Sanctum Noctis

Made by the Talented Harlan Montgomery

Thaddeus pinched the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers, the gesture slow and surgical, as if trying to staunch an oncoming headache before it bloomed. His heir, yes his heir, was peacocking again. All posturing and volume and empty gestures only served to raise ire, not respect or fear. Thaddeus wasn’t surprised. But he'd hoped, perhaps stupidly, that the weight of status might have added a few brain cells. It had not.

With a long, exhausted sigh, he let his hand fall to his lap, already thinking ahead to the three fingers of whisky waiting for him in the antechamber. He anticipated am arduous evening, plenty of questions about the youth of the groom who had only turned 16 days earlier to a muggleish girl. About what it meant for the storied pureblood family, if the heir took this direction.

Then came a thud, a shout, and the unmistakable sound of a body vaulting over a pew. Thaddeus didn’t need to look. His nephew Jurgen was calling out to one of his sons, Gideon. Gideon was not as impulsive as Mathias, but he was a barely chained mad dog. He escaped with his cousin at the end of the ceremony, snatching her like a hound at a fox hunt. For Merlin’s sake. Was it truly so difficult to endure two hours of civility and yield a few usable photographs? Was decorum now a dying art?

He cursed Vladimir in that moment. Not for anything the boy had done in life, but for the sin of dying. For associating with those hags who took his life. By leaving the line broken, Vladimir had passed the mantle of heir to one of his less-suited brothers. Children who thought weddings were arenas and sentiment a virtue beyond their reach.

All he needed now was for Aamon, his youngest, to break into tears over migratory birds or something nearly as random. Yes, that would be fitting. Some mournful musing about how far they had to fly just to witness this sacred farce. At least with Aamon, his eccentricities came dressed as softness. Weakness, perhaps. But at least his weakness kept its voice down.

A soft whoomph of displaced air drew his attention forward. A circle of green fire had erupted at the head of the church. The temporary hearth was elegant, swirling, and most importantly in front of so many witnesses, sanctioned by the Ministry. A portal. His exit.

Without a word, Thaddeus rose. Cloak immaculate, gloves uncreased, expression unreadable. He walked toward the flame, the pink bows rustling in his wake, and disappeared through it, leaving behind roses, laughter, and the ruins of his expectations.

Left topic for the ballroom.

X

МЕЛОР БАСКАКОВ Student of Durmstrang Institute, Second Year, iNPC OUTFIT: black suit with flare SONG: The Greatest Living Show , HEX: #781111 STATISTICS: stamina 9 | evasion 7 | strength 8 | wisdom 8 | arcane power 2 | accuracy 6 05 JULY, 2025, WORDCOUNT: 674 MENTIONING: @name, INTERACTING: @Novalie Moon ENCYLOPEDIA code made by xoh3, inspired by aodhan shaw, art by bani-chan

left for ballroom

It was a good thing that Howard ran mostly off of instinct as he was surely out of his depths with the amount of magic flowing around the cathedral. Yes, he was still a wizard, but casting was not his strong suit. Let him rip, let him tear. He was deadly when it came to physical prowess and his skills that mimicked beast more than human made him quite the predator, but trying to figure out what ancient magic was at play here would require help from someone much more gifted than he.

He cocked his head like a perplexed pup when the officiant claimed the contract had been sealed between husband and wife. What kind of archaic ceremony was this? Had her family paid the dowry as well? Not only did that seem weird, but Matthias' reaction to it all seemed out a place as well. It was like he had just come off a battle field the victor. Perhaps it was this contract and his newfound status that caused for such a reaction, but what was he gloating about? Howard felt even more out of place as most around him looked like everything was all in order. So, he again would rely on instinct. Another deep breath through his nose and the scent of blood was still there. As the floo flames erupted around the alter, he would get up and follow his nose.

Howard leaves for the Ballroom.

Vladimir stood untouched by the wave of prophecy that rolled like a tremor through the cathedral—unmoved, not because he was immune, but because he was already drowning in something heavier. The echo of his father’s voice still rang in his skull, clear and cruel:

"Not Pride, Athanatos. I name him my heir."

Mathias. Of all people, Mathias.

Crude. Crass. Disrespectful. How could Thaddeus hand any semblance of legacy to him, as if only blood mattered rather than merit? As if years of sacrifice, obedience and pain could be rendered unworthy because of Morgantha's intervention? His death made him less than disposable, it had made him irrelevant.

His hands, hidden in the folds of his cloak, clenched tight. He wanted to scream. But there was no time for grief or space for a reaction. Not here. Not now.

Over the din of chatter and spellwork and prophetic whispers, a voice sliced through like a lightning strike in his mind. A thought not his own, screaming his name. The pressure of it was staggering. Vladimir. Again, louder. Sharper. Raw.

Vladimir knew the voice, it belonged to Opeila Winters. A young Seer, her gift was still temperamental but growing stronger. Too strong, perhaps. She always had a way of causing trouble and finding it. The image of her rose unbidden: always on the verge of something reckless, always luminous in it.

Now, she was calling out for him in terror and he couldn’t reach her. A wave of nausea broke over him. His legilimency flared helplessly, grasping at her reaction to a vision neither could control. What had she seen to make her cry like that? His stomach twisted, not with hunger, but with helplessness.

And then… silence. As suddenly as it began, the call was severed. Her voice was gone. Vladimir wavered where he stood, feeling light-headed, blinking hard against the dim light pouring through the stained glass as he fought to ground himself in the midst of noises only he could hear. Garbled and loud.

Across the cathedral floor, he saw his brother Gideon, bristling and red-eyed as he grabbed Taylor by the wrist. Gideon the predator cloaked in youthful innocence that most saw through by this point. Something had happened. Something bad. He saw Jurgen make a pitiful attempt to intervene, falter, and fail.

Vladimir’s gaze flicked to Opeila. She was surrounded by family, cloaked in safety. She was okay, for now. She didn’t need him. And that truth—so gentle, so gutting—cut deep as well.

If he had moved faster, maybe he could have stopped Gideon. But hesitation had cost him. The man was gone now, disappeared into the green flare of the Floo, Gideon and Taylor both vanished into the reception hall beyond.

Should he follow?

He didn’t know. He was unraveling. Without making a scene, he would make his way into the queue for the floo to the church before the crowd here grew too thin.

Leaving for the Augury (Ballroom)

Sanctum Noctis Cathedral
London, UK

While pure-blood weddings could too often be dull and laborious affairs, when drama did arise it was usually the kind of wedding that would be spoken about for years after. Mercifully, it was quickly becoming apparent this wedding would be the latter.

"Not Pride. Athanatos. I name him my heir."

The words from the Athanatos patriarch elicited a barely audible gasp from Livinia, one gloved hand covering her mouth. Cassius, still but a youth, watched with anticipation, inwardly hoping the announcement would be just the first of an escalation of tension and conflict within the room. That we would get to be the spectator to a performance of Shakespearean proportions -- tragedy or otherwise.

He kept Thaddeus in his periphery as he scanned the cathedral pews for the disinherited heir. Would he confront his father here? Voice protest? Attack? He knew little of Athanatos family dynamics but almost every pure-blood family had their eccentricities. Perhaps some of theirs might be on display tonight.

And then a mirror shattered.

The feeling in the room seemed to change in an instant. Something of significance had happened even if Cassius could not tell what. Whatever celebratory mood there was become ominous. The Ravenclaw senior searched the pews again for Opeila, hoping to gauge her reaction to these events. Perhaps she was enjoying them as much as he.

She was not.

Protective instincts kicked in immediately seeing Opeila in a state of distress and Cassius stood up from his seat. The protest from his mother was ignored as he hastily made his way to one of the side aisles, offering whispered apologies to each attendee he crossed in front of.

Opeila had been moved to a chair near the entrance with Annika and Lysander attending to her. That was good. She wasn't alone.

Hastened steps brought him quickly towards his distressed girlfriend. He knelt down in front of the chair and took Opeila's hands in his, nodding to Annika and Lysander an unspoken 'I got this'.

Comforting blue-gray eyes would meet her gaze. "Hey, Opeila. I'm here. I have you. You're safe now." From a coat pocket, Cassius withdrew a clean monogrammed handkerchief and wiped at the tears around Opeila's eyes. There would be a time to ask what had happened, but for now his only focus was on ensuring his girlfriend was safe and comfortable.

Behind them, the ceremony had concluded and attendees were beginning to disappear into the green floo network flames that had appeared.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Cassius said with a comforting tone.

He looked up at Annika and Lysander and the four of them departed for the Augury Cloister.

Exiting the thread and leaving for the Augury Cloister.

@Opeila Winters

Well, there was no bloodshed. What sort of day at church was this?

Erin shifted her weight from heel to heel, eyes narrowing at the fractured light spilling through the Sanctum’s stained glass. The air still thrummed from Thaddeus’s declaration. That kind of resolution left an echo. Something thick. Sticky. It clung to the inside of her throat like raw rat guts.

