The workshop deep beneath Old Valyria had become Harry's—no, *Haerion's*—second home over the past month, and frankly, it was a significant improvement over his previous accommodations. The ancient forges, dormant for a millennium, now roared to life once more with dragonfire and purpose, creating what he'd taken to calling "the most expensive magical laboratory in recorded history." His armor, no longer the adaptive black of Lysander's original design, had settled into the crimson and gold that sang to his Gryffindor heart—a perfect fusion of form-fitting bodysuit and protective plating that moved like liquid metal while providing absolute protection.
"You know," Harry said conversationally to the empty workshop, his emerald eyes with their distinctive violet flecks gleaming with satisfaction as he lifted the axe head from the magical flames, "I'm fairly certain this is what Professor McGonagall would call 'showing off to a ridiculous degree.'" The Valyrian Steel—no, his *improved* Valyrian Steel—seemed to pulse with living fire, the intricate runic patterns he'd spent weeks perfecting now glowing with a soft crimson radiance that matched the transformed Resurrection Stone.
"*Still talking to yourself, are we?*" Aegerax's voice carried through their mental bond with the sort of amused exasperation that suggested he'd been listening to Harry's running commentary for quite some time. The dragon's mental tone was rich and commanding, with the sort of presence that could fill a room even when existing only in thought. "*I do hope this isn't a sign that isolation is affecting your sanity. I'd hate to have bonded with someone who's going to start naming the workshop tools.*"
"Oh, I've already done that," Harry replied cheerfully, examining the axe head's surface for any imperfections in the metalwork. The double-bladed weapon was a masterpiece of form and function, its edges curved like a dragon's wings spread in flight. Golden veins ran through the crimson steel in patterns that weren't merely decorative—each line was a carefully crafted channel for magical energy, designed to amplify and focus his enhanced abilities. "The large hammer is Gerald, the precision files are the Pimpernel Sisters, and that particularly stubborn anvil is Professor Snape—because it's black, unforgiving, and makes my life difficult."
"*Merlin's beard,*" Aegerax muttered, his mental voice carrying the distinctive cadence of someone who'd spent considerable time around humans and had developed strong opinions about their peculiarities. "*I bond with the last Dragonlord in existence, and he turns out to have the emotional maturity of a particularly precocious adolescent.*"
"Precocious adolescent who just happens to be forging what might be the most powerful weapon created since the founding of Valyria," Harry pointed out with the sort of cheerful smugness that had once driven his professors to distraction. "Besides, you love it. Admit it—after centuries of dealing with brooding, angst-ridden Dragonlords who spoke only in portentous declarations and meaningful silences, you find my sparkling personality refreshingly entertaining."
"*Your 'sparkling personality' is going to be the death of me,*" Aegerax replied, but there was unmistakable fondness in the mental voice. "*Though I admit, your approach to ancient magical traditions is... unique. Most Dragonlords would have spent the month brooding magnificently while staring into flames and contemplating the weight of destiny. You've been making jokes and treating the forging of legendary weapons like an interesting academic exercise.*"
"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds almost reasonable," Harry said, setting the axe head aside and turning his attention to the handle he'd been crafting. The Elder Wand lay before him, no longer the simple stick of elder wood and thestral hair it had once been. A month of careful preparation had transformed it into something far more sophisticated—still recognizably the wand of legend, but now enhanced with Valyrian runes and goblin metalwork that would allow it to channel power on a scale that would have made even Ollivander weep with professional envy. "The way I see it, if you're going to reshape the fundamental nature of magical artifacts, you might as well enjoy yourself while doing it."
The past month had been a revelation beyond anything he could have imagined, though he'd done his best to maintain his characteristic irreverence in the face of earth-shattering discoveries. Altherion's preserved essence had taught him truths about Valyria that had been lost even to the histories, revelations that had required significant recalibration of his understanding of magical civilization.
"The partnership between dragons and humans," Harry mused, his tone taking on the analytical edge that had once made Hermione beam with approval, "it wasn't the elegant symbiosis that legends suggested, was it? According to Altherion's memories, it was built on a foundation of ritual magic so complex and dangerous that the real wonder isn't that it succeeded—it's that it lasted as long as it did without everyone involved dying horribly."
