[FOR EVERY 100 POWERSTONES = 1 EXTRA CHAPTER]
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The air in Ollivanders was thick with the dust of dead ends and impossible quests. The request for a root of Yggdrasil had landed like a tombstone, silencing all conversation. Merlin's face was a landscape of weary resolve, while the others—the future founders, Sharon, and John—were still reeling from the sheer, mythic scale of what was required.
"Enough standing about," Merlin declared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. He seemed to have reached a decision, his momentary vulnerability replaced by the familiar authority of the Supreme Mugwump. "There are other matters to attend to. Samuel, James, Thomas—thank you for your counsel. We will speak again within the seven moons."
He herded his shell-shocked group out of the wand shop and back into the bustling, chaotic energy of the magical high street. They moved in a daze, the vibrant market life around them feeling surreal and distant. Merlin led them purposefully down a winding side alley, away from the main thoroughfare, until they stood before a building that dwarfed all others in both grandeur and menace.
It was a structure of blinding white marble, carved to resemble a fortress, with towering pillars and a massive, bronze door engraved with a warning that John's Six Eyes translated instantly:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Gringotts," Merlin stated, as if that explained everything. He pushed the great bronze door open, and they stepped into a cavernous hall that echoed with a chilling, metallic silence. The air was cool and carried the scent of polished stone, deep earth, and something distinctly reptilian.
Long counters of dark wood ran the length of the hall, and behind them stood creatures John had only seen in the System's data-dump on this world: Goblins. They were sharp-featured, intelligent, and their eyes held a cold, calculating light that missed nothing. Wizards and witches conducted their business in hushed, respectful tones, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy of the market outside.
"Gringotts is not merely a bank, John," Merlin explained quietly as they walked towards the most ornate counter at the far end, where a particularly ancient goblin with a nameplate that read "Ragnok" presided. "It is the heart of wizarding commerce, the record-keeper of ancient lineages, and the tomb-keeper of secrets that would shatter lesser minds. The goblins are master craftsmen, ruthless accountants, and the sworn enemies of theft. They have a long memory, and they do not forgive a slight."
They reached the counter. Ragnok looked up, his black eyes narrowing as they fell upon Merlin. There was no bow, no greeting. Goblins did not bow to wizards.
"Lord Merlin," Ragnok rasped, his voice like grinding stones. "To what do we owe this… unexpected visit?" His tone was one of grudging respect, a stark contrast to the fawning reverence other wizards received from the bank's patrons. Many wizards in the lobby, seeing Merlin, bowed their heads or offered quiet greetings, which Merlin acknowledged with a slight nod.
"Business, Ragnok," Merlin replied, his tone equally formal. "A matter of lineage. My disciple here, John Ashborn Pendragon, requires a Bloodline Inheritance Test."
Ragnok's gaze shifted to John, and for a fraction of a second, John saw a flicker of something—recognition?—in the goblin's inscrutable eyes. "The Pendragon name carries weight, even now," Ragnok muttered. He snapped his long, bony fingers, and a younger goblin scurried forward, placing a thick, ancient-looking parchment and a dagger made of pure, black obsidian on the counter.
"The procedure is simple, yet binding," Ragnok said, pushing the items towards John. "Seven drops of blood upon the parchment. The magic will do the rest. The results are unalterable and recognized as absolute truth by all magical governments and ancient families."
John picked up the obsidian dagger. It was cold and seemed to absorb the light around it. Without hesitation, he drew the sharp edge across his palm. He watched, fascinated, as seven perfect, crimson orbs welled up and dropped onto the parchment.
The moment the blood touched the page, it was absorbed without a trace. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, lines of fiery gold ink began to spread across the parchment, weaving a complex, sprawling family tree. Names blossomed, dates flickered into existence, and magical crests materialized in vivid color.
The script was in a language of magic that everyone present could understand. The names at the very top of the tree made the air in the hall grow still.
Primary Bloodline: Ashborn
Founder: Salomon Ashborn (Blessed of Agni the Celestial Bird of Magic, Life and Death)
Status: Pure. Heir: John Ashborn Pendragon.
Primary Bloodline: Pendragon (Paternal - Primary Claim from Celestial Elder Dragon, Aurelius Drakon)
Founder: Arthur Aurelius Pendragon
Status: Pure. Heir: John Ashborn Pendragon.
Secondary Bloodlines:
Emrys (Paternal)
Founder: Myrddin Aurelius Emrys
Status: Pure. Heir: John Ashborn Pendragon.
