Over the weekend, the Room of Requirement had transformed into an ancient circular stone hall at their request. Its dome soared high above, swallowed by darkness. Only the enormous magic circle carefully drawn in the center of the floor with Mithril powder and magical ink emitted a steady glow. Interlocking runes and ever-flowing lines formed the foundation of the Heart Wall Guardian contract. The air hummed with low arcane energy and carried the mingled scent of old dust and determination.
Tom Riddle stood at the "lead" node of the circle, straight-backed like a young emperor. Beneath his short black-jade hair, his eyes were unfathomably deep, his entire focus devoted to guiding the magic. His pure, cold power was like an invisible carving blade, precisely and efficiently activating each rune channel. Silver light flared in its wake, steady and forceful.
Ares Phoenix stood at the "harmonic" node opposite him, his platinum hair glimmering subtly beneath the magical radiance. His mismatched eyes—azure on the left, gray-black on the right—closely tracked every rhythm of the magic's flow. His magic was entirely different: warm and resilient, like tides beneath the moon, silently filling the tiny gaps left by Tom's cold, razor-sharp power and making the entire structure more seamless and solid.
[Deep cooperative magic construction detected. Analyzing... Magic circle structural stability: 85%. Magic Resonance has surpassed the critical threshold. Deep link being established...]
At first, the two currents of magic were like ice and fire trying to merge, their boundaries distinct. Occasional rejection made the silver light tremble. A trace of barely perceptible impatience crossed Tom's brow. He was accustomed to absolute control, and this process of "reconciling" and "accepting" challenged his instincts.
"Feel it, Tom, rather than command it." Ares's voice was calm, yet it carried a strange penetrating force, as though resonating with the lingering fragrance of the essential oil in his sleeve. "It should not be a shackle, but... a bond. A bridge belonging only to us, leading to the corridors of each other's souls."
Tom closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, forcing himself to rein in that sovereign desire for control. He tried to sense, to adapt to the unique pulse of compassion and resilience within Ares's magic. Gradually, the feeling of rejection receded like a tide. The boundary between ice and fire began to blur and merge. The silver light was no longer mere reflection, but a warm, brilliant glow shining from within the magic circle. An unprecedented resonance rippled through the depths of their souls—not a direct exchange of thoughts, but a subtler connection born from the Magic Source and the core of their wills. They could clearly "feel" each other's presence and sense the concentration with which they jointly sustained something precious.
Just as the link reached its peak and a warm, solid protective force was about to take shape, surrounding them like an invisible barrier—
"Bzzzt—!"
A sharp, discordant vibration suddenly rang out from the edge of the stone hall! Space twisted and rippled violently like water struck by a stone! The stable radiance of the magic circle flickered madly, its rune lines warping violently like silver snakes in their death throes!
The magical link was brutally torn apart by an external force! The fierce magical backlash crashed back into the casters along the channel they had established like a runaway wild horse.
"Ugh!" Ares's body jolted violently. He staggered backward and struck the cold stone wall. The Blood Pact Mark beneath his left eye burned with piercing pain, and a metallic sweetness rose in his throat.
Tom's condition was even more alarming. He was at the core of the magical output, and the impact of that sudden interruption struck his chest like a sledgehammer. His face instantly turned paper-white. A vivid line of blood wound down from the corner of his tightly pressed lips, shocking against his pale skin. Yet he did not even spare a thought to wipe it away. The subtle connection from moments earlier had vanished from his abruptly opened eyes, replaced by towering fury and icy killing intent so intense it seemed tangible, both fixed upon the source of the disturbance.
The stone hall's walls rippled like water. The next instant, two somewhat disheveled figures passed through the previously invisible barrier and stumbled inside.
Katarin Voronova steadied herself first. Her fur-trimmed Durmstrang robe was slightly rumpled, but there was no apology in her black eyes. Instead, they gleamed with wild, triumphant excitement as she swiftly swept her gaze across the fading, disordered magic circle, the blood at Tom's lips, and Ares's pale face.
Abraxas Malfoy followed close behind. His pale blond hair was no longer perfectly neat, with several strands falling over his forehead. A faint, unstable afterglow of spatial magic lingered at the tip of his wand. In his other hand, he tightly gripped a black gemstone covered in strange cracks, its luster rapidly fading. His cool gray eyes held a trace of lingering shock, along with a deeper, calculating shrewdness.
