Celestial Ascendancy

Disclaimer: This chapter contains themes of self-sacrifice and endurance, including scenes that may involve self-inflicted pain for the purpose of magical or narrative progression. I want to make it clear that I do not condone self-harm in any form. If you or someone you know is struggling, please contact a trusted individual or professional for support.

Author's Note:

So, our MC gets a wake-up call, and the butterflies start flapping their wings. Let me know what you think of the chapter!

I want to give a huge thank you to Heliel43 for taking the time to beta-read this chapter! The feedback and suggestions have been incredibly helpful, and I genuinely appreciate the effort you put into helping me polish the chapter.

Celestial Ascendancy.

Chapter 9: Elias Rebirth.

Elias Blake.

Hogwarts.

Yesterday had been nothing short of a whirlwind. The argument with Iris—minor in scale but monumental in its impact—had left me utterly dumbstruck. Sitting in the common room, surrounded by the faint crackle of the fireplace, I struggled to process what had just happened. My heart felt heavy, and my mind was a mix of complex emotions I couldn't quite name. Eventually, I dragged myself to my room, the weight of the exchange still clinging to me like a stubborn shadow.

I wasn't that clueless. Or so I liked to believe. I understood jealousy… vaguely. It was like trying to grasp smoke—tangible for a moment before it dissipated, leaving only a trace of its presence. In my previous life, I had died young, a fleeting existence cut short before I ever had the chance to delve into the complexities of relationships. Romance had always been something for "later," but that "later" had never come. Now, here I was, living a second chance with emotions I was woefully ill-equipped to handle. Two incredible girls—Hermione and Iris—had managed to stir something in me that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I tried.

And oh, I had tried for a lot of reasons. The fear of rejection loomed over me like a thundercloud, heavy and dark. What if I had misread their intentions? What if I acted foolishly, ruining my chances and our precious friendship? Then, there was the thorny issue of my feelings themselves. I liked them both equally and deeply. We'd been together through so much, and the thought of choosing one and hurting the other felt like driving a dagger into my own chest. How could I ever decide?

The situation was maddening. I imagined Iris or Hermione flirting with someone else, and the pain that bloomed in my chest was visceral—sharp and all-consuming. Did they feel the same way about me? It was a question I dared not ask, not because I didn't want to know but because I wasn't sure I could handle the answer.

With a frustrated shake of my head, I forced the thoughts aside. Dwelling on them would lead me nowhere. No matter how often they crept in or how much they tangled up my brain, I needed to focus. Focus on something else.

An idea sparked, something small but pressing. I opened my eyes and peeked through the thick curtains that shielded my bed from view. The dormitory was quiet, the soft rhythm of my roommates' breathing the only sound in the stillness. It was early, the kind of early that turned the world cold and blue. Perfect.

Silently, I tapped my trunk twice, watching as it grew to its original size. Slipping inside quickly, I felt the comforting hum of magic wrap around me as the space expanded to accommodate my training setup.

The events at the Quidditch World Cup had left an impression on me, one I could never erase. That chaotic, terrifying night had been a wake-up call. I was good—exceptional, even, for my age—but that meant very little in the grand scheme of things. Against a seasoned witch or wizard, I was still just a boy fumbling his way through spells. The reality was stark and unforgiving. I needed to be better if I wanted to survive and protect the people I cared about.

No, I needed to be unpredictable. The Grimoire had given me gifts, powers, and techniques no one would expect someone my age to wield. Those gifts were my ace, the tools that might level the playing field when it mattered most. But even with those, I knew there was no substitute for relentless practice.

The less said about the mysterious siblings, the better. The silent and composed girl didn't do anything overtly threatening, but something about her calm in front of a Death Eater sent a chill down my spine. That kind of poise meant something, and I had no doubt that if things had escalated, she could have protected herself without her brother's help. As for the man… I couldn't quite place him. Sword fighting had almost become obsolete in recent years—more of a tradition than a practical method of combat. But how he moved and the speed with which he apparated was almost unnatural. I hadn't even seen him vanish, and I knew I'd have fared no better than that Death Eater if I had been in his shoes.

