Storm 2
“This way, Mr. Lupin.” The young woman held out her hand, her voice gentle and inviting. Lupin hesitated, staring at her outstretched fingers. It had been so long since anyone had shown him such kindness—especially someone who knew exactly who he was.
“I—I'm fine,” he murmured, his voice calm but wavering. He dismissed her gesture with a polite nod, bracing himself against the cold stone wall as he climbed.
The entire city was carved from stone, from the streets to the buildings. At first glance, it seemed ordinary enough—until he looked closer. The architecture was otherworldly, some structures were impossibly thin, teetering on the edge of collapse yet somehow standing firm. Others were so massive he couldn’t fathom how they’d been moved or constructed. Here and there, random blocks jutted out, seemingly serving no purpose except to make the space feel stranger.
There was no steel, no iron—only marble, brick, and gravel. Some of the towers rivaled the height of muggle skyscrapers, their facades lined with endless columns that spiraled upward. A few structures floated mid-air, broken in half yet suspended as though gravity had been an afterthought.
Magic was undeniable here. It saturated the air, whispered in every crevice of the stone. The sheer openness of the city seemed to challenge the idea that it could be hidden at all. The spell required to mask something this vast would be incomprehensible—if it was even hidden in the first place.
“What is this place?” Lupin finally asked, his voice low but sharp with curiosity.
“The beastmen call it Nov Farum . Isn’t it… grand?” she replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Beastmen?” he echoed, frowning, but she didn’t answer. She simply continued forward, leaving his question to hang in the air.
The buildings seemed to hum in response, the wind whistling through cracks and crevices as though the stone itself were alive. Lupin paused, tilting his head. No—it wasn’t just whistling. The sounds grew more distinct with every step: distant instruments, the faint echo of voices, laughter—or was it screaming? Perhaps singing? The further they walked, the louder it became, a cacophony of life rising from the stone itself.
The city seemed to shift as they moved deeper. The once cold and barren structures grew vibrant with details. Graffiti sprawled across the walls in languages and symbols he didn’t recognize. Candles burned softly at the feet of dragon statues, their wax pooling around offerings. Frescoes, so freshly painted he could still smell the pigment, adorned the walls alongside intricate sculptures. Statues of gods—or perhaps monsters—stood watch at every corner.
It reminded him of the ruins of Rome, but not the quiet, weathered relics he’d seen in the present day. No, this was as if he had stepped back in time, into Rome’s prime—when the city was alive with color, celebration, and chaos. He caught glimpses of red tassels fluttering in the breeze, bursts of greenery entwined with confetti, and—
He stopped abruptly.
Embedded in the stone wall beside him was a skeleton.
His breath caught in his throat as he studied it—a giant ribcage, its bone structure alien and warped. Was it an animal? A person? It was hard to tell. The skull was unfamiliar, its jaw wide open as though frozen in a silent scream.
Lupin took a step back, but his eyes were drawn to the walls beyond. There were more. Bones twisted and fused into the stone—some clearly human, others bestial, and still others somewhere in between. Ribcages, skulls, limbs—they stretched upward and disappeared into the towering heights of the buildings.
“That’s…?” Lupin’s voice faltered as he pointed at the skeleton embedded in the wall.
“Hmm? Is something wrong?” His guide continued walking ahead, her tone light and unconcerned.
“What is this!?” he blurted out, gesturing frantically at the grotesque remains. “Why are there skeletons in the walls?”
She stopped and turned to him, her head tilting slightly, her expression one of genuine confusion. “What is what?” she asked, as though the sight of bones fused into stone was utterly mundane.
“That!” He jabbed a finger at the wall again. “What is this thing ? Why are there skeletons in everything?”
For a moment, she seemed perplexed by the question, her brows knitting together as if the idea itself was foreign to her. Then, suddenly, realization dawned, and a spark of understanding lit her eyes.
“Oh! Forgive me,” she said, bowing her head with an awkward smile. “I forgot—you’re from another world. Our customs must seem alien to you.”
“ Customs ?” His voice pitched higher, incredulous.
She nodded cheerfully, as though explaining something perfectly ordinary. “The Beastmen of Nov Farum were once vassals of the Dragons. In the past, the Dragons would use their own bodies as building blocks for their cities. The Beastmen continue this tradition. They see it as the greatest honor. Every building here incorporates the bodies of the resting. From the very cobblestones you’re walking on, to the bricks in the houses, even the chairs they sit on.” Her voice carried an almost reverent tone, as if she were describing a sacred practice.
