The months flowed by in a strange blend of discipline and curiosity. The Black family home seemed less oppressive now, less a labyrinth of shadowed corridors and hidden rooms, and more a rich archive of knowledge waiting to be opened.
Rigel and Dora fell into a routine — mornings were for theory and form, reading from the ancient tome, and afternoons were for practice.
At first, their training remained confined to the human form. They mastered shifting their hair, their facial structures, the color of their eyes.
But soon, the chapters in the book grew more ambitious, more arcane — touching upon something few metamorphmagi had successfully attempted: the ability to become an entirely different creature.
Turning oneself into an animal was a delicate process. It demanded more than imagination; it required a deep understanding of one's own form and magic. To become a wolf, a cat, a bird — you had to feel it in your soul.
For days, Rigel tried. His first attempts were… grotesque — a face halfway between a boy and a wolf, hands shifting into gnarled paws. His body fought the change, unsure of its own borders. Each failure left him weak and shaky, sometimes feverish.
Dora, meanwhile, made a little more progress. Her magic flowed more naturally when it was tied to her emotions — when she remembered her father, her mother, the feeling of protecting something fragile.
She chose a small, nimble form first: a fox. The first time she successfully transformed, it was a shimmering, red-flecked creature that darted across the training room with a confidence that seemed less human and more elemental.
"It suits you." Rigel said quietly afterwards, smiling for the first time in days.
Dora nodded, shifting back to her human form in a rush of magic. "I… felt more myself as a fox. Free. Unburdened." She paused. "I want you to find that feeling, too."
So Rigel pressed forward. His failures grew less dramatic. His form grew more coherent — a wolf's head here, a powerful shoulder there — until, after countless nights and near-collapses, something clicked.
His magic flowed smoothly, shifting him in a rush of bone and muscle into a black wolf with piercing blue eyes — a creature made of shadow and legacy.
He remained a wolf only for a few minutes — just enough to dart through the Black manor's labyrinthine corridors alongside Dora in her fox form — but it was enough to know: this was a turning point.
The two were no longer children battling their magic; they were beginning to master it.
The nights that followed were filled with a strange, exhilarating freedom. Rigel and Dora fell into their wolf and fox forms more easily each time, letting their senses broaden and deepen.
The Black manor seemed a different place on four legs — its hidden spaces opened up to them, a labyrinth of smells, vibrations, and ancient magic that flowed through the stones under their feet.
As a wolf, Rigel tasted the rich musk of the earth beneath the flagstones; as a fox, Dora darted through gaps in furniture and past forgotten tapestries.
Sometimes they would chase each other through the dimly lit corridors, a riot of movement and pure, wild energy — not children weighed down by legacy and tragedy, but creatures unfettered by human doubts.
This newfound freedom seemed to affect their magic in their human forms, too. The discipline required to transform made their metamorphmagus abilities more stable, more precise.
Rigel was able to control finer details — shifting the color of his eyes or adding a small marking to his skin — while Dora seemed able to match her form to her surroundings, a perfect natural disguise.
As they padded side by side through the dimly lit corridors, a silent understanding passed between them. Whatever lay ahead — the future, the Black legacy, their own doubts — they would face it together, in whatever form it demanded.
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Author's notes.
Please give me power stones.