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Chapter 86: The Life Of Tertius
🕑 Added 2025-04-27 15:59:46 +0000 UTCIn the bustling city of Argos, a group of children ran through the streets, their laughter echoing as they followed their combat instructor. Among them was Tertius, an eleven-year-old boy with a reputation for being cold and emotionless. While the other children joked and played, Tertius remained silent, his expression ice cold. To the people of Argos, he was a child cursed to feel nothing. But what they didn’t know, and what Tertius never shared, was that this was his fourth life in the world.
When Tertius was born into this era, he was shocked to discover that he had no magic. For the first time in his long existence, he was a normal person, devoid of the power that had defined him in his previous lives. While he lived like any other child, joining physical training and blending into society, his mind was consumed by one question: How can I become a wizard again? It was a question he had never needed to ask before, and it haunted him.
Tertius’s biggest challenge was his lack of magic. Without it, he had no starting point, no foundation to build upon. Over his long life, he had seen people prove themselves to be lazy, cowardly, and closed-minded. He had little hope of reaching out to the wizards of this era, fearing they would scoff at him or dismiss him as a fool. But Tertius was not one to give up. He was determined to find a way, no matter how long it took.
One day, while wandering the streets of Argos, Tertius came across a little girl crying. An elderly man in the white robes of a wizard stood over her, his expression stern. “You are a girl,” the man said, his voice cold. “You cannot learn to become a wizard. Only men can do that.”
The girl’s shoulders slumped, her tears falling silently. Tertius watched the scene, his mind racing. A thought began to take shape, a spark of hope. As the man walked away, Tertius approached the girl. “Do you have magic?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.
The girl looked up at him, her eyes red from crying. She nodded hesitantly.
Tertius smiled faintly, a rare expression for him. “You can become a wizard,” he said. “I can teach you. What is your name?”
The girl hesitated, her doubt evident, but she answered, “Circe.”
“I’m Tertius,” he said. “Follow me.”
Tertius led Circe to a secluded training area, hidden from prying eyes. There, he began teaching her the basics of magic. At first, Circe was skeptical, but her doubt soon turned to excitement as she realized Tertius truly knew what he was doing. He taught her how to focus her magic, how to channel it, and how to cast simple spells. For the first time in her life, Circe felt a sense of hope, she could become a wizard.
Over the years, Tertius continued to teach Circe in secret. It was frowned upon for girls to learn magic, and if anyone discovered what they were doing, it would bring trouble for both of them. Tertius was no longer the powerful wizard he had been in his past lives, and he had to be cautious. But despite the risks, he was determined to help Circe unlock her potential.
As time passed, Tertius became known throughout Argos as “Tertius the Heartless,” a name given to him because of his emotionless demeanor. Circe, meanwhile, grew into the most beautiful woman in the city. She continued to hide her mastery of magic, and many assumed her frequent meetings with Tertius were the meetings of lovers. But Circe knew the truth. Tertius was her teacher, her mentor, and nothing more.
Circe was curious about Tertius. He knew things about magic that she doubted anyone in Argos—or even the world—knew, but he himself had no magic. She tried to ask him about it, but he always deflected her questions, saying, “This is not part of your learning.” His lack of emotions also puzzled her. She was beautiful, and everyone noticed her when she walked by. But Tertius seemed completely indifferent. She tried flirting with him, even holding his hand, but nothing she did elicited a response. Like many others, Circe began to believe that the title “Tertius the Heartless” was fitting.
One day, Tertius surprised Circe with an unexpected request. “I want to leave Argos,” he said. “I need your help to travel a vast distance. No questions asked.”
Circe was taken aback but agreed without hesitation. She owed Tertius too much to refuse, and she hoped this journey might bring them closer. Under Tertius’s guidance, the two disapparated and apparated dozens of times, heading northwest. They traveled for days, eventually reaching a lake surrounded by mountains.
As Tertius looked around, Circe observed him, wondering where they were and what he was searching for. Suddenly, light erupted from the area, and Tertius told Circe to follow him. They entered a strange hall unlike anything Circe had ever seen. The walls shimmered with crystals, and glowing rocks illuminated the space with an ethereal light. Circe followed Tertius, her fear growing with each step.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”
Tertius didn’t look back as he answered. “This is the tomb of an old, powerful wizard. It was built in a location where magic flows with high density.”
