Chapter 1: The Fourth Era
Minato would never admit it out loud, not even under threat of death or torture. For the firstborn of the Udgard family—who, on top of everything, was also the only one among his siblings who had met his grandfather, the first emperor of the world, the great Naruto Uchiha, also known as the King of Kings, the First of All, among countless other titles—such a confession was unthinkable.
But he was digressing. The point was that, in his more than thirty thousand years of life, the man—usually stoic and serene—had rarely shown signs of worry. He had witnessed the rise of the kings of the Second and Third Eras and had survived them… which had been no easy feat, considering how dangerously volatile those men's tempers had been.
And if he had to be completely honest with himself at this very moment, the truth was that he was far more troubled than he had ever been throughout his long reign as sovereign of the global magical population—although a more precise word might be consternated.
The issue was that, in recent years, he had noticed many truly disturbing signs—some far more alarming than others—most of them, of course, coming from two places which, unsurprisingly, had always been his greatest sources of concern. Magical Britain had always been a den of fools whom both the King of the Second Era and the King of the Third Era had kept in check, just to prevent them from committing a million idiocies within a single year… Even his grandfather had admitted that, had it not been for his profound love for Grandmother Artoria, he would hardly have involved himself with Britain at all.
And yet, the inbred fools of the island nation were not the ones troubling him the most. True, those idiots constantly violated the International Statute of the Separation of Worlds by failing to blend properly into non-magical society, but those were minor nuisances, easily handled with the help of the Pendragon clan and their Renaissance-fair cover story.
The other source of trouble, however, was far more worrisome: the non-magical world as a whole—particularly the Europeans and the western reaches of Asia—who harbored an almost racial hatred toward anyone with magic running through their veins. And all of it stemmed from that damned event Flamel had engineered in order to create his accursed stone. Ever since he had unleashed the Black Death, non-magicals had grown not only more aggressive toward magicians, but had also thrown the balance of the population into chaos.
Before that catastrophe—not even centuries ago, for he recalled that the last magical census prior to the epidemic had been conducted only a few years earlier—both populations had been perfectly balanced, with roughly fifteen percent of the world's people capable of wielding magic.
But after the Nameless One had created his cursed stone—which, to make matters worse, had been lost during the Second World War—the magical population had endured countless blows. These not only made coexistence between the two worlds impossible, forcing him to implement the Statute of Separation, but also drove magical numbers into drastic decline. Now, most magical races stood at the very brink of extinction. His own people, the elves, numbered barely two thousand pure-blooded individuals, and to stave off inbreeding, they had begun coupling with any other magical race available—chiefly nymphs, vampires, and sirenfolk.
Be that as it may, the non-magical world was now proving what his grandfather had told him a thousand times over: that they were little more than a horde of fools, confusing free will and liberty with sheer debauchery. Not that there weren't magicians guilty of similar failings, but they were certainly far fewer than among the non-magicals.
And yes, of course he knew his thoughts were wandering in a thousand different directions at once; he understood well enough that the reality of things was far more complex than it might appear at first glance. People often wondered why he had stormed Nurmengard when Albus Dumbledore imprisoned his former lover there, only to subject the damned dark wizard to the worst torment ever devised by magical kind—the very same punishment inflicted upon Flamel: an eternity in the White Dimension, with the Elixir of Life endlessly dripping onto his brow. Sometimes he wondered why on earth Charlie insisted on calling him a good man, when he was capable of imagining punishments of such magnitude. But, truth be told, he could hardly bring himself to care.
Many had never understood why he had condemned that undoubtedly deranged man to one of the greatest torments known to magicians. In his view, however, the man had deserved it. For if one ignored the fact that the fool had attempted open rebellion against the legitimate magical government, he had also been idiotic enough to gift humankind the power of nuclear energy. Had the idiot forgotten that the only thing non-magicals excelled at was finding ever more horrific ways to kill?
He had certainly wished to remain apart from that damned war. None of the great rulers of the magical nations had the slightest desire to take part in it at first. Yet, the very moment it was discovered that Grindelwald had granted the non-magicals the power of the atomic bomb, there was simply no choice. They had been forced to deploy every single Royal Knight in their ranks, both to stop the accursed dark wizard and to pressure all magical nations into action, in the vain hope of preventing those fools from fully developing the power of nuclear fire.
They had not been particularly successful—if the two bombs detonated in Japan were any indication. Still, at the very least, they had managed to force a sort of stalemate, one in which none of the non-magical governments would dare turn their nuclear might upon their enemies. They had accepted this compromise, for the truth was that the world as they knew it would have utterly perished had they failed to bring the situation to such a halt.
Only for another damned Dark Lord to rise soon after—certainly far less ambitious than Grindelwald, who had sought to conquer and rule the entire world. This new Dark Lord sought only to rule the British Isles.
That had been for the best, for so long as his influence remained confined to those islands, they could manage most of the consequences—even if, tragically, nearly half the magical families there had been decimated or outright annihilated.
