Adam wakes up early the next morning, the soft glow of dawn filtering through his window, painting the room in shades of gold. Seraphina, his loyal owl, is still perched on her stand, tucked into her wings. Occasionally, she lets out a faint rustle, her feathers shifting as if adjusting to a more comfortable position in her slumber. Careful not to disturb her, Adam slides out of bed, his movements practiced and silent, and heads to the washroom to freshen up. The cool splash of water on his face clears the last traces of sleep from his mind. By the time he returns, the sun has climbed higher, its warm rays spilling through the estate’s tall windows, illuminating the intricate patterns etched into the wooden furniture and walls.

  Feeling an itch for a quiet moment to himself, Adam decides to begin the day in the library. The estate is peaceful, as it often is in the early hours, with only the faint hum of distant house-elves tending to their morning duties. As Adam walks down the quiet halls, the soft echo of his footsteps against the marble floor creates a rhythm that matches the tranquil energy of the morning. He says his usual good morning to most of the family portraits.

  The library greets him with its usual air of serenity, a haven of towering shelves brimming with books and scrolls, their leathery spines glowing faintly in the sunlight streaming through the high windows. The faint, comforting scent of old parchment and polished wood fills the room. Adam gravitates toward one of the large bay windows, its cushioned nook inviting as ever, and pulls out a thick tome on ancient magical creatures. The title, embossed in faded gold, glints in the sunlight as he carefully opens the book to the first chapter.

  He’s only a few pages in, his brow furrowing in interest at an illustration of a rarely sighted Phoenix variant, when a soft pop breaks the silence. Startled but not alarmed, Adam looks up to see Wimble, his personal house-elf, standing a few feet away. Wimble is balancing a silver tray laden with breakfast delicacies—a delicate porcelain teapot, a small plate of buttered scones, and a bowl of fresh fruit among them.

  “Young Master’s breakfast, fresh and warm,” Wimble announces in his usual crisp, respectful tone, bowing slightly as he places the tray gently on the table beside Adam.

  “Thank you, Wimble,” Adam says warmly, offering the elf a smile. “You always know exactly when I’m hungry.”

  Wimble’s large eyes gleam with quiet pride as he straightens up. “It is Wimble’s duty and honor, Master Adam.” With another small bow, he disappears with the same soft pop, leaving Adam alone once more in the sunlit library.

  After finishing his breakfast and spending an hour immersed in the world of ancient magical creatures, Adam decides to attend his mother’s lessons. The hallways seem livelier now, with the occasional rustle of robes or the distant hum of conversation as the household awakens. Reaching the study, Adam pauses for a moment before stepping inside, the polished brass doorknob cool under his palm.

  To his surprise, he finds Cassandra already seated at the large mahogany desk. She leans back slightly, her arms crossed and a competitive glint in her sharp green eyes. The subtle tilt of her chin hints at her readiness to spar, not with wands but with wit and knowledge.

  Their mother, Ariadne, stands by the chalkboard, her presence commanding yet graceful. Clad in a deep emerald robe adorned with silver embroidery, she exudes an air of effortless authority. In one hand, she holds a slender wand that she uses to point at diagrams or underline key points during her lessons.

  “Good morning, Adam,” Lady Morgana greets warmly, her voice tinged with quiet amusement. “Cassandra will be joining us today. I hope you don’t mind the competition.”

  Adam chuckles as he takes his usual seat opposite Cassandra. “Not at all. I could use the challenge,” he replies, a playful spark lighting his eyes.

  What begins as a typical lesson quickly escalates into an intellectual duel. Lady Morgana, as meticulous as ever, quizzes them on a range of topics, from the intricate mechanics of spellcraft to obscure facts from wizarding history. Cassandra is quick on her feet, firing off answers with sharp precision and confidence, her tone bordering on smug.

