The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 25

Hi all, 

Here’s the first chapter of the week.

Chapter 25

Harry stared at the portrait. The painted man returned his gaze with equal intensity, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You look surprised," the portrait said. "Did no one tell you about this place?"

"I didn't know—who are you?"

"Alexander Potter, from the ninth century." The portrait studied him with obvious curiosity. "You have the eyes. They always mark a true Potter. And judging by the way the statues responded to you, you've already awakened the family gift."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. "I got my eyes from my mother."

"Emerald green eyes are a trait that marks a wizard as a vessel."

"Vessel?"

"Vessels are wizards who are good at contracting with spirits. The Potters are so well-known for this trait that they virtually made the eye colour their own.” 

"That can't be right,” Harry said. “My father's eyes weren't green. I really did get them from my mother."

Alexander frowned. "That means the ability has regressed in the Potter line. When was the last time the Potters had someone with emerald eyes?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea."

"It happens with every family," Alexander sighed. "Nothing lasts forever. Fortunately, the ability has reawakened inside you. You must ensure that you preserve the legacy going forward. Marry plenty of witches and spirit practitioners."

“I will take it under advisement,” Harry said dryly. "Does my mother have something to do with reawakening the ability?"

"I would say so. You were fortunate that your parents got together. Your mother was likely another vessel, from a different family line. Either you inherited it from her, or she triggered the reawakening in the Potter bloodline."

"How are vessels different?" Harry asked. "There are other spirit practitioners out there who can contract with spirits."

"Yes, but they're inferior to us," Alexander said. "Vessels can tap into a spirit's full power. It made us some of the most destructive Mages in history."

"What's a Mage?"

"A Mage can wield magic and spiritual power. A true master can merge the two powers into something even more destructive."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Bloody wind."

Nothing Alexander had said shocked him more. The possibility of merging his magic with his wind abilities had never crossed his mind. Could this be the missing link to unlocking his full potential?

Questions raced through his mind. Why hadn't Kaze mentioned vessels or this merger of powers? Was this knowledge so old that it predated even the Wind Spirit King himself?

Harry's thoughts turned to the voice that had seized control during his battle with Typhoon—the one that had commandeered his body and unleashed that devastating final attack. Was this connected to the 'vessel' ability Alexander described?

Did the voice merge his powers to unleash that attack that killed Typhoon? He tried to recall the sensation from that moment. There had been a peculiar drain on his magical reserves alongside the usual exhaustion from using wind abilities. He'd dismissed it at the time, overwhelmed by physical fatigue, but now it seemed significant.

"You seem troubled," Alexander observed. "Has no one taught you how to harness your dual nature?"

"No," Harry admitted. "My connection with Kaze is recent. I've been learning as I go."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "Kaze?”

“The Wind Spirit King I contracted with.”

“You contracted with a Spirit King?” Alexander exclaimed. “How is that even possible?”

"We were both desperate," Harry muttered. "Are you saying the Potters haven’t contracted with a Spirit King before?"

“Not at all. The notion is absurd.” Alexander paused. “Maybe it’s because your mother had the potential to contract with spirits, and the ability lay dormant in your father. Maybe it created something entirely new. Did your mother ever mention anything about elemental spirits?”

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to her. She died when I was a baby.”

"It's a pity. If she were aware of her abilities, she could have made a contract with a spirit."

Harry processed the implications. If his mother had known and fully embraced her abilities, could his parents have survived that Halloween night? Could she have defeated Voldemort? Would his life have turned out differently? 

Harry shook his head. "There's no point torturing myself with what could have been.”

Alexander pointed to a shelf on the far wall. "The family grimoire explains everything. It will show you the method to merge your two powers."

Harry crossed to the shelf, running his fingers along leather-bound tomes until he found one with the family crest embossed in emerald green. He pulled it down and cracked it open.

He skimmed through the tome, forcing himself to keep a measured pace despite the wealth of information leaping from each page. The first section chronicled his family history spanning over a millennium. He bit back the urge to sink to the floor and devour every word, acutely aware of Alexander's portrait watching him.