Lupin’s stomach churned. “And… and you don’t find that strange ?” he asked, his voice nearly a shout.
“Strange? How so?” she replied, tilting her head again, her confusion deepening.
“It’s—” He searched for the right word. “It’s backwards! Barbaric! You’re using the dead as building materials!”
She blinked at him, unfazed by his outburst. “It’s a matter of perspective,” she said calmly. “It’s not as though they’re decaying. The remains are properly cleaned and calcified before they’re used. In your world, isn’t it common to mix shells into concrete? It’s not so different.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the casualness of her explanation.
“I understand that it might take some time to get used to,” she said gently, her tone softening as she studied his unsettled expression. “I know it may seem barbaric to you, but to the residents of this city, it’s much more than that. It has deep cultural and religious roots. Please, try to see it from their perspective. Though it may not look like it, the people here are kind. All they want is to live in peace, free from persecution. Surely you can understand that, can’t you?”
He could understand, at least on some level. Still, some part of him recoiled at the thought. This place—this city—it was beyond strange, even after everything he had heard about it. Honestly, he hadn’t believed it was real until he saw it with his own eyes. But who was he to cast judgment? These people were giving him a chance, something so rare he couldn’t afford to take it for granted. Opportunities like this didn’t come to him often—if ever.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said finally, forcing himself to push down his discomfort. “I’m just… agitated, that’s all.”
“It’s all right,” she replied with a reassuring smile. “Soon, this will feel like the new normal for you.” She tapped her chest lightly, as if swearing by her words.
Lupin managed an awkward grin, unsure of how else to respond.
Without another word, they moved forward. Lupin steeled himself, unsure of what other strangeness lay ahead.
Rounding a corner, he froze. Movement made his hand twitch toward his wand, but he stopped himself as a woman emerged. Dressed in white robes, a cloth over her head, she rubbed a rosary in her fingers. Instead of a cross, it bore the image of a dragon. A child walked beside her, holding her hand. Their skin was grey, and the woman murmured in what sounded like Latin. Lupin stepped aside, letting them pass.
The little girl glanced at him, her eyes were like a cat's, slitted and yellow.
“Are they… Beastmen?” Lupin whispered to his guide.
“No,” she replied, unfazed. “They are the descendants of the banished—human followers of the Dragonlord. We call them storm-men now. Everyone in Stormhill is.”
“Dragonlord, huh?” He forced a strained grin.
“You’ll learn in due time,” she said, quickening her pace. “Come, we have much to do.”
They entered a bustling courtyard, alive with decorations, music, and singing. Lupin had never seen such a crowd—not even in his Hogwart’s days. The sheer number of people dwarfed any gathering he’d experienced.
As they passed a stall, Lupin caught sight of its vendor—a creature resembling an overgrown house-elf. Its long snout, sharp teeth, but the clothes set it apart. It sold shiny plates with dragons to a nearby couple.
“Is that a…” he began in a whisper.
“No, that’s a demi-human,” she interrupted. “Do not mistake them for Beastmen.”
“Why not?”
“People tolerate them—they sell goods, serve as workers—but they’re not allowed to live in the city or stay past nightfall. Those that linger are killed.”
“Killed? Why?” Lupin asked, horrified. The creature seemed intelligent, even polite—its English is better than some Hogwarts students’.
“Despite appearances, they grow feral at night,” she said matter-of-factly.
“And the Beastmen are allowed to stay?”
She shot him a sharp look. “Do not compare the two. Especially in front of the Beastmen—they would take it as a grave insult.” Her tone silenced him, and they continued deeper into the city.
Crowds huddled in the square, the air alive with the sounds of drums, flutes, and voices. The entire crowd clapped along with the rhythm, their laughter and singing blending into the festive chaos. A chill brushed against Lupin’s skin as snowflakes fell, only to be swept away by the wind.
“She’s just ahead. We may need to push through,” his guide said, weaving her way into the crowd.
Lupin followed, squeezing through the crowd as the music built to a feverish crescendo. Then, a howl cut through the air—part wolf’s cry, part haunting melody.
In the center of the square, he saw them: ten towering wolf-like creatures, each only slightly taller than him. Their dark fur and grotesque faces could haunt any child’s dreams. Dressed in gray robes, they held instruments and stood in a circle, all facing inward.
