Erwin froze in shock. Was this the fate of the dragon-like creature? Had it been struck down by sheer overwhelming force, its bones shattered and organs ruptured?
How could anyone inflict such raw damage on a beast like that?
This wasn't some brawling arena; it was the wizarding world. If the creature had perished in Great Britain, he might have pieced it together. But here, on the Isle of Avalon? That didn't add up.
A chilling theory formed in Erwin's mind. What if the Isle of Avalon was tied to that grand scheme?
He scowled, thoughts racing. If his hunch held, everything fell into place—and the stakes were far deadlier than he'd feared. Those so-called gods, the false ones, even him? All mere pieces on the board.
Erwin lifted a jagged bone fragment, a wry smirk curling his lips. Intriguing. This is what makes it worthwhile. Only a cunning adversary deserved his full attention. He wondered who the mastermind was; a true game needed rivals of equal caliber.
He was weary of one-sided triumphs.
His face hardened, silver-white hair whipping in the breeze. At his roots, a dark streak crept upward, while his eyes flickered crimson. But the harmonizing magic within him surged, quelling the surge. Anomalies suppressed.
In a fog-choked void—the heart of his enchanted ring—the mist churned, space warping. Golden light flared, containing the turmoil. A commanding voice echoed: "Not yet. Be still!"
The fog calmed. The voice exhaled in relief as the glow faded, restoring silence. Erwin remained oblivious, unaware that some of his hoarded magic crystals had vanished.
Ravenclaw's voice pierced the crown once more. "Erwin, hurry! I think I've pinpointed your goal."
Even with his iron will, Erwin shivered. He bolted forward. Flight was beyond him, but relentless training kept him agile. He'd once dreamed of schooling any unbeatable wizard in close-quarters combat. Now? There were none left to challenge.
Invincibility had its drawbacks.
He darted through the woods, bursting into a clearing. A serene lake gleamed, flanked by a stone slab. Beside it sat a golden cup, Ravenclaw's form hovering above.
She beckoned as he approached. "Erwin, behold! This cup holds a potent moonlight essence—silvery liquid pulsing with divine energy."
"Moonlight power?" Erwin echoed, brow furrowed.
Ravenclaw nodded. "Indeed. It's divine, akin to my starlight, but purer, more refined. This must be the conduit Grindelwald described for reaching the gods."
Erwin approached the goblet, tracing its edge with a finger. Magic probed the residue: feedback overwhelming, transcending mere spells.
"Shall we test it?" Ravenclaw urged. "See if you can make contact?"
Erwin shot her a grin. "That's precisely why I'm here."
He upended the cup, spilling the liquid onto the stone. Silvery threads ignited, weaving skyward in a brilliant beam. The heavens darkened instantly, engulfing the world in pitch black.
Ravenclaw conjured starlight, faintly lighting their corner. But a crescent moon bloomed overhead, its glow drowning her efforts.
From the crescent descended a figure, materializing swiftly beside the slab.
"I am the Lady of the Moon," she declared.
The crescent swelled into a full moon, looming behind her. Moonbeams cascaded, grazing Erwin. His magic recoiled, coiling defensively within him.
He grimaced, summoning a murky barrier to shield himself.
The Lady tilted her head, humming thoughtfully. "Fascinating. You elude me. Who are you?"
Erwin inclined his head. "Erwin Cavendish."
Her brow creased. "Cavendish... The name rings a bell, but ages blur my memories. Why summon me?"
Ravenclaw, hovering nearby, studied the ethereal form with a pensive gaze.
Erwin caught her look and offered a subtle nod. She brightened, drifting silently behind him to rest a hand on his shoulder.
"I have one question," he said.
"Ask," the Lady replied coolly. "I'll set the toll accordingly."
Erwin inclined his head. "Simple enough: Where are the true gods? And how did a pretender like you usurp their power?"
As the words landed, starlight erupted from his wand. He slashed it toward her without hesitation.
She blinked in surprise—too late. The beam lanced through her chest, leaving a gaping void.
Rage twisted her features. "Insolent worm! You dare profane me?"
Erwin's laugh was cold. "Profane? You're no deity—just a thief. I'm dying to know: In a mere century, how did pretenders like you hijack divine authority?"
He was convinced the entity Grindelwald had met was genuine. So how had it fallen so swiftly?
...
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