The Potters had once been remarkably prolific, with branches extending throughout wizarding Britain. At their height in the seventh century, the family had boasted over a hundred members across seven distinct households. Their status among magical families had fluctuated with the centuries, sometimes rising to remarkable prominence, other times fading into comfortable obscurity.

Multiple entries documented their decline. Wars with various Dark wizards through the centuries had whittled their numbers further. More troubling were the repeated references to infertility issues plaguing later generations. 

The last entry was dated in the twelfth century, which meant it was likely around the same time the Potter's ability fell dormant. It felt like a big mistake to keep the grimoire hidden away here, out of reach for future generations. But then again, how could they have known they would lose their ability?

The second section detailed exercises to merge magical and spiritual powers. He flipped through increasingly complex diagrams and instructions, his enthusiasm dimming as he realised the process could take months, if not years, of dedicated practice.

Harry turned to the next section. It catalogued the abilities the Potters had developed with each elemental alignment and their magic. It shouldn’t have surprised him that they could contract with multiple elements. The clue was in the statues. 

He looked through the wind abilities and noticed that some seemed quite helpful. He knew he would need to learn them later after he got the hang of the exercises.

The final section described several rituals, complete with ingredient lists and precise instructions. One of the rituals stopped him cold. It describes a process to create new elemental spirits. How was that even possible? 

Harry read through the process and found that the most important step required a type of Spirit Bestowal. He recalled that the Earth Spirit King had used it on Ayumi to pass on his power and give her another lease on life. Could Kaze do the same? 

It would be nice if there were more wind spirits around. Not only would it boost his power, but they were in danger of dying out. While they couldn’t die of natural causes, it didn’t make them immortal.

Harry closed the grimoire and tucked it under his arm. He would study it and the other books later. 

He turned back to Alexander. “Why is this down here? It doesn’t do anyone any good.”

“Henry Potter was the last Potter to visit,” Alexander said. “He was the one who placed the grimoire here. Since you need to be a vessel to access this place, I assume he was the last in the family before you came along.”

“But I used magic to activate three of the statues.”

“The method doesn’t matter. The statues represent the four elemental spirits we maintained contracts with."

Harry returned to the stand before the portrait, thinking about his next question. There was still so much he wanted to know, but he didn’t know where to start.

"Did my family's ability allow them to assimilate other spiritual powers into their own?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "No. What did you do?"

Harry explained how he absorbed Susanoo's powers after the demon's failed attempt to manifest in the world.

"Another anomaly," Alexander whispered. "You are a strange one, Harry. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. You could be just what the Potters need to return to their former glory. You need to take care of our—"

"Legacy, I know," Harry interrupted. He looked around the chamber. "Is there anything else down here, besides the books?"

"What were you looking for?"

"Potter heirlooms," Harry replied. "Although, seeing this place has been abandoned for so long, I've already answered my own question."

Harry motioned with his hand, and a gust of wind lifted the books from the bookshelf. With the volumes floating beside him, he turned back to the portrait.

"It was nice meeting you, Alexander," Harry said. "I've got what I came for. I'll come back and speak to you from time to time."

Harry started walking back to the entrance when he heard a strangled squawk from behind him. He smiled and turned around.

"Are you just going to leave me here?" Alexander demanded. "Do you know how long I've been sleeping? I want to see how the world has changed."

Harry returned to the portrait and took it down from the wall. "I figured you would want to get out of here. But I didn't want to assume."

"You could have asked." Alexander paused. "By the way, what year is it?" 

"You're only asking that question now?"

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of the Black Library. The Potter grimoire lay open before him, as he studied the first exercise for merging magical and spiritual powers.

The instructions seemed deceptively simple: create a magical construct—a shield charm would do—while simultaneously channelling wind through it. The text emphasised that the two energies should not merely coexist but intertwine, becoming something greater than their separate parts.

Harry drew his wand and cast a shield. The transparent barrier shimmered before him.

Now came the hard part. He closed his eyes, focusing on the air currents around him. Wind responded to his call, swirling gently through the room. He guided it toward his shield, attempting to infuse the magical construct with elemental power.

The shield flickered, destabilising as the wind disrupted its structure.

"Bollocks," Harry muttered, dropping the shield and starting again.