"*An astute observation,*" Aegerax agreed, his mental voice carrying approval tinged with ancient sadness. "*The Valyrian Freehold was magnificent, but it was also fundamentally unstable. Too much power concentrated in too few hands, too many shortcuts taken in the name of expedience. Your ancestors built wonders, but they built them on foundations of sand.*"
The Valyrian dragons, Altherion had shown him through crystal-preserved memories, were indeed more akin to wyverns in their basic structure—powerful, intelligent, but fundamentally different from the ancient dragons like Aegerax who predated human civilization. The Valyrians had taken wild wyverns and transformed them through blood magic and ritual binding, enhancing their intelligence and magical capabilities while ensuring their loyalty to human masters.
"Essentially magical genetic modification," Harry said, his tone combining fascination with mild horror. "They took perfectly functional wyverns and turned them into something more controllable but ultimately less... authentic. Like breeding wolves into lapdogs, except with more fire and significantly higher chances of civilizational collapse."
"*Your talent for reducing complex magical theory to mundane analogies is both impressive and slightly disturbing,*" Aegerax observed. "*But yes, that's essentially correct. The Valyrians were master engineers of life itself, but they never quite grasped the long-term consequences of their modifications.*"
But more fascinating still were the preserves Altherion had revealed through his crystal memories. Scattered across the southern continent of Sothoryos, the Valyrians had established sanctuaries for magical creatures that were far more extensive than mere dragon lairs. Griffins soared through hidden valleys, their golden feathers gleaming in tropical sunlight. Sphinxes posed riddles to each other in groves of silver-leafed trees. Unicorns grazed in meadows where the grass grew in spirals around pools of liquid starlight.
"*The knowledge changes everything,*" Harry murmured, his expression growing more serious as he contemplated the implications. "We're not just talking about rebuilding Valyrian civilization—we're talking about stewarding an entire magical ecosystem that's been operating without human oversight for a thousand years. Those preserves could hold the key to magical innovations that make Valyrian Steel look like a child's toy."
"*Or they could hold dangers that make your Uncle Malachar look like a particularly annoying but ultimately harmless relative,*" Aegerax pointed out with the sort of pragmatic caution that Harry had learned to appreciate. "*Power without wisdom destroyed the first Valyrian Freehold. It would be... unfortunate if history repeated itself.*"
"Point taken," Harry acknowledged, though his grin suggested he found the prospect more exhilarating than terrifying. "Though I have to say, after dealing with Voldemort, I'm fairly confident in my ability to handle ancient magical dangers without losing my moral compass. Plus, I have you to keep me honest."
"*A responsibility I take very seriously,*" Aegerax replied with mock solemnity. "*Someone needs to ensure that the last Dragonlord doesn't accidentally conquer the world through sheer enthusiasm for magical innovation.*"
The fusion process was the most delicate part of the entire project, and Harry approached it with the sort of focused intensity that had once convinced his Defense professors that he might actually survive his tendency to seek out mortal peril. Unlike his ancestors, who had worked purely with Valyrian magical theory, Haerion was combining three distinct magical traditions—the ancient draconic knowledge he'd inherited, the sophisticated runic work he'd learned from Flitwick's goblin heritage, and the modern understanding of magical metallurgy that his Hogwarts education had provided.
"*You realize,*" Aegerax observed as Harry began the intricate process of binding the Elder Wand into the axe's handle, his mental voice carrying the tone of someone who'd watched entirely too many magical experiments go spectacularly wrong, "*that what you're attempting has never been done before. Integrating a wand of that power into a Valyrian Steel weapon... the magical resonances alone could be catastrophic if the binding fails. We could end up with anything from a localized reality collapse to a magical explosion that makes the Doom of Valyria look like a particularly energetic firework display.*"
"Which is why I've spent the last month calculating every possible interaction," Harry replied, his enhanced vision tracking the flow of magical energy as the Elder Wand began to merge with the carefully prepared Valyrian Steel matrix. His hands moved with practiced precision, the result of weeks of preparation and an analytical mind that had spent years dissecting complex magical theory. "The beauty of combining magical traditions is that each one covers the weaknesses of the others. Valyrian magic excels at permanent bindings but struggles with flexibility. Goblin metalwork is incredibly durable but limited in scope. Wizarding wand-craft provides precision and adaptability but lacks the raw power of dragon-enhanced steel."
