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Elysium
–Damian Hawthorne–
"What is this place?" He ended up asking the question that was repeating in his mind as they sat down inside the shack/cabin, with Voltrok's magical presence reminding him of his presence just outside the cabin. The freaking dragon was probably just resting outside the cabin, unaware of just how big of a thunderbomb his existence would be if the wider magical world got wind of it.
Sure, he was not the Eldritch Draconic Monsters who were on par with Hell Lords, who roamed the multiverse, who could warp reality with ease, who were above even the Celestials, but in the context of the current magical community on the planet? Voltrok and his ability to manipulate gravity, assuming he could do it across the spectrum, would make him one of a kind.
There were not many dragons remaining on the planet, and the ones that remained were acting in a protective capacity, rather than an offensive one. Plus, they were all rather old, and more importantly, withdrawn, with their sole focus being a single goal, out of which they did not come out to meddle with other affairs.
Now, the same could be said about Voltrok as well, but judging by his bond with Newt, he could make a somewhat decent assumption that the dragon willerase people as long as Newt pointed them out. He wondered if that was the reason why no competent magical authority ever wondered where Newt went or even bothered to investigate the string of breeding enclosure destructions that happened across Europe over the decades, to the point that most of that industry had either moved to MACUSA, remote regions of Africa or reigned in their activities to the point they were a shadow of their former gigantic self.
"It's…. Complicated."
He was broken out of his thoughts by Newt's reply. His habit of zoning out was something he had worked on and had reduced it a lot, siml-y because he was always in the proximity of other people for most of the day he was in Hogwarts, but even then, it would seem that a sufficiently interesting topic was enough to send him spiraling right back into the thought zone, as he liked to call it.
"Well, uncomplicate it, then." He snarked back, looking right into the twitching eyes of Newt while Sev just sighed in the background, tired of both of them. He felt the need to explain further as Newt remained silent, "I am kind of on a timer here. I have to be back soon."
"Ah," Newt said, as if he had just realised something, "I forgot you are still just a brat. A first year, to boot."
His eye twitched at the backhanded remark. Well, if he were the default Xianxia protagonist, he would have flexed his magic power at the moment and reminded Newt of his specialness and turned his nose up haughtily. He might still have done it, only for the threatrics, if not for one big dragon sized fly in the ointment.
Voltrok. Who was just sitting outside, ready to rush inside and either smush him into the ground or send him flying up on a single order. As strong as he was, he did not fancy his chances against a dragon who could manipulate gravity and thus accelerate himself and slow down others in a pocket dimension with no possible way to get out of the pocket dimension itself.
Maybe later on. When he got his hands on a sling ring and Dimensional Energy Sorcery.
"Get to the point." He replied, and in turn, Newt regaled him with a tale about the creation of this pocket dimension by a semi sentient entity Newt dubbed as Mother Magic. Well, it was all theory on his part, but after a close call in one of the older Ancient Ruins, Newt was certain that Mother Magic existed, was sentient, and was responsible for all the changes in Newt's behavior.
Even this dimension was created by her, and she was responsible for guiding Newt here. Even Voltrok was her creation, which was honestly plausible simply because of his existence. The dragon felt far stronger than any other dragon he had seen and felt with his own senses.
Sure, part of that was because the magical sanctuaries made sure that no one dragon became too strong and periodic culling meant that dragons never got the chance to live out their entire life of multiple centuries, but even so, he had a hunch that Voltrok, as he was now, was stronger than any magical dragon, atleast in terms of the ones that were native to the wizarding world.
There must be stronger species of dragons in the other Nien Realms, but in the context of just Earth, Voltrok was pretty much the peak of draconic might, dare he say even in front of the likes of Shou-Lao and The Great Protector from Ta-Lo.
Ta-Lo and Kun'Lun. Two places he wanted to visit, but simply could not because they were not open to the wizarding world. Yet another thing that needed Dimensional Energy Sorcery to unlock.
"So," After Newt was done regaling him with the story of Elysium and what he thought to be his role in the story of the world, he asked the man, "Where do I come in all of this?"
Newt smiled at that, a genuine, carefree smile, "I'm glad you asked..."
___xx___
Wakanda
–Kato–
"Headmaster."
"King T'Chaka."
The atmosphere in the Throne room was tense, to say the least. His relationship with Wakanda as a whole was complicated; the less said about the ruling structure, the better. He had been disappointed with things even when he was a young member of the Magic Tribe, learning all he could from the Elders with the dream of one day contributing to the strength of Wakanda, the Magic Tribe, and Bast.