The two reached the center of the hall, where a tomb lay. Tertius told Circe to keep her distance as he approached it. He lay on top of the tomb and spoke aloud. “I have no magic in this life. I need your help to redirect the magic of the world to my body.”
The tomb began to glow, as if answering his plea. Vines of light emerged from all directions, engulfing Tertius. Circe watched in a mix of fear and awe as the light swirled around him. When the vines finally receded, Tertius sat up calmly. He waved his hand, and ice shards materialized in the air. A rare smile crossed his face.
“I am a wizard again,” he said.
Circe stood frozen in the shimmering hall, her mind reeling from what she had just witnessed. Tertius, her mentor, the man she had trusted and followed, had just absorbed magic from a tomb and declared himself a wizard once more. Her voice trembled as she asked, “What is going on? How did you become a wizard? What is this place?”
Tertius turned to her, his expression as calm and emotionless as ever. “This is my tomb from a past life,” he said simply. “I was a wizard then, and I believed I might be able to become one again if I absorbed the magic stored here.” He offered no further explanation, his tone leaving no room for questions.
Circe’s shock turned to disbelief, then to anger. She stepped back, her face pale. “Is this why you’ve been teaching me all this time? To help you reach this place?”
Tertius nodded, his gaze steady. “Yes.”
Circe felt a sharp pang of betrayal. She had trusted him, cared for him, and even admired him. And now she realized she had been nothing more than a tool to him. Her voice cracked as she asked, “What now? Are you going to kill me to keep your secret?”
Tertius raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. “Why would I do that? You’re my student.” He paused, then added, “Stop thinking stupid things.”
Circe blinked, caught off guard by his blunt response. Then, to her own surprise, she laughed. She had been overthinking it. Tertius was heartless, yes, but he was still her teacher. Her laughter broke the tension, and she felt a strange sense of relief.
Tertius walked past her, heading toward the exit. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll escort you back to Argos.”
Circe hesitated, then asked, “What about you? Are you not going to stay in Argos?”
Tertius shook his head. “No. I still have many things to explore and experiment with—things I didn’t complete in my past life.”
Circe’s eyes brightened, a spark of determination lighting up her face. “Then I’ll follow you,” she said. “I’ll be your student, your helper, and your partner eventually.”
Tertius considered her words for a moment, then nodded. Circe was talented, smart, and had the will to walk the path of an explorer, a seeker of mysteries. She would be a valuable companion in his endless quest.
___________
With their new partnership established, Tertius and Circe left the tomb and began their journey. Tertius shared with her the details of his past life as Herpo, including his experiments with magical creatures, his creation of the basilisk and his horcruxes. Circe listened intently, her curiosity and admiration growing with each revelation.
The two eventually made their way to the city of Athens, a hub of knowledge and culture. Tertius wanted to see the new scripts and knowledge that had accumulated since his past life. Tertius had established himself immediately as an incredibly skilled wizard, and thanks to that, they gained access to the city’s libraries, where Tertius immersed himself in the records of the world’s changes.
One day, while poring over ancient scrolls, Tertius came across a record of Herpo the Foul—a dark wizard whose experiments and creations were vilified by history. Tertius sighed, his heart heavy with disappointment. Yet another legacy twisted and vilified. He sat in silence for a moment, then made a decision.
Taking up a quill, Tertius began to write. He compiled scrolls detailing the works of Herpo, including the creation of the basilisk and the concept of Horcruxes. He wrote not to glorify his past self, but to ensure that the knowledge was preserved. He hoped that someone, someday, would see the potential in his work and improve upon it.
When he finished, Tertius explained to Circe, who remained at his side. “These are the missing pieces of Herpo’s legacy,” he said. “One day, they may inspire others to push the boundaries of magic.”
Circe took the scrolls, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think they’ll understand you?” she asked.
Tertius shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The truth is there for those who seek it, the rest is up to history”
Circe observed him carefully before saying “I feel like you’re not human. Your lack of emotion, your detachment from everything… it’s abnormal. Even for someone as old as you.”
Tertius stared at her, his expression as cold as ever. After a long pause, he replied, “I’ve seen enough to lose hope in others and in people. I stopped caring at some point.”
