Claws of Denak

Dumbledore vanished into the emerald-green flames of the Floo Network, and the office immediately fell quiet, leaving only the faint snores of the portraits—real or fake, it was impossible to tell—and the occasional rustle of Fawkes preening his feathers. Silas was left alone in the enormous Headmaster's Office, feeling both intrigued and somewhat at a loss.

He waited for several minutes. Once he was sure Dumbledore would not be returning anytime soon, the excitement and nervousness brought on by arriving at Hogwarts gradually settled down, replaced by an urge to do something. Everything that had happened tonight kept reminding him how much trouble a lack of control could cause.

"Well, when in Rome." He jumped down from the comfortable chair and found a relatively open corner, far from the silverware and little ornaments that looked expensive at a glance. "Time to train!"

He took a deep breath and focused, recalling the sensation of opening a portal. He raised his hands, his fingertips tracing through the air as he guided the arcane energy originating from the Vishanti.

"Crackle... sizzle..."

Golden sparks burst forth again, but they were steadier than before. A portal roughly a meter in diameter slowly formed before him. Its edges still flickered slightly, but the scene within was much clearer—it was the office he had just seen, only from a slightly different angle. He had successfully opened a door-to-door portal within the room.

"Hmm, progress." Silas nodded and closed the portal, which had no real practical use. Then he tried again, this time doing his best to picture the area outside the gates of Hogwarts.

The sparks danced, and the portal opened once more. On the other side lay the pitch-black night sky and the vague outline of the distant castle, but the position seemed a little too high, and it was extremely unstable. It collapsed after only two or three seconds.

"No good. The accuracy and stability are both terrible." Silas frowned, evaluating his performance like a strict coach. He practiced over and over, opening and closing portals while adjusting his energy output, the precision of his gestures, and the focus of his mind each time.

He did not know how much time had passed before he felt mentally exhausted, as though he had run a marathon. He slumped onto the floor, looking at his fingertips, which were slightly warm from continuously channeling energy, and could not help wailing inwardly:

System, System, is there really nothing like the Time Stone that can let me cheat and grind levels? Like setting up a time loop—I could train in there until I puke!

He dearly missed the move Doctor Strange had used against Dormammu.

[No! Don't even think about it!] the system answered firmly. [The laws of time are not something you can touch right now. Be careful, or you'll erase yourself! Keeping your feet on the ground is the proper path!]

Silas pursed his lips. "But I'm going to be the Sorcerer Supreme someday! Isn't this progress way too slow?"

[That's why I said you're already progressing quickly, kid!] The system switched to an encouraging tone. [Look at your results! Your portal proficiency has risen sharply and has steadily reached LV2! And because your overall experience has increased, congratulations—you have successfully unlocked two basic skills on the second tier of the Vishanti Origin!]

As the system spoke, the translucent skill tree interface automatically unfolded before Silas's eyes. Sure enough, above "Portal (LV2)," two new nodes had lit up: one was a circular shield formed from golden light—the Ring of the Ragaddor; the other was an image of several missile-like projectiles—the Claws of Denak.

"Oh? A shield and light bolts!" Silas perked up. "Looks like even you can't be bothered to shout the full names of those skills..." He made a snarky remark, then eagerly wanted to try out his new abilities.

He first focused on the Ring of the Ragaddor. Following the vague sensation conveyed by the skill tree and his memories of watching movies in his previous life, he loosely held his hands before his chest, then slowly pulled them apart, imagining energy forming into a ring between them.

Hum—

With a soft hum, golden light spread from his palms and swiftly traced an ever-rotating energy ring composed of complex geometric runes before his chest. The ring gave off a gentle yet steady glow.

However, as Silas looked at the formed magical shield, the corner of his mouth twitched.

This Ring of the Ragaddor... was only around thirty centimeters in diameter. It looked like an exquisite little magical plate. Forget protecting his whole body—it could barely cover his chest.

"So tiny..." Silas was speechless. This was far too different from the huge, flashy shield he had imagined, the kind that could withstand savage attacks. "What can this thing block? An attack from Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?"

[Be grateful!] the system said irritably. [This is what the basic version looks like when it has just been unlocked! Energy control, shield strength, and size all need practice to improve! So hurry up and train that Ring of the Ragaddor! Once it's sturdy enough and large enough, the next skill you'll unlock, the Seraphim Shield, will be a huge one! Like a wall! That is a true defensive spell!]

Silas sighed, but he understood that the system had a point. He dispersed the miniature ring and began gathering it again. This time, he tried to pour in more energy and expand it.

The ring trembled, its diameter growing to forty centimeters, but its glow became uneven and its edges began to blur. It was clearly very unstable.

"All right, the road ahead is long..." Resigned to his fate, Silas began repeatedly practicing forming, maintaining, enlarging, and dispersing the Ring of the Ragaddor. In the office, tiny golden shields lit up and went out again and again, reflecting the curious—and perhaps slightly amused—gazes of the portraits on the walls.

He occasionally tried the Claws of Denak as well, only managing to barely fire a few dim golden motes from his fingertips. They flew slowly and probably hit about as hard as stones thrown by a child.

The training was dull and draining, but Silas could clearly feel his control over those energies growing bit by bit. That tangible sense of progress eased the boredom and fatigue.