  But Adam isn’t one to be outdone. His near-perfect memory allows him to recall even the most obscure details from their mother’s previous lessons and the countless books he’s read. When Morgana’s questions delve into the technicalities of elemental magic, Adam’s calm, steady responses leave little room for error.

  The room buzzes with their lively exchange, the sound of quills scratching against parchment punctuating their rapid back-and-forth. By the end of the session, Morgana sets down her wand with an approving nod, signaling the end of the lesson. Adam, unable to resist, raises his fist in mock victory, grinning triumphantly.

  “You’ve been reading too much again,” Cassandra mutters, narrowing her eyes at him in mock annoyance. Despite her tone, the corners of her mouth twitch, betraying a reluctant smile.

  “What can I say? It sticks,” Adam replies, his grin widening.

  Thier mother, watching the exchange with evident fondness, lets out a soft laugh. “You two are quite the pair. A little rivalry never hurt anyone, so long as it inspires growth."

  After the lesson, Adam makes his way to the gardens, seeking solace amid the sprawling greenery of the Morgan estate. The sun hangs high in the sky, its golden rays illuminating the vibrant tapestry of flowers and verdant hedgerows. A gentle breeze carries the scent of lavender and freshly cut grass, adding to the tranquility. The gardens, vast and meticulously maintained, offer Adam a quiet escape—a place where the weight of expectations seems to lighten.

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  As he strolls along the gravel path, his thoughts turn to a task he’s been putting off: naming the Thunderbird. It feels wrong to leave such a magnificent creature nameless, especially after the magical beast decides to stay with Adam. On the way, he encounters most of his magical friends, who are either resting or playing, and he takes the time to greet each one of them. However, Eclipse remains as elusive and mysterious as ever.

  He finds the Thunderbird perched majestically on the bough of an ancient oak tree, its golden feathers shimmering like molten sunlight. The bird’s size is awe-inspiring, but there’s a quiet grace in the way it balances on the thick branch, its sharp talons clutching the bark with ease. Its head rests against its broad chest, and its eyes are half-lidded, radiating an aura of serenity that contrasts with its raw, untamed power.

  Adam steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “Hey, big guy,” he calls softly, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves.

  The Thunderbird stirs, one brilliant eye opening to regard him. A moment later, the other eye follows, its piercing gaze locking onto Adam. Recognition sparks, and with a fluid motion, the great bird spreads its wings and glides effortlessly to the ground. It lands with a soft thud, its sheer presence sending a low rumble through the earth beneath Adam’s feet.

  Adam smiles, reaching out to run his hand gently over the Thunderbird’s feathers. They’re surprisingly soft, with a faint warmth and a subtle hum of electricity coursing through them. The sensation is both comforting and exhilarating, a reminder of the bird’s immense power.

  “I can’t keep calling you Thunderbird forever,” Adam says, his tone light. “What do you think about a name?”

  The bird tilts its head, studying him with an almost human-like curiosity, then nods once—a gesture that makes Adam chuckle.

  “Alright, let’s try this,” Adam begins, rattling off names he’s considered. “Aquila? Zeus? Stormbringer?”

  With each suggestion, the Thunderbird lets out a sharp, disapproving screech, its beak snapping in irritation. Adam winces at every rejection, his enthusiasm waning. Finally, after several failed attempts, he throws up his hands in exasperation.

  “Thor?” he blurts, half-joking.

  To his astonishment, the Thunderbird’s demeanor shifts immediately. It lets out a satisfied chirp, the sound almost smug, and flaps its massive wings, sending a gust of air that ruffles Adam’s hair.

  Adam stares, momentarily baffled. “Really? Thor? I thought you’d go for something grander.” Shaking his head, he chuckles. “Guess you like the classics.”

  The newly christened Thor rises into the sky with a triumphant screech, lightning crackling along his wings as he ascends. Within moments, dark storm clouds begin to gather, casting shadows over the estate. Thunder rumbles ominously, and fat raindrops start to fall, soaking the once-sunny garden in seconds.

