Morwenna woke to a thin, crystalline film of white across the glass. When she pressed her small palm against the pane, the biting cold seeped into her skin, but no frost bloomed in response to her touch. That volatile part of her magic was quiet now, settled deep in the marrow of her bones where the dragon and the ancient fires had tucked it away.
She dressed in careful layers to ward off the morning chill, pulling on a thick grey jumper and dark trousers. Her wool socks bunched around her ankles as she moved, a minor annoyance she ignored in favour of the day ahead. While the green snake remained coiled on the bed, Cinder was already waiting by the door. His russet fur caught the dim morning light, and his amber eyes tracked her every movement with quiet devotion.
The morning room felt warm and inviting, the fire having been lit early to chase away the night's lingering frost. Jack stood by the window with his back to the room, his black hair catching the light and revealing the signature white streak of Keith line.
Jane sat at the table with a steaming cup of tea, the scent of bergamot drifting through the air. Saoirse was sprawled across the settee, her legs hanging casually over the armrest in a way that seemed entirely too relaxed for the early hour. Aldric occupied his usual chair with Seraphina beside him, though she wasn't knitting today. Instead, she was simply lost in the pages of a book, her expression serene.
Morwenna climbed onto a chair, and the wood felt cold even through her trousers. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, watching as Cinder settled into a comfortable heap beneath the table.
Breakfast arrived shortly after, a spread of eggs, buttered toast, and a small bowl of porridge sweetened with honey. She ate without really tasting any of it, as her mind drifted toward the strange, dual nature of her existence.
Jack turned away from the window, his gaze settling on his daughter. "You are quiet," he observed.
Morwenna looked at him and opened her mouth to speak. The word was right there, sitting on the tip of her tongue. Dad.
She could feel the weight of it, the simple, grounding gravity of the title, but nothing came out. Her throat felt as though it had tightened. She simply closed her mouth and picked up her spoon.
Jack didn't push her, as he seemed to understand the silent battles she fought within herself. He sat down across from her and began his own meal. The silence between them comfortable rather than strained.
. . .
The library was cold despite the fire in the hearth. It was a large, vaulted room, and the warmth hadn't quite reached the shadowed corners where the tallest bookshelves stood. Morwenna sat on the rug near the flames with Cinder curled comfortably beside her, his russet fur glowing in the firelight. A book lay open in her lap, but she wasn't reading the text. Instead, her attention lingered on an illustration of a dragon in vibrant red and gold, its wings spread wide across the aged parchment.
Saoirse dropped down onto the rug at her side, her movements fluid and sudden. "Daddy said you were asking about where magic comes from."
Morwenna: "..."
Morwenna looked at her, momentarily speechless. "If my memory is right, Saoirse is nearly forty, isn't she? And she still calls him that? Daddy? Seriously? Has she no shame?"
The thought must have shown on her face because Saoirse caught it at once. One of her brows lifted as a wide grin spread across her lips, clearly amused by the girl's silent judgment.
Exasperated, Morwenna turned away and shut the book with a soft thud. "Yes. He told me about the druids. He said they were the first magical people."
"That's where most of us come from. Druids marrying druids, keeping the blood strong enough to ensure the magic survives." Saoirse leaned back against the bookshelf, her hands behind her head. "But there's another kind. It's much rarer."
"Firbolg-Born," Saoirse explained, her tone turning more serious. "They are the children of two magical creatures who both took human form. Both parents give their hard souls to the child, which means the child has no soft soul at all. They aren't human, not really. They look like us and live like us, but they aren't."
Morwenna processed this, her brow furrowed. "How long do they live?"
Saoirse's eyes reflected the dancing flames as she considered the question, her expression turning distant. "It depends on the parents," she explained. "If neither parent carries longevity traits and they're just ordinary magical creatures with normal lifespans, the Firbolg-Born child lives about seven hundred to nine hundred years."
Morwenna's eyes widened at the sheer scale of such a life. She couldn't imagine a world where she might endure for nearly a millennium, watching the world change while she remained largely the same.