Just as he once again managed to stabilize the Ring of the Ragaddor at forty centimeters in diameter and maintain it for nearly ten seconds, the flames in the office fireplace surged up again and turned emerald green.

Dumbledore stepped out of the flames, wearing his usual gentle smile. He glanced at Silas, whose forehead was beaded with sweat but whose eyes shone brightly, then at the faint remnants of golden energy still lingering in the air, and asked with a smile:

"It seems our young guest has not wasted any time. Has your practice gone smoothly, Mr. Kirill?"

"Headmaster, you came back at just the right time!" Silas said excitedly, like a child eager to show off a new toy. "Come take a look at this!"

Before he finished speaking, he raised his hand and aimed at a low stone pedestal in one corner of the office. It looked sturdy enough, as though it had been meant to hold heavy books. He focused, recalling the feeling from his earlier practice.

"Claws of Denak!"

A golden mote no larger than a glass marble, its glow wavering uncertainly, slowly drifted from his fingertip. It traced a somewhat feeble arc toward the stone pedestal. In the end, it softly struck the pedestal's surface with a faint poof, like a weak little bubble popping. It left no mark at all before dispersing into the air.

Silas: "..."

Dumbledore: "..."

A delicate silence descended over the office. Even several headmaster portraits that had been pretending to snore could not help secretly opening their eyes.

Silas's face immediately fell. He scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... it looks like... the power still needs some work."

The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly. He seemed to need some effort to keep himself from laughing out loud. Clearing his throat, he said in the gentlest, least discouraging tone he could manage, "A very... interesting magical effect, Mr. Kirill. It is full of... hmm... potential."

He walked over to Silas's side and looked at the completely unharmed stone pedestal. Then his tone shifted, carrying the patient guidance of an elder teaching a junior. "However, in my humble opinion—of course, my understanding of your unique system of Vishanti Magic is limited—I believe your learning order may be somewhat... erratic?"

He pointed at the faint traces of spatial fluctuations still lingering in the air from Silas's repeated portal practice. "Portals, magic involving spatial folding and positioning, are clearly far more complex and profound than this... 'shooting sparks.' Yet you already seem capable of using them, albeit unstably. That is remarkable, but it may also mean that your foundations need to be more solid."

Silas wore the helpless expression of someone thinking, Why are you asking me? He spread his hands. "How would I know what Master Ancient One was thinking? When she taught Strange, it seemed to be more or less the same order, didn't it?" He was purely making things up based on his memories of the movies.

"Ancient One?" Dumbledore sharply caught the unfamiliar name, and extreme curiosity flashed in his blue eyes. "Who is this 'Master Ancient One'?"

Silas's heart skipped a beat, and he silently cursed. Damn it, he had let something slip! Master Ancient One did not exist in this world. Just as he was about to make up some excuse to brush it off, he suddenly felt that familiar, gentle probing sensation sweep across the surface of his mind again—more obvious and deeper than before!

Dumbledore had clearly developed a strong interest in the mysterious mentor who had taught Silas—and the "Doctor Strange" he had mentioned—and instinctively wanted to learn more.

"Hey!" Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, Silas abruptly clutched his head with both hands. The gesture was useless against Legilimency, but it fully expressed his protest and displeasure. "No peeking! You promised not to pry into other people's memories! That's an invasion of privacy! You're cheating, Old Bee!"

In his urgency, he had even shouted the nickname he had given Dumbledore in his heart.

"Rude!" A sharp rebuke suddenly came from the wall. Phineas Nigellus Black, the headmaster with the curled silver wig and his usual harsh expression, sat upright in his portrait and glared at Silas through his monocle. "What is wrong with you, you uncouth boy? How dare you yell at Albus Dumbledore like that in the Headmaster's Office? Where are your manners?!"

Already furious, Silas was shouted at by this meddlesome portrait. Without thinking, he turned and snapped back, "Shut up, Black, you dead man! What kind of skill is pointing fingers from inside a frame? Come out and fight me if you've got the guts!"

His tone was extremely rude.

Phineas Black's face turned livid. He pointed at Silas and stammered, "You... you..." for a long while, so angry that he nearly fainted out of his frame. Several suppressed chuckles came from the other portraits. Clearly, Phineas was not very popular among them.

This time, Dumbledore finally could not hold back a low laugh. He raised a hand, signaling both sides to calm down. "All right, Phineas, thank you for your defense. And Mr. Kirill, I sincerely apologize for my momentary curiosity just now." He truly withdrew that probing sensation, and his gaze returned to calm. "I promise I will not try to sense your thoughts again. As for Master Ancient One, if you are unwilling to speak of her, I naturally will not force you."

Only then did Silas slowly lower his hands from his head, though he still watched Dumbledore warily and muttered, "That's more like it..."

Dumbledore looked at the sulking Silas, then at Phineas on the wall, who was still bristling with rage, and a meaningful smile appeared on his face. This child was even more interesting than he had imagined. The secrets he carried were likely far more than merely another system of magic.

"Then," Dumbledore smoothly changed the subject, as though the little conflict had never happened, "let us discuss serious matters. I have reached an understanding with your parents..."