The curse had awakened.

And this time, it wasn’t in a dream.

Dawn swallowed the blood welling up in his throat and, using the reflection in William’s eyes as his guide, turned with a surge of killing intent. A green flash burst from his wand, shooting toward the phantom behind him.

Bang!

The Killing Curse struck the jackal-headed figure squarely in the skull, passed clean through, and smashed into the wall behind. A small cloud of pale dust fell from the impact.

As expected…

The Anubis summoned by the curse wasn’t a living entity.

Dawn took a deep breath and lunged forward, trying to pull the spear from his chest. But whatever the weapon was made of, it had fused into his flesh. No matter how he moved, he couldn’t tear free.

“A curse that targets the mind?”

The thought flashed across his mind.

He had read about such curses before—attacks that struck the soul directly, but were so vivid that the body reacted as if it were truly injured.

He narrowed his eyes and reached for the phantom spearhead jutting out of his chest.

As expected, his fingers passed straight through it, touching only the rough fabric of his robes.

He recalled what he’d read in those old books.

The most effective treatment for mental-suggestion curses was to induce a deep coma and repeatedly use Memory Charms to erase the cursed memory while the victim was unconscious.

The treatment would take years and came at a heavy price.

Even in the best cases, wizards who underwent this therapy ended up with severe amnesia.

That was not an option for Dawn.

Cough… Cough, cough…

A sharp pain flared in his chest again. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

He could feel a dragging sensation, as though someone were pulling the spear backward. Even though it was just a phantom, the cold shaft scraped against his flesh with a sickening grind.

Thud!

The spear yanked free with a dull sound—along with a phantom image of his heart.

Yes… a phantom.

He was sure of it. He could still feel his real heart pounding furiously inside his chest.

Wiping the blood from his mouth, Dawn straightened. With the spear gone, he could move freely again.

He watched Anubis standing silently by the door, then stepped back cautiously. Turning to the still-stunned William, he asked, “What did you see?”

“…You suddenly started bleeding,” William rasped after a pause.

“Anything else?”

“What?”

William looked confused.

Seeing the boy’s blank expression, Dawn didn’t press further. He fell into thought.

He had clearly seen Anubis in the reflection of William’s eyes… but in the end, was it only visible to the cursed?

At that moment, Anubis finally lowered the scales in his hands. Just like in the dream, he placed a heart on one side and a feather on the other.

Creak…

Creak…

The metal arms rocked back and forth along the fulcrum, making a sound like rusty joints grinding.

Dawn narrowed his eyes.

But quickly, he noticed something different.

—Unlike the first time in the dream, the scales wavered for a long time.

In other words…

His heart was getting heavier.

But why? Was it time? Did the curse worsen as time passed?

A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind.

He remembered the Egyptian myth—when the heart outweighed the feather, the soul would be devoured by the monster. His gaze darkened as he watched the scales tilt.

Slowly, the balance broke.

The heart began to sink, raising the feather high.

Dawn’s eyes widened.

For no reason, a primal sense of dread seized him.

Like prey that had stumbled into a tiger’s den, every inch of space was suddenly filled with a suffocating instinctual fear.

Pure reflex.

Dawn instantly cast a Shield Charm on himself and pulled a healing potion from his leather wallet.

But before he could even get the potion to his lips, a tidal wave of natural magic surged from the void and crashed into him.

The sense of danger grew sharper.

The overwhelming magic poured into his body, triggering some kind of change he couldn’t describe.

Before he could think of a countermeasure—

Dawn fell to his hands and knees, gagging up a torrent of blood and fragments of organs.

This was nothing like the light spray from earlier. It burst from him like a crimson waterfall, unstoppable.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the heart on the scale slowly solidifying, transforming from a phantom into real flesh.

His heart had actually moved onto the scale.

Damn it.

So this was the curse’s true effect.

His mind blurred.

His vision narrowed, blackness closing in from the edges, devouring color and light.

And absurdly, at that critical moment, his mind latched onto one stray thought—this curse really did use phantom heart teleportation as its medium.

Damn it! What am I thinking?!

His face twisted. He dug his fingers into the floor, forcing his thoughts back into focus.

No way. He couldn’t die here.

Fighting the sinking weakness, Dawn brought the bottle to his mouth and bit down.

Crack!

Glass splintered between his teeth.

Shards pierced his lips, but he didn’t care.

He swallowed the bitter potion mixed with his own blood.

Thank the stars for wizard physiology—tougher than a Muggle’s—and the efficiency of magical healing.

As the liquid slid down his throat, the emptiness in his chest slowly filled. Flesh wriggled and knit together.

Thump.

His heart started beating again.

Dawn rolled onto his back in the pool of blood, staring at the ceiling, gasping for breath.

He was lucky. Anubis had taken his heart, but no lingering magic had been left behind, allowing the potion to work.

He knew cases where this wasn’t possible—like Professor Kettleburn at Hogwarts, whose accumulated magical injuries left him unable to regenerate limbs despite wizarding medicine.

Dawn turned his head. Anubis had vanished from the doorway.

But he had no idea whether the curse would return.

For now, all he felt was exhaustion.

Since the first dream of Anubis, Dawn hadn’t slept a single night, relying entirely on potions to stay awake.