"Spatial Beacon Stone... no wonder." Tom's voice was hoarse and cold, every word carrying a storm. He recognized the immensely precious, single-use alchemical object that could forcibly locate and briefly disrupt stable space. "Malfoy, how dare you..."
"A spatial disturbance by accident, Riddell." Abraxas quickly regained his composure and put away the useless gemstone. His tone carried Malfoy's characteristic smoothness, though it was unmistakably distancing itself from blame. "Miss Vojanova is highly sensitive to certain ancient forms of Magic Resonance. We merely... followed the traces here to discuss the matter. We did not expect such a violent reaction." He placed the blame on an "accident" and Katarin's "sensitivity," but his eyes made it clear that he understood the risks and considered them worthwhile.
As though she had not heard Tom's murderous glare, Katarin greedily caught the lingering echoes of Ares's intertwined light and darkness magic that had not yet fully dispersed in the air. She took a deep breath. "Such contradictory... yet harmonious power. Warm as the rising sun, profound as eternal night... Phoenix, you are a treasure worth exploring." Her words were direct and possessive, completely disregarding Tom's presence.
That sentence utterly ignited Tom's fury and fear. Not only did a coveter exist, but she had come armed with tools, invaded his sanctuary, and tried to lay hands on his only "anchor."
"Treasure?" Tom gave a low laugh, utterly devoid of warmth. He slowly raised his wand, its tip aimed straight at Katarin as terrifying magical pressure began to gather. "That depends on whether you'll live long enough to take away even a speck of dust."
"Tom!" Ares endured his discomfort and spoke to stop him. If the conflict escalated now, the consequences would be unthinkable.
Abraxas stepped forward as well, positioning himself slightly in front of Katarin. He did not raise his wand, but his stance was clear. "Riddell, it was an accident. Miss Vojanova was merely... too frank. A conflict here benefits no one."
Yet from behind Abraxas, Katarin gave Ares a provocative smile and whispered in a voice only the few of them could hear, "Look. Riddell's first instinct is destruction, not protection. Is this kind of 'light' truly worth an 'shadow' following forever, Phoenix?"
At those words, the aura around Tom became dangerous to the extreme.
Ares's heart sank. Katarin had not only intruded into their space; she was trying to tear apart the fragile bond of trust they had just established. He had to steady Tom immediately.
"Our research does not welcome spectators." Ares's voice was cold beyond dispute as his gaze swept over Abraxas and Katarin. "Please leave."
Abraxas gave them a long look, lingering for a moment on the ruined magic circle before nodding. "We'll take our leave." He grabbed Katarin, who still seemed ready to say something, and forcibly led her away. Spatial ripples spread once more, and the two vanished from the stone hall.
The Room of Requirement returned to silence. But that brief, profound resonance between their souls had been utterly shattered, leaving behind only the pain of backlash, the collapsed magic circle, and suspicion and violence so thick in the air they could not be dispelled.
Tom still held his wand raised, pointing at the empty wall, his chest heaving violently. The blood at his lips was painfully red. He abruptly turned toward Ares, his eyes filled with unsatisfied bloodlust and deeper unease.
"The way she looked at you..." Tom's voice twisted under the weight of suppression. "Like she was looking at some priceless treasure! She wants to take you away from me!" Katarin's words overlapped with that earlier claim that "shadows need not cling to light," echoing wildly in his mind.
Ares stepped closer, ignoring the dangerous aura radiating from Tom. He gently wiped the blood from the corner of Tom's lips with his sleeve. The gesture was so natural, so tender and impossible to refuse, that Tom's violent presence faltered slightly.
"She can't." Ares's mismatched eyes met Tom's turbulent gaze. His tone was as calm as an ancient rock, carrying a strange, convincing strength. "No one can. The only people who can shake this 'anchor' are us."
Tom stared at him hard, as though trying to see through his eyes into the deepest truth of his soul. Only after a long while did the fury in his eyes slowly recede like the tide. Yet that cold suspicion born from fear had already embedded itself deep within his heart like a festering parasite.
He lowered his wand without speaking. But when his gaze once again swept over the magic circle on the floor, now completely dim and broken, a trace of resolve—and even... obsessive madness—flashed through his eyes.
It was as though he were making a silent vow—he had to find a way, something more absolute, more eternal, and more inseparable than this protective contract that could be disrupted by outside forces, to bind Ares's light forever and completely within his shadow, leaving no possibility of it ever being watched or taken away again.
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