedience or disrespect. You'd do well to remember that."
She didn't remember the Dark Lord as her father—the idea that she was about to meet him and speak with him was almost too surreal to comprehend.
Tusk stopped before a large door, its surface carved with symbols that seemed to writhe under Senna's gaze. He knocked sharply, the sound echoing down the hallway like a warning.
After a moment, a voice from inside—a voice chilling in its calmness—bid them enter.
Tusk pushed the door open and gestured for Senna to go ahead. As she stepped into the room, her heart raced. The chamber was vast, the walls lined with shelves of ancient books and artifacts, and at the far end, seated behind a large, dark desk, was her father. His snake-like features made her shiver—the flat nose, the slits for nostrils, and those bright, red eyes that seemed to burn with a cold fire.
"Come forward," he commanded, his voice smooth and devoid of warmth.
She walked toward him, each step measured and cautious. As she neared the desk, she could feel his gaze upon her, analyzing, calculating.
"Sit," he instructed, pointing to a chair opposite him. She did as she was told, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
He observed her silently for a moment before speaking. "I understand you've been training under your brother," he began, his tone curious yet edged with something darker. "Tell me, how is that going?"
Senna met his gaze, her own eyes steady. "It's going well. I am learning a lot from him."
Voldemort's expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. "Very well," he murmured. "And he told you of the dirt that needs to be cleansed from our world?"
As she spoke with him, she couldn't help but feel the weight of his power, the immense darkness that he wielded so effortlessly. Yet, despite her nervousness, a part of her was determined to understand this fearsome figure, to find out if there was anything human left beneath the surface of the Dark Lord.
"Yes, Father."
Voldemort leaned back in his chair. His fingers steepled together as he regarded Senna with a piercing gaze. "And do you understand the assignment?" he asked in a tone that suggested both curiosity and challenge. "To purge the impure, to cleanse our world of those who would dilute our magic and threaten our way of life?"
She took a deep breath, aware of the gravity of his question and the implications of her answer.
"I understand," she replied, her voice steady and clear. "And I will do everything within my power to help create a world where we can all live in peace." She chose her words carefully, embedding her true intent—knowing that he could sense any hint of a lie.
His eyes narrowed slightly, searching her face for any sign of deceit. After a moment, he seemed satisfied with her response, or perhaps intrigued by her conviction.
"Very well," he said slowly. "But remember, peace as you understand it and peace as I decree it may not be one and the same. Our peace comes through strength and purity, and the unyielding enforcement of our laws. Are you prepared to uphold these principles, even if it means making... difficult decisions?"
Senna felt the weight of his words, the ominous undertone suggesting sacrifices and actions she might not agree with. "I am prepared," she said, allowing a hint of determination to lace her words. "I will uphold the principles necessary to ensure our world's safety and prosperity."
Voldemort smiled then, a chilling expression that did not reach his red eyes. "Good," he replied. "That is what I hoped to hear. You will find that this path, though arduous, is rewarding for those who are truly committed. You may even find a power in yourself that you did not know existed."
As the meeting concluded, Senna was dismissed with a wave of Voldemort's hand. Tusk escorted her out of the room, his expression unreadable. As they walked back through the dark corridors, Senna's mind raced. She had navigated the conversation with Voldemort as best as she could, hoping that she had satisfied him.
She poured into the books Struan gave her, fascinated by the magic it taught. It made it seem like the whole world was a canvas to create and distort as they pleased. Magic was such an interesting thing.
The more she read, the more she felt a sense of wonder and curiosity about the possibilities that magic offered. As she delved deeper into the intricate details of the spells and incantations, she felt a growing sense of power and excitement.
The ancient texts seemed to hold the keys to unlocking a whole new realm of potential, and she was eager to explore every bit of it, even if some of it left a bad taste in her mouth. With each page she turned, she felt herself being drawn further into the mystique of the arcane arts, eager to unravel their secrets and master their unfathomable depths.
The texts gave her vast ideas. What did she want to create? She knew the impure would fight back, and wanted to protect herself and her brother. How could she do that? Maybe she could invent an impenetrable shield of some sort…
Exhaustion eventually overcame her, and her head slowly dropped onto the open pages, her body giving in to sleep. But rest was not peaceful; it brought with it a vivid, horrifying nightmare. Flames towered high, reaching towards a pitch-black sky, crackling with fierce intensity.
The air was filled with the agonizing screams of children, their cries piercing the chaos of the firestorm. Senna tried to move towards them, but her feet were rooted to the ground, and she was powerless to save or even reach out.
"No!" She cried.
She woke with a start, her heart pounding, sweat beading on her forehead. The nightmare clung to her, the echoes of the children's screams still ringing in her ears.
Silently, she left her room and made her way through the dark, quiet hallways to her brother's room. She hesitated at his door, then knocked softly, half-hoping she wouldn't wake him yet longing for the comfort she knew he could provide.
Struan answered the door, his eyes heavy with sleep but immediately alert when he saw her distressed face. "Senna? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he ushered her inside.
"It was a nightmare," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The flames... the children screaming. It felt so real, Struan. I couldn't do anything to help them."
Struan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to sit on his bed. "It was just a dream, Senna," he reassured her gently. "You're safe here. And you're not alone."
They sat in silence for a moment, the calm of the room a stark contrast to the terror of her dream. Struan held her close, a silent pillar of strength. When she looked up to thank him, she noticed a tear glistening in his eye.
"I'm sorry it scared you," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "These are dark times, and what we're facing... it's enough to shake the bravest of us. But remember, we have each other. We'll face whatever comes, together."
His sincere and kind words helped soothe the raw edges of her fear. Knowing she wasn't alone in her struggles—both real and imagined—gave her a sliver of peace. They stayed like that for a while, finding comfort in each other's presence.