The thousand guards stood like an unbreakable wall of steel and shadow. Their presence alone was enough to terrify nations.
But the Elder's voice returned, echoing in the manor though his figure had vanished.
"Do you think this is our strength, Alaric? These thousand you see before you? No. They are but the generals."
McGonagall froze. Generals?
The air split open. A blinding crack of white light tore reality itself apart, forming a vast archway in the center of the gardens. Beyond it shimmered another sky—a twilight realm untouched by human hands.
The Elder appeared once more, standing at the threshold of the rift. His silver robes billowed as he lifted a hand. "Step forward, Heir of Vale. See the truth of your bloodline."
Alaric's body moved almost against his will. His parents followed silently, while McGonagall, trembling yet unyielding, forced herself to keep pace.
When they crossed the threshold, their world changed.
The sky above burned with shifting constellations, stars unfamiliar and infinite. The ground stretched endlessly, a battlefield that seemed to be forged by gods themselves. And kneeling there—
stretching further than sight could carry—
were half a million soldiers.
Each one radiated an aura so fierce it made the air ripple. Even standing motionless, the power of a single soldier was greater than Dumbledore's. Greater than Voldemort's. Greater than anything McGonagall had ever known.
Her knees buckled, her breath short. Five hundred thousand… each more powerful than Albus… this cannot be real.
The army knelt as one, a tide of unimaginable might bowing before Alaric. The sound of their armor striking the earth was like the crash of a thousand storms.
"HAIL THE HEIR OF VALE!" they roared, their voices shaking the stars themselves.
Alaric's chest tightened, his mind spinning. "This… this is impossible. I built companies, machines, I thought myself a genius… but this…" His voice cracked, overwhelmed. "This is beyond empires. This is… divinity."
The Elder's eyes glowed, his voice reverberating across the endless field.
"These are the Eternal Legion. Forged before history, bound to the Vale bloodline. For millennia they have slumbered, waiting for the heir whose blood carries the seal of eternity. They are not tools of war, Alaric—they are the Balance itself. Wherever the world falters, they will march."
McGonagall staggered, clinging to her wand though it shook uselessly in her hand. "You… you would unleash this upon our world?"
The Elder turned to her, his gaze sharp yet calm.
"We unleash nothing. The Legion obeys only their Heir. If Alaric commands silence, they remain shadows. If he commands war, they move as gods."
The half-million soldiers slammed their weapons into the earth in unison, the ground splitting beneath their might.
Alaric's heart thundered. His life as a billionaire genius seemed like a child's game compared to this inheritance. For the first time in all his travels through time, he felt… small.
The Elder's voice softened as he placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Remember, Alaric—wealth builds nations, knowledge builds empires… but blood builds eternity. You are the fulcrum of this age. Choose wisely."
The stars above blazed, and the Eternal Legion chanted once more:
"Hail the Heir of Vale! Master of the Eternal Legion! Keeper of Balance!"