POV – Per Te Vivebo
The wind off the canyon carried a taste of dust and iron, hot against his tongue. Per Te stood alone before a circle of etched runes, his own design, a weave of Latin script and Force sigils.
The air quivered with potential.
He inhaled slowly, let his focus sink inward, and spoke the first word:
"Lumos."
The wand's tip glowed, familiar. But this time he didn't stop there. He reached past the charm, past the flicker of Earth-born magic, into the pulse beneath everything, the Force itself.
He felt its twin nature: serenity and storm. He guided it carefully into the spell's matrix.
The light changed. It became alive. Not a glow, but a heartbeat, pulsing with rhythm, illuminating his skin from within.
For a moment he saw the whole canyon shimmer as if time itself was breathing.
Then the circle shattered. The ground buckled.
He dropped to one knee, panting, sand clinging to his sweat.
"Too much," he muttered. "The currents fight each other unless harmonized."
Ker's voice crackled behind him.
"Output exceeded safe threshold by 230 percent."
"Good," Per Te said between breaths. "That means we're close."
He wiped his brow and looked skyward. The twin suns were setting. The light was fading, but his determination was not.
He spent months refining the weave. Every morning began the same: meditation beneath the Uneti tree, feeling the threads of life and Force coiling through its roots; every night ended with experiments, binding incantations to energy flows, coaxing the Force to obey syllables from another universe.
When exhaustion struck, he remembered the boy he once was, the one who read Harry Potter under the sheets and dreamed of other worlds. Now, he was in one. And he was writing his own kind of magic.
"If the Force is will made manifest," he recorded in his notes, "then magic is imagination shaped into law. To combine them is to make belief itself tangible."
He journeyed far beyond their settlement, searching ruins, derelict ships, and ancient Force sites. In the Valley of Echoes, he found carvings older than the Republic, glyphs that whispered when touched. In the Maw Cluster, he survived what no ship should survive, steering through gravity storms using wingardium leviosa linked to thruster control, riding currents of energy as though the Force itself respected his audacity.
Every journey returned with more than knowledge. Sometimes with refugees, sometimes relics, sometimes just the quiet satisfaction of discovery. He never sought followers, but people followed anyway.
They said he looked ageless. He didn't feel ageless. Each year inside the time-dilated space was a lifetime of study; outside, only moments would pass.
He often wondered if, when the galaxy saw Hogwarts again, centuries or millennia would have gone by.
That thought didn't frighten him. It humbled him.
"To build something that outlasts time," he wrote, "you must first accept that time will outlast you."
At dawn, he stood again before the runic circle. This time, he didn't force the powers together. He invited them.
"Lumos," he whispered, "et Fiat Lux."
The wand flared, soft, perfect, balanced. Magic and Force flowed as one.
Ker stepped forward, scanning the readings.
"Output stable. Harmony achieved."Per Te smiled faintly."No. Harmony begun."
He raised the wand toward the horizon where the towers of Hogwarts were rising, stone shaping itself under guided enchantment and Force constructs.
"Let there be a place where every soul finds its own balance," he said softly. "And may that balance light the stars."