The endless chant of half a million soldiers still echoed through the twilight world when the Elder raised his hand once more. The air grew heavier, charged with something different—not pure magic, but something sharper, colder, mechanical.
"Alaric," the Elder said, his eyes glinting with a strange pride, "your genius in technology was no accident. It is the echo of your bloodline. Long before Muggles dreamt of machines, long before wizards crafted spells, the Vale forged a union between the two. What you built in your world was merely a shadow of what already belonged to you."
The ground beneath them rumbled. A colossal platform rose from the earth, glowing with runes interlaced with circuits of pure light. Towers unfolded, and within them… machines awoke.
Not clunky, not fragile like the robots Alaric had seen in his companies. These were perfection—sleek obsidian frames powered by cores that pulsed like captured stars.
The first one stepped forward, towering above the soldiers. Its chest bore the mark: T-00.
McGonagall's breath caught in her throat. "By Merlin's beard…"
The T-00 raised its arm, and the air distorted. A cannon slid from its wrist, shifting into a blade of condensed energy in an instant. Its eyes glowed with cold, intelligent light.
One by one, more machines rose—hundreds, then thousands, until the horizon itself shimmered with them.
"These," the Elder intoned, "are the T-00 Guardians, the first weapons of the Vale. Each one is a fortress, a warrior, and a scholar. They are bound by runes older than Hogwarts, powered by cores that drink from eternity itself. Against a T-00, no wizard's spell, no Muggle's weapon, no beast or army, could stand."
The Eternal Legion knelt lower as the machines activated, as if even they recognized the hierarchy. Soldiers of flesh and magic bowed before soldiers of metal and eternity.
Alaric staggered back, his mind exploding with possibilities. "This… this is what I always dreamed of building—machines beyond human imagination, beyond limits—but… these…" He swallowed hard. "These make my creations look like toys."
The Elder's voice thundered across the world.
"You are heir not only to the Eternal Legion… but to the Machine Dominion. The perfect harmony of magic and technology. You will command soldiers who wield the arcane, and machines who carry the stars. Together, they are the army that once caged gods."
McGonagall's lips trembled. For the first time in decades, she felt true fear—not of Voldemort, not of war, but of what this young man might become if he embraced it all.
The T-00 nearest to Alaric knelt, lowering its massive head before him, its voice deep and metallic yet laced with reverence.
"Heir of Vale. We await your command."
The Elder's eyes burned with ancient fire.
"Choose wisely, Alaric Vale. With the Eternal Legion and the Dominion of Machines, you are no longer merely a student. You are the blade that can cut fate itself."
The stars trembled as machines and soldiers alike thundered together: