The meal Kate prepared was simple but comforting: vegetable soup with chunks of chicken, freshly baked bread, and an herbal tea that warmed from the inside out. They all ate in silence, exhausted from the journey, the morning training, and the tense encounter at La Push. Draco barely lifted his eyes from his plate. Hermione rested her head in her hand, eyes half-closed. Carrie, seated at the far end of the table, ate in small, careful movements, as if afraid to make noise.
When they finished, Kate gathered the dishes with a tired smile.
"Go rest," she said. "You've had a long day."
Draco and Hermione didn't need to be told twice. They stood almost in unison and headed to their rooms without a word.
Nathael, however, looked at Carrie.
"Stay a moment," he said, his voice soft but firm.
Carrie, surprised, nodded and sat back down. Her hands, resting on her knees, trembled slightly—not from fear, but from expectation.
Nathael settled into his chair and studied her intently.
"Today marks the start of your true journey," he said, "as a witch. And before I teach you to cast spells, you need to understand what it is you're casting."
Carrie looked at him, eyes wide.
"You already know there's magic inside you," Nathael continued. "It's not something given to you. Not an object gifted to you. It's in your blood, your bones, your breath. It's part of you—like the beating of your heart."
He paused.
"But… how do you express it to the outside world?"
He opened his palm and, with an elegant motion, drew his wand from the hidden sheath in his sleeve.
The wand was black, polished, with silver veins that seemed to shift in the light. Its handle, carved with ancient symbols, glowed faintly.
"This wand," he said, "is not a source of power. It's a channel. A bridge between your inner self and the world. It helps shape what you already have. And in time—if you learn well—you'll be able to do without it."
Carrie listened intently, as if every word were a treasure.
"Magic isn't just words," Nathael went on. "Your first spell will be Lumos—a charm that creates a white light. Saying 'Lumos' and waving your wand isn't enough. If you don't feel the intent—if you don't truly want the light to appear—nothing will happen. Magic responds to will, not repetition."
He leaned forward.
"When you grow stronger, you'll learn to cast spells with your hands. Then with your gaze. And eventually… with thought alone. But it all begins with understanding that magic isn't in the wand. It's in you."
Carrie swallowed hard.
"Then… can I try?"
Nathael smiled.
"Of course."
He offered her his wand.
Carrie took it with both hands, as if holding something sacred. The wood was warm. Alive.
"When we go to Europe, you'll get your own wand," Nathael said. "For now, use mine. Lumos is simple—but revealing. Close your eyes. Imagine a light inside you. Small at first. Then brighter. Feel it grow. Feel how it wants to come out. Now, open your eyes and say: Lumos."
Carrie took a deep breath.
She closed her eyes.
Focused.
And when she opened them, she raised the wand with a firm motion and said:
"Lumos."
A soft, pure white light bloomed from the wand's tip—not brilliant, not wild, but… perfect.
Nathael blinked, surprised.
"Good work," he said—but in his mind, he thought: Not bad. Not bad at all.
Because Carrie was sixteen. She'd long passed the age when most wizards learned basics. And yet, she'd succeeded on her first try—with a wand that wasn't hers, with no training, having not even known she was a witch until two days ago.
It was… astonishing.
Carrie, seeing the light, smiled—a genuine smile, free of fear or guilt. Only wonder.
"Did I do it right?"
"More than right," Nathael said. "That's all for today. Rest now. You must be exhausted."
Carrie nodded and stood. She walked to the door—but before leaving, she turned.
"Nathael…" she said softly. "During this morning's training, when you weren't there… I felt something."
Nathael raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"A gaze. As if someone was watching us. I didn't see anyone… but I felt it. Draco and Hermione said they saw nothing… but I… I felt it."
Nathael was silent for a moment.
"Thank you for telling me," he finally said. "I'll look into it."
Carrie nodded and left.
Nathael remained alone in the living room, the fireplace's light flickering gently.
"The Quileute?" a soft voice asked from the sofa.
It was Celestia. She'd been sleeping, curled on a cushion, but now her eyes were open, alert.
"No," Nathael said. "The Quileute don't act like that. They're guardians. If they'd seen the training, they'd have appeared. They'd have warned us. They wouldn't have spied from the shadows."
"Then… what was it?"
"Carrie is very sensitive to magic," Nathael said. "If she felt it, it wasn't imagination. Someone was watching."
Celestia stretched, ears tilted slightly forward.
"Curious onlookers?"
"Maybe," Nathael said. "But a curious human wouldn't have watched that long. A wizard… would. Or something else."
Celestia fell silent for a moment. Then her eyes narrowed.
"Vampires?"
Nathael nodded slowly.
"Possible. The rumors said there are vampires in this area."
Celestia snorted—not with fear, but satisfaction.
"Well, let them come. I still remember those in Volterra… They were annoying. Wanted to taste my 'unique' blood. Said it was sweeter than any wizard's." She paused, a feline smile playing on her lips. "I taught them a lesson. One turned to ash before his companion could even scream."
Nathael chuckled softly.
"Yes. I remember that day. Volterra never invited talking cats to their parties again."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Tomorrow, we'll walk through town," Nathael said finally. "See if we find traces. If there are vampires in Forks… it's no coincidence."
"Do you think they're after the artifact?" Celestia asked.
"I don't think so," Nathael said. "But if they're near Quileute territory… it's not a good sign."
He looked toward the window. Rain had begun falling again—soft, silent.
"Have the kids train here tomorrow," he said quietly. "They're not ready to face a vampire yet."
Celestia settled back onto her cushion, tail wrapped around her body.