In the Shadow of What If's

Ashes and Olive Branches

"Maybe we should catch up first."

But Walburga was already walking.

And Thomas—without hesitation—followed.

Hal sighed explosively. "Of course you're going to follow her."

But he ran after them anyway.

The temple wasn't marked on the public map. Alessia had shown it briefly from a distance, noting its eroded stairs and partially collapsed roof. It had once been a small sanctuary—a private space for sacred rites tucked at the base of the forum wall.

By the time the three children reached it, the sun had shifted high overhead, casting short shadows and washing the ruins in a pale, ancient heat.

Walburga stepped lightly over a fallen column, skirts gathered delicately in one hand, her house-elf trailing like a silent shadow. She reached the base of the broken altar and placed one hand upon the warm stone.

"This is where she stood," she whispered. "The witch who saw the end."

Thomas looked up at the open sky through the fractured dome.

"You think the visions were real?"

"I think people remember them," she said. "That's almost the same thing."

Hal plopped onto a carved step. "Do all pure-bloods talk like that?"

Walburga arched a brow at the boy. Reminding him that he was also a pureblood. "Only the ones who read." She gave a slight dig.

Thomas stepped between them before things could unravel.

"I think it's interesting. A witch seeing the future and escaping before everything fell. And those scrolls... I wonder what they said."

"Probably 'run,'" Hal muttered.

But even he couldn't help glancing toward the altar with a twinge of unease.

The silence deepened.

Something shifted in the air.

A tremor. So faint at first that they might have imagined it.

Then another.

The ground shivered beneath their feet like breath held too long.

Walburga froze, her fingers tightening on the altar.

"Did you feel that?"

Thomas stepped closer to her. "Yeah. I think—"

The earth roared.

It cracked wide with a sound like splitting thunder. A fault line tore through the ancient floor, splitting the stone in two, and the children had only seconds to register it before the ground gave way beneath them entirely.

There was no time to scream.

No time to run.

Just light—bright and golden—and the taste of dust in their mouths as the world fell out from beneath them.

Thomas hit the ground hard.

Not stone.

Dirt. Soft and dry, like centuries of powdered ash. It gave under his hands as he pushed himself up, coughing.

"Hal?" he called, voice hoarse.

"Over here!"

A grunt. Then a scrambling sound. Hal appeared a few feet away, covered in dust, a scrape on one cheek.

"Walburga?"

"Here."

She stood already—of course she did—brushing sand from her dress as if she hadn't just fallen through the earth. Her hair had come loose from its braid, and her hat was nowhere in sight, but she held herself tall.

Thomas looked up.

No sky.

Only darkness above them, fractured with golden veins where sunlight filtered through cracks.

They were in some kind of hollow beneath the temple. A hidden chamber? A natural cave?

He stepped toward one of the walls, where faded murals still clung to the stone. Images of fire. Stars. A mountain split with light.

"Guys," he said slowly, "I think this might've been the priestess's sanctum."

Walburga was already examining the stone beneath the altar—a place where soot still stained the rock.

"She came here," she murmured. "To see. To write."

Hal stood behind them, rubbing his arms.

"I don't like this," he said. "This feels... wrong."

"It is wrong," Thomas agreed. "But we're here. So let's look."

"I knew you'd say that," Hal muttered.

They explored slowly.

The chamber wasn't large, but it was dense with shadow and strange symbols carved into the walls. Dust clung to everything. At the back, beneath a cracked archway, they found a stone basin filled with hardened ash.

Beside it—what looked like the remains of scrolls.

Thomas knelt, brushing ash gently aside with the edge of his sleeve.

"Don't touch them," Walburga warned. "They could disintegrate."

"I won't." He paused. "But I think this is where she wrote them. The prophecy scrolls."

A silence fell between them.

Then Hal asked, very softly, "Do you think the prophecy only warned about the volcano?"

Walburga looked at him then—truly looked. Her voice was soft, but clear.

"No. I think it warned about something worse."

They stared at one another.

The earth shifted again.

This time, it felt like breathing.

Alive.

A low groan echoed from the stone, and wind curled through the chamber where there should have been none.

Thomas stepped back. "I think... we need to get out of here."

Walburga didn't argue.

Hal was already moving toward where they'd fallen, trying to find a place to climb.

But the way out was gone.

The ceiling had caved in.

They were sealed in.

Aboveground, Harrison had turned sharply, wand half-raised. Cedric quickly turned as well. They felt it.

A ripple through the ground.

Something ancient stirred.

And his son was no longer in sight.

Neither was Hal.

Nor Walburga.

Fleamont appeared beside him an instant later, eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong."

"Yes," Harrison said.

He didn't wait for permission.

He ran.