NOVEL NEXT Chapter 17: Chapter 17
It had been a week since Aryan woke from his extended slumber, and the days that followed were a whirlwind of revelations. He had spent much of that time trying to catch up on the monumental changes that had transpired in his absence. The ripples caused by his family's actions in the timeline were staggering. Even after a week, Aryan struggled to wrap his head around just how profoundly things had shifted.
The muggle wars, for instance, lasted longer than they should have, deviating significantly from the history he once knew. The fall of Grindelwald, too, had taken an unexpected turn, and Aryan could sense the invisible hand of House Stark all over the matter.
He couldn't help but feel a grim satisfaction at the thought of Grindelwald's power crumbling. His followers had mysteriously vanished or betrayed him, his captured allies ended up dead, and eventually, he was imprisoned in his own fortress. But Aryan knew this was far from the end. Grindelwald's days were numbered, and Aryan would make sure of that personally.
Lost in thought, Aryan leaned against the cold window of the library, his violet eyes scanning the vast expanse of Winterfell's grounds. The glow of dawn highlighted the landscape, but his focus was elsewhere. "Fiona," he thought, directing his mental query to the symbiotic entity bonded to him. "Based on what we've gathered so far, and my memories of my previous life, what significant changes have you identified in this timeline?"
Adjusting to Fiona's presence in his mind hadn't been easy. The idea of sharing his thoughts with an advanced AI symbiote was unnerving at first, but her utility was undeniable. After the bonding process, Aryan had learned that he was no longer entirely human—at least, not in the traditional sense. The revelation was as frustrating as it was intriguing.
Fiona's symbiotic cells had fully integrated with his body, enhancing him in subtle yet significant ways. These cells were adaptive, capable of mimicking human cells in their base form but transforming on command to create protective layers or tools. Right now, Aryan's body only produced enough cells to cover his fists, allowing him to channel magic without any hindrance. Over time, these cells would multiply, growing in both quantity and utility.
"Using your memories as a guideline," Fiona's voice echoed in his mind, calm yet analytical, "it's evident that the timeline was altered long before your arrival. The mere existence of House Stark for thousands of years has already set this world on a vastly different path. Even minor deviations can create cascading effects throughout history. Your knowledge of this world's history is... compromised."
Aryan sighed deeply. From the moment he woke, he had been practically living in Winterfell's expansive library, combing through tomes and records. Joanna Stark, his mother, had grown visibly concerned, though Aryan's new empathic abilities made it hard to ignore her worry. Empathy was one of several boons granted to him by the ritual and his symbiotic bond. It allowed him to passively sense the emotions of those around him—a blessing and a curse.
His other notable ability, magic sight, was more deliberate. When activated, his perception shifted dramatically. Non-magical objects appeared dim and skeletal in outline, while magical elements shone brilliantly in dazzling, ever-shifting colors.
It was as though he were viewing the world through the eyes of a completely different being. He had even seen colors that defied description, vivid and otherworldly. Magic itself glowed brightest of all, and with enough focus, he could peer through solid objects unless they were heavily enchanted.
He vividly recalled experimenting with this ability on Misty, the family's house-elf. Through his magic sight, Misty's core of magic was a radiant, pulsing light, connected by shimmering threads to other sources of magic. A crimson thread tethered her to Aryan's own core, a clear symbol of their magical bond.
Surrounding Misty were tiny orbs of dancing light—emotions manifesting as magical energy. When he concentrated on them, he could sense curiosity and faint concern. This explained his empathic abilities; they weren't just passive feelings but a literal reading of the magical energies tied to emotions.
As Aryan pondered these revelations, the library door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts. It was early, and there was only one person who would come searching for him at this hour. Joanna Stark entered gracefully, her emerald-green eyes meeting Aryan's glowing violet ones. She offered him a warm smile.
"You can't stay locked away in here all day, you know," she chided gently, climbing the stairs to the second level where Aryan stood. "It's starting to worry me. Go outside, touch some grass for once."
Aryan couldn't help but smirk. Joanna continued, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, "I've made plans for today. We're visiting Reed Manor and the Romanovs. Uncle Sebastian will accompany us."
Sighing she continues, " You're the heir to House Stark, Aryan. It's time you start acting like it and meeting the other noble families. Your father was close with the current lords, and you know about your grandfather's relationship with uncle Ben and Sebastian. They even have children around your age. Befriend them if you can. No more hiding in the library."
Turning toward the stairs, she added, "Now, let's have breakfast. Head to the dining room while I wake Evelyn."
Aryan's reply was immediate. "I'll wake Eve, Mom. You can set up the table, and we'll meet you there." Without waiting for her response, Aryan darted out of the library, his footsteps echoing in the quiet halls of Winterfell.
As he approached Evelyn's room, he thought of his younger sister. She was a delightful surprise, her presence like a bright light in his life. Though only a year and a half younger, Evelyn was astonishingly sharp for her age. By her first birthday, she was speaking coherently, and by three, she could read fluently. She was, by all accounts, a prodigy, and Aryan adored her.
Quietly opening the door to her room, Aryan stepped inside. Evelyn lay in her bed, seemingly asleep, but Aryan's empathic sense picked up something else— a feeling of mischief. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and he could see her tiny body twitching slightly as she fought to maintain her ruse.
"You're awake, aren't you, you little prankster," Aryan said playfully, a grin spreading across his face. Without warning, he lunged forward, tickling her sides mercilessly.
Evelyn burst into uncontrollable giggles, her charade crumbling. "Stop! Stop! Please stop, Aryan!" she squealed between bouts of laughter.
Finally relenting, Aryan stepped back as Evelyn sat up, her cheeks flushed and her hair tousled.
"Let's go have breakfast," he said, extending a hand to her. "Mom is waiting."
Evelyn took his hand, and together, they made their way to the dining room, their laughter echoing softly in the quiet corridors of Winterfell.