The topmost chamber was cloaked in shadow.
The crimson moon outside could not pierce the gloom.
"Lumos."
Ian raised his wand. A soft, steady white light burst forth, hovering in the air like a miniature sun, illuminating the room around him.
"Merlin's beard, magic stones!"
His black Phoenix sat serenely atop a stone dais. Before Ian could question the bird's find, his gaze locked on the glittering pile of gems embedded within the slab.
Dozens of luminous magical stones rested there. They varied in size and cut, but each bore the unmistakable characteristics of Philosopher's Stones, legendary artefacts capable of turning any metal into gold or brewing the Elixir of Life, granting immortality. In modern history, only Nicolas Flamel had ever succeeded in crafting one.
"It's a shame... their magic has all but faded." Ian rushed forward, attempting to pry one free, but even luck couldn't override centuries of decay.
Though they still gleamed faintly, they were little better off than the stone Voldemort had once drained; nearly all their power had been spent.
Few truly understood this:
Philosopher's Stone could offer eternal life, but it's magic wasn't infinite. It's potency depended on the alchemist's craft and the rituals used during refinement.
"These stones probably kept the tower running until they were completely spent," Ian muttered, sighing with the disappointment of hopes dashed too soon.
"One shouldn't be too greedy."
He comforted himself with the age-old wizarding wisdom.
"Squawk!"
The black Phoenix responded with a sharp cry, then took flight once more, vanishing into the depths of the tower. Ian followed close behind, soon finding himself before a peculiar platform.
It appeared to have formed naturally from the stone wall itself, like two massive hands gently cradling a box, now open, within which rested a single green seed.
"What on earth is this?"
Ian stepped closer. The seed looked unremarkable at first glance, yet in the hush of the dim room, it pulsed with a vibrant, almost luminous life.
Whatever it was, Ian could feel it thrumming with potential, an ancient magic waiting to bloom.
The black box that cradled the seed was etched with ancient runes, remarkably similar to those Ian had seen inscribed upon the tower walls, but these glowed faintly, as though still infused with flickers of magic.
"This must be something powerful."
Ian gingerly lifted the seed, feeling warmth and vitality pulse from its smooth shell. Though it appeared no more than a common seed, he sensed, deep in his bones, that given proper earth, sunlight, and perhaps a splash of unicorn-dung compost, it might sprout into something beyond extraordinary.
"Krah krah krah~"
Just as Ian wondered if this might be a seed of Yggdrasil or something equally mythical, his action seemed to trigger a dormant enchantment within the tower itself.
"Take one, take them all!"
The floor trembled. A deep groaning sound reverberated up the stones. Ian didn't hesitate, he snatched up the small box and bolted for the nearest arched window.
His wand was already in hand, ready to blast the enchanted glass wide open, but before he could utter a single spell, the rumbling... abruptly stopped.
"Squawk!"
The black Phoenix, still perched near the vanished platform, let out what sounded suspiciously like a scoff.
"When I learn to Apparate, I'll be bolder than you," Ian muttered, defensive, but when he turned back, the seed's pedestal had disappeared entirely.
In its place stretched a long corridor, lined with torches of magical blue fire that flared to life one by one. After a moment's hesitation, Ian lit his wand-tip and pressed forward into the dark.
As he walked.
The air grew steadily heavier, the light dimmer.
Fortunately, his Lumos spell held steady, casting long shadows across the ancient walls. After what felt like several winding turns and a good deal of time, he reached the end, a room lavishly adorned, like something plucked from a royal wizard's palace.
At the centre stood a towering four-poster bed, carved from oak and etched with golden vines that shimmered in his wandlight. Jeweled finials glimmered atop the posts, like stars captured in crystal.
The walls bore tapestries embroidered with golden thread, each depicting scenes of triumph and sorrow. The room breathed ancient opulence, a long-lost grandeur of the highest magical order.
"The king's chamber?"
Ian ran a hand across a cabinet of darkwood, its handles inlaid with ruby and topaz, now dulled by time. Decay clung to everything, and regret stirred in his heart. His gaze soon drifted to the raised dais where the black Phoenix now perched.
A throne stood there.
Above it, a chandelier of clear-cut crystal hung like a frozen constellation. The throne itself was forged of solid gold, festooned with sapphires and fire-opals, every inch a symbol of long-vanished rule.
"These things don't mean anything anymore," Ian said, stepping up to the throne. "They're as brittle as a sugar quill left out in the sun. If you're really into treasure hunting, I'll take you to the human world, let's go dragon-hunting in Gringotts."
He gave the throne a casual kick, and just as he predicted, the once-imposing seat crumbled into dust, like a sandcastle before the tide.
And yet,
Behind the crumbled ruin was a concealed alcove. Inside: bare stone walls... and a single object.
A black robe, hanging from a hook in the corner.
But the robe was not empty. Chains and shackles were coiled within it like silver serpents. Bones jutted from the fabric, bleached white and still, save for one eerie detail...
"A cursed prisoner?" Ian murmured.
He edged into the small room, hand extended toward a pale, exposed wrist, when the air turned cold.
That robe, untouched for who knew how many centuries, twitched.
"There's no wind in here..."
Ian froze. He reached again, hesitantly.
Then,
The black robe began to shift, almost lazily, like something stirring from sleep. Ian leapt back, wand raised in one hand, and fumbled in his robes for a universal healing draught with the other.
The robe lifted its head.
From beneath the deep cowl, a skull emerged, immaculate and gleaming like moonstone. These bones didn't seem fragile; they were eerily translucent, like crystal kissed by starlight, as if neither rot nor age had dared touch them.
The presence they exuded was still and deep as a Pensieve's surface... but no less dangerous for it.
Ian felt it immediately. Power. True, old-world power. No wizard he'd encountered had ever radiated this sort of still-born majesty.
"The dead? A remnant from before the age of wands?"
He couldn't say for certain. The spirits he'd met in the Twilight Zone typically retained their living appearance, echoes rather than corpses. But this... this skeletal being looked as though it had clawed its way out from a tomb and lingered past the laws of life and death.
"Can you speak?" Ian asked softly.
The figure didn't answer, but the magic in the room hummed louder.
Ian's eyes stayed fixed on the black-robed figure, heart hammering as unease curled around his chest. Still, as he observed the strange composition of the bones, faintly shimmering, clearly magical, his alchemical instincts sparked.
Naturally.
He was wondering if such bones could be ground into a potion base.
"Did someone misplace this skeleton?" Ian called out, half-jesting, voice echoing into the room. "If it's been abandoned, I suppose I'll keep it!"
"Squawk!"
The Phoenix cackled from its perch, clearly unimpressed by his performance.
"Fwoosh~"
And then,
The skeleton, which had previously appeared hollow and inert, suddenly flared to life as a flickering crimson soul-fire lit within its eye sockets. It fixed its gaze squarely on Ian.
In that moment.
Ian felt a sudden wave of dizziness, as though some ancient magic laced within the creature's stare was pressing against his mind, making his breath catch ever so slightly.
Thankfully, the black-robed skeleton did not continue staring at him.
"Squawk!"
The black Phoenix's peculiar cry drew the skeleton's attention.
Its stiff head creaked around, turning to scrutinise Ian's companion. The wary tension in its posture was unmistakable.
"Squawk?"
The black Phoenix tilted its head quizzically.
To Ian's astonishment, he felt an echo of the skeleton's emotions, first uncertainty, then cautious calm.
(To Be Continued…)
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