"The Echo of Power"
When Einar was five years old:
Grinmar was hammering a sword, the echo of metal ringing through the forge. His eyes, dulled by routine, lifted when he heard staggering footsteps.
Einar appeared at the entrance, covered in wounds, dried blood marking his clothes like a cruel reminder. Grinmar glanced at him for only a few seconds, then returned to his work without changing his tone:
"Go get healed. Don't bother your mother," he said coldly, tossing him a small pouch of coins without looking at him.
Not a hint of compassion. Not another word.
And Einar, still trembling, walked away in silence.
Hours later, he returned, already healed by the village healer. The wounds had disappeared, but the stains on his clothes remained… and his eyes had changed.
There was no more pain or confusion. Only emptiness.
That, at least, caught Grinmar's attention. He looked at the boy from the corner of his eye.
"I guess you can't forge something strong without breaking the weak first," he muttered to himself, clinging to the same excuse he always used to quiet his guilt. He wasn't the boy's real father. Not really. Just a burden imposed on him.
That night, dinner passed in the usual silence. The house was cold, despite the fire. Einar ate quietly and soon retired to his room.
"Was the boy hurt?" asked Ephia, collecting the dishes with mechanical movements.
"Yes. But he's healed now," Grinmar replied, not lifting his eyes from the table.
"Then it doesn't matter," Ephia murmured, emotionless, uninterested. Her gray eyes cast a look of pure contempt at her husband.
That contempt was mutual. They were bound by an obligation neither had chosen. She didn't love humans. He hated elves. They both despised what had brought them together.
And more than Einar, they hated each other.
Grinmar closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in frustration. Then it happened: for an instant, his eyes glowed gold.
It wasn't magic. It wasn't human rage.
It was something else. Something... immense, contained, on the verge of breaking.
But before he could say anything, a wooden plate hit him squarely on the forehead.
He looked up, startled. Ephia was staring at him, but this time, her eyes weren't gray. They were green"deep, shining with tears and fury.
"This was your idea," she spat. "How can you ignore a child like that? He's five years old! What if he had died?!"
Her voice trembled as she moved toward Einar's room, driven by an impulse that didn't feel like her own.
"I know…" said Grinmar"or whatever was inside him at that moment. "But you know we can't get close. If we touch him, if we reveal ourselves, if we let him feel us… we'll mark him. And they'll all come for him."
"I know!" Ephia shouted"or what possessed her. "But it hurts. It hurts so much. I thought we chose well! That they'd have at least some humanity…"
"He will have what he needs," he said. "Even if it makes him suffer, even if he rejects them one day… he'll grow strong. He'll learn to love, to fight, to protect. He'll have a long, full life. And when the time comes… he'll be ready."
She looked at him, heartbroken, with a tenderness she couldn't express through the borrowed flesh.
"If one day he remembers us… I don't care if he hates his 'father.' I'll hate him with him."
Silence fell over them. He didn't respond. Not because he didn't want to"because he couldn't. Time itself trembled in his chest. He didn't dare look into the future. Not this time.
"We have to go. We can't stay close for long," he said, gently embracing her.
A soft light enveloped them, and in the blink of an eye, their eyes returned to normal.
Grinmar and Ephia shuddered as if waking from a shared nightmare. They looked at each other for a moment… then turned away in disgust, like strangers forced to live together.
Meanwhile, in his room, Einar lay awake.
He had heard everything.
And while his five-year-old mind didn't yet understand what his "parents" had been talking about, a deep part of him felt it.
...….
"...So that's what it was..."
That was the first thing Einar whispered as he opened his eyes suddenly.
He had finally understood. At last, after more than ten years, a forgotten truth had revealed itself to him.
It was as if the final piece of an eternal puzzle had clicked into place.
Or more than that… as if an ancient seal, buried deep in his memory, had silently broken.
He felt a slight headache, but didn't worry.
He pushed the thoughts aside as if they meant nothing.
He had learned to live in the present.
The future was not his enemy unless it disrupted his way of life"and if something had to happen, it would… just as it always had.
And from the words that had risen from that sealed memory, it was clear: it was something that would only happen when his human body ceased to exist.
That was still a long way off.
Einar got up, the echo of that revelation still resonating in his chest, and walked out to the courtyard.
Today was the final match of the weekly Dueling Club tournament. He was curious to see how much his students had improved.
Since founding the club over a month ago, champions had come and gone, collecting their rewards with pride.
Even Cedric and Harry had taken part, winning several times… until the students rebelled.
It was unfair, they claimed, to let two students who trained every day and barely attended classes compete against them.
Since then, only three students had managed to become champions.
Two of them, obviously, were Fred and George. Their motivation to obtain the Transmute spell was so intense they threw themselves entirely into battle.
It had been an unforgettable sight: when they used the spell, their meager magicka reserves were barely enough to create a pathetic little gold pebble… before collapsing unconscious.
But the twins didn't give up. When Einar explained that greater Alteration mastery meant stronger Transmutation, they started using Telekinesis for absolutely everything.
Soon, it was common to see them with books, trunks, and even classmates floating around them, training relentlessly.
The third champion had been Daphne Greengrass.
Quiet, cold, and meticulous, she had been secretly training with Fleur. Her progress was as explosive as it was expected.