At the center lay a tattered dragon. Its design reminded Lupin of the Chinese lion costumes he’d seen in the East, but this one was unsettlingly lifelike. Five heads rested motionlessly on the ground, and four golden-membraned wings spread out in tatters.
Soft flute music drifted from the dragon. Sitting beside it was a boy, dressed in a school uniform that bore a striking resemblance to Lupin’s old Hogwarts robes. The boy sat cross-legged, eyes closed, his features vaguely Japanese.
As he played, the music flowed through Lupin like waves, stirring something deep within him. His curse surged, rising as if to take hold, only to recede just as quickly.
No. Not here. Not in front of a crowd.
There wasn’t even a moon in the sky.
He clenched his chest, sweat dripping from his face as he struggled to steady himself.
“Are you all right?” his guide whispered behind him.
“No—no, I need to get out of here,” Lupin stammered, panic rising in his voice.
“But you’ll miss the show?”
“You don’t understand. It’s not safe.”
She studied him closely, her gaze sharp and probing. Then, a spark of recognition flickered in her eyes. “The music... I see now. You’re a child of the Crucible.”
The what?
“How fascinating,” she said, her tone turning cold. “This is worth reporting.” Her gleam grew malicious.
“Please don’t—”
“No, Mr. Lupin, this doesn’t change your deal. It’s simply... worth further study. Stay .” Her voice carried an unnatural weight, and suddenly, his knees buckled. He couldn’t move.
What’s happening to me?
“ Watch ,” she murmured, leaning close. “I want to see what happens.”
The flute gave way to drums, then pipes, then chanting. Each sound clawed at the curse inside him, pushing it to the surface. Lupin’s chest heaved, his control slipping.
For the first time, he fought his transformation in daylight. The crowd, blissfully unaware, was in grave danger.
“Open yourself,” she hissed. “Let the music flow through you.”
Lupin staggered, his legs threatening to give out. Everything blurred, his consciousness slipping as his bestial nature clawed to the surface. It demanded release—to howl, to tear, to gorge.
The wind howled, and the dragon moved. Its heads rose, wings beating the air. Red sparks flickered around it, the movements primal, hypnotic, pulling his spirit higher, as if to the heavens.
Then the dragon flew. A great gust roared through the crowd, its five heads brimming with red lightning. Rain fell, winds screamed, and snow swirled. The heavens themselves seemed to bow to the creature’s dance, a display both beautiful and terrifying.
Lupin’s head spun. The world melted together in chaos.
“Mr. Lupin? Oh dear, perhaps I’ve taken this a bit too far,” his guide’s voice echoed faintly.
The dragon landed before him. Up close, he saw through the suit—golden eyes staring back.
And then, darkness.
He woke on a stone bench, its hard surface sending a dull ache through his back.
“Are you okay, mister?” a cheerful voice asked, drawing his attention.
He blinked, disoriented. A young girl, chipper and sweet, leaned over him, her lap serving as his pillow. She gently combed her fingers through his hair, her touch oddly soothing.
“W-what?” His voice came out hoarse and strained.
“You passed out during my dance,” she chirped with a whistle. “Gave everyone quite the scare.”
Her smile was warm, but something about it made his stomach twist.
“Your… huh?” he croaked, staring into her eyes—a deep cerulean blue that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
She had a wholesome, girl-next-door charm: short blonde hair, flawless skin, and a natural innocence. It reminded him of the pure-blood Slytherin girls he used to avoid at Hogwarts—elegant and untouchable. But unlike their usual sneers and condescension, her expression carried a playful, almost mischievous grin, and her eyes brimmed with curiosity.
“Relax, mister. You’re safe,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You looked like you were having a rough time, so I thought I’d help out.”
“That was a disaster,” another voice cut in from his left. Lupin turned to see the boy from earlier—the one with the flute. He looked exhausted, sipping something from a red thermos. “Way to ruin my solo. I spent all week on that.”
“Don’t worry, Lord Takeru,” the girl chimed in teasingly. “You’ll get it right next hunt.”
“Moon’s dammit, stop calling me ‘Lord’!” he snapped, throwing her a glare. The girl just giggled, clearly enjoying his frustration.
Lupin suddenly jolted upright, his face flushing as he realized how this must look. He was supposed to be a prospective teacher, and here he was being doted on by students. Not exactly the best impression.
“Where is…?” He trailed off, realizing with a twinge of embarrassment that he didn’t even know his guide’s name.
“That girl you were with?” the blonde asked, rolling her eyes. “Pfff. Told her to back off. Those Amberlos guys are creeps. Always poking and prodding people like lab rats. No respect for personal space.”