"If one parent has longevity or immortality, such as a phoenix or a dragon, then the child lives even longer," her aunt continued, her voice dropping into a more reverent tone. "A thousand to fifteen hundred years."
Morwenna's breath caught in her throat, the air suddenly feeling thin in the library. "And if both parents have it?"
Saoirse smiled, a faint and knowing look in her eyes that made Morwenna wonder just how much her aunt truly knew of their blood. "Then the child lives even longer," she said. "Fifteen hundred years or more. It's possibly indefinite."
Morwenna stared at her while the figures spun in her head like dizzying constellations. Seven hundred years was a lifetime far beyond her comprehension, yet fifteen hundred seemed like a true eternity.
The idea of an indefinite life was simply too vast to grasp, a concept that defied the very nature of everything she understood about being alive.
It was a span of time so vast she couldn't truly grasp it, especially from the perspective of someone who had once lived a mere fraction of that in another life. Beside her, Cinder shifted in his sleep, his russet fur brushing against her leg.
The door opened and Jack walked in, carrying an unopened letter. The white streak in his black hair stood out as he moved into the firelight, a stark contrast to the deep shadows of the room. He took his seat in the armchair near the hearth and set the correspondence on the table, though he didn't make any move to open it.
"You are learning about bloodlines," his gaze moving between the two of them.
Morwenna nodded, her mind still etched to the impossible numbers. "Saoirse was telling me how long Firbolg-Born live."
Jack raised an eyebrow, a faint, amused expression touching his lips. "Was she?"
"Seven hundred to nine hundred years if neither parent has longevity," Morwenna recited, the figures already etched into her memory. "A thousand to fifteen hundred if one does, and more than fifteen hundred if both do."
Jack sat back in his chair, his posture relaxed. "That's correct," he said, "and our line comes from one of them."
Morwenna leaned forward, her curiosity piqued as the abstract history suddenly became a matter of her own identity.
"The Keith line comes from Moridunon Ambreys. Or Myrddin Emrys, as he was known later." he explained, watching her closely to see if she understood the weight of the name. "You know that name, don't you?"
"Merlin," she replied reciting the name she knew.
"Yes. Merlin is what most people call him now. But his birth name was Moridunon. Later in his life, he went by Myrddin Emrys. Emrys was his family name."
His finger tapped in a steady rhythm against the armchair, his expression thoughtful. "He was Firbolg-Born. His mother was a basilisk named Aleahkys, and his father was a phoenix called Fawarx."
Morwenna's breath caught. The basilisk from her dreams and the phoenix she had seen in the ritual chamber... it all began to click into place. The images weren't just random symbols; they were her ancestors.
Saoirse leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement. "Fawarx is still alive. He still visits the manor occasionally. He sneaks in, gives his heart blood, and leaves before anyone can catch him. He is very elusive."
Morwenna blinked in surprise, her mind reeling at the thought of a legendary creature wandering the halls. "He comes here?"
"He has for centuries," Jack said. "We don't know when he arrives. We just find the vials in the morning, still warm from his magic. He is very elusive."
She tried to imagine a phoenix sneaking through the manor at night, leaving blood in secret and flying away before anyone could offer their thanks. It seemed so lonely and yet so devoted.
"Myrddin was their firstborn," Jack continued. "They had another child much later. It was an accident, really. Most cross-species matings don't produce offspring. Magical creatures only change into human form once in their lifetime, so they only have one chance to conceive a human-looking child. The probability is incredibly rare, but Myrddin was that child."
Morwenna's mind was racing. She knew this story, though not from this life. She remembered the woman in the apartment and the screen glowing in the dark. She had read something like this before, a narrative that felt too specific to be a coincidence.
Jack watched her as he spoke, his eyes searching hers. "Myrddin left home and was gone for a very long time—centuries, in fact. His parents didn't expect to have another child, but eventually, they did."
Morwenna's fingers curled into the rug, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Saoirse picked up the thread of the story. "But Aleahkys and Fawarx couldn't take human form again when the second-born was conceived. They had already used that change once, so they remained in their true forms when it happened."
Morwenna stared at her, stunned. The implications were staggering.