  With a flick of his wand, Adam casts the Impervius Charm, a shimmering barrier forming around him to keep him dry. From beneath the enchanted shield, he watches Thor’s silhouette dance among the clouds, a striking figure against the stormy backdrop. The bird moves with a breathtaking fluidity, his wings slicing through the roiling skies as arcs of lightning leap and crackle in his wake.

  Adam stands there for a while, mesmerized, the storm a fitting display of Thor’s power and majesty. Despite the rain and thunder, he feels a deep sense of satisfaction. The name suits him, Adam decides. Thor, the stormbringer, master of the skies.

  By the time Adam returns to the castle, the air is crisp with the faint tang of ozone left behind by Thor’s storm. Glancing skyward, he can still see the Thunderbird’s distant form silhouetted against the soft hues of the evening sky. Thor moves with effortless grace, his golden feathers gleaming faintly as he rides the lingering currents of the dissipating storm.

  Near the door of the castle , Adam spots his father, Cedric, standing with his grandfather, Alaric. The two are engrossed in conversation, their voices low but animated. Cedric’s broad shoulders are squared in his usual composed stance, while Alaric, though older, carries himself with a regal air that speaks of his storied past.

  “Ah, there’s the Thunderbird whisperer,” Cedric greets with a wry smile as Adam approaches.

  Adam grins, his confidence bolstered by the day’s events. “Raising a Thunderbird is no small feat, Adam,” Cedric remarks, his tone both teasing and approving. “They aren’t exactly the easiest creatures to manage.”

  “I’m up for the challenge,” Adam replies, a hint of pride in his voice.

  As the conversation flows, Adam’s curiosity gets the better of him. Turning to his grandfather, he asks, “Grandfather, did you ever deal with magical creatures like Thor when you were younger?”

  A glimmer of nostalgia lit up Alaric’s eyes as he replied, “Oh, I’ve had my fair share of trouble, that’s for sure. Back when I attended Castelobruxo in Brazil, I encountered all sorts of magical creatures. There were even times I crossed paths with dragons. Once, I fought one—and won.”

  Adam’s eyes widen, the weight of the word dragon sparking immediate awe. “You fought a dragon?”

  Alaric chuckled at his grandson’s reaction. “What do you take me for, boy? I’m far more capable than you might think. Even though my powers have waned with age, I was formidable in my prime. Fortunately, your father has been working on something magical for our family—something that helps restore a bit of that lost strength.”

  Adam’s mind raced. Could it be the Philosopher's Stone? But he pushed the thought aside, curiosity overtaking him. “What kind of dragon did you fight?” he asked eagerly.

  “The Brazilian Featherwing,” Alaric said, his voice tinged with reverence. “Befriended later. A feisty one, she was, but clever. I still visits her from time to time, though she’s much larger now.”

  Adam’s excitement bubbles over. “Can I come with you next time? I’d love to see one up close!”

  Alaric tilts his head thoughtfully, then nods. “Next summer, perhaps. I’ll take you,” he promises, his tone warm and sincere.

  Adam can barely contain his enthusiasm, already imagining the adventure. The thought of standing in the presence of a dragon—a creature of both legend and raw, untamed power—sends a thrill down his spine.

  Later that evening, Adam returns to his room, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of dragons and far-off adventures. Seraphina greets him with a soft hoot from her perch, her amber eyes fixed on him intently. She flutters her wings, then glances toward the window, where Thor’s silhouette is still visible against the night sky.

  Adam chuckles, catching her meaning instantly. “Jealous, huh?” he teases, stepping closer to her stand. “Don’t worry. I love each one of you equally, Seraphina.” He holds out a treat, which she accepts with an eager nip, her feathers fluffing in apparent satisfaction.

  As the evening deepens, the castle settles into a comfortable stillness. Adam sits by the window for a moment, watching Thor glide effortlessly across the moonlit clouds. The faint rumble of distant thunder reaches his ears, a final echo of the bird’s earlier storm.