The Founder's meeting room—what would one day probably become the Headmaster's office—was already filled with noise by the time I arrived.
Which meant one thing.
Godric.
"I'm telling you," he was saying, standing far too proudly in the center of the room, "this is no ordinary blade."
I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, taking in the scene. Godric stood there like some legendary hero already, holding up a gleaming sword that practically radiated craftsmanship. The metal shimmered in a way that wasn't entirely natural—subtle, but unmistakably magical.
Helga sat nearby, amused. Salazar looked… unimpressed. Rowena just looked tired.
I smirked. "Let me guess," I said dryly, stepping into the room. "You named it something incredibly humble."
Godric grinned. "The Sword of Godric Gryffindor."
I stared at him.
Salazar immediately pinched the bridge of his nose. "You cannot be serious."
"You seriously named your sword after yourself?" I added, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
"It's a legendary weapon," Godric shot back defensively. "It deserves a legendary name."
"Right," I said flatly. "Because nothing says 'legendary' like a complete lack of creativity."
Helga laughed. Rowena covered her mouth, clearly trying not to.
Salazar smirked. "At least pretend you considered other options."
"I did!" Godric insisted. "I just—this one fit best."
"Of course it did," I muttered.
Godric huffed but quickly recovered, lifting the sword again. "Mock all you want, but this was forged by a goblin craftsman. Goblin metal. It's enchanted to absorb and strengthen itself with magic."
That got my attention.
I stepped closer, my expression shifting from amused to curious. "Goblin-forged?" I repeated, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Let me see that."
Godric hesitated for half a second before handing it over.
The moment I touched it, I felt it.
The magic wasn't flashy—it was refined. Deeply layered enchantments woven directly into the structure of the metal itself. Not added on top like most human enchantments… but integrated. Alive, almost.
"Interesting," I murmured, turning the blade slightly. My enhanced perception kicked in automatically, tracing the flow of magic through the weapon. "The structure adapts. It's not just enchanted—it evolves with use."
Salazar leaned in slightly. "So it's actually impressive?"
"Unfortunately for his ego," I said, glancing at Godric, "yes."
Godric grinned smugly. "Told you."
Rowena stepped closer, studying the blade. "It's beautifully crafted. The balance is perfect."
Helga nodded. "And it feels… sturdy. Like it won't ever break."
"It probably won't," I said, handing it back. "Goblin craftsmanship tends to favor permanence. If what you said is true, it might even grow stronger over time."
Godric took the sword back, clearly pleased. "Exactly. It's a weapon worthy of a founder."
Salazar crossed his arms. "Still a ridiculous name."
"Agreed," I said immediately.
Rowena sighed. "Completely agreed."
Helga smiled. "I think it's charming."
Godric pointed at Helga. "See? Someone appreciates it."
"Don't encourage him," Salazar muttered.
I rolled my eyes, but a small smirk tugged at my lips. "Well, ridiculous name or not… it is a good weapon."
Godric beamed.
"…Just try not to stab anyone important with it," I added.
"No promises," he said proudly.
Salazar groaned.
Helga laughed.
Rowena shook her head.
And just like that, the room filled with noise again—teasing, bickering, and the familiar chaos of five founders who somehow managed to build a future while constantly arguing like children.
I leaned back slightly, watching them.
…Yeah.
This felt right.