"*And if your calculations are wrong?*"
"Then we'll have the most spectacular magical accident in recorded history," Harry said cheerfully, apparently finding the prospect more amusing than alarming. "On the bright side, if it goes catastrophically wrong, we probably won't be around long enough to feel embarrassed about it."
"*Your approach to risk assessment continues to be deeply concerning,*" Aegerax muttered, though his mental tone suggested resignation rather than genuine alarm. "*I begin to understand why your former world's magical authorities spent so much time worrying about your activities.*"
The process was like conducting a symphony of magical forces, each element needing to harmonize perfectly with the others or risk catastrophic failure. The Elder Wand's core of thestral hair writhed as it came into contact with the dragon-bone powder he'd incorporated into the steel, the two death-touched materials recognizing each other with an almost sentient awareness that made Harry's enhanced magical senses sing with recognition.
"Fascinating," he murmured, his voice taking on the tone of academic excitement that would have been immediately recognizable to anyone who'd spent time around magical researchers. "The thestral hair isn't rejecting the dragon bone—it's trying to form a sympathetic connection. Both materials are fundamentally linked to death and transformation, so they're naturally compatible on a magical level."
"*Careful,*" Aegerax warned as the magical energies began to spiral toward dangerous resonance, his mental voice carrying the sort of urgency that made Harry's enhanced instincts sit up and take notice. "*The Elder Wand was never meant to be subordinate to another magical focus. You're asking it to surrender its independence in favor of becoming part of something greater. If it resists the integration...*"
"Not surrender," Harry corrected, his hands moving in precise patterns as he guided the binding process through increasingly complex phases. His voice carried the confident authority of someone who'd spent considerable time thinking through the theoretical implications of what he was attempting. "Partnership. The same principle the Peverells used with their dragons, the same approach I've taken with you. The wand doesn't lose its identity—it gains the support of the axe's power while lending its own precision and control to the whole."
"*You're anthropomorphizing a piece of wood,*" Aegerax pointed out with amusement.
"A piece of wood that's been choosing its own masters for centuries and has demonstrated clear preferences about how it wants to be used," Harry replied without missing a beat. "At this point, I'm fairly convinced the Elder Wand has developed something approaching sentience. It's not just a tool—it's a partner that happens to be made of wood and thestral hair."
The moment when the binding completed itself was unmistakable. The Elder Wand didn't disappear so much as it *became* the axe's handle, its wood grain flowing seamlessly into the steel while retaining its essential nature. The weapon that emerged from the process was something entirely new—recognizably an axe, but one that hummed with barely contained power and seemed to bend light around its edges in ways that suggested it existed partially outside normal space-time.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, lifting the partially completed weapon and marveling at how the integration had exceeded even his most optimistic projections. "It worked better than I'd hoped. The wand's precision is still there, but now it's backed by the raw power of Valyrian Steel. And the resonance patterns... Aegerax, I think this thing could channel enough energy to level a city if I really put my mind to it."
"*Let's perhaps not test that particular capability while we're standing in an underground workshop,*" Aegerax suggested with the sort of dry humor that Harry had come to associate with the dragon's more practical moments. "*I'm quite fond of this mountain, and I'd prefer not to see it reduced to rubble in the name of magical experimentation.*"
But it was the addition of the Resurrection Stone that truly completed the weapon. The stone itself had been changing ever since Harry's arrival in this world, its original black surface gradually shifting to deep crimson that seemed to pulse with its own inner light. When he set it into the specially prepared socket at the axe's base, the entire weapon sang with harmonized power that made his enhanced magical senses ring like struck bells.
