The Sorcerer’s War

A Dangerous Path

The early morning mist curled like ghostly tendrils around the war camp as Jon Snow and Arya Stark prepared their scouting party. The air was thick with tension, a quiet unease settling over the soldiers as they adjusted their armor and checked their weapons.

Harry stood nearby, watching as the small unit of riders saddled their horses. The night's revelations still weighed on him. The scroll, the dark magic, Vaelor Blackfyre's unknown plans—it was all spinning in his mind like a puzzle missing its final piece.

Daenerys approached, her silver hair braided tightly against the wind. Drogon circled overhead, his massive wings stirring the morning fog.

"You still don't trust this plan," she observed, her sharp violet eyes scanning his face.

Harry shook his head. "I don't trust how easy this feels. The enemy retreated without a fight, and now they're drawing us into the open? It feels like we're walking into something bigger than we can see."

Jon, overhearing, tightened the straps on his leather armor. "That's why we're scouting first. If it's a trap, we'll know before it's too late."

Harry exhaled sharply. "Just be careful. I don't like this."

Arya smirked, adjusting the blade on her belt. "We'll be fine. I've walked into worse traps."

Tyrion, sipping from a goblet even this early in the morning, raised an eyebrow. "And somehow, that doesn't reassure me."

Jon mounted his horse, nodding at his riders. "We move out. If we're not back by sundown, assume the worst."

Harry watched them disappear into the mist, a lingering sense of unease settling in his chest.

Something wasn't right.

---

The Blackfyre Gambit

Miles away, Vaelor Blackfyre stood on the edge of a massive ravine, staring down at the swirling darkness below. He was flanked by two Shadowborn warlocks, their faces obscured by deep hoods.

Below them, a vast army waited, their armor gleaming in the dim light. The air hummed with dark energy—magic that seeped into the bones, corrupting flesh and mind alike.

A towering figure stepped forward from the shadows. His armor was forged of black iron, and his eyes glowed red beneath his horned helm. The Warlord of the Abyss—a legend whispered in fear across the realm.

"You lost the battle," the warlord's voice was a deep growl, filled with ancient rage.

Vaelor smiled, unshaken. "I was never trying to win it. I was setting the board for the real game."

The warlord's armored fingers curled into fists. "Explain."

Vaelor gestured toward the east. "The wizard, the dragon queen, the wolves of the North—they think they are hunters. But they are prey. I've led them exactly where I need them."

The warlord's glowing eyes narrowed. "And what is your plan?"

Vaelor stepped closer to the abyss, letting the dark magic coil around his fingertips. "We strike at their heart. We take away what makes them strong. We make them choose between saving their people… or themselves."

A cold silence followed. Then, slowly, the warlord grinned.

"Then let the slaughter begin."

---

A Grim Discovery

Jon and Arya rode at the front of the scouting party, their horses moving carefully through the overgrown forest path. The air smelled of damp earth and something else—something foul.

They crested a small hill, and Jon pulled his horse to a stop, his breath catching in his throat.

Before them, the eastern villages were in ruins. The wooden houses were charred black, smoke still rising from some. Bodies lay in the streets—men, women, children. But something was wrong.

Arya dismounted, her hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger. "This wasn't just a raid."

Jon slid from his horse, stepping cautiously toward one of the fallen villagers. The man's face was frozen in horror, but his eyes were missing—burned away by something unnatural.

Then, from the shadows, a whispering voice echoed.

Jon spun, drawing Longclaw, as dark shapes emerged from the ruins. Figures cloaked in black mist, their eyes glowing like dying embers.

Arya stepped back, her blade ready. "We need to leave. Now."

But it was too late.

The shadows lunged.

---

Harry's Vision

Back at camp, Harry sat alone in his tent, the blackened scroll open before him. He knew he shouldn't be reading it—the magic inside was too dangerous. But something compelled him, an itch in the back of his mind, a whisper calling him forward.

He placed his palm over the parchment.

The world shifted.

Suddenly, he was somewhere else.

A battlefield, bodies piled in heaps. A castle in flames. A shadowed figure standing above the corpses, their violet eyes gleaming with power.

"You cannot stop what is coming, wizard."

Harry gasped, stumbling backward. The vision faded, but the message remained burned into his mind.

His breathing was ragged as he burst out of the tent, running straight to Daenerys.

"We have to move," he said urgently. "Now."

Daenerys frowned. "What happened?"

"Jon and Arya are walking into a massacre."

Her expression darkened. "Then we don't wait. We ride."

---

The Shadowborn's Trap

Jon swung Longclaw in a desperate arc, cutting down one of the shadowy creatures. But as soon as it fell, another rose in its place.

Arya ducked low, slipping between the monsters, her blade flashing. She struck one through the heart—only for it to vanish into mist and reform behind her.

"We can't kill them!" she shouted.

Jon gritted his teeth. "Then we run!"

He grabbed Arya's arm, pulling her toward the horses, but before they could reach them, a wall of black fire erupted, cutting them off.

From the smoke, Vaelor Blackfyre stepped forward.

Jon tightened his grip on his sword. "You."

Vaelor smirked. "Did you really think this was a simple battle?"

Arya took a step forward, her dagger poised. "You should've stayed hidden."

Vaelor chuckled. "And miss the chance to watch your world burn?"

Jon lunged. Arya followed.

But Vaelor was ready.

With a flick of his wrist, dark tendrils lashed out, knocking them both backward. The shadows around him twisted and solidified, taking the form of monstrous creatures with glowing red eyes.

"You fight well," Vaelor mused. "But not well enough."

Jon struggled to rise, his vision blurring. Arya coughed, her hands clutching her ribs.

Vaelor lifted a hand, dark magic swirling around him. "Time to end this."

Then—

A roar shook the heavens.

Flames engulfed the battlefield as Drogon descended from the skies, his massive wings blotting out the sun.

Behind him, Harry Potter stood atop his broom, his wand glowing with power.

His voice rang through the battlefield.

"Get away from my friends."

Vaelor snarled, raising his hand to counter. But Harry was faster.

With a single word, he unleashed a spell he had never cast before.

The world exploded in light.