Rowena woke before dawn, trembling. For the first time in months, her eyes shone not with exhaustion, but with purpose. "I saw it," she whispered, voice shaking. "A place hidden by mountains, wrapped in mist. A lake as still as glass, and a castle—our castle—rising from the cliffs."
At first I thought she was delirious. Dreams were dangerous things in this age; too often they ended in fire and accusations of witchcraft. But when she spoke again, her words carried the same strange resonance I'd heard once before—prophecy.
And I remembered. From the Harry Potter books of my old world, from legends yet unwritten. Rowena Ravenclaw's dream. The dream that led them to the spot where Hogwarts would be built.
So here we are, six figures trudging north beneath a gray sky: Godric at the front, sword slung over his back; Salazar gliding through the underbrush like a serpent; Helga humming softly, steadying everyone's nerves; Rowena following the pull of fate; and me—Seraphina Silverwind—half scholar, half walking system, clutching the Elder Wand beneath my cloak.
The road is little more than mud and frost. Every breath stings. Yet Rowena keeps moving, pausing now and again to tilt her head, as if listening to something beyond hearing. I watch her carefully, scanning the magical currents that swirl around her. Prophetic energy registers like static against my skin—chaotic, unstable, but undeniably real.
When we finally crest a ridge, the world opens before us. Mist coils through a vast valley; a dark, mirror-smooth lake lies at its center, reflecting the sky. Beyond it, jagged cliffs rise like the edges of a crown.
Rowena stops, gasping. "Here," she says. "This is it."
A shiver races down my spine. I can almost feel the echo of future centuries—the laughter of students, the rustle of robes, the hum of wards that will one day guard these grounds.
"Beautiful," Helga murmurs.
Godric plants his sword in the earth. "Then this is where we'll make our stand."
Salazar crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. "A fortress in the wilderness? We'll need wards strong enough to hide us from every priest and zealot in Britain."
"That," I say, stepping forward, "I can handle."
I raise my hand and let the Elder Wand slip into my grip. Power hums through my veins. "Lumos Maxima."
Light bursts from the tip, scattering the mist for a heartbeat and illuminating the valley. The others gasp softly. I grin. "If Rowena's dream brought us here, then my system will make sure we stay."
I whisper, "Open Status."
The translucent panel flickers before me:Quest: Establish a Safe Sanctuary for Magic Users – Progress 0 %. Reward: 500 points + Skill Upgrade Token.
Perfect.
I kneel, press my palm to the ground, and start mapping out the ley-lines only I can see—streams of latent magic criss-crossing beneath the soil like luminous veins. "The energy here is extraordinary," I murmur. "We can anchor wards directly into the ley-network. It'll make the site self-sustaining."
Rowena watches, awed. "You speak of things I've never even read about."
"Give it time," I reply. "We'll write the book ourselves."
As evening falls, we make camp by the lakeshore. The mist glows faintly in the moonlight, and for the first time in months, I feel hope instead of fear.
Rowena sits beside me, drawing the outline of a castle in the dirt—four towers, one for each of us. "Do you think," she asks quietly, "it will last?"
I smile, gazing at the faint shimmer of magic rippling across the lake. "Long enough that even a thousand years from now, people will still call it home."
The system chimes softly in my mind.
[Quest Progress 5 % – Site Chosen Successfully]
The dream has become direction, and direction is the beginning of destiny.
Tomorrow, we start building.