Dark Lord in Twilight

Tom was chatting with the Cullen family while drinking his coffee. Esme was asking Tom some questions. Alice, however, remained silent, her relationship with Tom making her hesitant to join in.

"You look very young. How old are you? Are you married?" Esme asked curiously, her motherly tone warm and inviting.

Tom couldn't understand why she was so interested in his personal life. "I'm 25 years old. No, I'm not, Mrs. Cullen."

Carlisle, seated beside Esme, continued the questioning. "So, you definitely have a girlfriend then?"

Alice watched Tom carefully, listening intently.

"No, Mr. Cullen, I'm doing fine on my own," Tom replied, his voice even, without a trace of hesitation.

"Aren't you living with your parents, or did you move out to live alone?" Esme asked again, her curiosity growing.

Tom paused, his expression unreadable before he answered, "I don't have a family. I've never met them."

A deep silence settled over the table. Alice froze at his words, her heart clenching. She had always had a loving family who supported her, but Tom didn't even have a single friend. He spoke about it so casually, as if it didn't matter, but Alice could feel the weight of his loneliness.

Alice swore to herself that from now on, no matter what, she would never leave Tom alone. The rest of the Cullen family shared a solemn glance, equally affected by his words.

Jasper, attempting to sense Tom's emotions, was taken aback. There was no sorrow, no regret—only an eerie acceptance. When Edward read Jasper's thoughts, he, too, was surprised. Most people longed to know their parents at least once in their lifetime. But Tom? He seemed utterly indifferent to them, as if their absence meant nothing at all.

Alice, unable to hold back, reached under the table and grasped Tom's hand. She wanted to show him that he wasn't alone, that she was there for him. Tom instinctively tried to pull away, but Alice's strength was far greater than his own.

He frowned slightly. If he truly wanted to free himself, he would have to cast a spell on Alice's hand—but that would only draw unnecessary attention. Instead, he attempted to remove his hand through sheer force, but Alice refused to let go.

Eventually, Tom gave up the struggle, allowing Alice to hold his hand. He thought Alice was insane—holding his hand like this, in front of her entire family, without a second thought. If her family noticed, how would they react? To prevent any unnecessary confrontation, he discreetly cast an illusion spell, ensuring that no one else at the table could see their intertwined hands.

After spending a little more time with the Cullen family, Tom decided it was time to leave. Alice finally let go of his hand when she sensed he was getting up. After exchanging goodbyes with the Cullens, Tom paid for his coffee and headed home.

Once home, Tom busied himself with his wand maintenance. It was a meticulous routine, one he had followed for years. However, as he inspected the wand closely, his sharp eyes detected a small crack on its surface. His stomach twisted in frustration. A damaged wand was dangerous, unreliable. It was a sign of weakness.

As he examined it further, he realized the cause—the wand couldn't fully withstand his power. The young trees used in its construction hadn't been strong enough to contain his magic. This was a failure on his part.

Disappointed, he placed the wand on the table and sat in deep thought. He needed a new wand, one crafted from a superior material that could endure his strength. However, abandoning his current wand so easily did not sit well with him. He had poured effort into creating it, and he wasn't ready to discard it just yet.

He would repair it first. If that failed, then—only then—would he consider crafting a new one.

A few days later, Tom was pleased to finish his work at school earlier than expected. He took the opportunity to go shopping before heading home. Once he arrived, he decided to take a walk in the forest, something he found oddly calming despite his usual distaste for nature.

Dressing warmly, he stepped outside, enjoying the crisp evening air. The sound of his footsteps crunching against fallen leaves echoed through the quiet woods. The walk was uneventful, but it gave him time to think, to strategize his next moves.

Upon returning home, however, Tom immediately sensed something was off.

Standing in front of his house were several men dressed in formal suits, their presence out of place in the middle of nowhere. They knocked on his door, waiting for a response.

Tom narrowed his eyes, studying them closely. They carried bags in their hands, their postures rigid, calculated. He had encountered men like these before. Bureaucrats. Officials. Unwanted visitors.

As he approached, one of the older men spotted him and spoke up. "Are you Mr. Miller?"

Tom didn't answer immediately. His mind worked quickly, analyzing the situation. These men were clearly here for him—but why? Were they from the Ministry? A faction he had yet to uncover? Or was this an entirely new threat?

Keeping his expression neutral, he finally responded, "That depends on who's asking."

The man in the center stepped forward, his eyes sharp with an air of authority. "We are here on behalf of an organization that would like to speak with you, Mr. Miller. It is an urgent matter. May we come in?"

Tom crossed his arms, unimpressed. "That remains to be seen."

For the first time in years, Tom felt something unfamiliar stir within him—curiosity. Who were these people? And more importantly, what did they want from him?