Circe frowned, her curiosity undeterred. “But when you become immortal,” she pressed, “what will you be? Will you still be a person? Or just… an undying creature?”
Tertius froze, his gaze fixed on her. The question struck a chord deep within him, one he had not thought of. He had spent so much time pursuing his goal, but he had never stopped to ask himself what he would become in the process. Would he still be Hogwarts, the wizard who sought knowledge and understanding? Would he still be Odin who cared for his family? Or would he become something else entirely—a being detached from humanity, existing only for the sake of existence?
For the first time in a long time, Tertius felt a flicker of uncertainty. He didn’t answer Circe’s question. Instead, he stood and walked away from her, leaving her to ponder the silence. He recalled Frigg, he didn’t think of her much in his past life nor did she cross his mind in this one. He dreaded what he was becoming.
___________
Circe’s question about immortality and humanity had ignited a new path of discovery for Tertius. For the first time in his long existence, he turned his focus inward, seeking to understand emotions—how they worked, where they came from, and how they could be preserved. If he was to master death and achieve immortality, he needed to ensure that he didn’t lose what made him a person. Emotions, he realized, were as much a part of life as magic itself.
With this new line of thinking, Tertius began experimenting with the relationship between emotions and magic. He tried to infuse emotions with magic, empowering them to create stronger, more potent effects. He also attempted to suppress emotions using magic, observing how the absence of feeling affected his spells. Through his experiments, he discovered that emotions and magic were deeply intertwined, each influencing the other in profound ways.
This revelation led Tertius to revisit one of the greatest mysteries of his past life: Frigg’s sacrificial magic. Her spell, which had protected Baldr from fire, had always struck him as unusually powerful. Even with the sacrifice of her life, the strength of the magic seemed beyond what should have been possible. Tertius began to believe that the source of its power lay not just in life, but in love—the unimaginable love Frigg had felt for their son. This realization only deepened his pain and sense of failure. He had failed to protect them, and now he was left to grapple with the truth alone.
Though Tertius didn’t care if others called him “the Heartless,” he was determined not to lose what made him a person. Emotions, he realized, were a crucial part of his humanity. To preserve them, he created a new spell: ‘Expecto Patrunom’. This spell drew its power from good memories, amplifying positive emotions and creating a light that could dispel darkness and despair. Tertius used the spell repeatedly, recalling memories of his brother Solomon, Frigg, and Baldr. Each casting brought a flicker of warmth to his otherwise cold existence.
While Tertius immersed himself in the study of emotions, Circe turned her attention to magical beings and their abilities. Inspired by Herpo’s research, she sought to gain magical abilities of her own. With Tertius’s guidance, her progress was remarkable. She delved into the mysteries of magical creatures, studying their powers and experimenting with ways to replicate them.
After years of work, Tertius became the first to gain a magical ability: Parseltongue, the ability to communicate with snakes and control them. It was a significant breakthrough, one that opened new avenues for their research. Circe, not to be outdone, focused on a Boggart, a shapeshifting magical creature. After extensive experimentation, she managed to replicate its ability, gaining the power to change her appearance at will. The first thing she did was perfect her looks, becoming even more stunning than she already was.
Circe’s newfound beauty attracted attention wherever she went, and none were more captivated than Chiron, the youngest member of Athens’s senate council and one of the city’s most talented wizards. Chiron was mesmerized by Circe, and his infatuation quickly turned into obsession. He began to stalk her, following her wherever she went and trying to win her favor. Circe, however, was focused on her research and paid him little mind.
As Tertius made progress in his understanding of emotions, he felt a growing need to check on Frigg. He told Circe that he would be away for some time, refusing her request to accompany him. “This is something I must do alone,” he said.
Tertius set out on his journey, traveling across the land to the snowy mountains where his family’s resting place was hidden. The journey was long and arduous, but Tertius pressed on, his mind filled with memories of Frigg and Baldr. When he finally reached the hall he had created so long ago, he felt a mix of anticipation and dread.
The hall was as beautiful as he remembered, its walls shimmering with crystals and glowing stones. At its center, Frigg’s ghostly form floated above the grave, her silver eyes filled with the same pain and anger he had seen centuries ago. Tertius approached her slowly, his heart heavy with emotion.
“Frigg,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve come to see you.”