His second attempt progressed similarly—the shield rejected the wind, treating it as a foreign entity rather than a complementary force. The grimoire had warned of this incompatibility, describing it as the natural resistance between two fundamentally different opposing forces.

For his third attempt, Harry tried a different approach. Rather than imposing wind onto an existing shield, he cast the spell while simultaneously manipulating the air currents. The shield materialised, briefly taking on a bluish tint before collapsing entirely.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Progress, but barely.

He persisted for another hour, each attempt bringing incremental improvements. By his seventeenth try, the shield maintained its integrity for several seconds while partially merging with his wind. 

He attempted to add more stability. The dual focus strained his concentration, like trying to solve two complex arithmancy problems simultaneously.

On his twenty-third attempt, something shifted. The shield expanded, its surface became translucent as the wind currents wove themselves into its very fabric. The merged construct lasted nearly thirty seconds before Harry's concentration faltered. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache forming from the mental exertion.

"Progress," he muttered. "One more—"

The library door swung open. Daphne strode in, Alexander's portrait clutched under her arm, her expression a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Care to explain why this portrait interrogated me as soon as I entered the dining room?" 

She propped the portrait against a bookshelf, where Alexander peered around indignantly.

"I wasn't interrogating," Alexander protested. "I was gathering intelligence about my descendant's household."

"You asked if I was a suitable breeding partner," Daphne said flatly.

Harry groaned. "Alexander, we talked about this."

"What? It's a perfectly reasonable question," the portrait huffed. "With your peculiar abilities, you need to ensure your offspring inherit—"

"Not helping," Harry cut in. He turned to Daphne. "Sorry about him. I should've warned you."

Daphne's gaze shifted to the books scattered around him. "Found something interesting?"

"A secret chamber. Turns out my family specialised in spirit contracts before the ability fell dormant."

Alexander beamed proudly. "But Harry has reawakened the gift with a vengeance!"

"Wonderful," Daphne said, taking a seat on the sofa. "Another reason for his head to swell."

Alexander frowned. "She speaks to you with such disrespect."

"I like it that way," Harry grinned, pulling himself to his feet. "It keeps me grounded."

The door burst open, and Ayano entered the library.

"Thank Amaterasu, you're both here." She collapsed beside Daphne on the sofa. "I've had the most infuriating conversation with my father."

"About what?" Harry asked, though he could guess.

"About our relationship arrangement." Ayano's eyes narrowed. "He cornered me in the living room and demanded to know why I hadn't presented you with his betrothal agreement yet."

Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "Betrothal agreement?"

"It's not what you think," Harry said. "Jugo approached me about it. The marriage clause would only trigger if Ayano became pregnant."

"I see." Daphne's tone cooled several degrees. "And when were you planning to mention this?"

"After I'd discussed it with Ayano." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It didn't seem right to bring it up without talking to her first."

"And now he's pressuring me to accept," Ayano continued. “Who does he think he is?”

“So, you don’t want the betrothal agreement?” Harry asked. 

“Not necessarily.” Ayano flushed as they stared at her. “I would love to receive one from you, Harry, that isn’t forced by my father’s archaic expectations.”

Harry nodded. “I can understand that. Let’s be clear, however. If you did become pregnant, I would offer a marriage proposal on the spot.”

“Are we dating a dinosaur?” Ayano asked Daphne.

“I wouldn’t expect Harry to do any different,” Daphne said. “Our society is strict on certain things, and if you don’t follow them, you’ll be socially outcast. One of those things is having a baby out of wedlock. I wouldn’t want my child to suffer the stigma of being illegitimate.”

“And so they should,” Alexander said. “If you were a proper witch, you wouldn’t be sleeping—”

“Shut it,” Daphne said, throwing a cushion at the portrait, causing it to topple over. Alander’s muffled voice could be heard protesting the abuse.

“Who was that?” Ayano asked.

"It's a long story," Harry said. He quickly summed up the situation before returning to the topic at hand. "Don’t listen to Alexander’s words. He’s the real dinosaur here. I care about both of you a lot. If I ever ask for your hand in marriage, it will be for both of you. I won't treat one of you differently from the other."