I wasn't sure if I was lucky or unlucky, but most of my rolls had directed me toward being a rogue build. With Thief's Grace, I was quick and nimble—more agile than I ever thought I could be. My dragon crest ring, which Hermione had borrowed, kept my footsteps silent, and the shadows practically welcomed me, making concealment magic feel almost second nature. But those were all perks, items—things that couldn't be honed in the short term. They weren't what I needed right now.

I needed to focus on the one ability I had gained from the Grimoire—Power Through Pain. Throwing fireballs was impressive, sure, but with enough practice, I could evolve that power into something more deadly. And I didn't need anyone to teach me how to use it. It's not like my sword skills, anyway.

I'd need to find Professor Flitwick soon, maybe beg him for lessons in charm work—something to make me more versatile, but for now… I had to focus on what I could do.

Stepping into my Hollow, I made a beeline for my potions room. I grabbed an almost absurd amount of pain relief potions, some Wiggenweld, and a vial of Essence of Dittany—just in case. Pain terrified me. Always had. In both lives, I'd been terrified of it, but if I wanted to grow stronger, I had to face it. There was no other way.

I walked out to the jungle next to my Hollow, gathering branches from the trees, the faint shimmer of Diffindo cutting through them. Conjuration was above my pay grade, but I'd learned a trick or two in Transfiguration. By the time I'd returned to the clearing I'd created in my Hollow, the branches were sharp enough to do the job.

"Hah… this is a terrible idea," I muttered, stepping into the new space I'd created. I'd focused hard on visualizing a barren area where nothing existed but the space I needed for this exercise. My trunk provided everything I needed with no issues.

Taking a deep breath, I stared at the branches before me. With a steady hand, I raised my wand from my pocket. I focused, visualizing the transformation: a blade sharp enough to prick my skin. Slowly, the branches began to twist and warp before my eyes. The transformation wasn't perfect—far from it—but they were jagged and sharp, crude, but they'd work.

"Pain feeds power," the Grimoire had said. It was a cryptic message, but one I was beginning to understand. To control the flames, to make them more destructive, I had to learn to push through pain. The quickest way I knew how to make progress was to embrace it, even if it felt like madness.

I grabbed one of the newly formed knives, a shudder running through my body as I pressed the jagged edge into my palm. The prickle of the knife against my skin felt almost electric. "Here goes nothing," I murmured to myself, then sliced the blade across my hand as quickly as I could.

Blood poured from the wound, but surprisingly, the pain was nowhere near as intense as I'd expected. Instead, a strange tingling sensation spread through my hand, almost like a mild numbness. My brow furrowed. This wasn't what I expected.

I quickly reached for the Wiggenweld potion and dabbed it over the cut. Within moments, the skin began to heal, the wound closing as if it had never been there. The tingling sensation faded as if it had all been a fleeting illusion.

I closed my eyes, the words from the Grimoire echoing in my mind. My pain tolerance had increased dramatically, but this wasn't enough. If I wanted to enhance my flames, I needed more. I needed to push myself further.

I stood still for a moment, the faint hum of magic in the air surrounding me as I turned the thought over in my mind. I needed more than just the minor scratches I'd inflicted on myself. But, I reminded myself, I couldn't risk going too far without supervision. Even with increased pain tolerance, my body would still have its limits. I wasn't some magical creature with infinite endurance, and if I pushed myself too hard…

"Maybe need to be reckless," I muttered under my breath, but the hunger for power surged in me all the same. One way or another, I was going to master this.

Snorting loudly, I made a rash decision. Madam Pomfrey was in the castle, and I knew the kinds of injuries she dealt with. A fire-related burn wouldn't surprise her after the number of times we'd used Incendio in class and made fire-burning salve in potion class. It was just familiar enough for her to be unfazed if I showed up needing help.

I reluctantly returned the newly formed knives to their original branches, stacking them like a bonfire. The stupidity of the idea was apparent, but my hunger for power outweighed my common sense. With a shake of my head, I flicked my wand toward the pile. I didn't need precise wand movements; it was a basic spell. "Incendio."

The flame sprang to life, growing with alarming speed.

"If a slash wasn't enough, I hope this will be," I muttered, though my voice was steady, almost cold. I spread my arms wide and deliberately stepped into the brazier. The coals instantly burned through the thin soles of my flip-flops, and the flames engulfed my clothes in seconds.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to scream, not to let the agony show as my skin burned.