Frigg turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. “Leave” she asked. “I don’t want to see you.”
Tertius hesitated, then replied, “I’ve been trying to understand emotions, to preserve what makes us human. I don’t want to lose myself, even as I seek immortality.”
Frigg’s ghostly form flickered, her anger giving way to a faint sadness. “You’ve always been searching for something, Odin. But have you ever stopped to ask if it’s worth it?”
Tertius didn’t answer. He stood in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on him. After a long moment, he turned and left the hall, his heart heavier than ever. The journey had brought him no peace, only more pain. But Tertius knew one thing for certain: he was still a person.
___________
Tertius didn’t return to Athens immediately after his journey to Frigg’s resting place. Instead, he roamed the land, observing the changes that had taken place over the centuries. He visited newly established villages and cities, noting the landmarks that had shifted or disappeared entirely. He listened to the myths and stories of old, now twisted and reshaped by time, and studied the new forms of magic that had emerged.
Despite the disappointments the world had given him, Tertius had to admit that there was beauty in its evolution. One of the most intriguing developments was the rise of potion brewing—a concept that had taken root in some regions. People were now creating potions to store spells within liquids or achieve effects that spells alone couldn’t accomplish. It was a fascinating blend of magic and intelligence, and Tertius found himself impressed by the ingenuity of this new generation.
After more than a year of wandering, Tertius finally decided to return to Athens. But when he arrived, he was met with unsettling rumors. Circe, his student and partner, was said to have killed Chiron, a prominent wizard and member of the senate council, and fled the city. Tertius was skeptical. While he could imagine Chiron provoking Circe, he doubted she would leave without a trace. It wasn’t her style.
Determined to uncover the truth, Tertius made his way to their secret working place in the nearby mountains. The hall they had built inside the mountain was similar to the ones he had created for his tomb and family grave—a secluded sanctuary where they could conduct their experiments undisturbed. As he approached the entrance, he noticed a creature chained nearby, one he had never seen before. It had the lower body of a horse and the upper body of a human, its eyes pleading for help.
Tertius observed the creature carefully, noting the presence of a few horses nearby. He deduced that Circe had transformed one of them into this hybrid being. Before he could investigate further, Circe emerged from the deeper parts of the hall, a smile on her face and a baby cradled in her arms.
“You’re back,” she said, her tone light but with an edge of mischief. “I was starting to think you’d abandoned me.”
Tertius’s eyes were fixed on the baby. “Where did you get the child from?” he asked, his voice calm but probing.
Circe raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Why does it feel like you’re accusing me of kidnapping her? This is my baby girl. I carried her inside me for nine months while you were away.”
Tertius frowned. “Did you find a husband in my absence?”
Circe laughed, a cold, calculated sound. “No one is worthy of me. I found a relatively good-looking and talented wizard, seduced him to get pregnant, and then got rid of him.” She paused, her smile widening. “I’ve decided that from today onward, I’m not a woman wizard or a girl wizard. I will be called a witch.”
Tertius was taken aback by her bluntness but chose not to press further. Instead, he shifted the conversation to the rumors he had heard. “What happened while I was away? Why are people calling you a murderer? Did you really kill Chiron?”
Circe’s laughter turned icy. “Chiron came after me when he found out I was pregnant. So, I turned him into that.” She gestured toward the chained creature. “I decided to make good use of him. He’s been mating with horses, and I’ve created new magical creatures using him.”
Tertius stared at her, surprised by the coldness in her tone. When had Circe become like this? She had always been ambitious, but this was something else entirely.
Circe continued, her voice devoid of remorse. “I was planning to dissect him soon to see how much he’s changed internally. His offspring were born not long ago, and they seem healthy. He’s no longer needed.”
Tertius sighed, feeling a pang of pity for Chiron. “Stop,” he said firmly. “You’ve harmed and humiliated him enough. I’ll take him and his offspring far away from here.”
Circe’s smile faded, and she objected, but Tertius cut her off. “My decision is final.”
Circe fell silent, her expression unreadable. Without another word, she turned and walked back into the hall, the baby still in her arms.
Tertius spent the next two days freeing Chiron and his offspring, transporting them to the forest near his tomb. He wanted to keep them away from Circe while also ensuring they could serve as protectors of his land between reincarnations.
