Rituals of Obsidian Ridge
Harry awoke to the dim, dream-like light filtering into his room from the eternal night outside. Stretching, he prepared himself for the day ahead, his excitement growing as he considered what lay ahead. After quickly getting dressed, he made his way downstairs to the inn's front desk. The attendant, a pale figure with dark eyes, greeted him with a slight nod.
"Good morning," Harry said, his voice light with curiosity. "Where do you recommend I go next? I've been exploring the town, but I'd love to see something more... symbolic."
The attendant's eyes flickered with understanding. "If you're seeking something truly symbolic of our people, I would suggest Obsidian Ridge. It's a sacred place—a site where our people conduct important rituals. It's quite the experience, but be prepared for a bit of a walk. It's not far, but the journey will be... interesting."
Harry nodded. "Obsidian Ridge, then. I'll head out as soon as I'm ready. Thank you for the advice."
After grabbing his bag and making sure his journal was safely tucked away, Harry set out from Moonbareville. As he left the floating town, the misty, haunting atmosphere lingered in the air, making the landscape feel both mysterious and magical. He followed the narrow path out of town and deeper into the dark woods.
The further Harry went, the more the landscape seemed to shift. The trees grew gnarled and twisted, their branches reaching out like claws. He could hear the faint rustling of leaves, though the air was still. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of creatures—their pale forms darting between the trees, just out of reach. Some seemed familiar, like the Zubat and Golbat he had seen in Luna's journal, while others were entirely new, with glowing eyes and shifting, shadowy shapes.
At one point, a small creature with glowing red eyes appeared at the edge of his vision, its eerie figure resembling a Misdreavus. Harry smiled slightly, remembering Luna's entry on the ghostly being. "So many of her descriptions are spot on," he murmured to himself, pausing to watch the creature for a moment before continuing.
As he neared Obsidian Ridge, Harry began to hear distant chanting. The sound was rhythmic, a low hum that vibrated through the ground. His instincts kicked in, and he slowed his pace, listening carefully. The chanting grew louder, more distinct, and Harry realized he was nearing a ritual. He stayed at a respectful distance, waiting for the right moment to approach.
The chanting reached a crescendo and then stopped abruptly. Silence fell over the area, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves. Harry waited a few more moments, then stepped forward, clearing his throat softly to announce his presence. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter," he called, making sure his voice was calm and non-threatening. "I'm exploring Umbracrest with Seraphina Drakos' blessing."
There was a brief pause before a figure, draped in dark robes, stepped forward. The others, similarly dressed, watched him with wary eyes. "Seraphina's blessing, you say?" the leader asked, his voice deep and smooth. Slowly, the tension seemed to ease from the group, and the robed figures relaxed. "If you come with her blessing, you are welcome here."
Harry approached cautiously. "May I ask what ritual you were performing?"
The leader regarded him for a moment before nodding. "We were invoking the spirits of our ancestors, asking for guidance and strength. Obsidian Ridge is a sacred place where we perform our most important rites. It's a place of power, where the elements of the night and earth meet."
Harry listened intently, fascinated by their customs. He thanked them for explaining, and after a few more exchanges, he continued his journey. As he walked away from the ritual site, the air around him felt charged with energy. The path to Obsidian Ridge was lined with unique plants—some with thorny vines that glistened in the faint light, others with bioluminescent flowers that cast a soft glow over the trail.
Eventually, Harry came to a small clearing where a shelter stood, one of the many safety marks Seraphina had mentioned. He stepped inside, grateful for the temporary respite from the eerie surroundings. The shelter was simple but sturdy, with a small hearth and a cot. He settled in, took out his journal, and began writing.
"The rituals, the creatures, the landscape—it's all so different here. There's a raw magic in the air, something ancient and primal," Harry wrote, his quill scratching softly across the parchment. "I'm beginning to see how deeply the people here are connected to the night, to the shadows, and to their history."
As he finished the entry, he set the journal aside, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of what he had witnessed. Tomorrow, he would press on, but for now, he allowed himself to rest, lulled to sleep by the strange, haunting sounds of the forest around him.