Eve of the Storm

Tom's cryptic "Soon" hung over Ares's heart like a prophecy.

Over the next few days, life at the orphanage continued in its usual dreary rhythm. Yet Ares could clearly feel an invisible tension permeating the air. Tom grew even quieter. A faint, barely noticeable anxiety and anticipation often flickered deep in his black eyes, like a cheetah waiting for its prey to step into a trap. He read those occult books more frequently, sometimes even practicing certain awkward syllables that did not sound like English in an extremely soft voice at the air—he was trying to imitate the pronunciations of ancient spells mentioned in the books, though without a wand, it was all futile.

The system within Ares also seemed to have entered some kind of combat-ready state.

[Monitoring ambient magical concentration... (′?_?) No abnormally high-energy individual detected nearby.]

[Spacetime parameters stable... However, based on calculations from the original timeline, the probability of the key event, 'the 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 (which might be reddish-brown now?), who likes sweets and whose eyes can see through people's hearts, is coming!]

The system's panicked wording almost made Ares laugh, but he could not. Dumbledore was coming. This not only meant that the gates to the magical world were about to open before them; it also meant that the fragile, secret balance he and Tom had built over the past five years would be completely shattered.

How would Dumbledore view Tom? And how would he view Ares, this clearly "abnormal" accident who was so close to Tom?

That night, the moonlight was exceptionally bright. It streamed through the dormitory's filthy windows, casting mottled patches of light across the floor. The other children were all fast asleep, but Ares could not sleep at all. He turned his head and found that Tom, across from him, was awake as well, staring at the ceiling. His breathing was steady, but the hand at his side was faintly clenched.

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

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

Ares fell silent for several seconds, seemingly choosing his words. He knew some things had to be made clear before the storm arrived. "If... if someone comes," he said carefully, "someone from... that world. They may... examine us. Judge us."

Tom's gaze instantly sharpened. He pushed himself halfway upright and stared intensely at Ares. "What do you know?" His tone held a trace of displeasure at having been kept in the dark, along with deeper curiosity.

"I... sense some things." Unable to explain the system, Ares could only be vague. He pointed to his head and heart. "Just like how we can sense each other's power. Something... powerful is drawing near."

Tom's breathing hitched for an instant. Ares's words confirmed the premonition he had felt in the depths of his being. He lay back down, but his body remained tense. "And then?" he asked, his voice carrying a calm calculation far beyond his age.

"We need to be careful." Ares looked at him, his mismatched eyes especially earnest in the moonlight. "Don't reveal everything too easily. Especially... your little experiments." He meant Tom's uses of magic driven by revenge and control.

Tom gave a quiet snort, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He clearly did not believe his power needed to be hidden. It was precisely what set him apart from these "ants."

Knowing what he was thinking, Ares added, "Before we understand their rules, exposing our trump cards would be stupid. Power should be used at the most critical moment." He paused, his voice becoming softer, yet carrying a strange, soothing strength. "Remember, we're together."

Those final words, like a gentle breeze, brushed against certain hardened corners of Tom's heart. Over the past five years, Ares's presence had allowed him to 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 gained a different weight in his heart.

He remained silent for a long time, so long that Ares thought he would not answer.

"I know what to do." At last, Tom's voice came, calm but lacking some of its former biting chill. He did not look at Ares, but those words themselves were a promise and an acknowledgment.

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

The next day, an inexplicable restlessness hung over the entire orphanage. Even Mrs. Cole seemed more serious and distracted than usual. By afternoon, gray clouds had piled up in the sky, and the air was so stifling it was hard to breathe.

Ares and Tom were assigned to help in the laundry room, wringing out the washed sheets. The rush of water drowned out all other sounds, but Ares's extraordinary magical senses still caught an extremely faint ripple of magic coming from the direction of the orphanage's front entrance, like a stone dropped into a calm lake.

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

His hands abruptly stopped.

Almost at the same moment, Tom stopped as well. He raised his head, and a wolfish alertness flashed through his black eyes as he looked toward the laundry room door. He had sensed it too. Though not as clearly as Ares, it was an instinctive tremor brought by the approach of one of his kind—or rather, a higher existence.

The two exchanged a glance, each seeing the same answer in the other's eyes.

He had come. Albus Dumbledore.

[Alert! Alert! (╯°Д°)╯︵ /(.□ . \) A high-energy individual has entered the range of Wool's Orphanage! Energy level: extremely high! Identity match: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!]

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

Ares took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, continuing his work, though every one of his senses had been heightened to the limit. Tom lowered his head as well and continued wringing the sheet, but his pale knuckles whitened slightly from the force he was using, exposing the turmoil within him.

Only the sounds of rushing water and fabric rubbing together remained in the laundry room, the oppression almost suffocating.

No one knew how much time passed. Perhaps it was only a few minutes, yet it felt as long as a century. Sister Martha appeared in the doorway of the laundry room, her face wearing an expression that mixed confusion with a trace of awe.

"Riddell," she called, then glanced at Ares. "And... Phoenix. Mrs. Cole wants you to come to her office." She paused before adding, "A... professor wishes to see you."

The word "professor" was like a bolt of lightning splitting apart the laundry room's stifling air.

Tom abruptly raised his head. What burst from his eyes was an almost uncontrollable light, mingling extreme longing with vigilance.

Ares's heart skipped a beat as well. He gently set down the dripping sheet in his hands and gave Tom a look, signaling him to follow the plan.

The storm had finally arrived.

One after the other, they followed Sister Martha toward the office that was about to decide their fate. The corridor seemed incomparably long. With every step, they could feel the tangible scrutiny coming from behind that door.

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

Within him, magic of light and darkness also flowed slowly under the pull of the blood pact, preparing to meet this fated first encounter.