"*Magnificent,*" Aegerax breathed, his mental voice carrying profound admiration tinged with something that might have been awe. "*I can feel the weapon's power even from here, through solid stone and magical wards. You have created something that transcends the sum of its parts—a focus that could channel the power of dragons themselves. Or, if I'm being entirely honest, something that could probably give me a run for my money in a direct confrontation.*"
"High praise from someone who could probably take on a small army without breaking a sweat," Harry replied, lifting the completed weapon and marveling at how perfectly it balanced despite its apparent size. The axe was indeed shaped like Aegerax with wings spread—the double blades curved like outstretched wings, the handle flowing seamlessly from the dragon-form head, the Resurrection Stone glowing like a great red eye in the base. Despite being forged from steel and enhanced with magical cores, it weighed no more than a feather in his hands while radiating power that made the air around it shimmer with heat distortion.
"We still need a name," he said, performing a few experimental swings that sent cascades of golden sparks dancing through the air. The weapon moved like an extension of his will, responding to his intent with an eagerness that was almost frightening. When he channeled magic through it, the axe became a conduit for power on a scale that dwarfed anything he'd experienced with a conventional wand.
"*Something appropriately dramatic, no doubt,*" Aegerax said with fond exasperation. "*Knowing your taste for theatrical naming conventions, I suppose we'll end up with something like 'Doomreaper' or 'Worldender' or some other name that sounds like it belongs in a particularly overwrought heroic ballad.*"
"Hey, my naming conventions are perfectly reasonable," Harry protested with mock indignation. "I named my owl Hedwig, which is both dignified and practical. And I never once named a spell something ridiculous like 'Expelliarmus'—that was entirely someone else's fault."
"*Your owl was named after a medieval saint, which hardly counts as dramatic flair. And don't try to deflect with commentary about spell nomenclature—we both know you once referred to your Patronus as 'Prongs Junior' during a particularly emotional moment.*"
"That was *one time*, and I was under considerable stress," Harry replied, though his grin suggested he was enjoying the banter as much as the dragon was. "Besides, you're one to talk about dramatic naming conventions. What was your full title again? 'Aegerax the Eternal, Last of the Great Drakes, Keeper of the Ancient Flame, He Who Remembers the First Age'?"
"*That's a ceremonial title, not a name I chose for myself,*" Aegerax replied with dignity that was only slightly undermined by his obvious amusement. "*And it was bestowed upon me by beings who understood the importance of proper respect for ancient powers. Unlike certain wizards who name their magical weapons after household objects.*"
"*Certain wizards* who just forged the most powerful magical artifact in a thousand years," Harry pointed out, still grinning. "I think that earns me at least some leeway in the naming department."
"*Very well,*" Aegerax conceded with exaggerated reluctance. "*What did you have in mind?*"
"Dragonbane," Harry said suddenly, the name emerging from some deep instinct he hadn't known he possessed. As soon as he spoke it, the weapon pulsed with approval, its crimson core flaring brighter for a moment. "Not because it's meant to slay dragons, but because it could if necessary. A reminder that even the greatest powers must sometimes bow to necessity."
"*Dragonbane,*" Aegerax repeated, testing the name with obvious pleasure. His mental voice carried a note of approval that suggested the name had struck exactly the right balance between dramatic and meaningful. "*Yes, that suits it well. A weapon worthy of the last true Dragonlord, forged in the ancient ways but enhanced with modern wisdom. Your ancestors would be proud. Though I do appreciate the irony of a weapon named 'Dragonbane' being wielded by someone bonded to a dragon.*"
"The irony was entirely intentional," Harry replied with satisfaction. "Plus, it has the added benefit of being intimidating without being ridiculous. Anyone who hears the name will know they're dealing with something serious, but it doesn't sound like it was named by a particularly bloodthirsty ten-year-old."
