The silence after the Elder's departure was short-lived.
The ground trembled. A deep, rhythmic thrum echoed through the manor, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Professor McGonagall instinctively raised her wand again, her sharp eyes scanning the room.
"What is this?" she demanded.
Alaric's parents, however, did not move. Their faces remained calm, almost resigned.
Through the great windows of the Vale estate, lights flickered across the night. Not lanterns. Not spells. Armored figures. Rows upon rows.
The first line of guards emerged from the mist outside—towering warriors clad in blackened silver, each carrying a blade humming faintly with power. Behind them, more marched in unison, their armor reflecting the faint glow of runes inscribed into the earth itself.
By the time they filled the gardens, the fields, and the roads leading to the manor, the numbers had swelled to a staggering sight: one thousand guards, their presence shaking the air with sheer discipline and force.
McGonagall gasped. "Impossible… no force of magic in Britain holds an army like this!"
A voice rang out from the front lines, resonant and commanding.
"All hail the Heir of the Vale!"
The thousand soldiers dropped to one knee, their weapons striking the ground as one. The thunderous sound rattled the walls, reverberating into the night sky.
Alaric staggered back, his mind spinning. "Me? They… they're kneeling for me?"
His mother stepped forward, finally shedding the pretense of a farmer's wife. Her simple dress shimmered and dissolved, replaced by a gown of woven starlight. Her eyes blazed with hidden majesty.
"They kneel because you are their rightful master, Alaric," she said softly. "This army has slept in silence for generations, awaiting the day the bloodline awakened once more."
McGonagall's lips parted, her voice shaking. "A hidden army… hidden from the Ministry, from the world? Dumbledore must be told—"
"No," the father interrupted sharply, his voice carrying the same authority as the Elder. "Dumbledore must never be told. The Vale family does not serve Hogwarts. We do not serve the Ministry. We serve only the Balance… and our Heir."
The thousand soldiers raised their weapons again in unison, saluting Alaric. The air throbbed with power.
Alaric swallowed hard, his hands trembling. His genius mind raced with possibilities, but nothing—no business empire, no billion-dollar company—could compare to this revelation.
He was not just a time-traveler.
Not just a prodigy.
He was the heir to a force that could topple nations, crush empires, and outshine even the greatest wizards in history.
Professor McGonagall could no longer deny it—this boy would change everything. Hogwarts… the Ministry… even Dumbledore himself.
The thousand guards knelt once more, chanting in voices like thunder:
"Hail the Heir of Vale! The Shadow King returns!"