Tertius stood at the edge of the forest, watching as Chiron and his offspring settled into their new home. The hybrid creatures moved cautiously, their hooves crunching against the forest floor. Chiron, now freed from his chains, approached Tertius, his human-like upper body trembling with gratitude.
“Thank you for saving me,” Chiron said, his voice heavy with regret. “I never thought Circe could be so cruel. I didn’t see the monster inside her.”
Tertius nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ve known her since she was a little girl, and even I didn’t expect her to do something like this.”
Chiron sighed, his horse-like body shifting uneasily. “I’ve lost more than just my humanity. I’ve lost my magic, the thing I prided myself on. The only thing I seem to have gained is the ability to see the future.”
Tertius’s eyes lit up with interest. “How far can you see?”
“I’m still not clear on the limitations,” Chiron admitted. “But I saw you coming to save me weeks ago. I also saw that my offspring will likely have similar abilities, or at least that’s what I’ve glimpsed.”
Tertius’s mind raced with possibilities. “I will die and be reborn one day,” he said. “When that time comes, I’ll need help locating specific items. Can you pass a message to your descendants about me and tell them to help me when the time comes?”
Chiron was taken aback but quickly recovered. “You saved my life and the lives of my offspring. I owe you everything. I’ll pass the message to them and work on refining my power to help you. I’ll create a ritual to ensure my descendants can repay you. This is my promise to you”
The two discussed how Chiron’s descendants would recognize Tertius in his future life. Though Tertius wasn’t certain if the promise would endure, he trusted that Chiron’s immediate descendants would uphold it and create the ritual for him and one day, he would find them and use it. With everything settled, Tertius left the fores.
When Tertius returned to Circe, he found her tending to her daughter. The child, now a few months old, her tiny hands glowing faintly with magic. Circe looked up as Tertius entered, a proud smile on her face.
“She’s like me,” Circe said. “She has the ability to transform. I’ve decided to call this ability, Metamorphmagus.”
Tertius nodded, surprised but intrigued. The possibility to pass magical traits to offspring opened new possibilities for their research. Circe, however, had more to say.
She looked at Tertius with a glint in her eye. “The two of us should have children together,” she said. “We both have magical abilities. What would our children be like? Would they inherit one of our powers, or both? Or something entirely new?”
Tertius raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening. “I won’t have children just to use them as experiments.”
Circe’s smile faded, replaced by a look of frustration. “They wouldn’t just be experiments. They’d be our children. We could be a family.”
The word “family” struck a nerve in Tertius. To him, only Frigg and Baldr had ever been family. The idea of starting anew felt wrong, almost repulsive. “I won’t have a wife or a family,” he said firmly. “My work will be my legacy, nothing else.”
Circe’s disappointment and frustration was clear. “You’re the only one I’ve ever liked,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I even tried to improve my looks just for you.”
Tertius remained unmoved. “Calm down and let go of these thoughts,” he said before turning and leaving. He returned to Athens, throwing himself back into his research on emotions and magic.
Days later, Tertius decided to check on Circe. When he arrived at their mountain hall, he found it empty. A single message lay on the table, addressed to him. He picked it up and read:
‘I hate this land that values men over women. You were the only one who supported me, and for that, I’m grateful. But I can’t stay knowing you’ll never truly give me your love. I’ve left with my daughter. I’ll find other girls with magical gifts and teach them, just as you taught me. I hope we never meet again.’
Tertius burned the message, his expression unreadable. His partnership with Circe was over, and though he had learned much from it, he felt no regret. He wished her the best in her journey and turned his attention back to his work.
In the years that followed, Tertius continued his solitary path. He created a new Horcrux—a wand designed to amplify its owner’s magic, making spells far more potent than normal. The wand had a unique feature: it would change ownership based on who defeated its current owner. Tertius hoped this would encourage ambition and conflict, allowing the wand to absorb a wide range of emotions and grow stronger over time.
For decades, Tertius recorded his discoveries, spells, and experiments, ensuring his knowledge would be passed down. At the age of 180, he passed away, leaving behind a legacy of magic and mystery. His journey was far from over, but for now, his work in this life was complete. The world would remember Tertius the Heartless, but his true legacy lay in the secrets he had uncovered and the paths he had paved for those who would come after him.
