The summer air around my manor was thick with magic. Wards shimmered faintly over the estate like an aurora of protective light, humming softly as they recognized their master's return. I had no intention of wasting this time. Hogwarts could wait — this summer belonged to creation.
My private laboratory gleamed with an eerie brilliance, the walls lined with ancient runes and floating crystals. Alchemical flames danced across cauldrons, metals of impossible sheen melted into form, and threads of energy spiraled from my fingertips.
I stood at the center of it all — my wand in hand, surrounded by the whispers of power itself.
"Let's see what you can become," I murmured, laying the wand gently onto a marble slab inscribed with glowing sigils.
Drawing a breath, I began weaving — runes of strength, symbols of balance, and alchemical infusions of light and shadow both. I infused it with powdered phoenix feather ash, basilisk scale fragments, and a single strand of my own enchanted blood. The process took hours, perhaps days; I lost track of time. Each layer of magic resonated stronger than the last, the air vibrating as if reality itself strained to contain the energy.
Finally, the final rune flared gold — and the wand lifted from the table, pulsing like a living thing.
Ding!Host has successfully forged a wand on par with the Legendary Deathstick.This wand boosts Magic Control by 98% and Magic Power by 300%.
I felt the surge immediately — my magic coiling, focusing, then exploding outward like a tidal wave. My breath hitched as the raw energy poured through me, expanding, deepening.
Ding!For creating a new Deathstick-class wand, Host's Magic Reserves are doubled.
The world around me blurred for a moment. My veins burned with power, not painfully — but ecstatically. My reserves of magic swelled to twice their previous size, humming beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
"…Incredible," I whispered, flexing my fingers as arcs of power danced between them. "This is what it means to stand among legends."
But I wasn't finished.
Using Salazar's alchemical blueprints, the Peverell runic knowledge, and Nicolas Flamel's centuries of research, I set to work forging artifacts — tools that would serve me in both battle and survival.
The first was a bracelet, forged from goblin steel and laced with silver runes of recall and protection. When I snapped it around my wrist, the runes glowed faintly blue.
"If my wand is ever disarmed," I said aloud, tracing the runes with my fingertip, "you'll find your way back to me."
The bracelet shimmered — and instantly, my wand appeared back in my hand, obeying my will as though it had never left. I smiled.
I added a final sequence of runes — seven interlocking symbols of defense."Seven charges of shield charms," I noted. "Automatic activation upon detection of hostile intent."
The bracelet flared softly, confirming its enchantment.
Then came the amulet. A shard of radiant crystal, pulsing faintly with inner light, lay before me. I inscribed upon it runes of life and death — the very balance of mortality, guided by Cadmus Peverell's knowledge and my own understanding of soul magic.
The process was delicate — one wrong line, and the crystal would shatter. But when I placed the final stroke, it pulsed with eerie calm.
"This… will turn death itself away."
I channeled my intent into it — the moment the Killing Curse touches me, the amulet will intercept, absorbing the curse and sacrificing itself. A one-time miracle. A single chance against inevitable death.
When I finished, the crystal shimmered like a captured star, then dimmed, the runes glowing faintly along its edges.
I clasped it around my neck, feeling the faint pulse against my skin — a silent guardian of my soul.
I stood back, surveying my work. A wand to rival the Elder Wand. Artifacts of defense and resurrection. A collection worthy of a future legend.
"Even the founders would envy this," I murmured. My reflection in the mirrored crystal smirked back — older somehow, sharper. "And this… is only the beginning."
The room vibrated faintly as if the manor itself acknowledged my words.
The future was coming. And with each creation, I was rewriting what it meant to be a wizard.