The day the Statute of Secrecy fell, the sky itself seemed to hold its breath.One gesture from me, and every concealment ward that had veiled the wizarding world for centuries collapsed like dust in sunlight.
At first came chaos. Governments panicked, religions flared, scientists shouted about "mass hallucinations." But within hours the voices that truly mattered—the editors, the broadcasters, the actors who shaped public feeling—began to speak in perfect unison. I had seen to that. A handful of well-placed compulsions, a whisper of mind-magic, and the message spread:
Magic is real. It is the next step of human progress.
Fear softened into awe. Cities filled with floating lanterns, spontaneous displays of charmcraft, demonstrations of levitation and healing. Wizards walked among Muggles; Muggles recorded every miracle on cameras that now hummed with enchantment.
Soon, universities merged with wizarding academies. Laboratories became half-scientific, half-alchemical. Where once there had been skepticism, there was now obsession. The greatest engineers studied runes; potion masters learned genetics. Machines responded to spells, wands calibrated with quantum precision. Humanity had entered its first true Golden Age.
I watched it unfold from my tower—part fortress, part observatory—surveying a world that no longer knew the word impossible. Under my direction, global councils drafted new laws combining the best of both civilizations. Diseases vanished; hunger turned to legend. Even the environment began to heal beneath the controlled weave of restoration charms.
Yet I did not rest. I had my own research: the unification of soul magic and physics, the theory that life and magic shared a single equation. Each discovery led to another door. Each door opened toward godhood.