“We know,” Daphne said. “Which is why our unconventional relationship is working.”

Ayano nudged her. “What about Catherine?”

“What about her?” Harry asked. “I’m not in a relation—”

“Not that,” Ayano interrupted. “Do you think she knows about this ‘vessel’ ability? Is that why she’s so interested in you, beyond trying to recruit you for her little organisation?” 

“It’s possible,” Harry admitted. “But unlikely.”

Ayano clenched her fists. “I bet that flaming chicken knows. It’s probably why he was insistent that we get married. He wants the ability for the Kannagi clan.”

“You’re referring to the Flame Spirit King?”

“Who else?”

“Not even Kaze knows about the ability,” Harry said. “Why would your contractor know about it?”

“Because he’s been around longer than Kaze,” Ayano replied.

Harry frowned, making a mental note to ask Kaze about this new information. The timing didn't add up. His family had only lost their abilities in the twelfth century, and Kaze dated back to the thirteenth. There should have been some overlap in their histories.

The spirit had never mentioned vessels or the Potter family's connection to elemental practitioners. Either Kaze didn't know, which seemed unlikely given his age and experience, or he'd deliberately withheld this information.

The difference in geographical locations held little water. News of powerful mages who could channel spirits' full powers wouldn't stay contained to Britain, even after they fell out of relevance. 

No, this felt like something Kaze had chosen to keep from him.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Harry continued to practise the exercise the following morning, waiting for Kaze to return. The wind spirit was chasing down a lead regarding the Balans and the events of the Quidditch match. Harry knew they had something to do with the storm that appeared during the game, but he couldn't figure out how they'd managed it.

He found some more success in merging the wind into his shield. The exercise was supposed to help him reach a point where he didn’t distinguish between the two powers, and he could use them interchangeably. Theoretically, he would be able to use wandless magic once he mastered the exercises, which he found incredible.

Unfortunately, he was finding it progressively harder to merge the two powers. He should have known better than to expect to master the first exercise in a day. That would be too ridiculous. 

"Your form is all wrong," Alexander commented from his spot against the bookshelf. 

He’d kept the portrait in the library to keep him out of the girls' way. Alexander wouldn't shut up about producing Potter children and sharing his views on women and their role in marriage. Harry understood the man came from a different period, but he needed to read the room before the girls obliterated him.

With a grunt of frustration, Harry lowered his wand.

"I suggest you move on to the next exercise first," Alexander said from his portrait. "The exercises aren't necessarily a matter of progression that has to be completed one after the other before moving on to the next."

Harry turned to glare at the portrait. "You could have said that sooner."

Before Alexander could respond, Kaze materialised in the room.

"About time you came back," Harry said. "Did you find the Balan sibling's location?"

"I found traces of them," Kaze replied. "But they're moving around so fast that it's hard to keep track of them."

"Keep ahead of you?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's a hard thing to achieve."

"They are the one element that possibly could," Kaze admitted. "But I think it's more likely that a wizard is involved."

Before Harry could respond, Alexander interrupted him.

"Greetings, Wind Spirit King," the portrait said with an exaggerated bow. "I'm Alexander, Harry's ancestor."

Kaze's form flickered. "Harry, who is this weirdo?"

Harry snorted, then proceeded to explain what he had discovered about his family, watching Kaze carefully as he did so. When he finished, he fixed the spirit with a hard stare.

"Did you know about my family all along?"

Kaze sighed. "I suspected you were related to the family. I heard a rumour about a family of vessels, but it had been so long ago that I scarcely remembered it. But it’s what made me come to Britain in the first place. I hoped to find someone with the same ability, no matter how slim the odds. I knew that it was the best chance of contracting with someone."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was focused on getting revenge on Voldemort," Kaze replied. "I don't know why I didn't tell you after the battle. But when you absorbed Susanoo's power, I questioned whether you were one of these vessels. It wasn't something I had ever heard of before."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Well, next time, don't hold back such vital information."

"Agreed." Kaze turned to the portrait. "You must have a lot of knowledge. Has Harry asked you about the Black Wind state?"

"What's the Black Wind state?" Alexander asked.

