Dana focused all his strength, using his immense magic to guide the wild energy raging within little Dana's body. The chaos of magic—like a storm of untamed power—was slowly being subdued, straightened, and pulled back under control through Dana's precise manipulation.
Anna, who had been holding her breath, finally exhaled. A soft, relieved smile touched her pale lips.
But the calm lasted only a moment.
Without warning, another violent surge of magic burst forth from within little Dana. If big Dana hadn't been standing there, the entire Emrys Residence might have collapsed again under the pressure.
This time, however, even he couldn't contain it.
The power was far too ferocious—wild, foreign, and utterly unlike human magic.
A grim realization dawned on him. This wasn't ordinary magic at all. It was something older, darker, and far more dangerous—the demonic bloodline. What was surging within little Dana was not wizardry, but the raw power of a demon.
This, Dana understood, was the true reason why the Emrys family had always suffered when their magic went berserk.
After all, how could something born from a demon's blood be easily controlled?
Anna, trembling, fell to her knees. Her hands covered her face as quiet sobs escaped her lips. Each sound struck like a dagger into Dana's heart.
He closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy breath. His mother's sorrow nearly shattered him. He had always preferred the sight of her smiling—foolish, gentle, and carefree. Seeing her like this tore him apart.
Then, under his breath, he began to chant.
"Tempus sine vestigio, fatum est inordinatum…"
Time leaves no trace, and fate is disordered…
Anna's tear-streaked eyes widened in shock.
He was casting Divination—for Dana himself?
Only those who had once performed Divination could truly understand its agony. It wasn't a spell to be used lightly. Every casting came at an immense cost—draining the body, consuming life force, and inflicting wounds that not even magic could fully heal.
"No… you can't…" Anna whispered, her voice trembling.
She didn't even know why she wanted to stop him. Logically, Dana was her child, and Dak Emrys—his future self—was trying to save him. Yet, as she watched him prepare the spell, her heart broke.
But she was far too weak to stop him.
The moment the incantation was complete, the air seemed to freeze.
A golden light flared briefly, then faded.
Dak Emrys staggered, his body frail and trembling. His voice came out hoarse and ragged, barely more than a whisper.
"It's done… little Dana will be fine now."
He smiled faintly, though his face was pale as ash. "The Cambion blood in your veins is thin. My Divination isn't powerful enough to completely rewrite little Dana's destiny—but…" His eyes softened. "…that also means something good. It proves that little Dana will become an extraordinary wizard in the future."
Anna's expression was a contradiction—a broken smile painted across a tear-stained face. Gratitude, grief, and disbelief all mixed within her. She wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come.
Dana waved his hand, summoning the Spandim Gate, its shimmering arch forming in midair.
"All right, I'll take my leave," he said quietly. "I need to find a place to recover. If members of the Avar Coven continue to trouble you, and things become dangerous, don't hesitate—hide in Avalon."
Anna reached out a trembling hand. "Dak…"
He shook his head gently. "Don't thank me."
With that, he stepped through the Spandim Gate and vanished.
Dana reappeared on the second floor of Merlin's Secret Treasure.
It was the first time he had returned here since coming back to the past. The two mechanical guardians, Abe and Hood, were still stationed where they had always been, standing watch over the chamber.
Though Dana was now severely weakened from casting Divination, he was far stronger than when he had first arrived in this era. He felt no fear. Besides…
As expected, the constructs activated the moment they detected an intruder. Energy flared in their mechanical limbs as they entered combat mode.
Dana raised his head and spoke a single word:
"Arthur."
At once, the constructs froze. Their sensors scanned him briefly, and then their metallic voices rang out in unison—
"It's Master!"
Dana smiled faintly and shook his head. "I'm not Merlin. I'm merely his successor."
The constructs responded without hesitation. "Yes, young Master!"
"Good," Dana said softly. "Return to standby. My future self will come back here in a few years. When he does, you may proceed with the trial protocol."
"Yes, young Master!"
The two constructs withdrew, their metal frames merging seamlessly into the surrounding walls, leaving the room silent once more.
Dana conjured a bed from thin air and set it down. He would be living here for the foreseeable future.
