The library doors opened with a crash, and Lyra nearly dropped the grimoire she was inspecting. Hadrian, wand at the ready, turned sharply to face the intruder.

A woman stepped through the threshold. Regal, imposing, and exuding a quiet intensity that made the oppressive magic of the Black Manor feel secondary. Her high-collared robes shimmered faintly, etched with runic stitching that seemed almost alive in the flickering light. Her dark eyes—sharp as tempered steel—swept over the room, locking on each occupant like a predator assessing prey.

"Idiots," she hissed, her voice cutting like the crack of a whip.

Lyra stiffened, recovering quickly from her shock. "Cassiopeia," she greeted icily, folding her arms. "I'd thought you dead already. What an unpleasant surprise."

Cassiopeia arched a brow, stepping deeper into the room. "You'd wish me dead if you had any sense. But here I am, still cleaning up after you runaways, making sure the whole bloodline doesn't collapse from your collective incompetence."

Cassiopeia turned her piercing gaze on him,"And you must be the new disaster," she remarked. "The one Arcturus decided to gamble on with his dying breath."

Hadrian straightened, his wand tightening in his grasp. "If you're here to criticize, you're wasting your time. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of this."

"Don't mistake me, boy," she said, taking a measured step toward him, her tone like ice. "I don't care if you've spent your life playing the heroic fool, Potter. I couldn't give a damn that you don't know how to be a Potter—or that James failed you as a father by dying too soon to teach you. But you're in this house, wielding this power. That makes you a Black. And a Black will never be anything less than perfect. No matter how much you resent being dragged into this family's web. But now that you bear the Black name, you will live up to it. My brother's soul won't tolerate anything less."

Hadrian's breath caught in his throat. He clenched his fists at his sides, fighting against her words—and against the disconcerting truth they struck deep within.

Before he could respond, Cassiopeia whirled to Lyra, her sharp tone never faltering. "And you. Your sense of freedom and clever little excuses may have been tolerable when you were a girl, but you're a grown woman now, Lyra. The family needs you, and you're always off running from one corner of Albion to the next like a scorned child.You have no excuse for the state of things.A Black's duty doesn't vanish simply because you're clever enough to evade it."

Lyra's smirk wavered, replaced by something brittle. "You have no right to lecture me, Cassiopeia. Duty?" she sneered. "Don't preach to me about that. I wasn't the one who turned our family into a nest of serpents."

Her voice had hardened, but a flicker of pain undercut her bravado. "If staying meant becoming another pawn like you or Arcturus, I'd make the same choice all over again."

Cassiopeia's laughter was sharp and mirthless. "Spare me your sanctimonious speeches and save your defiance for someone who cares," Cassiopeia shot back, her tone razor-sharp. "You may play at rebellion, but in the end, family binds tighter than pride. You'd do well to remember that, Lyra.It doesn't matter where you think you've run; the truth always drags you back. You carry it in your magic, Lyra, just like he did."

Lyra bristled but said nothing.

Satisfied she had silenced them both, Cassiopeia turned back to Hadrian, a cold sort of amusement glimmering in her gaze. "Arcturus's magic lingers in you, boy. His plans are unfinished, and that leaves me with the unenviable job of ensuring you don't burn down our family's legacy out of sheer ignorance."

The tension between the two women thickened, and Hadrian, caught between their storm, spoke up, his voice edged with frustration. "If you two are finished, maybe someone could explain why Arcturus thought meddling with my life was so bloody necessary. Or do all Blacks enjoy speaking in riddles?"

Cassiopeia tilted her head, her sharp gaze boring into him. "That's the question, isn't it? And until you find the answer, boy, you're both a danger to yourself and this house." She turned on her heel, her robes swirling behind her.

At the door, she paused, casting one final glance over her shoulder. "Prove yourself, Hadrian Black. Arcturus left you more than his bloodline. You'll need to understand that before it destroys you." Her gaze flickered to Lyra, narrowing slightly. "And as for you—quit hiding. If you think the ghosts of our past will let you run forever, you're gravely mistaken."

Hadrian took a step forward, lifting his chin. "I didn't ask to be part of your legacy. Whatever Arcturus wanted from me, I'll figure it out—but I don't answer to you or anyone else in this family."

Cassiopeia's gaze turned unreadable, but her tone softened, though no less intense. "You say that now, but the Black blood in you demands respect. It's not just about Arcturus. It's about who you are—what you will become."

Pathos cawed irritably from Lyra's shoulder, breaking the silence. Cassiopeia's sharp gaze shifted briefly to the raven before softening ever so slightly. "I'll give you one chance to fix this," she said finally. "Prove to me that you're worthy of the name, Hadrian Black."

With that, she swept from the library, the heavy door shutting firmly behind her.

The silence left in her wake was oppressive.

Hadrian exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, that was enlightening. Another cryptic lecture about duty and bloodlines. Wonderful." He paused, eyes narrowing as they met Lyra's. "You didn't mention her, either."

"She's not exactly my favorite topic," Lyra retorted, her defensive edge returning. "Cassiopeia's only ever cared about what serves the family. Don't trust her. She's not here to help you—only to protect whatever legacy she thinks is worth saving."

"And what about you?" Hadrian challenged, his gaze steady but wary. "You've been awfully keen to help, but so far, all I've got are more questions. Why are you really here?"

Lyra's lips pressed into a thin line, her usual sharpness dulling into something quieter, almost vulnerable. For a fleeting moment, it looked like she might answer honestly, but then she laughed softly—bitter and without humor. "Does it matter why? You're the one stuck in this mess now, Potter." She turned abruptly, focusing on the grimoire as if its ink held answers she didn't want to give.

Hadrian frowned, not entirely convinced. The weight of Cassiopeia's words pressed heavy on him, amplifying his unease.

For now, he had no choice but to accept Lyra's help. But trust? That was a luxury he couldn't afford—not here, and certainly not with another Black.

As Lyra resumed sifting through the grimoires, Hadrian's eyes lingered on the door Cassiopeia had vanished through. He didn't know whether to feel cornered or emboldened by her words. But one thing was certain: whatever secrets Arcturus had left him, the weight of the Black name was more than just blood—it was a noose

Lyra sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Welcome to the Black family, cousin."