After days of scouring the upper halls, I sensed something older and deeper humming beneath the castle. A resonance pulsed through the stone floors—steady, ancient, and far too deliberate to be anything but magic. I followed the call downward, passing warded gates and spiraling staircases until I reached a door forged from blackened silver, covered in sigils that seemed to shift whenever I looked away.
When I touched the door, my bloodline answered. The enchantments recognized me as kin. The locks dissolved into light, and a gust of magic heavy with age swept past me as the door opened.
Inside lay the heart of the Peverell legacy.
A vast chamber stretched before me—walls inlaid with runes that glowed with pale silver light, and at the center, a floating orb of condensed magic. It radiated raw power, whispering of every secret the family had ever hoarded. This was the Peverell Source, the magical core that had sustained their bloodline for centuries.
I approached cautiously at first, feeling the aura press against my skin. The closer I came, the clearer its rhythm became—like a heartbeat echoing through my veins. Then I reached out.
The instant my fingers brushed the surface of the orb, the world vanished in blinding white.
Magic surged through me. The Source did not merely grant energy; it rewrote me. My magical reserves deepened until I could feel rivers of power running beneath my skin. My regeneration quickened—every breath seemed to refill what little I spent. My awareness expanded, each heartbeat ringing with a harmony I had never known.
But the change did not stop there.
The Source judged and refined me, reshaping body and spirit to match the Peverell ideal. I felt the edges of my features sharpen—handsome, regal, almost ethereal. My magic itself grew clearer, purer, yet more dangerous. Threads of darkness—black magic, soulcraft, death—aligned perfectly within me. The tangled knowledge I had wrestled with now flowed like instinct. Sigils that once took hours to decode unfolded effortlessly in my mind.
When the light finally dimmed, I stood renewed.
The chamber responded to my presence. The runes along the walls shimmered, as if bowing in recognition. The orb's glow pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, signifying that it was now part of me—its magic and my own intertwined.
I lifted my wand, testing the change. Even a whisper of intent carried immense force, the air vibrating with restrained energy. My spells would now strike like storms; my wards would stand like mountains.
I was no longer simply heir to the Peverells.
I was the Peverell legacy reborn—their final creation, perfected and alive once more.
I smiled faintly as the orb's glow settled into the stone, leaving the room silent. The path ahead was clear. With England under my control and the Peverell Source now flowing through my veins, the limits that once bound even the greatest wizards had vanished.
And this was only the beginning.