The Daughter of Valancaire

I stepped forward, my nerves a mix of excitement and apprehension. As I approached, Grandfather’s gaze sharpened, sweeping over me from head to toe, as if weighing and measuring every inch of who I had become. Finally, he spoke, his voice steeped in cool certainty.  

“Ravenclaw,” he said, almost to himself. “Of course, you are.”  

I blinked, caught off guard by the statement. Was it approval? A confirmation of something he already suspected? I couldn’t tell. Instead, I offered him a polite nod, unsure of how to respond.  

With a subtle gesture of his hand, he motioned for me to follow, and we walked through the massive double doors of the Keep, which creaked open under some unseen enchantment.  

The air inside was colder than I expected, carrying the faint smell of aged wood, parchment, and stone. The entrance hall was cavernous, its high, vaulted ceiling supported by grand stone arches adorned with carvings of ancient runes and the Valancaire crest. Flickering sconces lined the walls, casting warm, golden light that danced off the polished black-and-silver marble floors. A wide staircase dominated the center of the hall, its bannister intricately wrought with iron filigree that glimmered faintly under the light.  

Everywhere I looked, there were reminders of the Keep’s grandeur and history. Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting Valancaire ancestors in dramatic scenes—dueling dragons, standing against goblin armies, or debating in grand courts. A large portrait hung above the staircase, and I immediately recognized it as my grandfather in his youth, his expression just as stern as it was now.  

The furniture was stately but sparse, favoring practicality over comfort. Dark oak tables and chairs, their surfaces gleaming, were arranged with precision, while silver vases filled with evergreen branches added an understated touch of life to the space. The room exuded an air of order, as if nothing was ever out of place.  

“This way,” Grandfather said, his voice breaking the silence as he turned down a long corridor.  

I followed, my boots clicking softly against the marble. The corridor was lined with shelves filled with old tomes and scrolls, each one carefully labeled and arranged. Suits of armor stood like sentinels in the alcoves, their visors down and their weapons at the ready. A large grandfather clock stood at the end of the hall, its rhythmic ticking the only sound accompanying our steps.  

We passed through another set of doors, entering a study that was both grand and intimidating. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, crammed with volumes that looked ancient and well-used. A large desk sat in the center, its surface meticulously organized with quills, inkpots, and parchment. Behind the desk, a massive window overlooked the sprawling grounds, where the frost-covered trees swayed gently in the winter breeze.  

Grandfather turned to face me, his expression unreadable.  

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk.  

I obeyed, lowering myself into the seat and folding my hands neatly in my lap. The weight of the Keep, its history, and the man sitting before me pressed down on me, but I held my gaze steady.  

“You have questions,” my grandfather said, his voice calm yet commanding, like the stone walls surrounding us.  

All the questions I had bottled up surged to the forefront of my mind, each vying for my attention. But the one that slipped out surprised even me.  

“Why have you not visited me or written to me?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.  

His expression didn’t change. He regarded me with a calm, almost detached gaze before answering. “Because I knew you would seek me. It was not my place to intervene before you were ready.”  

My lips pressed into a thin line, unsatisfied by the simplicity of his answer. He must have seen the flicker of frustration in my eyes because he added, “You are emotional. That is not good. Emotions cloud judgment and dull focus.”  

His words stung, stirring a memory. *Do not follow your heart,* he had told me once, and here he was, reminding me again.  

“It’s not emotion,” I said firmly. “It’s curiosity.”  

He raised a brow but chose not to challenge me. Instead, he gestured for me to speak. “Then satisfy your curiosity. Explain everything to me in detail.”  

And so I did.  

I told him everything: the loss of my memories after I woke up, the lightning that surged from my hands when I defeated the troll, the strange light I saw, the ripples of magic that led me to an old journal, and the overwhelming connection I felt with a certain person. I explained how the tomb and the pensieve restored my memories—memories that included glimpses of the future: the goblin rebellion, my death.  

I omitted Sebastian, Ominis, and Anne’s predicament. That part of the story felt too personal, too fragile to share with him. Not yet.  

When I finished, he was silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful.  

“Our blood,” he finally said, “carries magic of the old. It is not like the common magic wielded by others. This magic—our magic—runs deeper. It is ancient, primal, and not easily understood by those outside our lineage.”  

He paused, his gaze piercing. “You are not the first in our family to experience such things. The power you describe—lightning, ripples, connection—it is a mark of our heritage. A mark that sets you apart.”  

My heart raced as I processed his words, but he wasn’t done.  

“As for Isidora Morganach,” he said slowly, “that is a name I have heard before. Her story has been told in whispers, her name spoken with caution. She sought to harness and manipulate ancient magic, much like you. But who she truly was—what she truly was—I cannot confirm. There are no records, only fragments of rumors.”  

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unyielding. “You will face what she faced—questions, doubts, enemies. You are connected to something much larger than yourself, something dangerous.”  

I nodded, absorbing his words, but he continued, his tone sharper now.  

“I should have been the one to raise you,” he said, his voice hard. “Not your mother. If I had, you would already understand your magic. You would already know what you are capable of.”  

Anger flared within me at his words, but I pushed it down. This wasn’t the time to argue about my family. Not yet.  

“You will come here every night,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We will train. There is much you need to learn. The lessons you were taught about goblins in your history books—they are incomplete. Goblins are far more complex than what they seem. And you must understand this if you are to face what is coming.”  

He straightened, his eyes cold and assessing. “I will shape you into the Valancaire heir. That is something your parents cannot do.”  

A pang of frustration rose in me, but I bit back my retort. He smirked faintly.  

“Hah. Too emotional,” he remarked, shaking his head.  

I clenched my fists, determined not to rise to his bait. Instead, I asked, “Is there a way to break a curse cast recently? One that causes piercing pain—specifically in the abdomen. We don’t know if it was cast by a goblin or a wizard, but it’s severe.”  

His eyes narrowed slightly. “And why, pray tell, are you asking about this curse?”  

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before lying. “I know of someone afflicted with it. Their family has something I need. I plan to bargain.”  

He studied me intently, his gaze weighing my words. “Good. You are learning. But remember this: blood holds the answers.”  

With a flick of his hand, a thick, leather-bound book flew from one of the shelves and landed neatly in his grasp. He handed it to me.  

“Read this,” he commanded. “It will show you what you need to know. I will not give you the answers outright, but this book will guide you. Study it. Understand it. Only then will I confirm what you find.”  

I nodded, clutching the book tightly.  

“Now go,” he said, waving me off. “I will send you with more Floo powder so you can return every night. Your training begins now.”  

I inclined my head respectfully. “Thank you, Grandfather.”  

He didn’t reply, turning away and disappearing deeper into the Keep, his cold demeanor unwavering.  

Clutching the book to my chest, I stepped outside the Keep. The air was cold, biting at my skin, but my mind was racing, too full of thoughts to notice.  

I whispered under my breath, “I’ll be back,” before tossing the Floo powder into the flames. The green light swirled around me, and I vanished into the warmth of the flames, my heart heavy but resolved.