As he lay down, the events of the day replayed in his mind, and a strange realization took shape.
Perhaps history wasn't changeable, but what if the history he knew wasn't the true history at all?
In the records he remembered, his mother had performed Divination to save him.
Yet now he knew the truth: his mother had indeed cast the spell—but the one who had truly saved him was himself.
So, if the past he remembered was already built upon a misunderstanding, then perhaps the story of his mother's death was also wrong.
Maybe he could intervene.
Maybe, when that time came, he could stage a false death—create the illusion that his mother had died, even though she was alive somewhere safe.
A spark of hope ignited in his chest.
If he could manage that… if he could truly alter the perception of history… then perhaps he could give his mother a few more years of life.
Or better yet—perhaps she didn't need to die at all. Perhaps he and his mother could work together, deceiving even his future self.
The thought filled him with excitement. A ghostly mother watching over him was one thing, but a living, breathing mother by his side? That would be far better.
He clenched his fists.
He needed to recover—completely.
If he regained his full power before that moment arrived, then he could save her.
After all, Divination, though dangerous and draining, wasn't inherently fatal. His mother's death must have been caused by something else.
And if that was the case, then as long as he reached his peak again, couldn't he simply perform Divination once more—to save her this time?
His weakened heart pounded with determination, though the excitement made him dizzy. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he rolled onto the bed, closing his eyes as darkness claimed him.
Two Years Later
On the day little Dana was sent to Azkaban, big Dana suddenly felt something stir deep within his blood.
A teleportation spell—one tied to a bloodline anchor—was activating on its own.
His ancestor, Merlin, had created this very technique to send items to those connected by blood. But Dana hadn't used it recently. Why was it activating now?
Then realization struck him like lightning.
He had once dreamed—just a dream, or so he thought—that he had set a bloodline anchor upon little Dana. Yet in truth, during that dream, he had actually done it.
As if guided by unseen hands.
By fate.
His face darkened. Fate… Divination.
Could this, too, be a consequence of the Divination he had performed?
Without wasting another moment, Dana transformed into a mosquito and flew straight toward Livingston Town.
When he slipped into the Emrys Residence through an open window, the sight that greeted him froze his heart.
Anna sat in the dim light, frail and thin—her once-radiant figure now reduced to a shadow of its former self.
His worst fear was confirmed.
Two years of recovery in a high-concentration magical environment had only barely restored ninety percent of his strength. His mother, with far weaker reserves, could never have recovered as fully.
And yet, in that frail state, she had used Divination again.
Dana clenched his fists. He could sense it—the remnants of the spell lingering in the air. She had used Divination to change fate.
But whose fate?
He didn't need to guess.
It was little Dana's.
If not for his "golden finger"—the mysterious advantage that had kept him alive when he was first imprisoned in Azkaban—he would have frozen to death.
She had foreseen that outcome. And she had sacrificed herself to change it.
"Damn it!" Dana growled through gritted teeth.
He wished he could strike himself. If only he had told his mother earlier that he had a way to keep little Dana alive, she would never have needed to use Divination again.
But now…
Her life force was nearly gone.
Her body was empty—not merely weakened, but fundamentally hollowed out. No potion, no healing charm, no nourishment could restore what had been consumed. Only a faint trace of magic still lingered within her, barely enough to keep her alive for a short while.
Her death, from this moment onward, was inevitable.
It was only a matter of time.
Dana's vision blurred with rage.
He whispered the names of those responsible—each syllable burning like fire on his tongue:
"Ollivander Avery. Donna Avery. John Flint. Sally Avery. Cornelius Fudge. Barty Crouch. Morgan le Fay…"
His small, insect body trembled, his red eyes glowing with fury.
Then, with a shimmer of magic, the mosquito vanished from the Emrys Residence.
When he reappeared, he hovered above Merlin's grave.
The night air was cold and still.
Dana looked down at the ancient resting place of his ancestor and whispered, almost apologetically:
"From this moment on… I will become my own golden finger."
He let out a bitter laugh. "Forgive me, old ancestor—but your unfilial descendant is going to pull on your beard."
And with that vow, the night swallowed him whole.
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