The sound of knocking broke through his thoughts, jarring him out from his mind while he was thinking about his newest Authorities.
"Come in," Harry called.
The door opened, and Anya Magnus stepped inside, bowing slightly before she straightened. "Lord Harry," she greeted formally, her voice composed.
Harry glanced up from the chair where he sat, observing her. For a moment, Anya was struck again by how young he looked, barely sixteen, two years her junior, and yet the weight in his presence was crushing.
But he wasn't just a boy. He was a being who stood above humans. His green eyes were startlingly intense, seeming to glow faintly as he gazed at her, watching her carefully.
Really, just his gaze felt so unreal.
All her life, she had been told that ordinary humans were nothing before gods or god-slayers. She was a prodigy, the brightest mage of her generation, the pride of the Apollon School, trained from when she could walk to use magic, to fight, to weave spells, and she did just that and more, surpassing her teacher's expectations in every way. She was an unparalleled genius that was said to have a bright future. Well, if she behaved anyway..
Yet, she had fought beside him and realized the terrible, yawning difference between a prodigy and a true legend. Her magic, her powerful Sword, Gram, which was a magnificent divine artifact in its own right, had felt like a sputtering candle against a shining star. She hadn't helped him, not truly in her eyes, she had merely survived and provided the briefest of distractions. She was like a momentary flicker of light that the goddess had barely bothered to notice.
Bitterness twisted in her chest, it was a sharp and agonizing sting, fueled by the memory of her uselessness. She had gone into that battle thinking she would make a difference, thinking she would prove her worth, not just to the Association, but to herself and her rigorous Apollon training.
Her mind had been full of glorious self-sacrifice and heroism. Foolish. The god had dismissed her entirely, a fleeting annoyance, swatting her aside with a clear and simple action that was no different than her waving her hand.
She had rushed in, convinced her skills would make her a pivotal figure and be invaluable in the battle, and be of help to lord harry, but she was too naive.
All it bought her was a few seconds of the gods' attention, time which Harry had used to survive and push the rogue deity back and eventually win, but still, she had come with the intention of doing more, so this felt like she had accomplished nothing.
She bitterly laughed at her arrogance. She had been training to battle powerful opponents, and she was ready for people, but what she fought wasn't a person. It was a god and she had not ready for that.
"I was told you are Anya Magnus, yes?" Harry asked, a faint smile touching his lips. It was a warm smile.
"Yes, my lord," she said, keeping her posture rigid, a desperate attempt to contain the turmoil within. "I was informed that you wished to see me."
He peered at her, his green eyes gleaming faintly, as if measuring her. "Though I'd like to say I had everything under control, that would be a lie," he said, his admission startlingly frank. "I called you because I wanted to thank you for your assistance in the battle."
Anya blinked, a genuine flicker of surprise crossing her face. She had not expected that. There were many things that she was expecting, but a thanks was not part of them, not at all. It was shocking to be receiving gratitude when she barely did anything in that fight.
Then came the next shock.
"So, I want to know if there's anything you want, a reward as my thanks for your aid in my battle with the heretic god."
A reward? For what little she had done? It felt wrong, an acknowledgement that inflated her minor action into something significant. Despite being bitter about it, it was an opportunity she couldn't ignore. Still..
"My lord, I did not do much," she said quickly, the words carrying a surprising amount of bitterness that betrayed her formal composure. "You were the one who faced the goddess. I'm sure you would have prevailed without my interference."
Harry raised an eyebrow, no doubt picking up on the bitterness that had spilled into her voice. "Oh? Are you not proud, even a little?" he asked, tilting his head. "You fought a heretic god and lived, even managed to leave a few scratches on her. That alone is more than what hundreds of thousands could claim they have done."
She looked away. "I know… but I thought I could have done better." The truth was, she thought she could have achieved parity. She had been spectacularly wrong, and that failure, rather than the danger, was what crushed her spirit.
Harry chuckled softly, a dry, almost clinical sound. "You thought you'd do better against a god? That's rather ambitious for a normal mage."
Anya winced. Hearing it aloud made it sound absurd, a child boasting against a tidal wave.
He must have noticed, because he burst into laughter, loud, unrestrained, genuine if what she was hearing was correct. It was the first truly human sound she'd heard from him, and it momentarily lifted the crushing weight in the room.
"You're very skilled," he said between laughs, "but let me guess, you thought that if I, a wizard child not even in his final year of school, could kill a god, you could too, didn't you, or at least put up a decent fight?"
Her face flushed scarlet, hot with embarrassment and the sting of being utterly seen. He wasn't wrong.
