In the magical world, the first recorded Basilisk was bred by "Herpo the Foul"—a Greek dark wizard who spoke Parseltongue. After numerous experiments, he discovered that hatching a rooster's egg beneath a toad would produce an extraordinary serpent—the Basilisk.
The Basilisk breeding method Luke obtained from his Goblin Town check-in reward originated from this very dark wizard, Herpo.
It's unclear how Herpo came up with the idea of making a rooster lay an egg and then having a toad incubate it.
Upon returning to Weathertop, Luke specifically went to the marshes at the foot of the mountain to find a large, plump toad.
He then magically bound the toad to the black rooster's egg and placed it in a sealed chamber to incubate slowly.
Barring any mishaps, the Basilisk would hatch in seven days.
With everything prepared, Luke returned to his meditation chamber.
He tossed a Mallorn leaf into the Everlasting Fire, filling the room with fragrant, sunlit mist. Leaning back on a comfortable sofa, he softly hummed a magical melody, sinking into deep meditation.
The faint yet mystical music reverberated through the room, making the Everlasting Fire in the hearth dance merrily as if affected by its rhythm.
Time always passed swiftly in meditation. By the time Luke emerged from his trance, dawn had long since broken outside the tower.
Opening his eyes, a gleam of sharp focus flashed within them. Despite staying up all night, he felt refreshed, without a trace of fatigue.
His meditation had been fruitful. Months of continuous practice had strengthened his mind and soul, and his magical reserves had grown significantly.
At this rate, it wouldn't take many years for him to reach the level of top-tier wizards like Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Voldemort.
If he lived long enough, attaining power comparable to Elrond—or even Galadriel—wasn't out of the question.
He might even dare to hope for Maiar-level strength.
The thought ignited a fierce determination in Luke's heart, his eyes blazing with ambition.
At first glance, Gandalf the Maiar might seem less impressive than Elrond or Galadriel in Middle-earth.
But that was only because his power was severely restricted here—without his staff, he could barely perform decent magic.
In his full glory, as a demi-god of the Maiar, Gandalf's power was cataclysmic.
Though called "lesser spirits," the Maiar were still divine beings—second only to the Valar in power. Both Maiar and Valar were Ainur, the first creations of Eru Ilúvatar.
Galadriel, on the other hand, was fundamentally an Elf.
Thus, Gandalf at full strength far surpassed Galadriel—they weren't even on the same level.
Of course, such heights were still distant for Luke.
He hadn't even reached the level of Dumbledore and other master wizards yet.
Achieving Galadriel's tier seemed like a pipe dream, let alone the divine might of the Maiar.
But dreams were worth having—who knew? One day, he might just ascend to godhood.
Over the following days,
Aside from checking on the egg's progress, Luke maintained his daily meditation routine.
The rest of his time was spent crafting his first true alchemical creation.
The more he studied from The Book of Abraham, the more his alchemical skills grew.
The walking stick he had gifted to Tom Bombadil had been a mere trial piece—pretty but impractical, capable only of conjuring flowers.
Thus, he didn't consider it his first true alchemical work.
This time, he aimed to create a common magical artifact—a Quick-Quotes Quill.
For materials, he plucked a few fine feathers from Sólonor, his young eagle, who was currently molting.
Alchemy differed from other branches of magic—it was a profound and esoteric discipline involving the transformation of matter itself.
An alchemist had to understand the essence of materials and use runes, potions, and magical arrays to guide energy, reshaping matter into enchanted artifacts.
The pinnacle of alchemy—the Philosopher's Stone—could transmute base metals into gold.
This transformation was permanent—even if someone tried to reverse it with a counter-spell, the gold would remain gold.
Transfiguration, on the other hand, could turn objects into gold, but damaging the structure or dispelling the magic would revert them.
Spells required continuous magical input to sustain their effects, whereas alchemical creations achieved similar results—permanently.
At his current level, Luke couldn't yet alter matter's fundamental nature, but he could embed spells into ordinary objects, granting them magical functions.
The Quick-Quotes Quill's purpose was to automatically and swiftly transcribe its owner's spoken or mental words onto paper—without requiring additional magic.
Achieving this required combining multiple spells: Levitation, Legilimency, Voice Recognition, Automatic Writing, and more.
Fusing them was no easy feat.
In the alchemy lab,
a sudden explosion rocked the entire tower.
The dwarven craftsmen outside paused, glanced back, then resumed work.
They'd grown accustomed to these occasional blasts over the past few days.
Luke stared at the pile of feather ashes before him, dispelling the protective charms with a wave.
He then selected another feather and started over.
Finally, a finished quill emerged.
The feather gleamed with a metallic sheen, its shaft covered in intricate, rune-like patterns.
Luke channeled magic into the eagle-feather quill, and it sprang to life, fluttering around him eagerly.
"Now, let's see what you can do," Luke said expectantly.
The quill trembled, then darted to a blank parchment, transcribing his words in elegant calligraphy.
He continued speaking—sometimes clearly, sometimes in a murmur—and the quill captured every syllable flawlessly.
Satisfied, he pressed his wand to his temple, extracting a silvery memory strand and tossing it to the quill.
The quill absorbed the strand and flew to a blank leather-bound book, inscribing The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 in gilded letters on the cover.
It then flipped to the first page and began scribing the textbook's contents in emerald-green ink.
Leaving the quill to its task, Luke turned his attention back to the egg.
The hatching time was near, and he needed to stay vigilant.
Even a newborn Basilisk was deadly—its gaze and venom were lethal from birth.
Though a Parselmouth, Luke wasn't immune to its eyes.
One accidental glance, and he'd be dead—an embarrassing way to go.
As the seventh night arrived,
Luke stood in the sealed chamber, wearing enchanted sunglasses, watching the toad atop the black egg.
The once-plump toad now looked gaunt and listless, immobilized by magic.
Then—the egg twitched.
Luke tensed, ready.
The creature inside struggled against its shell, probing for weakness.
Finally, with a faint crack, a small hole appeared.
The moment a emerald-green snout poked out, Luke hissed in Parseltongue: "Close your eyes before emerging!"
The hatchling froze, then slithered out—a finger-thin, green serpent with a blood-red crest—its eyes tightly shut, tongue flicking.
It was hard to imagine this tiny creature would one day span 50 feet (15 meters).
True to its dark origins, the Basilisk was vicious even under Parseltongue control. Without hesitation, it sank its fangs into the toad, injecting venom.
The toad convulsed and died instantly.
Luke frowned.
No wonder Basilisks were classified as XXXXX creatures. Had he not been a Parselmouth, he'd have been its first victim.
But he'd prepared for this.
After commanding the Basilisk not to resist, he drew a drop of its blood with a syringe.
The serpent hissed in pain but obeyed.
Luke then pricked his own finger, mixing their blood while chanting an incantation.
The droplets merged midair.
"Open."
The Basilisk complied, and the blood flew into its mouth.
An invisible bond formed between them—instilling loyalty and erasing any urge to harm its master.