She watched Giddy rush off with Taylor, voices a blur of mischief and elegance disappearing into the floo like two cats that knew exactly where the milk was hidden. They didn’t look back, of course, not for her and not for Jurgen, who stood a few paces off with the emotional intelligence of a stone slab. That wasn’t surprising. She did not want to come anyway, there were too many people for a boom. As for Hess. No one wanted Jurgen around. Not even Jurgen. She didn’t either.

Her gaze dragged across the crowd and there was Vladimir. Her smile vanished like a coin down a drain. Tumbling and spinning. He was beside Uncle Thaddeus, half in shadow, half draped in self-importance. Pale, unreadable, too still. The flare of pure, incandescent rage in her gut took her by surprise, sharp and fast like biting into silver.

What is he doing here? Yes, yes... she knew. Half-brother. Bloodline. Protocol. But Vladimir didn’t care about family. Not really. Not in the way that meant anything. Only when it benefitted him. He tried to kill her once. Then he moved in with her. She never forgot the former. He'd tried to kill Aamon not six months ago.

And now here cousin Vlad was, all shiny and there, like a blade in the wrong sheath. She hated how her pulse sped up around him. Not from fear. From knowing. From recognizing something unspoken that curled under her skin every time she was near him. August had warned her. Told her plainly that Vladimir was trouble. Dangerous. Too clever to be cornered. Too fractured to be trusted. She did not wholly believe that, he was a Ravenclaw most certainly, but he was far from clever. And if he was right, that was a bloody shame because of course she didn’t listen.

She rarely listened. Especially not to men with grim smiles and charming teeth. Not to August, who was a bit too distant, a bit too young to be so old inside, and maybe... just maybe... a bit too correct.

Vladimir, for his part, had once told her to stay away from men like August. Whatever that meant. Erin scowled. This whole place felt like a game she didn’t agree to play, but had been dealt a hand anyway.

The queue for the floo was finally thinning. Thank the stars.

She slipped into line, clutching her wand. She felt like someone watching her own life through a cracked window. Something about today wasn’t done yet. She could feel it in the floor.

Left for the ballroom.

Madam Winnie Athanatos.

It had an interesting ring to it, the wedding invitation card read Pride, but Nabi did not inquire. The head of the Athanatos' manor had already spoken, answering any inquiries that would have arisen. However, the man's deadpan statement bore fruit to another question that she decided on keeping to herself until she deemed it necessary.

She had been calmly observing as the newlyweds said their vows, her gaze drifting to her immediate surroundings, a few familiar faces, and some she had never seen before. The number of people in attendance was not what caught her attention, but rather what each expression told.

Her blank gaze watched as each mask chipped.

Attempted to hold secrets.

It was said weddings tend to have that sort of effect on people; perhaps that was a truth. With a low hum, she began to turn to look back at the ceremony. Until she noticed the miniature-sized emperor look... off, his jaw clenched like a child about to throw a fit. The young Aamon would not be the only person who appeared to have seen a ghoul. She would have gone up to him and asked if he felt well, yet Nabi continued to observe him for a mere second longer than necessary before looking back to the newlyweds. Unaware of the vision some of the guests would be having, and instead chalking it up to reactions toward the newly named heir. I suppose he may be asking himself the same question...

The ceremony would end, and Nabi stood up calmly, placing her hands behind her back before following her parents, who had appeared in front of her. The sound of her heels clicking against the smooth cathedral's floor would fade as she turned to look back once more, the bench where she had sat was empty.

Who had called me over?

To Edith, the ceremony was beautiful.

She sighed softly as the priest began to announce the newlyweds, when she heard the voice of an older gentleman speak. Looking over to the source of the stern tone, she noticed a man whose presence commanded attention. Her head tilted slightly as she watched the man's posture, he seems like the type to know of things before others do. Her eyebrow would raise as the man, much more stated than announced, the groom as the Athanatos' heir. Confused, she gently leaned toward Samuel and whispered, "Can he do that?"

Edith did not know of the gentleman's role in the web she had begun to step on with her baby blue heels.

With a low hum, she looked around to see if anyone else was just as confused. An eyebrow furrowed when she noticed some of the guests appeared to have zoned out, is the ceremony that boring? Turning to look at Samuel, Edith heard the priest announce the newly declared heir and his bride, is he also bored? If Samuel turned to look at her, she would simply smile at him before getting up and looking to see where the guests were to go for the reception. Her hand gently grabbed his neatly ironed sleeve as if to guide him while she walked toward the line for the floo, "Will you continue to wear the shades at the reception, or must I steal them from you?"

She was about to look up at him when she realized it was her turn. Edith sighed softly before letting go of his sleeve, "We shall continue at the ballroom, Mister".