His, For Evermore

Prologue Nearly eight years after the death of the most powerful wizard of light, Master Mann, the world found itself ensnared in a bitter and relentless war against the Dark King. The Dark King, King Snipe, harbours a profound hatred for humans and wizards born to humans, driven by a fanatical belief in the purity of wizard blood. He seeks to establish a world where pure-blood wizards ruled, and humans were subjugated. His animosity towards human-born wizards was intensely personal, due to previously being defeated by them. Fortunately for him, his loyal followers, known as the Night Whisperers, managed to resurrect him, igniting a new wave of conflict against the forces of good. King Snipe is a despicable tyrant who revels in torture and has committed countless war crimes, surpassing the bounds of conventional evil. His ruthlessness is legendary, striking fear into the hearts of both his followers and enemies. Master Hector Mann, the revered leader of the wizard training school known as Crystal Temple, had been a staunch advocate for peace. He worked tirelessly to prevent the outbreak of war, understanding the catastrophic consequences it would bring. However, his efforts were tragically cut short when he fell victim to an assassin's plot. Alistair, son of the influential and pure-blooded Zackary Victor, was the assassin. And thus, he merged as a key figure in the resurgence of the Dark King. The Victor family, among the oldest and wealthiest bloodlines in the wizarding world, aligned themselves with King Snipe's purist ideology. The assassination of Master Mann marked a pivotal moment, symbolizing the triumph of dark forces over the beacon of light. As the world grapples with the relentless onslaught of the Night Whisperers and their dark leader, Amelia, along with her allies, have tried to navigate the complexities of a war that threatens to extinguish any remnants of hope. Current day A petite woman in her 30s, Amelia's teeth ground with frustration as she bottled antidote potions. Fresh from another frustrating Alliance war meeting, she wondered if she was the only one aware they were losing. Shelving the new bottles, she tucked a few into her pocket and hurried into the next room where Nurse Huckle was bustling around. The hospital ward in Ravenwood Manor was eerily silent. No one currently in the room had an easily healed injury. A patient lay in one bed, brain matter oozing from his ears. Amelia had found a way to cancel the curse, but the counter-charm was slow-acting. She could only hope the dripping would stop soon. The brain damage would be severe and irreparable. She wasn't sure of the extent. She had to wait until he woke up. If he woke up. Her head echoed with haunting sounds of pain and despair, a symphony resonating in her soul. She rubbed her temple to ease the ache. A man in his 30s sat in a bed beside his friend, hit in the left arm with a fast-acting decaying curse. The decay had spread up to his shoulder. There was no countercurse. Amelia had barely managed to avoid his vital organs as she cut the decay off. His hands shook, no matter how many calming draughts and pain potions Amelia administered. A girl lay in a bed in the far corner, sleeping. She would hopefully be released soon. Some Night Whisperer had conjured a Puffer fish inside her chest. It took 3 weeks of spells and potions to get to this point. Amelia poured an antivenin potion down an unconscious man's throat. He'd fallen into a pit of vipers, bitten twenty-five times before teleporting out. It was only because of their wizardly resistance to non-magical injuries that he had managed to make it to their makeshift hospital before dying. Many other patients in the hospital ward were unknown to Amelia. Each held a tale of resilience and suffering etched into their faces. Amelia's hands moved with purpose, her potions a meager balm for wounds deeper than the physical. Standing in the room, Amelia felt lost. Another meeting urging the Alliance to use more effective spells ended in frustration. There was a bizarre optimism among many Alliance members that they could win the War without dark spells. Rebel fighters defaulted to stunning spells, as if Night Whisperers couldn't cancel those hexes in seconds. Amelia laid out the case for teaching more effective magic at high-level Alliance meetings, met with disbelieving looks. Apparently, being on "the Light" side required fighting against stacked odds. Never mind their enemies wanting to kill them and enslave all Humans in Europe. She stood beside a bed, seething, as the tap of wood on the ground interrupted. Stub-Leg Mick entered, his presence a welcome interruption. Steeling herself, she followed Mick down the hall. She hoped not to be scolded again for arguing the case for using dark spells. She didn't imagine Mick would; he was one of the few who didn't disagree with her. Mick led the way to a small room. Once inside, he cast privacy spells, scrutinizing every corner. "We're losing the war," he stated after a moment. The words hung in the air, a chilling acknowledgment of the dire reality. His gaze bore the weight of the world. "I know," Amelia said in a leaden voice. "Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one aware." "Some fight only when fueled by optimism," Mick said. "But—we're running out of optimism." Amelia stared. She knew. She was the one who held people down as they died from curses she couldn't reverse. The one who walked into the debriefing room, listing the dead and the injured, detailing recovery time and whether they could fight again. "An opportunity has come up," Mick said. "One that could turn the tide of the war." Amelia suspected the price was steep. "As Night Whisperers' forces have grown, Luthera's intelligence has grown limited. They don't inform him of attack strategies." Amelia nodded. Some Alliance members questioned Luthera's loyalty. Unbeknownst to King Snipe, Luthera, a master of potions and mind-reading, played a vital role as a spy. He supplied rebels with crucial information. "We have an opportunity to bring in a new spy. Someone with a high rank. The Victor heir, Alistair. Says he'll turn spy to avenge his mother. With a full pardon and—" Mick hesitated. "And he wants you. Now and after the war." Astonished, Amelia barely registered the words. She hadn't seen Victor since school. Victor had been climbing ranks. Why would Victor turn? The blame for the war could be placed on his shoulders. Perhaps Night Whisperers' power wasn't as assured as thought. It seemed too good to be true. But why her? She didn't recall rivalry during training. She'd never been the true target of his viciousness. Unless...demanding her was revenge on Marcus. Maybe he thought she and Marcus were together. "There's not much I wouldn't do for the intelligence he could offer. But you have to agree, he wants you to be willing..." No. No. Never, she thought. She swallowed the refusal. Her hands fisted. "I'll do it," she said. "Provided he doesn't interfere with my ability to aid the Alliance. I'll do it." Mick studied her. "You should think about it more. You can have a few days. If you do this - you can't tell anyone. Alfie, Luthera, Rose, and I will be the only Alliance members aware." Amelia looked up. There was a sensation in her chest, but she didn't let herself be distracted. "I don't need more time. The sooner we get information, the better. I'm not delaying." Mick nodded sharply. "Then I'll send word that you agree." Removing the privacy wards, Mick left, leaving Amelia to absorb what she'd consented to. She wasn't sure what she felt. Crying, perhaps? Alistair wanted her, and she feared what evil things he would do. She recalled a memory from Nine years ago. She had just turned Twenty and still lived at Crystal Temple. She was stumbling to her room after drinking too much smoked-whiskey. When he Victor heir had appeared, by a staircase. He had locked his eyes onto hers. She remembered the feeling of an invasive chill crawling down her spine. His gaze had seemed to undress her, leaving her uncomfortably exposed. She had run away in fear. She'd escaped him then.