Harry frowned. He had forgotten to ask Alexander about it, but even his ancestor was clueless. Was the state something the wind spirits always had to deal with, or did it appear later for some reason? There was no mention of it in the grimoire.

After explaining the Black Wind state, Alexander appeared perplexed. "I don't know where it came from, but I'm starting to think something happened around the twelfth century that affected the Potters' ability to contract with spirits. Maybe something happened to the spirits as well."

"That makes sense," Kaze said thoughtfully. "For some reason, the number of spirits fell sharply after the twelfth century, and no one knows what happened to them. Something must have befallen them."

Harry nodded. "I will need to ask around to see if the other spirit practitioners are aware of any significant events during that time. Starting with the Flame Spirit King."

"What would that bloody flaming chicken know?" Kaze scoffed.

"More than you think," Harry said. "Ayano mentioned that he's been around longer than you. If something happened in the twelfth century, he might have witnessed it."

Kaze's form darkened. "I suppose it's worth a try. Though dealing with his ego is insufferable."

"Unlike you, who's the pinnacle of humility," Harry said dryly.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

A shiver ran through Regina as she surveyed King's Cross Station from her vantage point near Platform 9. The January chill penetrated her coat, but she ignored the discomfort, eyes fixed on the steady stream of families moving through the concourse.

"They should be coming through soon," she murmured.

Cristina Balan shifted impatiently beside her. "What if they don't come this way? Potter isn't stupid."

"The orphans, perhaps not," Regina conceded. "But the Muggle-borns will. They always do."

She watched a group of teenagers hauling trunks toward Platforms 9 and 10. Every Muggle-born among them represented the same corruption that had infected her own life—the same taint that had marked her for torture at Hogwarts. Those pure-blood bastards had put their hands on her, laughing as they broke her, all because her blood wasn't "pure" enough. Now she saw the truth: magic itself was the corruption, not blood status.

Sometimes, Regina wondered if she should have taken her life years ago, when she first realised what the magical world had done to her. She remembered standing on the edge of Astronomy Tower, wind whipping her hair, contemplating the long drop to the ground below. One step would have ended everything—the nightmares, the shame, the rage that burned her insides like acid. 

But death would have been too easy, too clean, too merciful. Instead, she'd chosen this path—using the magic she despised to systematically dismantle the world that had broken her.  As long as she could tear down their precious hidden society and expose their depravity to the world, it would all be worth it.

Cristina glanced at her brothers, who stood silently nearby. 

"This feels pointless," she said. "Like the Quidditch match. We created that storm, and attacked Potter, but what did it accomplish? Nothing."

"Patience," Regina replied. "That attack wasn't about causing physical harm."

"Then what was the point?" Lucian asked, breaking his usual silence.

Regina turned to face them fully. "All these attacks are about making Harry Potter angry. I told you about the Black Wind state. The goal is to push him continuously until he completely loses control. This is going to bring more suffering to him than simply killing him. Not only will we get our revenge, but he will be a tool used to sow chaos."

Andrei frowned. "You're using us to provoke him."

"I'm giving you the revenge you seek," Regina corrected. "But in a way that serves a greater purpose."

"And what happens when he finally breaks?" Cristina asked.

Regina's lips curved into a cold smile. "When Potter finally surrenders to the Black Wind completely, he'll become exactly what the wizarding world fears most—a force of destruction they cannot control.”

She turned back to watch the station. "Today's attack is just another push. Each time we strike, we drive him closer to the edge."

A family approached the barrier between platforms, looking nervously around before disappearing through the solid wall. Regina straightened.

"It's time," she said. "Remember—target the Muggle-borns first. Make it messy, make it public."

As the Balans moved into position, Regina felt a flutter of anticipation. Soon, Potter would understand the true meaning of loss. And when he finally broke, she would be there to watch everything he loved burn.

=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The fireplace flared green as Harry stepped onto Platform 9¾, ushering the orphans through before the flames died down. Steam billowed across the platform from the scarlet engine, mingling with the crisp January air.

"Remember, be back here in thirty minutes," Harry instructed, checking his watch. "We've got plenty of time before the train departs."

