HP: Dragon's Coffin

It had been a couple of days since Ladon had his magic awakened, and in that time, Lord Asclepius decided to start his magic lessons. Starting with the draconic language and runes.

Flashback to the first day of his lessons:

The ancient, dimly-lit room of the Dragon Coffin was silent save for the faint crackling of distant torches. Ladon sat at a carved oak table, its surface marked with runes that seemed to shimmer faintly under his gaze. He had been admiring the intricate designs on the walls when—

FLOOP!

A heavy pile of books slammed onto the table, nearly making Ladon leap out of his chair. He looked up with wide, startled eyes to see Asclepius towering over him, his silver gaze cold and commanding.

"These," Asclepius began, his voice sharp and unyielding, "are the first thing you will master." He gestured to the largest tome on top of the pile, bound in black leather with an embossed dragon in crimson, its ruby-like eyes glinting menacingly. The title was etched in jagged runes that Ladon could not yet decipher.

"Learn the Draconic tongue and their runes before I teach you anything else. You have three months." His tone left no room for argument. "Failure is not an option, Ladon. Dragons respect power, and knowledge is your first weapon."

Ladon stared at the intimidating stack of books, his heart sinking as he imagined the grueling hours ahead. "Three months?" he whispered incredulously, his voice trembling. "But I don't even know where to start—"

Before Ladon could finish, Asclepius vanished, disappearing into the shadows of the archives without so much as a sound. The only evidence of his presence was the faint lingering scent of aged parchment and a cold air that followed his departure.

Ladon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he examined the pile in front of him. The books were ancient, their spines cracked and worn, the air around them tingling faintly with latent magic. He tentatively opened the first tome, and the pages glowed faintly, displaying runes that seemed to shift and writhe as though alive.

A groan escaped him as he slumped back in his chair. "One month," he muttered to himself, the weight of the task already pressing on his young shoulders. But as his fingers traced the embossed dragon on the book's cover, something within him stirred—a flicker of determination.

If Asclepius thought he couldn't do it, Ladon would prove him wrong. He straightened his back, picked up the first book, and began to try decipher the first rune, the glowing runes casting a faint light in the endless quiet of the Dragon Coffin.

Flash back ending

In those 3 days, Ladon was only able to decipher 5 runes. 

Ladon sighed heavily, his small shoulders slumping as his eyes remained glued to the glowing parchment in front of him. The fifth rune stared back at him, its meaning finally clicking into place after hours of relentless effort. His eight-year-old mind throbbed with exhaustion, but his fingers tightened around the quill he was using to jot down his notes. He couldn't stop—not yet. Not until he proved himself to that silver-eyed grandpa.

"I can do this," he muttered to himself, his voice a mix of determination and weariness. "I will do this."

The soft sound of footsteps approached behind him, and a familiar, soothing voice broke through the silence. "Take a break, sweetheart."

Before he could protest, his mother's arms wrapped around him from behind, her warmth instantly soothing his frayed nerves. She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his silver hair, her embrace a protective shield against the overwhelming weight of the task before him.

Ladon leaned back slightly, his head resting against her as he closed his tired eyes for just a moment. "But, Mama, I have to finish," he murmured. "I only have 3 months, and I've barely done anything. Just five runes in three days. It's not enough."

Hyacinth smiled softly, her fingers brushing through his hair as she crouched beside him. "You're eight, my love. And yet, here you are, deciphering runes most adults would struggle with. Don't be so hard on yourself. Even wizards need rest."

"But grandfather said I have to master it," Ladon said, his voice faltering. "He'll think I'm not good enough if I stop now."

Hyacinth's expression darkened slightly, her protective instincts flaring, but she quickly softened her tone for her son. "Asclepius may expect much of you, but he's also wise enough to see how remarkable you are already. You're trying so hard, and that's more than enough for now."

She tilted his chin up gently so he could see the love and pride shining in her black eyes. "You're my little star, Ladon. You'll do this—but not by burning yourself out. Now, let's go have some tea and rest those brilliant eyes of yours, okay?"

