In a hidden chamber carved deep beneath the ancient cliffs of Mont Cervin, veiled by wards older than most magic itself, the World Council of Wizards convened. The air buzzed faintly with layered enchantments—each woven from different cultures and magical philosophies, a testament to the global nature of the assembly.
No names were used. No faces revealed.
Twelve chairs encircled a long obsidian table, and on them sat robed figures, their voices magically distorted, their presences cloaked with ancestral glamours. These were the Twelve Pillars, the highest-ranking members of the World Council.
The meeting began with no ceremony, only silence broken by the rustle of fabric and the soft chime of an enchanted hourglass.
"We begin," spoke the one known only as Primus, the de facto leader. His voice, calm and cold, rippled with ancient authority.
"The subject today: the resurgence of anomalous magical signatures—ones that mirror the original Anomaly's pattern."
A low murmur followed. A second figure, veiled in midnight blue robes, leaned forward.
"We've seen traces in Northern Scotland. Faint echoes—stronger than residual, but too refined to be wild magic. Could be inheritance."
"Inheritance?" questioned another, sharper in tone. "From her? But she's dead."
"Yes," Primus replied, slowly. "But her line is not. The Blake heir remains."
The name echoed in the chamber like thunder beneath a whisper.
"Elise Blake."
Another figure scoffed. "He's a child. Hogwarts first-year. No substantial record of disruption, no act of raw uncontrolled power, no trauma-fueled manifestations. We monitor him—but I do not believe he is the one."
"That is what makes him dangerous," muttered another. "If he is the Anomaly's blood, he may have inherited something more subtle. Control. Patience. A mask."
Silence again, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the hourglass. One of the few female councilors spoke next.
"I've studied the traces. It is not exactly the same pattern as the mother's. The phoenix flame that surrounded her was never seen again. That power—disappeared."
"Which means?"
"Which means either it died with her… or it was transferred elsewhere."
The word phoenix did not cross anyone's lips. None of them had seen the rarest of the kind—only rumors. To them, it was a theory at best, a myth at worst.
"We still lack proof. But his mother's legacy casts a long shadow. We cannot afford to ignore this."
"Agreed," Primus said at last. "Until proven otherwise, Elise Blake remains under quiet surveillance. He is a suspect—not confirmed, not condemned."
Another councilor shifted uneasily. "And if he is the Anomaly?"
The room chilled.
"Then we act," said Primus. "As we did before. We cannot allow that level of uncontrolled, ungoverned magic to exist again."
The phrase lingered like poison in the air.
A younger voice chimed in from one of the masked seats, hesitant yet clear:
"And what if we are wrong? What if he could be… used?"
"Then he will be used," came the reply, cutting and final. "But if he resists, or worse—awakens—he will be erased. The world must never again know what we silenced once before."
The hourglass's final grain fell.
"Meeting adjourned."
The twelve figures vanished, one by one, leaving behind only shadows, whispers, and the unrelenting silence of stone.
Far away, in a snow-dusted Hogwarts tower, Elise Blake stirred from his dreams. Unaware of the verdict pronounced in secret. Unaware that the world had begun to turn its gaze toward him once more.
And somewhere else, in the deep silence of the Forbidden Forest, a flicker of immortal fire blinked open, sensing the shift. The phoenix knew.
But it would not yet reveal itself.