Karakaya Village, hidden on the steepest hills of the Bodrum peninsula, was an abandoned settlement consisting of stone houses built centuries ago to protect against pirate attacks, found only by those who knew of it. The wind howled among the centuries-old stone walls; the night covered the village like a dark blanket. But tonight, among those dilapidated houses, something far more dangerous was shining than the fires the pirates once lit. In the wide square in the middle of the village, nearly fifty mortals who had lived oblivious to the wizarding world stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting in fear and a morbid curiosity. Some were bartenders working on Bar Street, some night watchmen at a luxury hotel, and some angry unemployed youths. What they all had in common was that they had fallen for Abu Nazir's whispers and the 'superior power' he promised them. Abu Nazir stood on a large rock in the middle of the square, his robes billowing in the wind. Around him, his five silver-masked men formed a silent circle, wands in hand. At Nazir's feet lay an old, wooden chest. Inside were dozens of wands gathered from the Black Market. "They have left you blind for centuries," Nazir said. His voice was not loud, but somehow it echoed inside the minds of everyone in the square. "They made you guests, slaves in your own home, in Bodrum. While you cleaned their trash, they ruled the world from their fancy underground palaces with their wands. They saw you as insects." Approving, angry murmurs rose from the crowd. "But you are blind no more," Nazir continued, sharpening the dark tone in his voice slightly. He kicked the chest open with the tip of his foot. Wands spilled onto the stone ground. "Their weapon is now your weapon. Their fire is your fire." Nazir reached out and pointed to a burly man with tattooed arms standing at the front. "Approach." The man stepped forward hesitantly. He was unsure whether to pick up one of the wands from the ground. One of Nazir's masked men picked up a wand and forced it into the man's hand. The moment the man gripped the wand, he began to convulse, just like the victim on Bar Street. His veins blackened, and he screamed in pain as the magical energy radiating from the wand burned his body. The crowd wanted to pull back, but the silver-masked men raised their wands to block them. Nazir leaned down next to the man writhing in pain. He drew his wand and pressed its tip to the man's chest. "Wands reject you," Nazir whispered, looking deep into the man's eyes. "Because you have no magic. But there is anger in your blood. To show the wand who its master is, you must chain it with your blood." Those dark, newly coined words spilled from his lips: "Sanguis Vinculum!"
A dark red light seeping from the tip of Nazir's wand mingled with the blackening magical energy in the man's veins. The man's screams ceased. The black veins took on a red, sickly glow and buried themselves under his skin. The man, panting, straightened up. The wand in his hand no longer burned him; instead, it had synchronized with the dark magic in his blood. The man pointed the wand at an old olive tree in the square and shouted in anger: "Confringo!" Though imperfect, the warped, orange ball of energy emerging from the wand shattered the tree's trunk, leaving it in flames. As the crowd watched the tree burn, their fears gave way to a pure, greedy fascination. The weapon was now theirs. At the same hours, in the ruined labyrinths beneath Bodrum Castle, Darius Widdershins was examining the wand he had found on Bar Street. He had laid the dark rune on the wand onto the magical analysis table in the labyrinth. Meltem placed the hot coffee in her hand on the table and came to Darius's side. "The mortal on Bar Street... That wand was draining his life, yet he could still perform magic. How is this possible?" Darius looked at the faint, red vibrations radiating from the wand. "Normally, it's not possible," he said, his voice tired but his mind completely awake. "A mortal can only wave a wand; the core inside won't react. But this wand... The core inside has been forced. Not only forced, but a dark bond was forged with the blood of the one holding it." "Blood magic," Meltem said, her stomach churning. "Nazir is force-feeding them the wands. But wouldn't that drive them mad? How long can they endure?" "Nazir doesn't care," Darius replied, picking up the wand from the table and putting it in his robe pocket. "They are just pawns. His real goal is to attack the Ports with those pawns and distract us from his true target. How long will it take him to decipher the parchment?" Meltem pictured the map in her mind's eye. "According to the cryptographers at the Ministry, it takes three days for the protective seals on the Parchment to fully lift and for the location of the Ninth Port to appear on the map." "Then for these three days, Nazir will target the other eight Ports with that mortal army he's building. He'll keep us busy. He'll make us fight our own people in our own city." The muscles in Darius's jaw twitched. "Where do you think the first attack will be?" Meltem smiled as she checked the knives in their sheaths, but there was no joy in her eyes. "The Antique Theatre. Right in the middle of Bodrum, the first gateway with the highest concentration of magic." Darius adjusted his robes and gripped the hilt of his wand tightly. "Then let's go there. And show them the price of playing with shadows in the streets of Bodrum."
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