He tried to fight the drowsiness with sheer will.

But eventually, he gave in and closed his eyes.

….

He didn’t know how much time had passed.

His thoughts drifted in a blank, hazy place.

Then a cool sensation touched his cheek.

It brought him back, senses reconnecting one by one.

Dawn opened his eyes.

The blurred colors before him merged slowly into the round, chubby face of William.

“…William?”

Seeing the boy pouring water on his face, Dawn couldn’t help but let out a light laugh.

“What, getting back at me? Water doesn’t do much damage, you know.”

William didn’t answer. He stared at Dawn for a moment, then held the bottle out. “Do you want some?”

Dawn blinked, then accepted it. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He propped himself up and drank deeply.

Noticing the dried blood on his clothes, he thought about cleaning himself up, but his limbs were too heavy to bother.

“Will this… really keep me from turning into a monster?” William tugged awkwardly at the short new arm on his back.

“That depends on what you mean by ‘monster.'”

Dawn inspected his chest.

“Right now, you look strange enough that if Harris saw you, he’d probably kill me on the spot. I’m glad he wasn’t here while I was unconscious.”

“Will it… kill me like the blood curse?” William’s lips trembled. “I don’t want to die.”

“You don’t want to die?” Dawn tilted his head. “That’s rare. Kids your age usually don’t even understand what death means.”

“It means no more sun, no more moon, no more food, and no one to talk to,” William said, his face clouding with sadness.

“You’re scared of being alone?”

“Yes.”

“But before today, I don’t remember you talking to anyone.”

“I don’t want to have to get used to it after I die. If I can’t adapt… that’d be terrible.”

Dawn chuckled. “You’re surprisingly thoughtful for a kid.”

He leaned his head against the wall, pointing to the opened can nearby. “Then why not get used to not eating ahead of time?”

“…Because I can’t help it,” William said matter-of-factly.

The room fell quiet.

Staring at their reflections in the pool of blood, Dawn asked, “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you said you could save me.”

“And you believed me just like that?”

“Were you lying?”

“What if I was?”

“Then give me back the water. I don’t want to share it with liars.”

Dawn stared at the chubby boy reaching out to him, then burst into laughter. “Ha! So stingy.”

He drained the last of the water and tossed the empty bottle at William.

A few drops splashed into the bloody puddle, sending ripples across the surface.

Dawn lowered his head.

The room’s light reflected off the blood, filling the space with a warm glow. Like a match struck in the Danish winter, it brought faint visions with it.

He saw the bloodied tire tracks on the road. The lifeless body in the coffin. The rose petals drifting at a wedding. And the reflection in the Mirror of Erised—the deepest desires of the heart.

He lifted his gaze to meet the stubborn eyes in front of him.

No one liked death. Not William. Not Dawn.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said softly.

Perhaps out of sudden softness, perhaps something else.

Dawn reached out and pinched William’s soft cheek. “I’m not exactly trustworthy. But this, I promise you.”

….

His soul was damaged.

After asking William to clean up the room, Dawn stood before the full-length mirror in the bathroom, watching the magical mist swirl with the patterns inside him. His expression turned cold.

He saw cracks forming in some abstract shapes—likely representing his soul. It reminded him of Neville after a strong Memory Charm.

The black surface lines were still intact.

So even among curses, their use of natural magic and the damage they inflicted varied.

He took a deep breath.

He didn’t yet know how soul damage would affect him. His magic still worked for now, but he knew he had to move quickly.

To give himself the power of the phoenix’s rebirth, he first needed to observe the unique patterns inside a phoenix.

Only two phoenixes were known to exist in the wizarding world.

One was Fawkes, Dumbledore’s companion—but returning to Britain wasn’t an option.

The other was Spark, the mascot of New Zealand’s Motora Macaw Quidditch Team.

For Dawn, Spark would be far easier to reach. The phoenix appeared at every match, descending from the sky to sing and inspire courage.

All he needed to do was show up when the team played.

But before seeking out the phoenix, he planned to test his magical creature transformation theory on a wizard first.

….

By the time he was ready, night had fallen.

Dawn cleaned himself up, erased the bloodstains, and slipped into the streets under the cover of darkness.

The Valley of the Kings was filled with tombs—and with them, a crowd of opportunistic wizards.

He had expected the black wizards who dared break into tombs to be formidable. But when he’d come here with Harris earlier, he’d learned otherwise.

Many of the wizards here weren’t tomb raiders at all—they simply ran illegal businesses that the Ministry disapproved of.

Like mummification.

Anyone who brought in a corpse—wizard or Muggle—could have it mummified professionally, often with added ancient craftsmanship to fetch a higher price for smugglers.

Harris had spoken of that place with obvious disdain.

When Dawn asked why, he learned William had nearly been kidnapped and sold to the mummifiers when they first arrived in Egypt.

Recalling all this, Dawn made his way to a small, remote tavern.

Bars existed everywhere, even in dragon reserves. And drunk wizards were always easier to deal with.

He stopped outside the tent, inhaling the faint scent of alcohol. Instead of entering, he cast a Disillusionment Charm and waited.

He was looking for a lucky wizard to step outside.

________________

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