The group's leader—a tall man, bare-chested with muscle earned through years of discipline, his eyes locked on Nathael and Celestia—prepared to issue another command. His companions, still in the forms of giant wolves, growled with bared fangs, ready to strike again. The tension in the air was so thick it seemed to vibrate with every heartbeat.
But then, a soft, raspy but firm voice echoed from the path.
"Sam… stop them."
Everyone turned.
An older man with long black hair pushed himself forward in a wheelchair. His face was lined with subtle wrinkles, but his dark, piercing eyes carried an authority even the wolves didn't dare challenge.
The leader—Sam—immediately lowered his arms. The wolves retreated, growling one last time before stepping back toward nearby trees, shifting back into human forms. Their bodies trembled—not with rage now, but with respect.
The man in the wheelchair approached slowly. The wheels creaked against the damp earth, and his presence imposed absolute silence.
"Follow me," he said, looking at Nathael and Celestia.
Nathael didn't hesitate. He nodded and, without a word, walked behind him. Celestia followed with light steps, tail raised, eyes alert.
They crossed the heart of La Push. Wooden houses, fishing nets hanging from lines, children playing in the grass—everything seemed ordinary. But Nathael felt every gaze upon them. Every window, every door, every shadow… watched.
They reached a modest house built of thick planks and slate roofs. Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke, pine incense, and something else: ancient magic.
The man stopped before a carved wooden chair, its surface etched with symbols Nathael recognized instantly—protective runes, transformation sigils… and something only the oldest lineages knew: the Seal of the Shape-shifters.
"Sit," he said.
Nathael sat. Celestia leapt gracefully onto his lap.
The man studied him for a long time. Then, in a soft voice, he said:
"I am Billy Black."
"Nathael Grauheim," Nathael replied, inclining his head slightly. "And this is Celestia."
Billy raised an eyebrow.
"Grauheim…" he repeated, as if tasting the name.
Nathael held his calm mask, but his senses were on high alert.
"You know us?"
Billy looked at him with a mix of recognition and wariness.
"Over a hundred years ago," he said after a while, "a woman with that name came to this reservation. She sought our secrets. Wanted to know how we shift. Why we are what we are."
He paused.
"She left with nothing."
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance. Now they understood. The Grauheims weren't welcome here—not out of hostility, but history.
"We're not seeking your secrets," Nathael said, voice clear and sincere. "Only information about someone."
Billy narrowed his eyes.
"Who?"
"I don't know his name," Nathael said. "Only that he was a blond youth. Thirty years ago, he came here. Spoke with your people. And he carried an object… something I need to find."
Billy didn't move. He only watched. Then, firmly, he asked:
"How did you know he was here?"
"A man named Samuel Tze Wing," Nathael answered. "In Chinatown, New York. He told me the blond youth came to your land, befriended your tribe… and then vanished."
Billy nodded slowly. He asked no more about Wing—as if he knew who he was, or respected the name enough not to question it.
A long silence followed.
"Why do you seek it?" he finally asked.
Nathael knew he had to be honest. He couldn't lie to a tribal chief—not if he wanted anything in return.
"I seek an artifact he possessed. One that tracks souls."
Billy blinked—just once. But it was enough.
"Souls?"
"Yes," Celestia said, taking over. "And we don't seek it for ambition. Albus Dumbledore seeks it."
The name fell like a stone into a still lake.
Billy tensed slightly. His hands, resting on the chair arms, gripped tighter.
"Dumbledore…" he murmured.
Though the Quileute lived apart from the magical world, they weren't ignorant of it. And if there was one name even the most remote reservations spoke with reverence, it was his.
"Why does he want it?" Billy asked.
Nathael shook his head.
"That's not my concern. My task is to find it—not to question why he wants it."
Billy studied him a long time. Then he sighed.
"I cannot give you that knowledge alone. It's tribal knowledge. Only the elders may decide whether to share it… or not."
Nathael nodded.
"I understand."
"But," Billy continued, "I'll ask them. I'll tell them who you are. And they'll deliberate."
"Thank you," Nathael said.
"In the meantime…" Billy looked at them firmly, "do not return to the reservation. Not without permission."
"We won't," Celestia said.
They stood. Billy didn't move, but nodded—as if he'd said all he needed to.
They left the house.
The young men, now human again, watched from a distance—not with hostility this time, but not with friendship either. Only vigilance.
Nathael and Celestia walked to the car without looking back.
Once inside, Celestia let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Well… I expected a bit more action."
Nathael started the engine and smiled.
"More action? We nearly started an exhausting fight."
"Bah," she said, settling into her seat. "Just a couple of wolves. But I admit… they were impressive. Those bodies have overwhelming physical strength. Your Black Chains seal both body and magic… and still, the first one broke them easily."
"Yes," Nathael said, driving down the dirt road. "They're not wizards. They're something older. Purer."
They fell silent for a while.
By the time they reached Forks, the sky was covered in low clouds. Fine rain fell over the pines, and the air smelled of wet earth and pine.
The house-inn was quiet.
But in the garden, three figures lay sprawled on the grass, soaked in sweat, clothes damp from exertion.
Draco, Hermione, and Carrie.
They breathed heavily, faces flushed, arms and legs trembling.
Celestia smiled.
"Good work," she said to Kate, who watched them with quiet satisfaction.
Kate nodded.
"They're improving. Though Carrie still needs more endurance."
"Time," Nathael said. "It's all a matter of time."
He approached the group.
"Shower," he said firmly. "Then rest. Tomorrow will be another day."
Draco stood with effort, but with dignity. Hermione helped him, and he didn't refuse. Carrie rose more slowly, eyes bright with fatigue… but also pride. Kate smiled and went to the kitchen to prepare something for everyone.
Nathael and Celestia watched them go inside.
"They're changing," Celestia said.
"Yes," Nathael said. "And not just their bodies."
He looked at the sky, where clouds were gathering heavier.
"Soon, we'll know if the elders give us what we seek."
"And if not…" Celestia said with a feline smile, "then we'll find another way."
Nathael didn't answer. He only closed the car door and walked toward the house.