Ladon hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Okay, Mama. Just for a little while."

Hyacinth kissed his forehead, her smile widening. "Good. Let's have your favorite—honey and lavender tea."

As she guided him away from the table, Ladon glanced back at the glowing runes on the parchment. Determination still burned within him, but his mother's words reminded him that even dragons needed to rest their wings sometimes.

Ladon followed his mother along the winding stone path, his small hand clutched in hers, until they reached the ornate gazebo at the heart of the garden. It stood like an ethereal relic, its ironwork intricate and dark, entwined with ivy and kissed by the faintest light filtering through the trees.

Inside the gazebo, Asclepius sat comfortably, his back straight and his silver hair gleaming in the dappled sunlight. A porcelain cup of tea rested delicately in his hand, the steam curling lazily upward. The other hand held a crisp copy of the Daily Prophet, its headlines detailing some scandal that Asclepius barely seemed to notice. His eyes flicked over the text with disinterest, his expression one of calm detachment.

As Hyacinth and Ladon approached, Asclepius folded the newspaper neatly and placed it on the table beside him, his piercing silver eyes lifting to meet them. "You've brought the young scholar to grace me with his presence," he said, his tone cool but with the faintest trace of humor.

Ladon shuffled closer, a mixture of awe and irritation stirring within him at Asclepius's unwavering composure. He stood at the edge of the gazebo, feeling oddly small under the man's intense gaze. "Mother said I needed a break," Ladon admitted, his voice soft. "But I'm going to finish the runes. I'll learn them all."

Asclepius arched a silver brow, setting down his teacup. "Determination is a fine thing," he said slowly, "but overworking can be a pitfall. There is wisdom in knowing when to rest. You cannot absorb the knowledge of dragons in a single breath, no matter how determined you are."

Hyacinth placed a gentle hand on Ladon's shoulder and smiled. "I thought some fresh air might help him clear his mind. He's been working so hard."

Asclepius gave a faint nod, gesturing for Ladon to sit at the small table opposite him. "Very well. Join me, boy. Let us see if the gardens can inspire clarity in your mind."

Ladon hesitated but climbed onto the chair, his small legs dangling. Asclepius poured a second cup of tea and slid it across the table to him, the gesture surprising in its subtle kindness.

"Tell me, Ladon," Asclepius said, leaning back in his chair, his sharp silver eyes resting on the boy. "What have you learned so far? Show me the progress of your determination."

Ladon took a deep breath, his small hands resting on the edge of the table. Despite his exhaustion, pride flickered in his emerald, slit-pupiled eyes. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of parchment, covered in his careful scribbles of the draconic runes.

"I've learned five runes," Ladon began, his voice steady. He pointed to the first symbol on the parchment. "This one is Arkril. It means 'power.' Dragons use it to invoke strength or assert dominance." His finger moved to the next. "And this is Fryuth, for 'fire.' I think it's used in spells for summoning flames or breathing fire."

Asclepius nodded slightly, his expression unreadable, though a glint of approval flashed in his eyes.

Ladon continued, tracing the third rune. "Vellin is for 'knowledge.' It's used when seeking answers or wisdom. And then this one," he pointed to the fourth, "is Shaythar, for 'strength.' I think it's paired with other runes to enhance physical or magical power."

"And the fifth?" Asclepius asked, his voice quiet yet piercing.

"This one," Ladon said, his finger resting on the final rune, "is Zephyrn, for 'wind.' I struggled with it, but I think it's used to control the air or create gusts."

Asclepius leaned forward, taking the parchment from Ladon's hands. His eyes scanned the carefully drawn runes, his expression unreadable.

"Five runes," he murmured. "And do you understand how to use them in the language of dragons?"

Ladon straightened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "I think so. For example, if I wanted to say, 'The dragon breathes fire,' I would say, Drakonis fryuth arkril. Or if I wanted to call the wind, I might say, Zephyrn xalyn."

