After the ordeal, every reindeer collapsed, eyes closed, lying motionless except for the faint rise and fall of their chests.
The Purification Curse drew forth another wisp of black vapor—no different from the darkness extracted before.
"What are you, really? Just a pure Obscurus?" Wyzett murmured, brow furrowed. "Why is all your magic built on Obscurial power?"
"This kind of control looks stable... but it's so fragile. What are you relying on to wield this force?"
The circus master before him was a riddle wrapped in shadows, a puzzle begging for study.
Wyzett's mind raced. His eyes flicked to the circus master's hands. "Is it that walking stick?"
With the crimson orb shattered, the circus master was wracked by a new fit of coughing. This time, it wasn't just blood—black vapor and blood seeped from every feature of his face.
He turned deathly pale, worn so thin he looked ready to crumble at any moment.
"I won't let you stop me..." the circus master gasped, clutching the staff to his chest as if trying to merge it with his heart.
His body convulsed. Without a single incantation or flourish, the staff erupted with a blinding stream of plasma—thick as a bowl, roaring like thunder—hurtling straight at Wyzett.
Ancient Magic: Instant Shield
The plasma was almost upon him when Wyzett snapped his wand up. A shimmering barrier blossomed from within, deflecting the attack with effortless grace.
"Læviasa!"
He countered in a flash. The Ancient Magic: Soaring Charm wrapped around the ringmaster's throat, hoisting him high into the air.
The circus master thrashed wildly, accidentally dropping his staff. It plunged into the ground, sending up a burst of radiant light.
Wyzett frowned. He hadn't expected a wizard capable of infiltrating the Swedish Ministry of Magic to be this feeble.
Aside from a knack for Transfiguration, the man seemed clumsy with other spells—like someone who'd never had formal training, relying solely on raw talent and a handful of tricks.
The circus master struggled against the magical grip, coughing up more blood with every movement, his whole being unraveling before their eyes.
Until, suddenly, black vapor gushed from his features, and in an instant, he dissolved into a swirling cloud of darkness.
An Obscurus.
It flickered in the air, nearly forming a human shape before dispersing again—returning to its chaotic, formless state.
Watching this eerie transformation, Wyzett felt a wild theory spark in his mind. If a wizard could give birth to an Obscurus... could an Obscurus, in turn, give rise to a wizard?
A strange certainty crept over him: if he could unravel this, perhaps he could truly master the Obscurus within himself.
Maybe he could go even further—understand the soul itself, from the Obscurus's perspective.
But before he could chase that thought, the spot where the staff had fallen exploded with blinding light, igniting the cyclone pattern on the ground. A massive vortex spun into existence, its purpose clear—locking onto the floating Obscurus and drawing it in.
In a heartbeat, the Obscurus was devoured. The entire island began to shudder.
The moment the Obscurus vanished, the reindeer awoke—restored to human form. Panic-stricken, they fled from the stage, desperate to put distance between themselves and the nightmare.
At the center of the cyclone, a tender green sprout emerged, as if what had been absorbed wasn't an Obscurus, but a seed brimming with life.
The sprout, delicate yet impossibly strong, pushed the staff aside. The staff toppled, forgotten.
The sprout shot up, becoming a sapling, then a towering tree, its branches unfurling in all directions.
The branches lifted not just the staff, but also the still-struggling sharks, bursting through the top of the circus tent.
They stretched further and further, but the tree's crown never appeared.
Wyzett and Luna craned their necks, gazing up at the massive cloud overhead. The same realization struck them both: "The crown is that cloud! This is the World Tree!"
Suddenly, a voice as ancient and sonorous as a horn echoed in their minds.
The words were muddled, yet their meaning was unmistakable.
It asked, in a tone as slow and deep as time itself: "The sacrifice has been made. What is your wish? Come to me—tell me."
Wyzett and Luna exchanged glances. Tentatively, they asked, "Did you hear that?"
Xenophilius stared, astonished. "You both heard a voice just now too?"
The two nodded. Then, another voice echoed in their minds: "I want water... I want to live!"
"I shall give you water," the ancient voice replied, and then fell silent.
Xenophilius blinked. "Who made that wish just now...?"
Before anyone could answer, the World Tree's crown began to sway, releasing a flurry of ash and snowflakes—summoning the sea itself.
With the roar of endless tides, a curtain of ocean rose slowly, hanging above the island like a shimmering veil.
Wyzett couldn't help but laugh. "Now, someone needs water... but up there—looks like it's just the sharks who'll get it."
A sudden flash of fire burst into being.
Dumbledore strode out from the flames, two wizards floating in his wake.
One wizard's chin lolled against his chest, unconscious.
The other, sporting a goatee, was wrapped in chains and suspended in a bubble of water—also unconscious, but doubly confined.
Wyzett stared, astonished. "Headmaster Dumbledore... how did you get here?"
"This time, I believe I've arrived just in time!" Dumbledore said with a gentle shake of his head, waving his wand lightly. "I only meant to take a relaxing holiday, but it seems trouble has a way of finding me."
A soft bed materialized behind him, catching the slumping wizard.
Wyzett noticed the wizard's robes—familiar. He frowned. "Headmaster Dumbledore, are you... assisting with the Swedish Ministry of Magic investigation?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "The Swedish Ministry did contact me, but I'm actually helping the Department of Mysteries."
Wyzett nodded. "Headmaster, I've seen the Obscurus that attacked the Swedish Ministry. So, the man behind you... he's the real mastermind?"
He glanced up at the sky, where that oceanic curtain was still rising.
Yet, with Dumbledore present, he felt no fear. If anything, the air felt lighter—like he was back at Hogwarts.
"Yes, he orchestrated all of this," Dumbledore confirmed. "There's another group involved as well... I suspect you've already met them."
"Ms. Sallow and Mr. Ominis?" Wyzett realized. "What are they really planning?"
Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "They intend to defy a prophecy—to stand against whatever this 'mastermind' has planned next."
Wyzett pressed, "A prophecy... a real one? The kind that truly foretells the future? From a true Seer?"
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