Eve of the Storm

Tom's cryptic "soon" hung over Ares like an omen.

In the following days, life at the orphanage continued in its usual, stifling rhythm. But Ares could clearly feel an invisible tension spreading through the air. Tom grew even more silent, and deep in those black eyes, a faint, barely perceptible flicker of anxiety and anticipation often passed—like a leopard waiting for its prey to step into the trap. He pored over the occult books more frequently, sometimes even muttering certain awkward, non-English syllables under his breath, trying to mimic the ancient incantations mentioned in the texts, though without a wand, it was futile.

The system inside Ares seemed to be entering a state of combat readiness.

[Environmental magic concentration monitoring...(′?_?) No abnormal high-energy individuals detected approaching.]

[Spacetime parameters stable... but based on the original timeline projection, the probability of the key node 'Visitor's Arrival' has risen to 87.3%!]

[Host!(;′??Д??) What do we do, what do we do! He's coming! That old bee with the long white beard (probably reddish-brown now?), who loves sweets and whose eyes can see through people's hearts is coming!]

The system's panicked wording almost made Ares laugh, but he couldn't. Dumbledore was coming. This didn't just mean the doors to the magical world were about to swing open for them; it also meant the fragile, secret balance he and Tom had built over five years was about to be shattered completely.

How would Dumbledore see Tom? And how would he see him, this clearly "abnormal" and closely tied "unexpected factor"?

That night, the moonlight was exceptionally bright, casting mottled patches of light on the floor through the dirty dormitory windows. The other children were fast asleep, but Ares had no desire to sleep. He turned his head and found Tom on the opposite bed also awake, staring at the ceiling, his breathing steady, but the hand at his side slightly clenched.

"Tom," Ares called softly, barely a whisper. In five years, he had rarely called him by name directly.

Tom's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He slowly turned his head, his eyes in the darkness like two bottomless, icy pools. "What is it?" His voice was equally low.

Ares was silent for a few seconds, as if organizing his words. He knew some things had to be said clearly before the storm hit. "If... if someone comes," he chose his words carefully, "from... that world. They might... examine us. Judge us."

Tom's eyes instantly sharpened. He propped himself up on one elbow, staring intently at Ares. "What do you know?" His tone carried a hint of displeasure at being kept in the dark, and deeper curiosity.

"I... sense something." Ares couldn't explain the system, so he had to be vague, pointing to his head and heart. "Just like we can sense each other's power. Something... powerful, is approaching."

Tom's breath hitched for a moment. Ares's words confirmed his own vague premonition. He lay back down, but his body remained tense. "And then?" he asked, his voice carrying a calculating calm beyond his years.

"We need to be careful." Ares looked at him, his heterochromatic eyes unusually serious in the moonlight. "Don't reveal everything easily. Especially... your 'little experiments'." He meant Tom's magic used for revenge and control.

Tom snorted softly, noncommittal. He clearly didn't think his power needed hiding; it was proof of his superiority over these "ants."

Ares knew what he was thinking and added, "Showing your hand before you understand their rules is foolish. Power should be used at the most critical moment." He paused, his voice even softer, but carrying a strange, soothing strength. "Remember, we're together."

That last sentence, like a gentle breeze, brushed against some of the hard corners deep in Tom's heart. Over these five years, it was Ares's presence that had made him feel another kind of "power"—not destruction, but protection; not isolation, but connection. Though he still craved strength and control, the word "we" had already taken on a different weight in his heart.

He was silent for a long time, so long that Ares thought he wouldn't respond.

"I know what to do," Tom's voice finally came, flat, but lacking some of its usual icy sharpness. He didn't look at Ares, but the words themselves were a promise and an acknowledgment.

[Target character approval increased!(???) Host successfully completed pre-battle mobilization!]

The next day, a strange restlessness hung over the entire orphanage. Even Mrs. Cole seemed more serious and distracted than usual. In the afternoon, gray clouds piled up in the sky, and the air was stiflingly hot.

Ares and Tom were assigned to help in the laundry room, wringing out washed sheets. The sound of running water drowned out other noises, but Ares's enhanced magical perception still caught a faint, yet unmistakable, ripple of magic from the direction of the orphanage's front door—like a pebble dropped into a calm lake.

That ripple was gentle and powerful, carrying an aura of wisdom and the passage of time. It faintly resonated with the blood pact's power within him, yet was completely different from Tom's magic, which leaned toward dark control.

His movements abruptly stopped.

Tom stopped almost simultaneously. He lifted his head, a wolfish alertness flashing in his black eyes as he looked toward the laundry room door. He had sensed it too, though not as clearly as Ares—but it was an instinctive tremor from the approach of a kindred spirit, or rather, a being of a higher order.

They exchanged a glance, and both saw the same answer in each other's eyes.

He was here.

Albus Dumbledore.

[Alert! Alert!(╯°Д°)╯︵ /(.□ . ) High-energy individual has entered Wood Orphanage! Energy level: Extremely high! Feature match: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!]

[Final preparations initiated! Host, remember our plan! Stay calm!(?????)? ??]

Ares took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and continued his work, but every sense was heightened to the maximum. Tom also lowered his head, continuing to wring the sheet, but his pale knuckles were whitening from the strain, betraying his inner turmoil.

The laundry room was left with only the sound of running water and the rustle of fabric, suffocatingly oppressive.

An unknown amount of time passed—perhaps only a few minutes, but it felt like a century. Sister Martha's figure appeared at the laundry room door, her face bearing a mix of confusion and a hint of reverence.

"Riddell," she called, then glanced at Ares, "and... Phoenix. Mrs. Cole wants you in her office." She paused, then added, "There's a... professor, who wants to see you."

The word "professor" struck like lightning, splitting the stifling air of the laundry room.

Tom's head snapped up, his eyes instantly blazing with a barely contained mix of intense longing and vigilance.

Ares's heart skipped a beat. He gently put down the wet sheet and shot Tom a look, signaling him to stick to the plan.

The storm had finally arrived.

They walked one after the other, following Sister Martha, toward the office that would decide their fate. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, and with every step, they could feel the almost tangible, scrutinizing gaze from behind the door.

Ares could sense that Tom's magic beside him, like a deep pool disturbed by a stone, was beginning to ripple with dangerous, suppressed waves.

And within himself, the magic of light and darkness, guided by the blood pact, began to flow slowly, readying itself for this fated first meeting.