When Allen carefully slipped back into the dormitory, the others had already been awakened by the unexpected storm. Using the excuse that he'd gone out to find something to eat, Allen easily brushed off any suspicion about his late-night outing, though everyone grumbled that if he was going out, he could've at least brought back some midnight snacks.
After a bit of noise and fuss, things eventually calmed down. As shocking as the sandstorm had been, it wasn't all that different from the summer thunderstorms they occasionally got. And besides, this was Hogwarts. This was where Dumbledore lived. Just thinking of that was enough to wipe away the worry from the young witches and wizards' faces. They simply chalked the sandstorm up as a rare but natural occurrence.
Before long, most of the curious, sleep-deprived students had drifted off again, except Allen, who lay awake, deep in thought.
There was no doubt about it: that golden slab held immense magical power. And based on what he'd observed, its magic had nothing to do with the vampires, it was a completely different force. In fact, it was likely something the vampires had stolen, probably looted from Egypt.
Considering the vampires had originally fled from Europe and the historical connection to Napoleon's invasion of Egypt, it wasn't hard to guess that the slab had been a war trophy, a powerful magical artifact passed down in Egyptian history.
If that were true, then the connection between the card's power and Shurima's heroic system suddenly made a lot more sense. Egypt was famous for its magical divination. Even the Muggles' tarot cards were said to be imitations of tools accidentally revealed by careless Egyptian wizards.
Allen had a hunch. Originally, the system was probably only going to give him the power of one hero, but the overwhelming force of the slab, combined with Sivir's power, the battle-hardened warrior blessed by the "Mother of Runes", had drastically changed that.
The card's energy came from the unassimilated slab, and the system's original plan to grant him the power of Azir, the Emperor of the Sands, had now been supercharged, expanded into the collective power of all the Shuriman champions. After all, Azir was the emperor of Shurima, and Sivir was his direct descendant.
As for the slab's original owner... it was likely the Pharaoh himself, the leader of both Egyptian Muggles and wizards.
Allen had read descriptions of ancient magical leaders in the Uagadou library. They commanded sand, raised sacred scarabs, and wielded ornate scepters, the prototypes of modern wands. It wasn't until 382 B.C. that Ollivander crafted the first true wand, based on those ancient Egyptian designs.
That golden slab was probably a stone the Pharaoh had personally selected during his lifetime. After his death, the high priests would've carved it with inscriptions detailing his life, turning it into a funerary artifact. And judging by the sheer power still lingering in it, that Pharaoh must have been absurdly powerful.
It seemed the vampires had never discovered the slab's true potential, they'd just been using it as a powerful divination tool. Even in that limited capacity, it had likely helped them ambush the werewolf camp.
But all these guesses were of no practical use to Allen. None of them changed the fact that the slab was now in his possession.
It meant he had to rapidly absorb all the knowledge and power from it, rather than devoting his spare time solely to wizarding magic like before. Especially since, after the events at the end of last term, he barely had any free time left.
And so, with thoughts of time management swirling in his mind, Allen eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
The next morning, Allen was jolted awake by the surprised shouts of his dormmates; they'd discovered that Hogwarts was now covered in a thick blanket of yellow sand.
To the younger students, it felt no less exciting than waking up to snow.
Only then did Allen realize why the slab had been so easy to retrieve the night before. Aside from the system's intervention, Hogwarts' own defenses had tipped the balance, contributing to the slab's fall into his hands.
Due to the sandstorm's aftermath, classes were canceled for the day. The house-elves hadn't dared come out during the stormy night, nor did they want to be seen cleaning in front of students during the day. Naturally, they couldn't let the kids attend lessons in dusty, sand-filled classrooms.
Instead, students were assigned to help restore the areas damaged by the sand. Allen and the other Hufflepuffs were tasked with cleaning up the greenhouses, which had nearly been toppled by the strong winds.
Several valuable herbs had already been damaged. At the moment, the older Hufflepuffs were tending to Professor Sprout's most treasured specimens.
Meanwhile, Allen and the other second-years were overseeing the first-years in the outer greenhouses, those housed less precious plants, and Professor Sprout figured this would be good practice for both the newbies and the experienced students.
Allen busied himself tending to a wounded plant, his thoughts wandering aimlessly. Fortunately, his solid basics allowed him to complete the task without much mental effort.
Strangely, Allen couldn't figure out why he felt so down. Not even the twins' spontaneous sand-sledding game or the usual Slytherin sneak attacks lifted his spirits.
It wasn't until he overheard two Ravenclaws chatting that he realized what was wrong.
The two students joked that the sandstorm seemed intent on burying Hogwarts completely.
That's when it hit him, this sandstorm felt like a funeral. A funeral for the long-dead Pharaoh.
Just how powerful had that Pharaoh been in life, if he could summon a storm like this even in death? It was almost poetic.
…Wait a second!
Allen's eyes widened. Something felt off.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he dunked his entire head into the freezing lake water.
The icy jolt cleared away his creeping melancholy, and a wave of relief and anger washed over him.
That damn Pharaoh. Even dead, he was still causing trouble after all these centuries. If Allen hadn't realized the strange emotions weren't his own and quickly taken action, who knew how long he would've remained trapped in that negativity?
And who knew what might happen if that emotional influence kept building up?
Snorting in disgust, Allen spat hard into the sand and stormed off toward the library, ignoring the bewildered looks from the other students.
If he didn't want both his wallet and his soul to suffer, he'd need to find a cheap solution, and fast.
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