Julien still felt exhausted; this was the first time he had felt such profound fatigue since his magical awakening.
The inside of his right wrist felt hot and prickly. He looked down but saw nothing unusual. Could it be a lingering side effect of his viral infection? He probably just needed more rest.
He closed his eyes, but his consciousness involuntarily and slowly sank into the Magical Resonance Library.
Murphy was perched on top of a bookshelf, his tail flicking irritably back and forth.
Seeing Julien appear, the cat lifted his head. A rare solemnity flickered in his heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one silver-grey. He immediately glanced toward the deepest part of the library but remained silent.
Julien followed his gaze.
In the deepest recesses of the library, the heavy bronze doors that had always remained tightly shut were now emitting a very faint hum. The chains binding them trembled slightly, as if something were pounding against them from the other side.
A ghostly blue light seeped through the crack between the doors, yet they seemed to be suppressed by some unknown force, preventing them from truly opening.
"Those doors..." Julien was the first to speak. "You always say it's not time to open them yet. What exactly is inside?"
"A book. A secret. It is the source of the Black bloodline, and the origin of the entire magical world."
"That massive? Will I even be able to open it in this lifetime?"
Murphy shook his head slightly, seemingly letting out a sigh.
"Right, you probably know this already, but a classmate just gave me a map. The locations circled on it seem to be more than just magical nodes."
"Did you think magical nodes were the only wondrous places in the world?" Murphy rolled his eyes in a highly human-like manner.
"Then did it generate any related books for me to read?"
"Unfortunately, no," Murphy said, staring directly into his eyes. "However..."
"However what?"
"You can go and see for yourself."
"See for myself? How?"
"Where do you want to go?"
Does this old cat actually have that kind of power? Julien carefully recalled the map Rosier had given him. "Hmm, I want to go to the French Riviera."
"I hear the scenery there is beautiful, and it's close to home." Julien could already practically see the silhouettes of beautiful women on the beach.
"Hmm, alright. To the North Sea it is, then." Murphy cast a seemingly casual glance at Julien's right wrist.
"Perfect. Wait, no, where did you say?..."
---
The North Sea. East of the British Isles, west of the Scandinavian Peninsula.
Even knowing it was the middle of summer, Julien found the cold here absolutely bone-chilling.
He looked around. He was in the middle of a vast, endless ocean. The water wasn't the azure blue he had imagined, but a pitch-black expanse.
The sky was heavily overcast, the freezing wind cutting like a knife.
Not far to the north stood a sinister, isolated black island. There appeared to be a castle upon it.
Regardless, he needed to go take a look. Julien didn't even realize it himself, but he was walking right over the water.
Upon reaching the island, the towering castle was revealed to be a grim, triangular fortress built entirely of massive black stones.
This definitely wasn't a holiday resort. If anything, it looked like a prison.
Wait. A prison?
At that thought, Julien looked up. Grey clouds hung oppressively low over the fortress's spires.
And there, between the clouds and the fortress, he could see black, blurry silhouettes gliding silently through the air. They weren't petrels, and they certainly weren't sea ducks or penguins.
There were masses of them, looking like shredded pieces of the night sky, or perhaps tattered rags and cloaks drifting in the wind. They moved chaotically, yet subtly formed a perimeter, shrouding the entire island in their collective shadow.
There was no mistaking it. Dementors! Azkaban!
Suddenly, two Dementors drifted right past Julien. As they crossed paths in the air, the edges of their tattered cloaks merged like smoke, then separated soundlessly as they continued their despair-inducing patrol.
Although the Dementors didn't seem to notice Julien at all, the sheer terror of the scene was enough to strip him of any desire—or courage—to explore further.
The sea wind howled shrilly through every crevice of the stone fortress. But listening closely, Julien realized that the texture of the sound between the gusts of wind was wrong.
It was a nearly constant, low, droning hum. It wasn't the voice of any one person, but the residual echo of countless desperate groans, sobs, and incoherent mutterings, reverberating within the enclosed space and bleeding through meters-thick stone walls.
Against this backdrop of low murmurs, a clear, bloodcurdling shriek would occasionally ring out, slicing fiercely through the freezing North Sea air like a rusted blade.