He laughed again, shaking his head. "Do you know why Campiones are called fools, Anya?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"It's because the very act of a human daring to challenge a god is the height of folly," he said, his amusement fading a little. "Most mortals instinctually flee when faced with divinity. I'm sure you wanted to run too when you saw Morrígan, and it was only your conviction that made you stay."
She nodded slowly. He was right. Her body had been screaming for escape.
"But you stayed," he continued. "Your conviction to help me overrode your fear. That's courage. You are a deeply courageous human, Anya Magnus. For us Campiones, though, it's different. We are too stupid, too blockheaded, or too spiteful, depending on who you ask."
He smiled faintly, a hard look in his eyes. "When I faced my first god, I didn't even know what it was. Do you know what I felt when I was there in front of it, when it was toying with me and savoring my life like that?"
"No," she said, leaning forward despite herself, drawn by the raw honesty of the admission.
"Insulted," he replied simply.
Anya blinked. "What?"
"I felt rage," Harry said, eyes distant, recalling the primal beast that was his first god, Fenrir. "It wasn't fear. I was angry that it was playing with me, that it was ruining my life. It was a cold, spiteful thing to be feeling at that moment. When I fought, I didn't think I'd survive, but I didn't care, so long as it went down with me. Reckless, yes. But that is just the example of how foolhardy Campiones are. The act of god-slaying requires that absolute, unreasonable refusal to acknowledge a superior power. You may have the courage to stand against a god, go against the gods."
He leaned back. "In the end, it's not just about power. It's about mentality and luck. Luck decides whether you live or die. You possessed both the mentality and the luck to survive the battlefield. That deserves thanks."
Anya lowered her head, letting his words sink in. For a long moment, the room was silent, filled only by the distant sounds of the city.
Then Harry spoke again, bringing them back to the beginning. "So, what reward do you wish for?"
She hesitated, thinking carefully, the cold truth of her weakness cementing her decision. If she remained with the Association, she would be perpetually confined to the limits of mortal magic, guarding walls was not how she wanted her life to be like.
She knew the internal politics, her independent nature and frequent disregard for orders had earned her enemies, some even on the elder council. They would never allow her, a fiercely insubordinate prodigy, a true position of authority, preferring to keep her as a highly effective but disposable asset.
"I wish to stay by your side, my lord," she finally answered, her voice firm, resolute.
Harry regarded her silently. He then nodded once. "I see. If that is your wish, then I accept it. Your knowledge will be useful."
Anya's heart leapt, a frantic, triumphant beat in her chest. She had done it. He had accepted her, accepted her as his sword. She couldn't help the feeling of giddiness that she was feeling at the moment, so she straightened her back.
At this moment, it was to give her word, to serve him properly, to give an oath. The moment demanded the ancient tradition of fealty.
She immediately knelt, the action abrupt and precise, her armored gauntlet thudding softly on the floor. She dropped her gaze to the floor, adopting a posture of absolute submission, the only acceptable pose when swearing loyalty to a Campione.
"My Lord," she stated, her voice resonating with forced clarity and unwavering dedication, "I, Anya Magnus, of the Apollon School and the lineage of the Northern Magus Association, hereby swear my life and my magic to you, the Seventh Campione, Harry Potter. I commit my will to your service, my sword to your defense, and my counsel to your cause. May the sun that grants me light never abandon me, and may the very Authorities you wield sever my very existence, should I ever knowingly betray your trust or act against your supreme will. I accept the burden and the terror of the path you walk."
She paused, then raised her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the space just below his knees. "I am yours to command, my King."
Harry regarded her silence for a long, heavy moment."Good, your oath has been acknowledged," he stated, his voice flat.
"But understand this," he continued, his tone dropping low, cementing the terrifying consequences of her pledge. His expression became hard, utterly devoid of mercy, carrying the cold finality of his newest power, Severance. "I will not tolerate betrayals. I do not tolerate schemes. If I ever catch you violating the spirit of the oath you just swore, if you make a decision that affects my life without my full knowledge and consent, I will use my Authority to erase your very concept from existence. You will become nothing, your memories will fade from the minds of those who knew you, your name will hold no meaning, and you will find no rest. It will not end well for you. Do you understand?"
The warning was clear, and he was not joking, should she ever betray him, he would give her a fate far worse than death.
Anya bowed deeply. "Understood, my lord. I will not betray you, nor will I fail you."
He waved her off, already turning his gaze back to the grimoire on his lap. "Good. Now leave. I want to rest."
She straightened and walked to the door, her steps lighter than when she entered. As it closed behind her, a faint smile crossed her face as she left.
Anya Magnus, Knight of the Seventh Campione, she liked the sound of that, liked it very much.
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