But then something strange happened. With a thought, my blue flames erupted from my skin. They swirled around me, fueled by the pain. The fire felt strangely comforting, evaporating the nervous sweat that had already started to form like a blanket of warmth on my skin.

It wasn't enough, though. I needed more.

With a single thought, the flames intensified, spreading faster and more ferociously. The sand beneath my feet turned red, softening into a sticky mess that began to sink beneath me. And that's when the pain became unbearable.

The only reason I wasn't instantly consumed by the flames was the perk—my body had an innate adaptation to fire, a resistance that allowed me to survive the onslaught. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.

My mind blanked as I screamed, my throat raw from the force of it. The fire was mine to control, but even I couldn't bear the pain for long. I willed the flames to subside, and thankfully, they did, pulling away from my skin like a receding wave.

I looked down at my body, panting, thankful that the fire hadn't reached my face. My skin was a painful red, covered in welts and raw from the flames, but not charred. A hollow laugh escaped my lips—painful but uncontrollable. The Grimoire had done its work in adapting my body to the fire, but the ache still spread through every inch of me.

With a shaky hand, I reached for my wand, trying to ignore the deep aches that pulsed through my body. Despite everything, I managed to uncork every potion I brought with the help of magic. The potions swirled around my body, and I sighed in relief as the pain lessened, just enough to think more clearly.

I was stupid to have done this alone, without supervision. I would never make this mistake again.

I cast a Tempus charm with another weak flick of my wand, relieved to see that I had over half an hour left to try and salvage the damage. I tried to stand with renewed determination, but my body failed me. At least I managed to sit up, and with a grunt, I transformed the sand beneath me into something resembling a bathtub.

I dragged my aching body into it, sinking into the makeshift soak, and dumped every potion I had into the water. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the warm relief from the potions spreading through me.

What I'd done was incredibly stupid, but I hoped, just hoped, it would be worth it in the long run. I didn't have the energy to test whether my flames had improved, but I'd find out soon enough—later.

Half an hour later.

I dragged my sore body out of my trunk and collapsed onto my bed like a sack of potatoes. Every inch of me ached, but at least I could move without too much trouble.

Already, I could feel the results of my training. The aches started to fade as each minute passed, and though my injuries still stung, I could think much more clearly.

Since I had bathed with magic, I slipped into my simple shirt and briefs, not bothering to dress any more than that.

I first needed to find Iris and Hermione and ask them nicely if they could take me to the infirmary. The pain wasn't overwhelming anymore, but the damage was still there, and I definitely needed help.

With a grunt, I dragged myself down the stairs and saw my two best friends sitting in the common room, waiting for me.

"Iris, Mione," I called out from the stairs.

They exchanged a glance before their eyes locked on me.

"What's up, Eli?" Hermione greeted me from her seat, sitting up straight.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice rising with concern.

Iris raised an eyebrow, then seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"I thought it wasn't that noticeable," I grumbled, leaning against the wall. "How could you tell? The robes cover everything."

"I don't know what you did to yourself, Elias," Hermione said, eyeing me seriously, "but you're clearly hurt. Can you walk?"

I snorted, and even my skin seemed to groan at the sudden movement. "I was an idiot. And barely. I need you to take me to Madam Pomfrey."

Without another word, they nodded, and each took one of my arms, helping me stumble through the castle. The sight of them almost herding me through the halls drew some curious looks, but thankfully, no one asked questions.

It wasn't long before we reached the infirmary. We knocked on the door, and Madam Pomfrey opened it scrutinizingly.

"What happened?" she asked as she led us inside.

"I had an accident while training, Madam Pomfrey," I explained slowly. "I was practicing the Incendio spell, but the fire got out of hand and burned me pretty badly."

She clearly didn't buy the whole story but simply nodded and sighed.

"Dears, be good girls and help me remove his robes," she instructed Iris and Hermione.

Hermione blushed deeply, but Iris's eyes lit up at the opportunity to embarrass me.

"You'll tell us the real story later," Iris whispered dangerously in my ear.

With their help and a levicorpus charm from Hermione, my robes were neatly draped over a chair beside the bed. Both of them went pale at the sight of my body.

The pain had subsided, but the sight was still gruesome.