"*A considerable improvement over some of the names favored by your predecessors,*" Aegerax agreed. "*I once knew a Dragonlord who named his sword 'Throatripper the Magnificent.' The weapon was indeed quite effective, but the name made it difficult to take him seriously during diplomatic negotiations.*"
Harry spent the rest of the day testing Dragonbane's capabilities, discovering new functions with each experiment. The weapon could store multiple spells simultaneously, releasing them with devastating precision when needed. It could channel his Patronus magic, creating guardians of silver flame that burned with dragon-fire. Most impressively, it could tap directly into his enhanced magical core, allowing him to cast spells of a power and complexity that would have been impossible with any conventional focus.
"This is bloody brilliant," he said after successfully casting a Protean Charm that linked a dozen different objects across the workshop, each one responding instantaneously to changes in the others. "The power amplification is incredible, but it's the precision that really impresses me. I can channel enough energy to level a building, but I can also perform delicate enchantments that require microscopic control. It's like having the best of both worlds."
"*The weapon appears to have inherited the Elder Wand's legendary adaptability while gaining the raw power of dragon-enhanced Valyrian Steel,*" Aegerax observed with satisfaction. "*Though I do hope you'll exercise appropriate restraint when testing its more destructive capabilities.*"
"Oh, I'm saving those for when we leave the ruins," Harry replied cheerfully. "I figure there are probably some convenient mountains I can practice on once we venture beyond Old Valyria. Plus, I should probably test the weapon under actual combat conditions before I trust it in a life-or-death situation."
But the weapon was only the beginning of his projects. In the corner of the workshop, carefully organized materials waited for his attention—dragonhide cured in magical salts, dragon bones carved with precision runes, Valyrian Steel components that would form the framework of a saddle worthy of the greatest dragon in the world.
The traditional Valyrian saddles had been masterworks of their time, but Harry's design would surpass them in every way. Where the originals had been simple harnesses designed to keep riders from falling during flight, his would be a true partnership between dragon and rider—a magical interface that would allow them to share senses, coordinate movements with thought-speed precision, and combine their powers in ways that neither could achieve alone.
"The saddle will have to wait a few more days," Harry said, carefully setting Dragonbane in a specially warded rack that he'd carved with runes designed to contain and channel the weapon's considerable magical emanations. "I want to spend some time with the axe first, learning all its capabilities before I start another major project. Plus, I should probably test the weapon under actual combat conditions before I trust it in a life-or-death situation."
"*Wise,*" Aegerax agreed, his mental voice carrying approval for Harry's unusually cautious approach. "*Though I suspect you will find few challenges worthy of such a weapon in these ruins. Perhaps it is time to consider venturing beyond the borders of Old Valyria? The world beyond has need of a true Dragonlord, and you have knowledge that could reshape the fate of nations.*"
"Soon," Harry promised, though his attention was already turning to the technical challenges of the saddle project. "But first, I want to complete the work here. The saddle, obviously, but also some of the other projects I've been planning. I found detailed instructions for creating crystal communication networks that could connect cities across continents, magical preservation techniques that could keep food fresh indefinitely, even theoretical frameworks for weather manipulation on a regional scale."
"*You seek to become more than just a warrior, then?*" Aegerax asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"I seek to become what a Dragonlord should be," Harry replied, his gaze moving across the workshop's organized chaos of projects in various stages of completion. His expression grew more serious as he contemplated the scope of what he was attempting. "Not just someone who rides dragons and wields great power, but someone who uses that power to build rather than destroy. The old Valyria fell because they became too focused on conquest and control, too willing to use power for its own sake rather than for any constructive purpose. If I'm going to carry on the legacy, I need to do it better."
"*A noble goal,*" Aegerax said, his mental voice carrying genuine respect. "*Though I wonder if you fully understand the scope of what you're proposing. The knowledge contained in these ruins could indeed reshape the world, but knowledge without wisdom has a tendency to create more problems than it solves.*"
"Which is why I'm not planning to unleash everything at once," Harry replied with a grin that suggested he'd given the matter considerable thought. "I'm thinking more along the lines of gradual introduction of beneficial technologies, careful establishment of trade relationships, and perhaps the occasional dramatic rescue of important people to establish my reputation as someone worth dealing with rather than someone worth fearing."
