The moment the system's power settled within me… I did not waste it.
Power unused was power wasted.
The phoenix egg pulsed faintly in my hand, radiating a gentle, ancient warmth—so utterly opposite to the darkness I commanded. For a brief moment, I studied it, crimson-gold light reflecting in my eyes.
"Even light," I murmured softly, "can be bent."
With a precise flick of my wand, I constructed a specialized incubation chamber—layers of protective enchantments, thermal regulation charms, and ancient preservation magic interwoven with modern spellcraft. Ignotus' knowledge guided my hand effortlessly, while Slytherin's precision ensured perfection.
The egg settled within, glowing brighter as the enchantments took hold.
"It will hatch soon," I concluded.
And when it did… it would be mine.
I turned away immediately. Sentiment had no place here.
Only power.
The training chamber responded to my presence, the air thickening as I began.
Dark magic came first.
It always did.
I raised my wand—and the difference was immediate. Spells flowed smoother, faster, stronger. What once required effort now felt… trivial. Curses that would cripple elite wizards formed with barely a thought.
The darkness itself responded more eagerly, bending, twisting, welcoming my command.
Slytherin's mastery merged seamlessly with my own.
I was no longer simply skilled in the Dark Arts.
I was becoming its pinnacle.
Next came the mind.
Legilimency.
I extended my awareness outward—and instantly, I could feel them.
Thoughts. Emotions. Whispers of consciousness echoing faintly through the castle.
Before, reading a mind required focus, intent.
Now… it was effortless.
I brushed against a nearby servant's thoughts without even looking. Fear. Loyalty. Uncertainty. Every layer peeled back before me like fragile parchment.
A small smile formed.
"Pathetic."
But useful.
Very useful.
Then… the visions returned.
Grindelwald's gift.
Fragments flickered through my mind—uncontrolled, incomplete. A flash of fire. A wand raised. Dumbledore… standing amidst ruin.
And then—darkness.
The vision shattered before I could grasp it fully.
I frowned slightly.
"Imperfect," I muttered.
But even imperfect foresight was an advantage no other wizard possessed.
Hours turned into days.
Days into weeks.
And with each passing moment… I refined everything.
Transfiguration became second nature—objects reshaping at will, complexity no longer a barrier.
Charms layered upon charms, forming intricate constructs of magic that would have taken teams of wizards to replicate.
And my power…
Continued to grow.
With the Philosopher's Stone enhancing me, my magical reserves were monstrous—easily rivaling the greatest wizards alive.
Perhaps even…
Dumbledore.
But I was not foolish.
Albus Dumbledore was not merely powerful.
He was experienced.
Decades of mastery. Endless refinement. A mind that rivaled the greatest strategists in history.
The world called him the second coming of Merlin.
I did not believe that.
But I understood the weight behind such a claim.
"He is a monster," I admitted quietly.
And monsters… required preparation.
Far from my castle, beyond my immediate reach…
My influence spread.
Hogwarts.
The heart of magical Britain.
And now…
A breeding ground for my ideology.
The children of my allies worked quietly, subtly.
No open declarations. No foolish displays.
Only whispers.
Carefully planted ideas.
Power should belong to the worthy.
Blood mattered. Strength mattered. Control mattered.
Dumbledore's ideals? Weak. Naive. Restrictive.
And the students listened.
Not all.
But enough.
In Slytherin, it was almost natural.
Ambition drew them in like moths to flame.
In Ravenclaw, it was curiosity—an interest in forbidden knowledge, in the potential I represented.
Even in Gryffindor… a few.
The bold. The reckless. Those who believed they could wield power without being consumed by it.
Fools.
But useful fools.
And so the foundation grew.
A new generation.
Loyal not to Dumbledore.
But to me.
Back in the training hall, I lowered my wand slowly, the last spell dissipating into nothingness.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
I could feel it now.
The difference.
The evolution.
I was no longer chasing power.
I was defining it.
But still…
It was not enough.
Not yet.
My eyes drifted briefly toward the direction of the incubation chamber.
Then… toward the lower halls.
Toward Ariana.
Toward the future.
"Dumbledore…" I whispered softly.
A name that once held weight.
Now…
It felt like a challenge.
And I had never lost a challenge.