She chose the Calm spell as her reward. She asked if it could be used on others, and when Einar nodded, she quietly explained that her sister suffered from insomnia.
She studied the spell in just a few hours and mastered it with surgical precision.
Her bond with her family ran deep.
"Hurry up, Einar! The final's about to start!" Fred shouted from the stands when he saw the professor approaching.
As always, he treated Einar more like a friend than a figure of authority"but Einar didn't mind in the slightest.
"With the arrival of our adorable draconic professor, we can now begin the final fight of the week!" announced Lee Jordan from above.
"Today we have an epic match: Neville, our stealthiest champion, versus Ron Weasley, the tournament's surprise contender.
How did Ron make it to the finals, you ask?
Well, it turns out all his previous opponents mysteriously suffered stomach issues! Maybe we should check if Ron's cheating!" he said mockingly, provoking a wave of laughter.
And it wasn't a joke. Ron had reached the finals without fighting even once. All his opponents had ended up in the infirmary… after sharing the same "forgotten" cake from the Hogwarts kitchen.
Apparently, one of the house-elves had confused the ingredients with a vomit potion mix.
"It wasn't my fault! They went into the kitchen! And if I had poisoned the cake… I would've eaten it too!" protested Ron indignantly.
"Makes sense," Fred, George, and Lee said in unison as they laughed.
"We don't know if it was luck, fate, or gluttony, but it all ends today," George announced with a mischievous grin.
"Neville not only wields advanced magic thanks to being Einar's assistant and changing his wand, but his hand-to-hand combat skills have become precise, which surprised everyone."
"Since my fight with Harry… I've improved too," Ron replied with a seriousness few had seen in him.
"Are you going to hit another student!? I'm sure Mum's going to be mad!" said Fred in mock horror, startling his brother for a moment.
"Alright, stop bothering him. Neville also wants to show what he's made of," said Einar, calming the twins who kept teasing Ron to unnerve him.
"It's true! Neville has improved like crazy, showing up like a wild stallion and knocking out every opponent with a precise chin strike. It's obvious he learned from Einar," Fred said quickly.
"Well, he needed some confidence, so I forced him into the tournament. And if he wins, I'll grant him one wish," said Einar calmly.
"That's better than learning a spell! No fair!" everyone complained.
"Improve like Neville did these past few months, and I wouldn't mind giving you a chance," Einar replied swiftly, making everyone fall silent.
And it was true. Since Neville had changed his wand and started accompanying Einar as his assistant while training Harry and Cedric, he had improved greatly in class"even in Potions.
He was one of the few who still ate every ingredient to feel its effects on his body. Many had stopped because it was disgusting, but those who still practiced it were the best students in Potions.
Even Snape couldn't complain about the odd method they used.
"Enough chatter. It's time for the battle to begin," said Lee Jordan quickly, as the crowd grew excited.
Meanwhile, Ron and Neville took their stances with fists raised.
The two boys faced each other under the watchful eyes of dozens of students forming a wide circle in the courtyard.
The air was thick with excitement, and the murmurs died as soon as Lee Jordan raised his hand.
"Begin!"
The moment the signal was given, Neville stepped forward, his gaze steady"no trace of the trembling boy he had once been.
His stance was low, arms guarding his face, moving lightly on the balls of his feet.
Ron, on the other hand, charged with force, throwing a direct punch to the face.
BAM!
But Neville turned his head just in time, letting the fist graze past his ear, and countered with a right hook to Ron's ribs.
The impact sounded sharp, like a hammer hitting wet leather. Ron stepped back with a grunt but didn't fall.
"Go Neville!" shouted Dean from the crowd.
Ron launched a flurry of wild punches, trying to take the lead with brute force, but Neville was no longer easy to knock down.
With surprising agility, he dodged to the side, ducked under a wide swing, and spun on one foot, delivering a spinning kick to Ron's calf that made him stagger.
The redhead stumbled back but lunged like a wounded lion, ramming forward with his shoulder.
They both rolled across the ground, through dirt and dry leaves. Hands grabbed at robes, elbows clashed, legs tangled, and sweat beaded on their foreheads.
Einar, standing at the edge of the circle, watched intently without a word. His eyes followed every move Neville made, like a master evaluating his disciple.
"That's it, Neville. Use your center of gravity. Remember what I taught you," he murmured to himself.
Neville broke free with a hold that threw Ron onto his back.
He didn't waste time"he placed a knee on Ron's chest and raised his fist… but didn't strike.
Ron, panting, raised his hands in surrender.
"I give up! Alright, alright! I give up!"
Silence lasted a moment… then erupted into cheers.
Everyone applauded as Fred and George laughed and lifted Neville onto their shoulders like a war hero.
"Textbook beating!" yelled Fred. "The Lion of Longbottom has roared!"
"This is historic! Someone write this on the bathroom walls!" shouted George between laughs.
Einar simply crossed his arms, proud, while Neville, with a shy smile and flushed cheeks, received the ovation.
"Promise kept, Neville," said Einar as he approached. "Make your wish."
Neville stayed silent for a moment, as if unsure whether he should speak in front of everyone.
But then, eyes shining and voice clear, he said:
"I want… you to teach me real battle magic."
A new silence swept across the courtyard, like a curtain dragged by the wind.
Einar nodded slowly, and for the first time in a long while, smiled with true respect.
"Then prepare yourself, Lion. What's coming… is no game."