"What the hell did you do?" Iris snapped, her eyes locking onto mine, and I couldn't help but lower my gaze.

"I messed up... I know," I whispered, glancing up at her, only to be distracted by a soft whimper. I turned to see Hermione, tears in her eyes gently brushing my skin.

"Eli, please promise me you'll be more careful," Hermione cried, her voice trembling with fear. "I hate seeing you like this... Think of us the next time you do something so reckless."

All I could do was nod, my heart breaking as I saw the worry on their faces. I was impulsive, and in doing so, I'd hurt the two most important people in my life. I regretted it... even though I knew it was the right thing to do. There were probably safer ways to enhance Power Through Pain, though I ignored them in my hubris.

"I promise," I smiled weakly, taking her hand in mine. "I'll explain everything today, in THAT room, I swear."

Hermione sniffled, but before I could say anything more, Madam Pomfrey opened the curtains separating my bed from the infirmary.

"For Merlin's beard, Elias. What happened to you?" she exclaimed, waving her wand frantically in my direction.

Iris and Hermione took a step back, watching behind Madam Pomfrey. Their hands clasped together, whispering so softly that I couldn't catch what they said.

"How are you even standing, kid?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, her eyes widening. "You've got burns covering 80% of your body. I don't understand how you're even conscious right now."

"It doesn't hurt that much," I laughed weakly. "Like I said, I had an accident while training. But I had a few healing potions on me, so I bathed in them before asking my friends to take me here."

"They're the only reason you're still alive, lad," she said, giving me a light smack on the head. "I don't get it, but you shouldn't be as good as you seem. With the extent of the burns, you should now be charred to a crisp or turned to ash. And the damage to your nerves... I don't even want to think about it. But my spells show no lasting damage. Your muscles are a bit damaged, but nothing like it should be."

"Maybe the potions helped," I muttered, shaking my head. "I'm just thankful to be alive."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Since the year just started, I've got a good stock of burning salve, but Severus will be upset when I ask him to make more."

"He gets paid for a reason," I grumbled, making her lips quirk up in amusement.

"Iris, Hermione, I need your help here," Madam Pomfrey smirked. "Help me rub this salve into his burns."

Hermione squeaked, blushing bright red, while Iris grinned from ear to ear, clearly enjoying the situation.

"With pleasure, Madam Pomfrey. Maybe this will teach him not to be such an idiot," Iris said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"I wouldn't bet on it," whispered Madam Pomfrey with a smile, glancing at the three of us like she'd won a bet.

Choosing to ignore her, I blushed deeply as I looked at my friends. Hermione's face was as red as mine, while Iris was clearly enjoying my panic.

"Since you kids hate being in the infirmary so much," the nurse smirked, "I'll have you apply this salve twice a day for three days. Don't fail me; make sure he doesn't train alone again. We don't want a repeat of this, do we?"

"No, we don't," Hermione snapped, making me squirm as she applied the salve with a little more force than necessary.

"Now, I'll leave you to 'grill' him over this," Madam Pomfrey laughed, "I'll have a house-elf bring breakfast soon."

"Thank you, Madam," Iris chirped.

After Madam Pomfrey left, Iris shared a look with Hermione, who immediately picked up her wand and started waving it like she did on the train.

"Talk, Eli," Iris demanded, her voice a little too threatening. "We need to rub this paste in your burns. Don't make us do it harder than we need to."

Hermione returned to her task, staying silent but clearly paying attention.

I sighed in defeat, not without a bit of fear. "Do you remember what you told us about Voldemort?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Iris nodded. "What about it?"

"Well... Do you remember the blue flames I showed you from the Grimoire?" I asked again, the weight of my stupidity pressing down on me. I should've waited, should've been patient. I needed to wait for someone to get more skilled in healing magic or get something from the Grimoire to help with self-healing. But no... I had to go and put myself in danger like an idiot.

Iris raised an eyebrow and tapped my skin a little harder, signaling me to continue. "Well... it's called 'Power through Pain,' and it does exactly what it says. I thought we'd need more strength to face Voldemort if he was returning, so I decided to train my only power. But I was an idiot and did it alone."

Iris sighed through her nostrils and shook her head. "What did you do to yourself, Eli?"

