Erwin frowned slightly. "The Sword in the Stone? That relic's long gone. Legend has it Merlin took it with him—who knows where it's hidden now?"
Ravenclaw replied, "Merlin forged it with his own wand for King Arthur, designed to unlock all of Arthur's latent power. Arthur met his end in the Battle of Camlann, and Merlin claimed the Excalibur, casting it into the lake where the Lady of the Lake dwells. If you can reach her, you might reclaim it. Or wait for a time of great peril; the sword is said to resurface then, calling to its true owner."
Erwin fell silent.
A time of crisis? Who could predict that? The sword hadn't emerged during Grindelwald's reign or Voldemort's terror. Was he supposed to manufacture a catastrophe? It might work, but defining a "true crisis" eluded him. After the devastation those dark wizards wrought, anything less seemed trivial—bordering on absurd.
Synthesizing the bloodlines of Dragon Speakers to forge that of Dragon Tamers felt far more practical.
Ravenclaw watched the pensive young man without interruption.
She withheld one detail: the crisis loomed nearer than Erwin realized. The sword had already resurfaced once, unrecognized in its master's grasp. In that dire hour, it might have tipped the scales—but fate had other plans.
Erwin bowed. "I understand, Founder. Thank you for the guidance. I'll pursue it."
Ravenclaw nodded. "There's another route: master both bloodlines fully. But how? That's your secret alone. Imagine the power—Merlin's arcane gifts fused with Pendragon's royal might, two forces that once ruled eras, now unified under one will. The thought chills even me."
Erwin's pulse quickened.
Full mastery of dual bloodlines? Ravenclaw's techniques merely subdued one to favor the other. A single lineage wielded such dominance; combined, it would be cataclysmic.
The path ahead demanded relentless effort.
Ravenclaw retreated into the diadem to rest. Erwin showered, swapped his sheets, and collapsed into bed. A soft breeze rustled the curtains through the window gap, lulling him into deep slumber.
He slept through the afternoon, waking as dusk deepened into night. Moonlight bathed Hogwarts in silver; the castle lay hushed, its students tucked away.
Erwin glanced at the clock, summoned a house-elf for a quick meal, and assessed his magic. The nap had replenished it fully, even charging his reserves halfway.
Perfect conditions for visiting his "teacher."
He'd timed it right—today marked Voldemort's awakening. Loose ends needed tying. Erwin had instructed Quirrell to brief the Dark Lord on recent events, but deception wouldn't hold forever.
Voldemort required swift return to his wraith-like state. That served Erwin best now, with Ravenclaw as his steadfast ally. A parasitic shadow trailing him? Unacceptable.
Yet before then, Erwin aimed to extract every advantage. Success hinged on his performance.
One task remained before Quirrell's office.
Erwin retrieved the enchanted egg from his enchanted ring.
He'd nearly forgotten the voracious thing—too much hassle.
Drizzling it with dragon blood and essences from two magical creatures Hagrid had procured, he watched the hatching progress leap.
It halted at 97/100.
Erwin's expression soured.
What nonsense was this? He'd calibrated precisely for completion.
"System, explain yourself!"
[Beyond 95%, gains diminish. Current: 97. Requires three drops of high-level magical creature blood.]
Erwin sighed in frustration.
The System toyed with him, ramping up the challenge. No recourse.
A high-level creature? Inspiration struck.
Hogwarts harbored one untapped resource: Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes.
Phoenix blood would perfect the hatch. But coaxing three drops from the Headmaster? Tricky.
Dealing with Dumbledore demanded finesse—especially now, when the old wizard leaned on him.
Erwin eyed the egg. "You'd better be worth it, or I'll roast you for supper. You've been nothing but trouble."
The egg quivered faintly.
Erwin smirked. Whatever lurked inside had awareness, at least.
Approaching Dumbledore wasn't impossible. With cunning, the Headmaster—desperate for aid—would bite.
Erwin stowed the egg. Schemes sharpened, he'd make it work.
Meanwhile, in a distant forest, Dumbledore shivered inexplicably.
He scowled. "Erwin's scheming again?"
The old wizard didn't need Legilimency to pinpoint the source. Only one student perpetually outmaneuvered him.
...
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