A faint smile curved Asclepius's lips, though it did not reach his eyes. "Not bad for a boy of eight," he admitted. "But remember, understanding runes is only the first step. You must feel their essence, their power. Runic magic is not just spoken or written—it is lived."

Ladon nodded, determination flaring in his young heart. "I'll learn, Lord Asclepius. I'll master them all."

"You'll need to," Asclepius said, his voice low and ominous. "For what lies ahead will demand far more than knowledge. It will demand everything." The last part, he whispered to himself. His sharp silver eyes flicked toward Ladon, who was savoring the last bite of his Battenburg cake, crumbs dusting his lips. Hyacinth dabbed gently at his face, her motherly care softening the weight of the moment. He contemplated whether he should go along with his plan for today. 'He deciphered more runes than I had thought he would. He just might be a prodigy. But time will only tell.'

Asclepius's towering figure rose from his chair with a deliberate grace, the air in the room shifting as if charged by his presence. 

"Come, young Ladon," Asclepius said, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable command. "There is something you need to see."

Ladon blinked up at him, his curiosity instantly piqued. He wiped his hands on a napkin and slid from his seat, his small legs hurrying to keep up as Asclepius strode out of the gazebo. Hyacinth followed closely, her expression a mix of apprehension and encouragement.

The trio moved through the lush gardens, the air growing cooler and the shadows deeper as they neared the entrance to the grand hall of the estate. The towering double doors creaked open with a slight push from Asclepius, revealing the vast and ornate chamber beyond.

The hall was awe-inspiring, its gothic arches soaring high above them, the ceiling adorned with intricate carvings of dragons, runes, and constellations that seemed to glimmer faintly in the dim light. Chandeliers hung low, their candles casting a golden glow over the polished floors. Statues of winged beasts lined the walls, their stony gazes watching over the room with eternal vigilance.

At the far end of the chamber stood an imposing mirror, its frame dark and twisted like the roots of an ancient, cursed tree. The glass was cracked in jagged lines that refracted an eerie blue light, and runes glowed faintly along its edges, pulsing as if alive.

Ladon stared in awe, his small chest rising and falling with the excitement and trepidation coursing through him. "What is that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the grand silence of the hall.

Asclepius gestured to the mirror, his voice low and commanding. "This is the Aetherial Dimensional Mirror. It is a relic as old, if not older, than even the dragons themselves."

Ladon stepped closer to the towering mirror, his wide, dragon-like eyes fixed on its cracked surface. The glowing runes along its edges pulsed faintly, and he could feel the faint hum of its power in the air, like a heartbeat.

"The Aetherial Dimensional Mirror," Ladon repeated, the words unfamiliar on his tongue but carrying an undeniable weight. He turned to Asclepius, his curiosity overcoming his nervousness. "What's inside? How does it work?"

Asclepius stepped beside him, his imposing figure towering over the boy. His silver eyes flickered with something unreadable—pride, perhaps, or maybe caution. "Inside lies a pocket dimension," he explained, his voice calm and deliberate. "Time moves differently there. An hour in the real world can feel like days, weeks, even months within the dimension. It is a place of limitless potential, where magic flows freely, and the mind can expand unbounded."

Ladon's eyes widened, the possibilities spinning in his young mind. "So I could train in there? Learn faster?"

"Yes," Asclepius said, nodding slightly. "Your predecessors used this mirror to hone their skills, to master what might otherwise take a lifetime. The true Archives of the Dragon's Coffin lie within that dimensional space. The one I introduced to you days ago was merely a small section, extracted and placed in that part of the manor for the lesser residents of the Order. Only the true Heir of Ophiuchus is allowed access to the full Archives of the Dragon's Coffin."

Ladon stared at the mirror in awe, his young mind racing as he processed Asclepius's words. "The true archives…" he whispered, his voice trailing off as the gravity of the moment settled over him. His dragon-like eyes flicked back to the glowing runes, which seemed to hum with a life of their own. "You mean… everything about magic, about the Order, about Ophiuchus himself… it's all in there?"

"Indeed," Asclepius said, his voice as steady as the ancient hum of the mirror. "The knowledge contained within the true archives spans eons. It holds secrets of creation, destruction, and everything in between. But," he added, his tone sharpening, "it is not to be taken lightly. The mirror has a timeline, Ladon. I gave you 3 months for a reason. Here, three months may pass, but there, in the dimensional space, 3 years will pass. The maximum time one can stay in there is 3 years. Those who stay past the timeline will find themselves lost to the mirror's depths."

Ladon's wide eyes flickered between Asclepius and the swirling depths of the mirror, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him like a weight. "Three years… but only three months out here?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to grasp the enormity of what Asclepius was offering—years to study, train, and grow, compressed into mere months in the outside world. The prospect was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Yes," Asclepius replied, his tone calm but firm, "and that timeline is absolute. You must leave the dimensional space before the three-year mark, no matter your progress. To stay any longer is to risk being consumed by the mirror, trapped in its depths for eternity."

Ladon swallowed hard, the hum of the mirror growing louder in his ears as if it were beckoning him. "How will I know when it's time to leave? What if I lose track of time?"

Asclepius reached into the folds of his coat and withdrew an ornate pocket watch, its golden casing gleaming under the faint glow of the mirror's runes. The craftsmanship was exquisite, adorned with intricate filigree that framed a crystal-clear glass face. Inside, an ethereal green flame flickered and swirled, encased within the watch as though alive. A delicate white flower, suspended like a charm, hung near the top, adding an air of mystery.

"This," Asclepius began, holding the watch out for Ladon to see, "is no ordinary timepiece. It is bound to the magic of the mirror. As long as you carry it, it will track the time you spend within the dimensional space."

Ladon's small hands hesitated before reaching out to take the pocket watch. It felt surprisingly warm, pulsing faintly against his skin as if acknowledging his presence. The flame inside flickered in response to his touch, and the intricate runes etched along the edge glowed faintly.

"The watch has two functions," Asclepius explained. "The outer ring represents the three-year limit within the dimensional space. It will slowly darken as the time passes. The inner flame represents the remaining three months in the outside world. If the flame dims completely, your time is up. It will also chime and emit a white glow as the final day approaches, ensuring you do not lose track."

Ladon turned the watch over in his hands, studying its intricate details. "It feels… alive," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "How does it work?"

"It is imbued with the essence of a wisp," Asclepius replied, his voice calm but tinged with reverence. "A magical entity that binds time and space. It will not fail you as long as you remain true to your purpose."

Hyacinth stepped forward, her concern clear in her eyes. "Asclepius, you're asking so much of him. What if—"

"He will succeed," Asclepius interrupted, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He turned his sharp gaze to Ladon. "The watch is your anchor, your lifeline. Protect it as you would your own heart."

Ladon nodded solemnly, clutching the watch tightly. "I understand. I'll keep it safe."

Asclepius straightened, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the room. "Good. Then it is time." He gestured to the swirling vortex of the mirror. "Step forward, young Ladon, and begin your journey. I look forward to your mastery of the draconic language and its runes."

With the watch clasped tightly in his hand, Ladon took a deep breath and stepped closer to the mirror. The runes along its frame flared brightly, and the hum of magic grew louder, filling the chamber. Without hesitation, he reached out and touched the glowing surface.

The mirror responded instantly, its vortex swirling faster as it drew him in. Ladon felt a rush of energy envelop him, and the last thing he saw before being pulled through was his mother's hopeful smile and Asclepius's steady, expectant gaze.

Back in front of the mirror, the light dimmed, and the room fell silent once more, leaving Hyacinth and Asclepius standing before the now-quiet relic. Hyacinth stared at the mirror, her worry etched clearly on her face.

Asclepius stood silently, his gaze fixed on the mirror. "Now we see what the boy is truly made of," he murmured, more to himself than to Hyacinth.