Julien wanted to turn and run, but his feet felt numb. In fact, his entire body had lost all sensation, save for the searing, burning pain on the inside of his right wrist.
Yet, at this very moment, Julien found that this burning pain actually gave him a sense of being alive, along with the tiniest sliver of warmth.
Julien looked down. A coin-sized totem had appeared on the inside of his right wrist: a winged eagle-headed hound standing atop the stars. It was completely different from the Black family crest.
Julien raised his eyes toward the black prison again. The dark, gaping main doors stood wide open. Though he didn't dare step forward, he somehow felt as if he could see all the way into the very deepest depths of the prison.
Azkaban's internal cells were also built of stone, the doors made of hollow iron bars. Occasionally, a skeletal, withered arm would abruptly thrust through the bars, waving about pointlessly.
Julien could even see that the prisoners inside weren't chained up. Perhaps because there was simply no need.
Most of the cells contained nothing but hollow, human-shaped shells huddled in the corners, occasionally letting out sleepwalker-like whimpers. The walls were covered in meaningless scratches gouged out by the fingernails of the insane.
However, in one particular cell deep within the prison, a massive black dog suddenly transformed into a tall, emaciated man, catching Julien's attention.
Though he too was huddled in a corner, his black hair matted and messy, his eyes were exceptionally lucid as he stared right at Julien.
Dementors roamed the corridors, but their soul-sucking abilities seemed to have very little effect on him.
"The Black bloodline..." The man's lips didn't move, but his voice echoed directly in Julien's mind.
"Listen to me, child. I don't know who you are, but I can feel it—you are a descendant of the House of Black. The true 'Guardian' bloodline."
"I... I'm Julien," he replied. "Caelum Julien Black. Alphard's grandson."
"Alphard..." The man's voice carried a trace of bitter nostalgia. "I am Sirius. Alphard was my uncle. I was the one who dragged him down. To think his descendant would be the true hope of our family."
The image before him grew clearer. Julien saw Sirius raise his wrist, revealing an identical mark: a winged eagle-headed hound standing atop the stars.
"This is the mark of the 'Guardian'. It turns out there were records of it in the old Black family house," Sirius said. "I've had it since I was a child, but I never knew its true meaning."
"At first, I thought being a Guardian meant protecting the magical world and defeating Dark Lords like Voldemort. That was until I came here..."
Suddenly, his voice grew urgent. "I don't know how or why you are here, but I need to tell you that it is not that simple. Azkaban is not just a prison, child."
"Despair breeds constantly here. It is also known as the 'Well of Despair'. The negative emotions here nourish something... an entity far more ancient than any dark wizard you know. It comes from another world. The Dementors were born as a result of it."
"Dumbledore knows, but he never tells anyone the complete truth. Therefore, you cannot fully trust him either."
"Then what should I do?"
"Do not rush, child. There is still time." Sirius seemed to smile. "I think I understand your name now. You have the right to choose. You have the right to carve out your own life—and perhaps even shape this world."
Sirius's voice grew fainter and fainter, and the castle of Azkaban seemed to drift further away in Julien's vision. Just as he was beginning to think it had all been an illusion, a shrill, piercing woman's voice screamed from within the fading castle:
"Julien! I heard everything! Caelum Julien Black! Let me out of here!"
Julien snapped his eyes open in terror.
The Hogwarts Express was roaring across a stone bridge, the rolling hills stretching out beyond the window. Warm sunlight poured into the compartment.
Edgar and Casen's bickering drifted over from the opposite seat, as if nothing had happened at all.
"Are you alright, Julien? You look awfully pale," his two roommates asked with concern.
Julien shook his head and forced a smile. "It's nothing. Just had a nightmare."
He subconsciously looked at his right wrist. There was nothing there. He shrank back into the warmth of the sunlight, closed his eyes again, and began to hum the tune of "500 Miles".
(Note: 1. It is established that Sirius's parents were Orion Black and Walburga Black. Both were Blacks, being second cousins, to maintain the purity of the Black bloodline. Therefore, Julien and Sirius's relationship can be traced from both sides. 2. The spells in this book have been meticulously crafted; feel free to use them.)