From the moment Regulus made contact with the core, Freya hadn't moved.
Time blurred in this place. She had no idea how long she'd stood there, watching him motionless.
When he finally stirred, the change in her expression was obvious.
Her gaze lingered on his face. Clear eyes. Normal composure. And that faint smile she was starting to recognize.
She let out a quiet breath, this one less subtle than usual. Her chest rose and fell visibly.
Regulus noticed. Whatever drove it, whether concern for the mission or relief at seeing him intact, it was care.
She'd stood there for however long it took, wanting nothing more than confirmation that he was alright.
He smiled and nodded, then tilted his head toward the core.
Want to try?
But he didn't want her to. Not really. He had no idea whether she possessed the same bedrock sense of self that he did.
His own experience hadn't felt especially difficult, though not because his convictions were unshakable or his heart impervious to temptation.
Seeing that stronger path laid out before him, he'd been tempted. He could admit that.
But he believed, more deeply than the temptation ran, that he could reach the same heights on his own terms.
Surpass them, even.
He believed in himself.
But if everyone who touched the core faced the same trial, the same deconstruction of their magic, he didn't know how much of Freya's magical framework was truly hers.
Could she hold her ground the way he had?
He didn't know. So he'd rather she didn't try.
But he wouldn't make decisions for other people. He could only answer for himself. Freya's responsibility was Freya's alone.
If she wanted to go, he'd tell her what to expect. The choice would be hers.
She read his eyes and understood. A small shake of her head. Slight, but definitive.
She didn't know what the core was or what contact would bring. But something told her she shouldn't try.
Not now, at least.
The feeling was vague, born of instinct rather than logic. She'd had these intuitions before, scattered through her life, and that person had told her they came from her blood. Weaker than his own, far less precise, but trustworthy when it counted.
She trusted it now.
Regulus's smile widened slightly. He said nothing, only gave an approving nod.
Freya caught the expression and rolled her eyes. Insufferable kid.
They turned and retraced their steps.
The glowing ground pulsed beneath their feet, veins brightening and fading as they passed, as if bidding farewell.
At the spot where they'd first landed, Regulus extended his hand to Freya, lifting it a bit higher than necessary.
Her eyes widened a fraction, half a glare, but she took it.
He cast the Flight Spell and carried them both upward, back into the seawater.
Through the invisible membrane. The mental pressure returned.
But not the way he'd expected. Instead of heavy-to-light as they ascended, it started feather-soft, the way it had felt at the beginning of the descent, and grew heavier as they rose.
He understood immediately.
Down was one pass. Up was another. Regardless of direction, you endured the full progression from light to heavy.
Nothing to do with depth or physical pressure. You went through it. That was the rule.
The oppression surged like a tide. But this time, for Regulus, it was bearable.
Bellatrix burned steady in his mindscape. Blue-white, gentle and stable.
He glanced at Freya. Blue light flickered through her eyes now and then, vivid against the dark water.
They kept ascending.
Inside the pressure zone, time and spatial awareness dissolved. Duration could only be guessed at, depth measured only by how hard the oppression squeezed.
No light reached this far down. Only gloom, broken occasionally by bioluminescent drifters that lit a small pocket of water before winking out.
Then Regulus stopped. He looked up.
Dozens of meters above, five figures were descending.
He recognized one. The island leader. That dark crimson pattern on his Bone Mask remained faintly visible even in the murk.
Beside him floated another figure: the survivor who'd escaped alongside him.
Behind those two, three strangers.
His magical perception told him everything he needed. The three newcomers were stronger. Their magic ran thick and cold, nothing like those mask-wearers he'd encountered before.
Core members of the Abyssal Whispers.
All five wore Bubble-Head Charms and Protego barriers, transparent spheres encasing their heads, translucent shields wrapping their bodies.
They hadn't passed through the mental pressure zone. They were diving the ordinary way.
Regulus understood. They'd never obtained the precise coordinates. Never learned the name Slumbering Abyss. Never knew that what they'd been hunting for lay beneath the seabed.
