London, England remained ceaselessly vibrant regardless of hour. The city truly never slept—an apt description for the center of the world.
Decades earlier, when the great king Tom Riddle conquered the British Isles with his mysterious supernatural powers, subsequently subjugating Germany, subduing the United States, and sweeping across the globe, the traditional divisions of nations had dissolved. Countries like Britain, Germany, and the United States ceased to exist as independent entities.
There remained only the Federation—a singular authority ruling the entire Earth.
As the birthplace of the king, the British Isles naturally became the world's center, with London as its pulsating heart. Here, everyone who entered or departed possessed wealth and power. The wizards who commanded mysterious forces were especially revered.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The sound of rushing wind accompanied a fleet of black aircraft soaring toward the city center. Each bore a distinctive emblem prominently displayed on its fuselage—a skull above, serpents below.
The Dark Mark of the Death Eaters.
Civilian aircraft in the vicinity hastily cleared a path upon spotting this insignia, none daring to impede the black fleet's trajectory. The ordinary citizens watched the aircraft depart with a mixture of trepidation and envy.
These were the truly privileged, the superior ones. Even ordinary dignitaries—mayors included—would adopt ingratiating smiles in their presence. The emblem signified without question that its bearers were wizards wielding mysterious powers, loyal ministers and warriors in service to the king.
Lucius Malfoy sat within one of the aircraft, his gaze fixed dispassionately ahead. The decades had brought dramatic transformations.
The once-preeminent wizards Grindelwald and Lockhart had long since vanished. Even Dumbledore—former Hogwarts headmaster and once considered the world's greatest magical practitioner—hadn't been heard from in years.
The pure-blood nobles and Death Eaters now wielded influence over world affairs—a reality engineered by the former Dark Lord and current Federation King, His Majesty Tom Riddle.
The black aircraft gradually decelerated, having reached its destination. Modern wizards had abandoned traditional broomsticks; under the king's global dominion, magical systems had undergone revolutionary innovation. Antiquated modes of transportation had been replaced with the current magical flying machines.
Lucius touched the wand at his waist reflexively as he disembarked. Several robust wizards clad in black, emanating subtle magical auras, approached immediately.
"Minister Malfoy," one addressed him with soft deference, "the conference chamber is prepared. Minister Crouch, Attorney General Pierce, and the others have already arrived."
Lucius merely glanced at these wizards, offering a slight nod to indicate they should lead the way.
These individuals had once been Squibs—non-magical persons born to magical parents. Now, with the reformed magical system, through specialized meditation techniques, these Squibs had gained opportunities to connect with mysterious magical energies. Without such advancement, they would have remained at society's lowest tier, relying solely on physical labor for sustenance.
As these reflections crossed his mind, Lucius followed his guides deeper into the building, contemplating what urgent matter had prompted this sudden summons. He had no interest in dwelling on Squib affairs; his thoughts focused exclusively on why His Majesty would summon him through the Dark Mark.
The abruptness of the situation was notable. He had been overseeing magical industrial operations in America when the call came, necessitating his immediate return.
Such urgent commands had become rare over the years. The last comparable instance had occurred more than three decades earlier, during the campaign to raid the Magical Congress of the United States of America and neutralize Muggle nuclear capabilities.
Suddenly—
Click! Click! Click!
The sound of heels striking the floor echoed through the corridor—slightly hurried, as if driven by anxiety carefully restrained.
Lucius glanced toward the sound and immediately recognized Bellatrix Lestrange, His Majesty's most devoted confidant and ardent admirer. A woman of her temperament would naturally exhibit such urgency when faced with a royal summons.
If not for the restricted spatial teleportation protocols within this facility, Bellatrix would likely have apparated directly before His Majesty without hesitation.
Lucius quickened his pace to reach Bellatrix's side.
"Bella, what has transpired? Do you have any information?" he inquired in hushed tones.
Though both served the Dark Lord, Bellatrix's loyalty and status far exceeded his own. It would be unsurprising if she possessed knowledge that had not yet reached him.
Bellatrix glanced at her relative, momentary disgust flashing across her features before she shook her head, indicating her own ignorance. She then accelerated her pace toward the conference chamber.
These calculating pure-bloods, she thought dismissively. Their loyalty conditional, their abilities questionable. When it comes to political maneuvering, however, they excel.
Had the two incarnations of His Majesty not merged into one, these scheming factions might still oppose one another openly.
Indeed, there had once been two Voldemorts, but now only one remained. Whether this singular entity had resulted from one devouring the other or through genuine merger remained unknown.
But with only one Voldemort—this Dark Lord, this Tom Riddle—his intelligence, methodology, and strength had reached unprecedented heights, enabling the near-unification of the world under his rule.
Lucius observed Bellatrix ahead of him, understanding her thoughts but remaining unconcerned. Though both served His Majesty, their factions maintained distinct priorities. Regardless of their familial connections, she represented the absolutist faction, while pure-blood wizards like himself inevitably prioritized familial interests to some degree.
Upon entering the conference chamber, Lucius felt a sudden cold sweat break across his skin. There, seated at the head of the table, was the former Dark Lord and current Federation King, His Majesty Tom Riddle.
Lucius hastened to his designated seat, carefully keeping his eyes averted. He focused instead on the small nameplate before him: "Finance Minister Lucius Malfoy."
The conference room remained utterly silent; none dared speak. The atmosphere hung heavy with tension. With His Majesty Riddle present, no one would risk utterance without explicit invitation.
Even the faintest sound, though transmitted through magical means, would resonate like a shout in his presence. The attendees even restrained their thoughts, avoiding direct eye contact with Tom, lest any untoward notions be detected.
Before a master who could absorb thoughts through Legilimency, no secrets remained safe.
Time ticked by methodically. Eventually, all seats around the grand table were occupied, everyone silently awaiting His Majesty Tom Riddle's directives.
"Now that all are present, let us address the matter at hand," Tom's measured voice carried effortlessly through the chamber, commanding immediate attention from all present.
Clearly, the issue was of considerable importance—His Majesty had dispensed with even the most perfunctory pleasantries.
"Some of our old friends are returning," Tom Riddle stated calmly, fingertips tapping rhythmically against the polished tabletop.
He then pronounced two names that sent ripples of tension through the assembly:
"Gilderoy Lockhart. Gellert Grindelwald..."