"*Your approach to world-changing magical innovation continues to be refreshingly practical,*" Aegerax observed with amusement. "*Most Dragonlords would have been planning grand conquests and the establishment of new empires by this point.*"
"Most Dragonlords didn't grow up in a world where they could see the consequences of unchecked power," Harry pointed out. "I've seen what happens when brilliant people with good intentions start thinking they know what's best for everyone else. It doesn't usually end well for anyone involved."
The workshop fell into comfortable silence as Harry began preparing for the next day's work. Tomorrow he would start on the saddle, using techniques passed down from his ancestors but enhanced with modern understanding and materials that the original craftsmen could never have imagined. The partnership between dragon and rider was about to evolve beyond anything the world had seen before.
Outside in the ruins of Old Valyria, volcanic peaks glowed against the darkening sky, and somewhere in the shadows, ancient powers stirred with interest. The last Dragonlord was preparing to reclaim his birthright, and the world itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what would come next.
But in the warm glow of the forge-light, surrounded by the tools of creation and the promise of tomorrow's work, Haerion Peverell felt more at peace than he had since arriving in this strange new world. He had found his purpose, claimed his heritage, and forged the weapon that would help him reshape the destiny of dragons and men alike.
"*You know,*" Aegerax said suddenly, his mental voice carrying a note of fond amusement, "*when I first sensed your arrival in this world, I expected to find either a conqueror or a madman. I never imagined I'd end up partnered with someone who approaches the resurrection of Dragonlord civilization like an interesting academic project.*"
"Well," Harry replied with a grin that would have been immediately recognizable to anyone who'd ever seen him facing down impossible odds with nothing but confidence and a possibly ill-advised sense of humor, "I've always been told I have a talent for exceeding expectations. Usually in ways that give authority figures premature gray hair, but still."
The age of Dragonlords was about to begin again, and this time, it would be built on foundations of wisdom rather than mere power. And if it happened to be guided by someone with an irreverent sense of humor and a talent for making the impossible look easy, well, that was probably exactly what the world needed.
---
**Deep within the Fourteen Flames**
In the deepest reaches of the volcanic peaks that had once been the heart of Valyrian power, where the very stones wept molten tears and the air itself burned with residual magic, something stirred in chambers that had been sealed since the Doom. The caverns here existed in a space between spaces, carved not from mere stone but from crystallized time and hardened shadow, where the laws of reality bent like heated metal under the hammer of unimaginable power.
The thing that had once been Malachar Peverell hung suspended in a cocoon of its own making—threads of darkness woven from captured screams, filaments of crystallized despair that pulsed with the heartbeats of a thousand sacrificed souls. For a millennium, it had slumbered in this web of self-imposed exile, feeding on the ambient death-magic that saturated the ruins while dreaming dreams that would have driven lesser minds to madness.
But now, something had changed.
The resonance of dragonfire touched its consciousness like a familiar caress, carrying with it the unmistakable signature of Aegerax's ancient power. But there was something else—something new and impossibly tantalizing. The scent of Peverell blood, enhanced by dragon-fire and singing with the harmonic frequencies of a true bonding.
Eyes that had once been human opened in the darkness. They were no longer eyes in any meaningful sense—pools of liquid shadow that reflected not light but memory, showing glimpses of horrors that existed in the spaces between heartbeats. When they focused, reality seemed to flinch away from their attention.
"*Impossible,*" the thing whispered, and its voice was the sound of graves opening, of final breaths being drawn, of hope dying in a mother's arms. The words echoed through dimensions that existed only in nightmares. "*The line was broken. The bloodline was extinct. I felt them die, felt their souls scatter like autumn leaves in the Doom's fire.*"
But the resonance was unmistakable. Somewhere in these ruins, a true Peverell walked among the living, their dragon-touched blood calling to the ancient stones with a voice that could not be ignored. More than that—they had bound themselves to Aegerax, the last of the great dragons, in a partnership that sang with power enough to wake even the deepest sleepers.