Le Fay (Paternal)
Founder: Morgana Aurelius Le Fay
Status: Pure. Heir: John Ashborn Pendragon.
The tree showed it clearly. Arthur Pendragon, Myrddin Emrys, and Morgana Le Fay were not just allies or rivals. They were siblings, their lines converging on a single, earlier name that was shimmering with such potent magic it was almost illegible. But John's enhanced perception could make it out: Aurelius Drakon.
A silence so profound it felt like a physical force fell over the entire hall of Gringotts. Every witch, wizard, and goblin had stopped what they were doing to stare at the glowing parchment.
Then, chaos erupted.
Ragnok, the stoic, unflappable head goblin, stumbled back from his counter, his eyes wide with a shock that bordered on religious awe. He looked from the parchment to John, and then he did the unthinkable.
He dropped to one knee.
A wave of motion followed him. Every single goblin in the massive hall, from the lowliest cart-driver to the most senior account manager, fell to one knee in a synchronized, rustling motion of reverence. The wizards and witches in the lobby stared, dumbfounded, many following suit out of sheer, confused terror.
"Your Majesty," Ragnok's voice was a trembling whisper, yet it carried through the silent hall. "Welcome back to your rightful throne of the European Wizarding World."
John stood frozen, the cut on his hand already healed by his Senju vitality. The System's "optimization" had just blown a hole in reality he could never have anticipated. "I… what? Why do I have Emrys and Le Fay blood? And what throne?"
Ragnok looked up, his expression one of pure, comical disbelief. "What are you saying, my lord? The truth is written in blood and magic! Lord Arthur Pendragon, Lord Myrddin Emrys, and Lady Morgana Le Fay—they were siblings! They shared the same father, the Great Celestial Elder Dragon, Aurelius Drakon!"
The revelation hit the group behind John like a physical blow.
Salazar Slytherin, the proud, controlled pure-blood, was the first to break. "S-Siblings?!" he choked out, his face ashen. "Master Merlin… is this true?"
Godric Gryffindor looked like he'd been hit with a Confundus Charm. "You… and Morgana… and King Arthur…?"
Rowena Ravenclaw's brilliant mind was frantically recalculating every piece of history she had ever learned. "The familial strife… the wars… it was a civil war? A dispute between dragon-blooded siblings?"
Helga Hufflepuff had tears in her eyes, her heart breaking for the tragic family drama laid bare before them.
All eyes turned to Merlin. The Supreme Mugwump had not moved. He stood with his head slightly bowed, the weight of millennia pressing down on him. The sadness John had seen earlier was now a raw, open wound.
"It is true," Merlin's voice was soft, but it echoed in the absolute silence. "Aurelius Drakon was our father. A Celestial Dragon who walked among mortals, a being of immense power who loved war and destruction, and who left a legacy of both glorious light and terrible shadow. Arthur, from his union with Igraine, was destined for a mortal crown, born with a dragon's strength, endurance, and vitality. Morgana, from a different mother, a powerful sorceress with demonic ancestry, was born with a fury as vast as her power. And I…" he paused, the memory painful, "I was the firstborn. My mother was a great mage of angelic bloodline. I was the one tasked with watching over them, guiding them."
He looked at John, his eyes filled with an ancient, bottomless grief. "I failed. My sister's heart turned to darkness, though it would be a lie to call her purely evil. She was… complex, with a dark personality born of pain and betrayal. And my brother… Arthur sacrificed all his vitality to break a blood curse placed upon his wife, the Ashborn lady, Shreya. He died to ensure the curse would not pass to his descendants. I should have foreseen it. I should have stopped it. But I was too absorbed in my magic, my runes… I failed them." His voice dropped to a whisper. "When Arthur died, Morgana's anger at me knew no bounds. She accused me of having the gift of prophecy but being too blind to use it to save our brother."
He looked at Ragnok, his composure returning with a visible effort. "Rise, Ragnok. My… nephew… is not here to claim a throne. He is here for a wand and to retrieve some items from Arthur's vault. And," he added, his gaze turning inward with grim purpose, "to inform Morgana. She must come. She must see him."
But as the goblins slowly rose, their expressions remained ones of absolute, unwavering devotion. The secret was out. John Ashborn Pendragon was not just a descendant of kings and archmages. He was the scion of two Celestial bloodlines—Dragon and Phoenix—the living heir to a legacy that was the very bedrock of European magical history. And in the cold, calculating eyes of the goblins, who revered contracts, lineage, and power above all else, that changed everything. The true quest was no longer just for a wand; it was about embracing a destiny written in the blood of dragons and the fire of phoenixes.
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