There’s something almost ritualistic about Quidditch practice.

  The roar of wind under broomsticks. The shriek of a Bludger as it races toward flesh and bone. The barking of instructions from older students who think shouting louder makes them better leaders. Jake was born for this chaos. Desmond thrived in it. Nathaniel, despite his cautious nature, adapted well.

  I did not.

  Not in body, anyway.

  I was never built for sport.

  But Jake—Jake insisted.

  “Caelum,” he said as he stomped into the library during a rare moment of peace. “You have to help me. My turning speed is too slow, I keep missing passes, and Rebecca says I fly like a broom with indigestion.”

  “Sounds like a personal problem.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have battle vision. You told me once you could see how I move before I even move.”

  “That was a figure of speech.”

  “You lied to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t care. Come watch practice. Coach me. Analyze me. Use your creepy glowing demon eyes. Do something!”

  “You want me to optimize your broomstick filing?”

  Jake grinned. “Exactly.”

  And like most chaos in my life, I said yes—not because I wanted to help him improve his game, but because I had noticed something odd st practice. Something worth investigating.

  Something only I could see.

  Gryffindor First-Year Practice Grounds – AfternoonI sat on the bleachers, arms crossed, Kuro curled in my p like a living inkblot. Above, Jake spun in wobbly circles, trailed by Rebecca and Caden, tossing the Quaffle between them with all the subtlety of a stampede.

  I exhaled softly.

  Then blinked.

  Red flooded the world in spiraling tomoe.

  The Mangekyō Sharingan awakened.

  And I saw everything.

  Not just the motions, but the before — the intent behind the twist of a shoulder, the breath before a dive, the flicker of energy trailing behind every movement like magical afterimages.

  It was like watching a symphony through the mind of the composer.

  Jake’s broom jerked every time he anticipated contact, not when he made it. Desmond’s swings aimed too early because he wanted to intimidate, not hit. Nathaniel read movements two seconds too te, always reacting, never predicting.

  “Wrong,” I murmured.

  And I understood something else.

  Magic, at its core, wasn’t just spell and wand.

  It was intention made manifest.

  It was the push behind a broom’s rise, the force behind a curse, the shape of imagination when given form. The energy my eyes once channeled as chakra now drank in the very flow of magic around me like a second heartbeat.

  The Sharingan saw more now.

  Not just technique. Not just threat.

  It saw magic’s structure — threads of energy shifting around each person like living diagrams. Where they moved, how they willed it, and where it would fail if their mind and motion misaligned.

  It was intoxicating.

  And dangerous.

  I blinked the eyes away before I got lost in them.

  Jake nded, panting. “Well?”

  “Your elbow drops before every left pivot.”

  “That’s... true?”

  “And you brace your thighs before any upward lift. Your body nguage is leaking every next move.”

  Jake blinked. “You’re terrifying.”

  “I’m efficient.”

  He turned to his teammates. “Oi! Rebecca! Caden! Caelum’s watching us with his battle eyes! He says I fly like a leaky bucket!”

  “I never said that.”

  “You meant it.”

  Professor McGonagall was watching.

  From the distance. Not interfering. But watching.

  Her sharp, feline gaze caught mine from across the field.

  She didn’t smile.

  Didn’t nod.

  She just studied me—like I was the spell she couldn’t quite decipher.

  I didn’t hide the look.

  I simply acknowledged her presence, and returned to observing.

  Let her wonder. Let her think.

  I wasn't hiding. I just hadn't expined.

  Later That Evening – Gryffindor TowerI sat on the arm of the couch near the fire, scribbling down new notes in my bck leather-bound book. Not spells this time—observations.

  Magic Flow is Predictive.

  Intent Precedes Manifestation.

  Fws in Casting Are Visible Before Casting Begins.

  The Eye Records, But Can It Replicate Without Wand?

  Kuro stirred in her sleep at my feet, paw twitching like she too dreamed of flying.

  “Interesting notebook,” said a quiet voice beside me.

  Evie Lockhart.

  She leaned on the back of the couch, eyes scanning the pages even though she couldn’t read my shorthand. Her red hair was tied in a braid, freckles scattered across her cheekbones like little inkblots of curiosity.

  “Jake said your eyes ‘unravel the truth of reality.’”

  I groaned. “Did he also say I was half-dragon?”

  “He may have suggested you were cursed by an ancient wizard and raised by necromancers.”

  “He’s consistent, at least.”

  She sat beside me, hands folded. “I’m not here to ask what they are. I’m here to say… I saw how you watched the game. You see more than most.”

  “I see too much, sometimes.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “It depends on what you’re looking for.”

  We sat in silence for a while, the fire cracking, the noise of other students dulled in the background.

  Then she added, “Jake really likes you, you know.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “He says you’re his best friend. I think it’s because you’re the only one who can keep up with his madness without trying to outshine him.”

  “That’s because I’ve already seen too many like him. I know how they shine.”

  She gnced at me, head tilted. “Are you really that different?”

  “I’ve died before, Evie.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Figuratively,” I lied smoothly. “War does that to you. Even imaginary ones.”

  She smiled faintly, like she didn’t quite believe me. “Well. If you ever want to talk about the real ones, I’ll be around. You look like someone who could use a second set of eyes.”

  I looked back at her.

  And for once… I didn’t have a sarcastic reply.

  Just a nod.

  [End of Chapter 14]