The cocoon began to dissolve, threads of crystallized darkness unraveling as the creature within stirred to full consciousness for the first time in centuries. What emerged was no longer recognizably human, though it retained an echo of the form Malachar had once worn. Tall and impossibly thin, wrapped in shadows that moved independently of any light source, with hands that ended in fingers like black glass and a face that seemed to shift between different expressions of ancient torment.
"*A descendant,*" it mused, tasting the word like fine wine. "*But which line? The direct inheritors died with Aegon the Last, burned to ash in the flames of their own making. Unless...*"
Memory flickered through its consciousness—fragments of knowledge preserved from its mortal days. The Peverell bloodline had not been confined to Valyria, had not been limited to the dragon-lords who had ruled from towers of black stone. There had been... others. Branches of the family tree that had spread to distant lands, carrying diluted but still potent traces of the ancient blood.
"*The wizarding world,*" it breathed, and the words carried such hunger that nearby stones cracked under the weight of its desire. "*One of the lost branches has returned home. How... delicious.*"
The creature that had been Malachar moved through the caverns with the fluid grace of spilled oil, its form seeming to flow rather than walk. The ancient protections that guarded these depths recognized it as kin and parted before its passage, revealing corridors that had been sealed since the Doom. As it traveled, it reached out with senses that existed beyond the merely physical, tasting the magical resonances that filled the air like perfume.
The new Peverell was powerful—more powerful than any Dragonlord who had lived for centuries. The dragon-bond had awakened something in their blood that sang with harmonic frequencies that made even this ancient predator pause in appreciation. But there was more than just power. There was knowledge, innovation, a mind that approached the ancient arts with fresh perspective and dangerous creativity.
"*They are making something,*" it realized, sensing the flow of magical energies from the direction of the old workshops. "*Forging. Creating. Building upon the work of their ancestors with techniques that never existed in our time.*"
A sound escaped the creature that might once have been laughter, but was now something far more terrible—the sound of children crying in empty rooms, of wind through abandoned graveyards, of the last light failing in dying eyes.
"*How wonderfully naive. They think themselves the inheritor of the Peverell legacy, the keeper of ancient wisdom. They have no idea what that legacy truly contains. What prices were paid in the darkness beneath the Freehold. What hungers were awakened in the pursuit of power eternal.*"
The creature paused at a junction of corridors, its shadow-wrapped form considering options that had been closed for a thousand years. It could confront this new descendant directly, reveal itself and demand acknowledgment of its claim to the Peverell name. But that would be crude, inelegant—the approach of a simple monster rather than the sophisticated predator it had become.
No, better to watch. To learn. To understand what this young inheritor had discovered, what innovations they had achieved, what weaknesses they had yet to recognize. The creature had waited a millennium for something interesting to happen in these ruins—it could afford to be patient a little longer.
"*Let them forge their pretty weapons,*" it whispered to the darkness. "*Let them dream their noble dreams of rebuilding what was lost. When they have achieved all they can achieve, when they have reached the limits of their mortal understanding... then I will introduce myself properly. Then I will show them what it truly means to be a Peverell.*"
The thing that had once been Malachar settled into the shadows at the junction, becoming one with the darkness that pooled between the ancient stones. From here, it could observe without being observed, could taste every magical working that took place in the workshops above, could feed on the ambient power while learning everything there was to know about this fascinating new development.
In the distance, the sound of hammering echoed through the ruins—the steady rhythm of creation, of building, of hope made manifest in steel and flame. The creature listened with something that might have been nostalgia, remembering a time when it too had worked in these forges, when it too had dreamed of pushing the boundaries of what was possible.
But that time was long past. What remained was hunger, and patience, and a terrible understanding of what lay beyond the boundaries that mortals dared not cross.
"*Welcome home, young Peverell,*" it whispered to the volcanic air. "*Let us see if you are worthy of the name you bear. Let us see if you have the strength to face what your bloodline has become.*"
In the workshops above, Haerion Peverell worked on, unaware that in the depths below, something that had once shared his name was awakening to the scent of dragon-fire and the promise of reunion with a family it had thought lost forever.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!