Grindelwald's blue flames roar, casting eerie, flickering shadows across the cavernous hall. They rise higher as Credence steps forward, the heat licking at his skin, but it does not burn. The magic accepts him. Welcomes him. Proof of the loyalty he offers to the dark wizard.

Grindelwald stands at the center, arms outstretched like a benevolent savior. His voice is smooth, soothing, promising answers Credence has longed for his entire life. And Credence listens. He wants to listen. Wants to believe that someone- anyone knows who he truly is.

The desperation in his chest swells, tightening around his ribs like a vice. He has spent too long in the dark, grasping for any sliver of truth, of belonging. He doesn’t flinch when Grindelwald pulls him into a stiff, uncomfortable embrace, a calculated display of power disguised as warmth. It makes Credence's skin crawl with the ghosts of Graves's hands.

Through the shifting blaze, his gaze finds yours. His breath catches. A silent plea lingers in those wide, brown eyes, soft and searching. He wants you to understand. To see why he’s doing this. To follow. But deep down, he already knows the answer.