I sighed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Those blue fireballs are just the basics of my new magic. It's all I can do with them right now, but that's just the beginning. I could immolate myself at full mastery, making the flames hotter and using them like a cloak or shield. But for that, I need to feed my power through pain."

"I tried cutting myself," I continued, my voice faltering, "but that didn't work. My pain tolerance was through the roof when I got that perk, and the slice only felt like a tingle. So I searched for something greater… I used an incendio on a pyre and stepped inside."

Hermione gasped, her breath catching, and I felt Iris go silent, her grip tightening on my skin.

"You dumbass," Iris choked out, her voice breaking. "Why would you do that, Elias? And alone? What if something happened to you, and no one knew? You could've died, and no one would have found out until we searched your trunk."

Shame washed over me. "Better me than you, Iris," I whispered. "I hate thinking about what Voldemort could do to you if he returns and we're not strong enough. I'd rather go through this a thousand times, even worse, than imagine him winning and hurting you...both of you."

Tears stung my eyes as I imagined the horrors of the book—the graveyard, Hermione as a prisoner... No. I wouldn't let that happen. Not as long as I was alive. No one would hurt them as long as I could stop it.

The room was heavy with the scent of lingering magic, an unseen force pulsing in the air. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion, joy, and something... deeper. Before I could even gather my thoughts, the warmth of soft lips pressed against mine. I froze for a moment, taken entirely by surprise, but my heart skipped a beat as I opened my eyes. Iris stood before me, her tear-streaked face inches from mine, her expression a mixture of longing and something much more profound.

Her deep and unrestrained kiss sent a wave of emotions crashing through me, stirring feelings I didn't quite know how to name. I could taste the salt of her tears, but instead of pulling away, I pulled her closer. My heart echoed with every second, and before I knew it, I deepened the kiss, surrendering to the sensation, pouring all my love for her into that single, decisive moment.

It was as though time had stopped altogether, and in that stillness, I felt it—a change. Something within me, something old and buried deep, was awakening. And with it came the Grimoire, floating into existence between the three of us like a silent observer, its presence undeniable.

Iris and Hermione gasped, eyes wide in awe and confusion. But me? I was already entranced, utterly absorbed in the sensation that now tied me to the moment and the world around me.

To Elias:

The winds of fate have shifted with your proclamation, and they sail in your direction for the first time since your arrival. With your vow, the very fabric of your soul has transformed. No longer a mere observer of a world unfolding but a participant who has chosen to shape the course of destiny with your own hands.

By casting aside the illusion of safety and control and embracing the truth of the world around you—by seeing the faces of those you hold dear—not as pawns or mere players in your tale, but as living souls whose fates will change thanks to your actions.

For this, you have earned the favor of the Grimoire, which grants you 300 Celestial points. The next roll, however, will cost no less than 400 Points.

The words echoed in my mind, settling into my chest like a weight. They weren't just words—they were a challenge, a mirror to my own thoughts. Did I really see them as pawns? As much as I loved Iris, Hermione, and the rest, the thought gnawed at me. Had I been blind to how I'd perceived them all along? How could I not have seen it? My heart ached; the truth is both bitter and bittersweet.

The Grimoire continued its actions without my consent, flipping through its pages, but I barely noticed. More than the reward, the message had shaken me to my core. They weren't just friends. They weren't just players in this game. They were people, and their fates were intertwined with mine. I could never allow them to become collateral damage again. Voldemort and every twisted soul that dared to harm them would have to go through me first. No one would touch them.

Phoenix- 400 CP

The noble Phoenix, a magical creature famed throughout the land. An avian clad in crimson feathers and claws and beaks of gleaming gold, a phoenix is seen as a symbol of rebirth throughout both the worlds of Muggles and wizards. A phoenix's appearance is clear to all, especially with the soft and radiant gold glow it emits.

There are many things a phoenix is known for. First is their tremendous strength. A single phoenix can carry four grown men and fly with ease. Secondly, a phoenix's song bestows upon those whose hearts are good with courage and strike fear into evildoers. Thirdly, a phoenix, like the Zouwu, can apparate through a burst of flames, bypassing every attempt to block it.

