Stockholm Harbor, atop the mighty Coastal Lord—the purple-horned ruler of the sea.
Two figures, both in sunglasses, watched as a colossal bolt of lightning obliterated the towering tidal wave.
Serena Pendragon couldn't help but whistle in awe. "The lightning magic Wyzett just unleashed feels even more thrilling than my own ancient spells!"
The only one not wearing sunglasses was Ominis Gaunt.
He lowered his wand, and even from such a distance, he could sense the wild, crackling thunder over the water through the subtle feedback of his wand.
"This was lightning summoned at the cost of destroying the Odin's Ruins, wasn't it? I doubt we'll see a spectacle like that again any time soon."
"At least the seed's been planted," replied Anne Sallow. "Everything's back on track—more or less."
"And let's not forget, it cost us a priceless magical artifact as well," Serena added. "A double loss—both the Odin's Ruins and Gungnir."
"When you put it that way… I'm not so envious anymore. He really is a spendthrift! I was so much more frugal in my day…"
A memory flashed through her mind—her younger self, outwitting poachers, rescuing magical creatures, and always making sure every scrap of material was put to good use. She'd never wasted a thing, always preparing her magical finds to fetch the highest price.
Ominis glanced over. "And what about Professor Dumbledore…? Are we really not going to tell him the truth?"
"No need!" said Serena. "Or rather, the Counter-Vision method—this brilliant way of handling prophecies—was actually Dumbledore's idea to begin with."
"It was first used against Grindelwald, and it worked spectacularly. Otherwise, Grindelwald would never have caught on so quickly."
"Besides, I've already dropped a few hints—whether it was that letter, or mentioning the Seer to Dumbledore, he's had plenty of clues."
"Grindelwald himself told us: just give Dumbledore a few nudges, and he'll unravel the whole thing on his own."
"The Counter-Vision method really is ingenious!" Ominis marveled. "Hide the truly vital plans, then flood the Seer with irrelevant distractions—brilliant misdirection…"
"Have you ever wondered…" Anne mused, "if those two ever joined forces, would they be even more terrifying than the Isaian Society?"
Serena shrugged. "A pity there's no 'what if.' From what Grindelwald says, he's just trying to make amends now."
A sharp pop echoed behind them. Sebastian Sallow stepped from a swirling portal, the distant World Tree now faded into memory.
"Sebastian, you missed quite the fireworks display!" Serena called over her shoulder, a sly grin tugging at her lips. "The grand finale was spectacular."
"If we ever face the old Master head-on, I'm sure there'll be more to see," Sebastian replied, arms folded as his robes snapped in the sea breeze. "The celebration's over. Time to get back to work."
"Right you are!" Serena took off her sunglasses, letting them dissolve into the wind. "We still have unfinished business with the Isaian Society."
Ominis chuckled. "If the Isaian Society had known things would turn out like this, I wonder if they'd have dared provoke you in the first place?"
"It was always bound to end this way, wasn't it?" Serena patted the Coastal Lord beneath her. "The previous Guardians endured in silence, paving the way for us. I won't let their sacrifices go to waste."
The Coastal Lord shook its great head and strode forward, hooves thundering as it left the harbor behind.
Serena leaned forward, testing the waters. "Hey, Coastal Lord, can you do what Sleipnir does—like, travel through the earth?"
The Coastal Lord suddenly halted, body swaying side to side.
Serena quickly backpedaled, "Just a thought! You're our greatest companion—so majestic, so unique! You're the one and only Coastal Lord… oh!"
With a snort, the Coastal Lord resumed its stride, though at a more leisurely pace.
Midgard Island, the site where the Odin's Ruins once stood.
The ruins had vanished completely, leaving only windswept sand and swirling dust.
A cluster of figures stood in the haze, each shrouded in black robes—shadowy, shifting, as elusive as the Isaian Society itself.
"Should we try to rescue Gregory? The Guardians were involved—what if he's interrogated?"
"He always boasted about earning Charles I's trust and amassing a fortune. He can buy his way out—just a few Galleons, that's all."
"Gregory the sycophant… Still, he's a Potions Master, even with that nickname. But we needn't worry—neither Veritaserum nor Legilimency works on him."
"And what about the new Guardian? He's become the prophesied one. Are we really powerless against him?"
A long silence fell as they weighed their options, hidden in the swirling dust.
"Just follow the prophecy," came a cold, weathered voice. "Britain's hardly peaceful—they have their own troubles."
"Herpo, you mean… Voldemort?"
"Yes, him," Herpo confirmed. "Gellert Grindelwald never set foot there—the pure-blood families still hold sway."
"Voldemort's power is beyond question. As long as he stirs up chaos in Britain, that will suffice. Our focus remains on the Guardians—and on awaiting our Master's return."
Herpo turned to the black-robed assembly. "When our Master rises again, all traitors will be swept away!"
"And that new Guardian—he will face our Master directly, as a sacrificial offering to mark our Master's return…"
In the days that followed, Wyzett and his friends left the island behind, continuing their journey through Sweden.
Compared to their cheerful travels, the Swedish Ministry of Magic and the Muggle government were left scrambling.
Despite extensive cooperation between the Muggle authorities and the Ministry, ordinary Muggles remained oblivious to the magical world.
To explain the strange events of that night, the government brought in meteorological experts to offer repeated explanations in newspapers and on television—why the night sky had blazed so bright.
But no matter how authoritative the explanation, the public wasn't convinced. Even if the light could be dismissed as the aurora, nothing could explain the waves that rose to the heavens.
Still, with relentless media coverage, the incident gradually faded from public memory.
By the time Wyzett and company returned to Britain, the excitement and speculation had all but died down…
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