"The second son was born from an egg. When it cracked, a human baby was inside. That almost never happens. Two creatures mating in their true forms usually produce creature offspring, not human-looking ones."
"The egg cracked," Morwenna repeated, her voice hushed and trembling. "And a human baby came out?"
Saoirse's voice dropped to a low whisper, adding to the weight of the revelation. "Yes. It shouldn't have happened. It's never happened before or since, as far as anyone knows."
Jack continued the tale, his voice steady.
"His name was Saelvigsahira," he said, then added, "later called Salvazsahar. Salvazsahar Alberich."
He paused a beat.
"In modern times, he is known as Salazar Slytherin."
Morwenna's pupils contracted. She knew that name; everyone did. He was the founder of Slytherin house, the villain of the histories, and the man who built the Chamber of Secrets. But the details were wrong.
In the fanfiction she had read, Sal was Merlin's adopted son, not his brother. Her past-life memory surfaced, clear and sharp. Basilisk-Born. She had read it and she had loved it, and now she was living in a world where some of its lore was true, but not all of it.
The lines between fiction and reality were blurring. She tried to remember more, but a sharp pain flared in her head, a stabbing pressure behind her eyes.
Jack was watching her closely, his concern evident. "Morwenna?"
She blinked, and the library slowly came back into focus—the fire, the shelves, and the faces of her father and her aunt. The pain receded to a dull throb. "I know that name," she said, her voice sounding far away.
Jack nodded slowly. "Most wizarding children do. He is taught as a founder and a villain, but the truth is more complicated than that. History is written by the survivors, after all."
Morwenna wanted to ask more.
What had happened to him? Where was he now, and was he still alive like his father? The questions crowded her throat, pressing against one another as she wondered what had become of Salvazsahar. Why didn't the histories name him as Merlin's brother?
She opened her mouth to speak, but the door opened again. Jane stood in the doorway, her green eyes scanning the room.
Jane said to them, "Jack, Saoirse. Father and mother call both of you."
Jack stood and looked down at Morwenna, his expression softening for a moment. "We will finish this later." He left the room, with Saoirse and Jane following close behind.
Morwenna sat on the rug, and Cinder came over to press his head against her hand, offering silent comfort. Her lineage was almost too much to process.
Merlin was her ancestor, and Salazar Slytherin was too. Two brothers.
A basilisk, and A phoenix.
She leaned her head back against the shelf, her memories jumbled and chaotic.
Between the woman in the apartment and the child in this manor, she didn't know which one was real sometimes.
They are both her.
Both of them were her, existing in a world where legends were merely family history.
She closed her eyes and let the heavy silence of the library settle over her.
===
So, I picked the name Saelvigsahira myself. I mean, Myrddin has another name as Moridunon, so I was thinking… shouldn't Sal also have another name?
So here it is: Saelvigsahira.
Let me break it down for you.
Sæl comes from Old Norse. It means "Blessed," "Happy," or "Prosperous." In a Germanic context, this wasn't just an emotion — it meant someone who had "luck" granted by the gods.
Vig (Old Norse Víg / Germanic Wig) means "Battle," "Fight," or "Strike."
Hira (Old Norse Herra / Germanic Hari) means "Army," "Host," or "Commander."
Now, because Germanic names work as "kennings" (basically poetic metaphors), we can interpret the combination in a few cool ways.
First, the "Impossible" Blessing (Sæl). Usually, Sæl refers to someone born under a lucky star. For a character who was never meant to be born, this element feels almost defiant. It suggests that despite the "accident" of his birth, he carries a luck force (Hamingja) so strong that the universe couldn't stop him from manifesting. He isn't just lucky — he is blessed by the impossible.
Second, the "Struggle to Exist" (Vig). Since Vig means "Battle," it frames his very birth as his first fight. He didn't just arrive; he fought his way into existence against the odds. It implies that his life is a continuous battle against the fact that he shouldn't be here.
Third, the "Unplanned Commander" (Sahira). The "Army" or "Host" element (Hari) suggests that even though he was an accident, he is destined to lead or affect a great number of people. He is the "Leader of the Unexpected."
So yeah, that's the thought process behind the name!