Or perhaps they knew, but knowing didn't help without access. All they could do was follow.
And that was straightforward enough. The ocean was vast, the sky vaster, but from high altitude, spotting a stationary ship on open water wasn't difficult once you had the general area.
Find the ship, find the dive point.
But this zone required permission to enter. The sealed information from the archive served as the key. They didn't have it.
So they floated there in their Bubble-Head Charms and Protego shields, diving like any ordinary wizard would.
Regulus and Freya rose a bit higher. The five descended a bit lower. They faced each other through the water, less than twenty meters apart.
The island leader's gaze found Regulus. He drifted backward, an unconscious flinch.
The invisible curse. The Fiendfyre. The burning island. Fresh memories.
The survivor beside him reacted the same way.
The three newcomers didn't move. They floated in silence, bodies swaying gently with the current.
This wasn't the time for a fight.
Those three, judging by their magical signatures, were at minimum on par with Orion.
And he and Freya were still inside the pressure zone. Their condition was decent, but battling opponents of that caliber in deep water was foolish.
Especially against people who specialized in ocean combat. If they were strong at sea, they'd be no weaker beneath it.
Regulus looked at Freya. She looked back. Neither spoke. They didn't need to.
Apparition.
Both vanished at once, leaving behind two empty bubbles that the sea collapsed and swallowed.
They reappeared on the bow of the ship.
Still where they'd left it. Deep night now. Moonlight pooled on the deck. The sea lay flat and glassy.
Regulus cast the Hot-Air Charm. Steam rose from his clothes and skin in a wave of warmth. Freya did the same.
Before either could draw a full breath, five figures surfaced ahead of them.
The Abyssal Whispers had Apparated after them.
Five figures standing on the ocean's surface as if it were solid ground, though their bodies rose and fell with the swell. Moonlight picked out the Bone Masks, the dense runic script carved into every one.
The one who stepped forward wasn't the island leader. It was one of the three core members.
His mask bore deeper, denser runes than the others, glinting darkly under the moon.
He raised his head toward the two on the ship. His voice was old and coarse, like something dragged up from long disuse. "Miss Eisenhardt. Mr. Black."
His gaze swept from Regulus to Freya, then settled on Regulus. "Good evening."
Regulus raised an eyebrow.
Being identified by name didn't surprise him. The man's magical signature radiated authority; clearly a leader-tier figure, the sort who'd make it his business to know who operated in his sphere.
And the Black features weren't subtle. Dark curls, grey eyes, distinctive enough that his appearance had never been a secret. Being recognized was inevitable.
Freya said nothing. Her wand swept in an arc and blue flames erupted around her, coiling and leaping, wreathing her entire body. They lit the water ahead in cold brilliance.
She stood at the prow, looking down at the five below, her expression sharp as a blade.
Regulus glanced at her, then called on Bellatrix.
The protective image rose in his mindscape. That newly ignited star poured blue-white light into his magic, and the magic carried it into his Fiendfyre.
Orange-red flames surged from him.
In step with the shift in his spirit and will, the fire changed too. A stronger mind deepened his control. A more stable will tightened his suppression.
Fiendfyre remained Fiendfyre: hungry, consuming, violent, destructive. Those instincts still lived in it. But under his hand, it grew tamer.
And the protective image added something new.
The orange-red fire coiling around him now carried an inclination, a tendency to place itself between him and harm. To intercept what would otherwise strike him.
Unlike Protego's passive barrier, this was active. Watchful. Like a guard.
Flames spiraled around his body, leaping and circling, almost identical in posture to Freya's blue fire. Only the color differed.
Regulus looked down at himself, then over at Freya.
Matching flames.
She caught him looking. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she said nothing and turned her stern gaze back to the figures below.
Regulus looked down at the five Abyssal Whispers members. Grey-green light kindled at the tip of his wand: the Decomposition Curse, first form, ready to fire.
His left hand was prepared too. The second form's precasting was already complete, silent and invisible. The unseen ripple could spread at any moment.
The old voice rose from below once more. "We only want to talk. About what's down there."
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