Ofcourse, then he had grown up, but that dissatisfaction of always being confined in that space, expanded magically as it was. To be sentenced to live under the greatest gift the country had ever received, for all his life, was stifling. It had lit a fire under him, to learn more, to practice more, to become the best at everything, all in the vain hope that someday, he would get the opportunity to go out and experience life outside the Great Mound and perhaps, even the wider world.
That drive, that desperation was rare in the Magic Tribe. It would not be wrong to say that he was the only one who worked beyond the minimum requirements set forth by the Grand Elder. After all, why would any member consciously make themselves uncomfortable when the Grand Elder was still alive and would make sure that the Magic Tribe would want for nothing?
There was no reason to work as hard as he did, not to the rest of the members of his tribe anyway.
That rarity was what was noticed by the Elders, who taught him all they could, helping him become stronger fast, and that inevitably, after years of growing strong, caught the attention of the Grand Elder.
Theoretically, that was a good thing, great even. But he supposed that the non magical phrase of never meet your heroes, was right, even in a Magical Tribe, isolated from the rest of the world, situated in a country that itself was hidden from the rest of the world.
He could still remember it clearly as day. It had been almost a decade of non stop longing to get past the barrier that kept the Great Mound separated from their tribe's space, else the Mound would absorb all the magic keeping them alive and collapse that space.
A decade of intense training, a decade of consistent time spent in the magic flux chamber, a training tool that almost no one used at the time because it was uncomfortable. What it did was violently scramble one's magic to the point that the user would have no conscious control over it. The more time one spent inside, the more their magic would roil inside their bodies, with the magic expending and refilling itself in very short time spans.
Due to the blessing of Bast, none would die, but just the feeling of powerlessness in the face of extreme pain was enough to have that room collecting dust, with only the yearly mandatory sessions done. He was called a madman as he spent hours inside that room daily for a decade straight.
Towards the end, it had been abundantly clear to everyone that he had surpassed the Elders, to the point that even all of them coming together could not defeat him.
At that point, a meeting with the Grand Elder was not only inevitable but expected, the outcome of which was unexpected for both parties involved.
The Grand Elder met someone who was far stronger than expected, with the will to use said power, and he met the so-called pillar of the Magic Tribe, the one person put on a pedestal by every member of the Magic Tribe.
Ofcourse, he knows better now. The Grand Elder was nothing but a magical parasite, clinging to life and power by siphoning the power of unsuspecting wizards.
An evil magic, if there ever was one. No one in the Magic Tribe, even him, ever stopped to think and wonder, just how the Grand Elder was able to keep themselves alive for centuries without any degradation in their mobility or overall strength.
When the Grand Elder had confided in him their wish for him to take over his spot and continue using that magic, he had nearly lost it then and there. Apparently, it was Bast's will, and she was the one who encouraged its use to create a stable pillar for a long period of time.
A load of bullshit, if he had ever heard of.
He supposed he should be thankful for the consequences of using that magic. Only getting the vitality and not the magical strength, capping the strength of the user to what they had when they first used that spell, was probably the only reason he was only exiled instead of killed on the spot.
"Ahem," T'Chaka broke the ice first, "T'Challa told me you had to retreat hurriedly. You were not clear about your reasoning to him."
"It was not his place to know." Was all he said before falling silent, right up until T'Chaka asked him with a tired sigh. It would seem the recent purges of the ambitious people in his administration had taken its toll on him.
"Do I have the right to know?"
"Ofcourse," He answered with a small smirk, "You are King, after all."
Not really, and they both knew it. If not for the Grand Elder's thought process of remaining in seclusion to focus on just living for as long as possible, there would be no other Tribe with power, only the Magic Tribe.
He supposed Bast got exactly what she wanted then. A loyal, unaging, undying, powerful wizard who would bend the knee to the Monarchy, upon Bast's orders.
He could never see himself in that position. Hence, the exile.
It could never be the reality that the Grand Elder was incapable of defeating me soundly, with no chance of that backfiring. No, how could that be? That was blasphemy as far as the Magic Tribe as concerned.
"Some new information about the Giant Killer has come to light. He has proven himself to be far stronger than expected. To make sure that the young Prince was not put in more danger than was previously negotiated, I made the call to fall back. I fully expect another team to head out, made up of far stronger members."
T'Chaka raised an eyebrow at that, "You won't be joining them?"
And do what? Help them capture someone who will only end up becoming food for the Grand Elder? He shuddered to think how much more life the Grand Elder will gain once she gets her hands on him. No, it was far better that that evil spell died with the Grand Elder.
"No," he answered T'Chaka's questions, "I will be heading back to Uagadou after meeting with the Grand Elder."
T'Chaka nodded, and that was that.
If you would like to read ahead 12 chapters ahead, you can head to my P*treon.