“You did what?” Lupin’s voice cracked in disbelief. “But… how…? Aren’t you a student?”
The girl shrugged nonchalantly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure am! But someone’s gotta stand up to them. They think they own the place. You’re welcome, by the way.”
She stood up and gave a playful twirl. Her uniform, though similar to the boy’s, stood out with unique embellishments. A blue cape draped elegantly over her right shoulder, fastened with a large circular sapphire that glimmered in the light. Her long, flowing dress was a deep blue, adorned with tiny gems that shimmered like stars in the night sky.
“Besides,” she added with a confident grin, “I outrank her.”
Lupin blinked, unsure how to process the scene. “Outrank her?”
She nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Of course. That’s why she left without making a fuss. Amberlos types might be creepy, but they know their place when someone like me speaks up.”
The boy with the thermos groaned. “Great. Now she’s going to start throwing her ‘rank’ around again.”
“Oh, hush, Lord Takeru,” she teased, sticking out her tongue. “Don’t ruin my moment.”
This was not how Lupin thought his day would go. Rescued by students—humiliating and depressing didn’t even begin to cover it. He was supposed to meet with the schoolmaster today, to discuss his teaching contract and living situation. The meeting was supposed to be his chance to make a good impression, to prove he was capable of starting fresh here. But now? He couldn’t help but feel like he’d ruined everything.
His curse had always loomed over him, and now it had surfaced at the worst possible time. It was inevitable, really. He could never escape it, never control it—not when it mattered most.
Lupin's stomach churned. “Look, I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll just— I’ll leave you alone.” He started to rise, but before he could fully stand, she shoved him back down. Her strength was surprising, more than he expected from someone who looked so delicate.
“Where I come from, saving someone grants favors,” she said, her gaze unwavering as she stared him down. “And I think you owe me one.”
Lupin blinked, stunned. “What?”
She leaned in closer, her tone turning dark. “Besides, I would be a poor leader if I left something as dangerous as you alone.”
His heart skipped a beat. “How did you know?”
Her eyes gleamed with a curious, almost unsettling excitement. “You have no idea how high this goes.” She hummed, before her face lit up with a burst of energy. “Anyway, werewolves?! Did you come from the moon? Can you sense its phases? How connected are you!? Can you perform the full moon spell!? Tell me! Tell me!” She was practically in his face now, so close he could feel her breath on his skin.
Lupin fumbled, taken aback. “I— I don’t—”
His eyes flicked to the boy, hoping for some support. The boy, however, simply shrugged, offering no help.
“You have no idea how important this is,” she practically yelped, her voice rising with urgency. “This could change everything for my entire conspectus!”
“How?” The boy interjected, wiggling his thermos. “He’s a creature of the Crucible, more Kollos than yours.”
The girl’s face lit up with excitement, her energy practically radiating off her. “Yes! You get it! This could be the breakthrough we needed! Things overlap all the time!”
Lupin raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch up.
“It could be like the prince's blood for Hierodas, the silver tear of Solomous, the mending rune, the double helix, or your ergo! This could be our thing!” she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming.
The boy huffed, clearly not as enthusiastic, turning his attention elsewhere.
She suddenly grabbed Lupin’s hands, her gaze locking onto his. “We’re going to be the best of friends, Mister!” Her cheer was so infectious that it almost felt like everyone around her was drawn to her energy, like a magnet.
“I’m Lady Tomoe, the star of Lazuli,” she continued with a grin, “And you and I are going to do great things together.”
Lupin blinked, still dazed by the whirlwind of her words.
“You shouldn’t get your hopes up,” the boy muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Ignoring him, Tomoe’s attention snapped back to Lupin. “Anyway, what’s your name?”
Lupin was still struggling to keep up with the pace of the conversation. It took him a moment to process her question. “Ra— Re. Remus Lupin, the— the new charms professor?”
Tomoe tilted her head, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know your name means ‘wolf,’ right?”
Wolfsbane Potion
A recent alchemical breakthrough, this rare potion allows werewolves to retain their human consciousness during transformation. Its complex ingredients make it inaccessible to most.
The Solomous Conspectus managed to circumvent this by making an albinauric version, which has shown success in tests, though many subjects suffer memory loss after consumption. Further testing is needed.
Werewolves, often outcasts, travel in packs, making them easy targets for experimentation. Those deemed too dangerous are hunted, skinned, and dissected for public safety.