Jessica, the small second-year with dark braids, bounced on her toes. "Can we go see the snack cart inside the train? I want Chocolate Frogs!"

"Go on then," Harry said, handing them some galleons.

Ellis hung back, his gaze wary as it swept across the growing crowd. "Something feels off," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

The boy shrugged. "Just a feeling. Probably nothing."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but before he could press further, a familiar voice called his name.

"Harry! Didn't expect to see you here." Neville strode toward him, his Gryffindor scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. "Thought you'd be too busy with Quidditch to play chauffeur."

"Gotta keep the kids safe," Harry replied. "How's the eighth year going?"

"Better than expected. McGonagall's been letting me assist Professor Sprout with the first-years." Neville grinned. "Says I might have a future as the next Herbology professor."

Harry spotted Luna's distinctive blonde hair bobbing through the crowd. She waved when she caught his eye, changing direction to join them.

"Harry Potter," she greeted. "I see the Wrackspurts have finally receded."

The platform grew more crowded as students and parents arrived. Harry kept one eye on the orphans while scanning the area, his senses attuned to any disturbance.

A deafening explosion ripped through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Screams erupted from the Muggle side of the station.

Harry sprinted toward the barrier. "Stay with the orphans!" he shouted to Neville and Luna.

He plunged through the barrier into King's Cross proper. Thick smoke filled the concourse, obscuring visibility. Emergency alarms blared, their wailing punctuated by panicked cries. Through the haze, sparks of electricity illuminated the chaos.

Bodies lay scattered across the floor—some moving, others terrifyingly still. Muggles ran blindly through the smoke, colliding with each other in their desperation to escape.

In the centre of the devastation stood the three Balan siblings. Lightning arced between their hands as they targeted anyone attempting to flee toward the magical barrier. Their faces remained cold, methodical in their brutality.

A flash of movement caught Harry's eye—a figure apparating away from the station, Regina. He should have known she was the one involved with the Balans. She’d triggered the explosion and left her pawns to execute the rest of her plan.

Harry's attention snapped back to the immediate threat as a bolt of lightning struck a pillar near him, sending chunks of concrete raining down.

Through the settling dust, he spotted Ron and Hermione near the ticket counters, backs pressed together as they cast protective spells over a group of young Muggle-born students. Ginny stood slightly apart, her wand moving in precise arcs as she duelled with Cristina Balan.

A lightning bolt grazed Ginny's shoulder, sending her stumbling backwards. Ron moved to help his sister, leaving Hermione to defend the children alone.

Cristina seized the opportunity. Both hands thrust forward, sending a massive electrical surge toward the exposed group. Hermione's shield charm flickered under the assault, cracks spreading across its surface like fracturing ice.

"Ron!" she screamed, desperation edging her voice as the shield began to collapse.

Harry's vision narrowed, fury building in his chest. Wind whipped around him, lifting his cloak as his eyes shifted from green to crimson red.

The Black Wind surged through his veins, cold and seductive. This time, Harry didn't fight it.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, his voice barely recognisable.

The Balans turned at the sound, their attacks faltering. Cristina's eyes widened as she took in his transformation.

"Potter," she said, electricity still dancing between her fingers. "Regina said you'd come."

"She was right," Harry replied.

Wind blades materialised around him, compressed air sharp enough to slice through steel. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the first toward Cristina, who barely deflected it with a hasty electrical shield.

The twins backed away, sharing a look before raising their hands in unison. Lightning gathered between them, building toward a combined assault that would devastate anything in its path.

Mundane witnesses stared in horror, some frozen in shock, others recording with their phones. The Statute of Secrecy was unravelling before his eyes, but Harry could focus only on the immediate threat.

The Black Wind pulsed through him, drowning out all reason. A distant part of his mind recognised the danger—not just to the Balans, but to himself. 

But as he watched the twins prepare to strike at his friends, that warning voice faded beneath a wave of cold fury.

He would end this. Here. Now.

So, what do you think? I plan to finish this story in the next ten to fifteen chapters. There isn’t much else I want to do with what I already have planned. A Cynical Voice will replace it fully once the story ends.

Thanks for reading.