Regulus followed Freya along the path, his gaze settling on her back.
She walked with her spine perfectly straight, each stride measured and even.
Even by European standards, she was remarkably tall.
His mind was elsewhere.
The assignment seemed straightforward on its face.
The Abyssal Whispers. Ancient, elite, devoted to the deep sea and the forbidden knowledge it concealed. They'd set their sights on the Ancient Maritime documents in the Eisenhardts' keeping, applying sustained pressure through raids and harassment until the family decided the cost of holding on outweighed the cost of letting go.
Freya had told him the details.
From the sound of it, the methods were restrained.
At least for now, the Abyssal Whispers hadn't opted for a direct assault or open slaughter. This was textbook attrition. Bleed the other side until compliance became the rational choice.
The Eisenhardts, clearly, had no intention of complying.
Regulus understood. It wasn't purely about pride, though pride mattered plenty to a Pure-blood family. The real calculus was strategic.
Any Ancient Maritime Documents worth the attention of an organization like the Abyssal Whispers spoke for themselves. They might contain lost sea routes, hidden magical treasures, perhaps even a critical component of some primordial ritual. The Eisenhardts had guarded them for generations. They knew exactly what they held.
And if they yielded this time, what about next time?
The game between Pure-blood families and powerful Dark wizard cabals worked like a duel. The moment you showed weakness, you attracted more predators. The Abyssal Whispers would be the first. They wouldn't be the last.
So you held the line.
Freya had said only the two of them were stationed here at this town, with other Eisenhardt operatives covering other locations.
Another thought surfaced. Freya had said two people were enough.
In her eyes, he was a twelve-year-old child. She probably expected him to contribute nothing of value, might even consider him a liability.
And she still thought two was sufficient. Which meant she had absolute confidence in her own strength.
Regulus could sense the magical energy radiating from her. Dense, refined, exquisitely controlled.
Her body language told the same story.
She'd received more than a standard magical education. Combat training, clearly, and not a passing exposure.
He could tell she wasn't the type to become helpless the moment her wand was out of reach.
A thought flickered through his mind.
Same as me.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Freya was, without question, a striking witch.
Not in the conventional way. Nothing soft or coy about her appeal. What she projected was harder, more direct.
The height, those sharp facial features, the clean efficiency in everything she did. That quiet self-assurance underneath it all. Together, the combination produced something distinctive.
A child would probably find her too cold, too cutting. Wouldn't want to get close, wouldn't dare.
Regulus thought the balance was exactly right. Commanding. Formidable.
She sensed his gaze, stopped walking, and turned.
Nothing deliberate about it. She'd simply been moving forward, then she wasn't. She turned, and her eyes found his face.
He looked back. A few seconds of silence passed between them.
She didn't speak, didn't glance away. Just watched him, as though waiting for an explanation of why he'd been staring.
Regulus found her reaction almost... guileless.
You're looking at me, so you must have something to say. I'm waiting. That seemed to be the sum of it.
He couldn't very well tell her what he'd actually been thinking. That would be impolite, and it wouldn't project the composure he needed.
He shifted his gaze to the distant waterline, then brought it back to her. When he spoke, his voice was level.
"Ms. Eisenhardt, do you have more information on the Abyssal Whispers?"
He was genuinely curious about the organization.
What they pursued was niche. Forbidden knowledge tied to the deep sea. Lost civilizations and spells. This wasn't the usual Dark wizard playbook of chasing power, wealth, or raw magical supremacy.
They had a purpose. Even their demands seemed built on some kind of philosophy.
That interested him.
Most Dark wizard gangs were collections of thugs bound together by profit, acting chaotically, thinking short-term.
The Abyssal Whispers were something else entirely.
Freya withdrew her gaze, turned, and resumed walking, though she slowed her pace enough for him to fall in beside her.
"They worship the deep sea... They believe magic should be like the ocean..."
Her eyes stayed on the path ahead. "They're masters of the Dark Arts. Mental erosion, ritual magic. Especially dangerous at sea."
A crease formed between her brows, her tone shading toward something heavier. "Their magic has a strange quality. It's not like ordinary Dark magic, that frenzied malice. Theirs feels cold."
She turned her head and glanced at him.
"Like the deep sea itself. No good, no evil, no emotion. It simply exists. It simply consumes."
Regulus listened in silence.
"If you encounter them," Freya said, looking forward again, "protect your mind first. Your body second. Their goal isn't to kill you. They'll make you forget why you were resisting in the first place. Make you feel that resistance is pointless. That fighting is pointless. That nothing matters at all."
That sharpened his interest. So that's what mental erosion looks like.
He nodded. "You said they're dangerous at sea. What does that look like in practice?"
A few more steps before she answered. "On open water, their movement speed increases. Their spells hit harder. Best not to fight them on the surface if you can avoid it."
As she spoke, she lifted a hand and tucked a strand of wind-blown hair behind her ear.
She stopped, turned to face him squarely, her gaze serious. "Watch your mental defenses. Protego can't block mental erosion."
He could hear the subtext. You're a child. You look composed, sure. But whether you can actually withstand that kind of assault is another question entirely.
He didn't take offense. In her position, facing a twelve-year-old partner, he'd have the same doubts.
But anticipation was building in him all the same.
The Abyssal Whispers.
Mental erosion.
Combat at sea.
He wanted to know what that mind assault actually felt like. Whether his Star Guided meditation and mental barriers could hold against it.
And that cold magic of theirs. Measured against the Decomposition Curse he'd developed himself, which one cut closer to the bone of what magic truly was?
Freya took his silence for understanding. She turned and led on.
They traced the coastline in a full circuit around the town, Freya pointing out key positions as they walked.
Where the pearl farm's protective wards ended. Which direction the Deep Sea Observation Station's entrance lay. The standard patrol routes. Which areas had blind spots.
Her briefing was lean and efficient. Not a wasted word. Every sentence carried exactly the information it needed to.
Regulus listened quietly, asking the occasional question. Each one landed where it mattered.
"How far do the protective wards extend?"
"If someone approached from beneath the surface, how deep can the detection charms reach?"
"The previous three attacks. Which direction did they retreat?"
Each question earned him a longer look from Freya.
She'd assumed his composure was surface-level, a poised manner that might not reflect real capability. Hearing these questions, she was starting to think he was at least engaging seriously with the problem. Not dead weight.
But she still didn't believe he could contribute much in practice.
Twelve years old. No matter how gifted, there were hard ceilings on magical reserves and combat experience. The Abyssal Whispers fielded elite operatives. In a real fight, she'd have to split her attention to protect him.
They completed the tour and arrived back at the stone house by the sea.