But its two most famous characteristics truly define the Phoenix. Whenever a phoenix would die, it combusts in a burst of flame, only to be reborn seconds later as a chick, ready to grow once more. Finally, the tears of a phoenix will be able to cure any wound or sickness, no matter how Dark.

150 CP Left.

The description shimmered before my eyes, and I felt the bond forming instantly—a connection so profound that it was as if I'd known this creature all my life. The Phoenix is a creature of legend, symbolizing rebirth and eternal strength. Its golden flames flickered in my mind's eye—fierce, protective, and capable of feats beyond imagination.

I blinked, and before any of us could react, the soft chirp of a newborn echoed through the room. A tiny, crimson chick appeared on my chest, its beady eyes wide and innocent.

I gasped, my heart swelling as the warmth of the Grimoire's magic continued to hum through me. I could feel the bond between us growing stronger with every passing second. She was real—alive.

"Oh god," I muttered, gently cradling the chick in my hands, marveling at how it squawked with all the enthusiasm it could muster. Despite its tiny form, there was a strength within it that transcended its size. This wasn't just a bird; this was something more.

Iris's voice trembled as she reached toward the baby phoenix, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Is that really a Phoenix?"

I nodded, unable to stop the grin that spread across my face. "Yes. And she has a name: Ashborne. Ash, for short."

The chick seemed to approve. It chirped happily, its tiny wings flapping in excitement, and looked at us with wide, curious eyes.

Hermione was already entranced, her hand hovering near the bird as though she feared disturbing it. "She's... beautiful," she whispered, her voice full of awe.

Ever the soft-hearted soul, Iris cooed gently at Ash, her fingers caressing the chick's beak with an almost motherly tenderness. "She's perfect," she murmured, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

I felt the same way, though something about Ash's presence stirred something deep in my chest, something I wasn't sure I understood. There was a bond, a fierce need to protect her. I couldn't explain it, but it was there, undeniable.

As Ash began to waddle toward my face, I watched in awe. The little creature flapped her wings with surprising strength, her small form rising just enough to brush against my chin. Her tiny talons reached toward my lips, pressing with an unexpected force, and I had no idea what was happening. Before I could react, she easily opened my mouth, her actions almost deliberate.

A single, brilliant tear fell from her eyes, landing gently on my tongue. It was warm, and the moment it touched me, a healing sensation washed over my body. The pain I hadn't even realized was there faded instantly. I barely registered the effort it must have taken for Ash to give me her tear—her eyes closed, her little form trembling from the strain.

I rushed to catch her, but Iris, always quick as ever, cradled the chick in her hand before I could do anything.

"You silly bird," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion, the corner of my eye stinging with unshed tears. I chuckled softly, feeling the pain in my body vanish completely. It was as though nothing had ever happened.

I couldn't help but smile at seeing her nestled in Iris's palm. "I couldn't ask for a better roll. Sure, there are more powerful creatures than Ash, but I wouldn't trade her for anything."

Iris's gaze softened as she gazed down at the chick, her fingers absently stroking the downy feathers on Ash's back. "She's something else," Iris agreed quietly. "But what now? We can't exactly hide her. Phoenixes are rare."

Ever the pragmatic, Hermione looked out the window behind the bed, her eyes lighting up with a sudden idea. "She's here because someone good needed her," she said with quiet confidence, looking at me as if I were the answer to all the world's questions. "And there's no one better than our Eli."

I felt the weight of her words, but before I could respond, Hermione opened the window, her voice soft and resolute. "If anyone asks, she just appeared here."

Iris's eyes brightened at the idea, though she remained cautious with Ash in her hands. "That works," she agreed. "But what about the... other thing?"

"What other thing?" I asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

Hermione bit her lip, looking uncomfortable but unwilling to reveal more. "Nothing," she squeaked, avoiding my gaze.

I stared between them, puzzled, but didn't press further. "We should move," I said, my thoughts already shifting to the next step. "We need to get to the Great Hall and show Dumbledore. He needs to know. A phoenix is classified; a Phoenix is an XXXX class, and I don't want any dumbass making a fuss about technicalities."

Both Iris and Hermione nodded, a silent agreement passing between us. "If anyone tries to take her," Hermione muttered, "they will die."

I nodded in agreement. Whatever it took to protect Ash and the people I loved. Nothing, no one, would come between us.

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