And the fact that the Dark Lord had been slain by a mere infant, through some absurd twist of fate, had certainly helped make the problem vanish more quickly. Of course, Minato was fully aware that the story contained so many holes as to be scarcely believable at best. But so long as it caused no further trouble, he allowed the Britons to worship their "Boy Who Lived." Moreover, the storybooks written about the child did make excellent bedtime tales for his own children. Naturally, they knew it was fiction and did not view the boy as some kind of idol—but that did not make the books any less delightful.
Setting aside that single lighter thought which haunted his mind, the truth was he faced a thousand problems, most of them born in the past forty years. Each was small on its own, but the eruption of even one would trigger the rest, inevitably leading to the total collapse of the magical world.
And despite the wisdom he had accumulated over more than thirty millennia of existence, and his power greater than extraordinary, he felt utterly overwhelmed by the sheer number of problems with which he was forced to contend. He needed to solve them quickly, for if he did not, his wives and his children would most certainly be in danger.
Now, more than ever in his millennial life, he longed to have his grandfather by his side. The man who had once united all peoples into one could surely resolve every torment that plagued him with ease. Or, at the very least, Minato wished he had not been a foolish child who chose to play and indulge himself during his grandfather's final years, instead of doing what a prince ought to have done: learning the craft of his father, so that one day he could rule with the same efficacy his grandfather had achieved.
Frustration weighed on him now, for no matter which way he tried to approach the matter, always—absolutely always—he arrived at the same conclusion: the root of most of his troubles lay in Britain, or more specifically, in the inherent arrogance that seemed to infest his British subjects.
After all, the pompous pure-blood incompetents of that nation regarded non-magicals as little more than apes in clothing, utterly blind to the very real threat those non-magicals posed to magical races.
And the non-magical-born of that country were scarcely any better. Raised by their biological parents rather than taken from them and given to magical families, they grew up seeing the non-magical world as the pinnacle of development, and thus sought to unite both worlds without considering the dire consequences of doing so.
By now, Minato felt he would likely need to consult his personal physician later for the splitting headache that plagued him. For the moment, the current King of All Magicians chose to cast those thoughts aside, letting himself sink back upon his throne.
He needed to think of something far less troublesome—anything—to banish the migraine before his damned head exploded.
"You look terrible, Father."
Minato could not help but smile the moment he heard the soft voice of his firstborn. Of course, he was aware that the boy was using the innate gift of sirens—the ability to influence the emotions of others with their voices and compel them to relax. But, honestly, he did not mind. It was far better to be victim of that gift than to endure the dreadful stress-induced migraine that had plagued him only moments ago.
With his pain momentarily eased, the man allowed his lips to curve into a faint smile before lifting his gaze to his eldest son.
The boy had just turned eleven on the seventh of July, and as could be expected from a siren–elf hybrid, he was already beginning to develop the physical traits that would, without doubt, make him the most sought-after bachelor among the high nobility within a few years… well, sought after by the young ladies, rather than their parents, who cared only for the benefits that marriage into the Udgard line would bring.
Turning his full attention to his son, the young one possessed a milky complexion that bordered on the inhuman, which, instead of making him look ill, granted him an aura of otherworldly beauty. He seemed almost to emit a gentle glow of his own. His hair was a vivid crimson, as bright as the sun itself, appearing to ripple as though stirred by a nonexistent breeze. His eyes were a blue as deep as the ocean. Yes, Minato had no doubt whatsoever that, in only a few years, Kushina would have to fend off the girls swarming after her son with a stick… or else try to see him bed them all to build her an army of grandchildren. It would depend entirely on her mood at the time.
"Yes, Hurricane, I'm fine… just stressed by all the work I have to do," Minato replied, doing his best to steer his thoughts away from their earlier course, choosing instead to hold on to those that revolved around his son. Perhaps his Velkhana had frozen one wing of the castle and needed his help to thaw it, or perhaps the boy wanted a new pet. To be honest, any distraction would be better than sinking back into the storm of his previous thoughts.
Naruto, of course, seemed to perceive this without difficulty. It was natural for sirens, and it was an ability his mother had been training in both him and his sister: the capacity to sense the emotions and desires of others as if they were open books. That, combined with the vision of the elves, left very little that his father could hide from him.
For that reason, though he could have called out his father's lie, Naruto chose instead to let things be. He walked over to him, and Minato lifted him onto his knee as he had done since the boy was old enough to remember—and old enough to sit without anyone else having to support his back.
Truthfully, neither of them felt much like talking. They preferred to share the silence, rather than ruin the tranquil atmosphere with words that would most likely send Minato spiraling back into the storm of scattered thoughts in which his son had found him upon entering his private chamber.
Unfortunately, Minato was soon wrapped once more in a far more complex sea of thoughts—though this time, not as bleak. Instead, it was a vortex of plans, most of them tied in one way or another to his son, at least as an attempt to solve part of his many problems. Of course, it could not be the issue of the non-magicals; that, he would have to resolve himself. He only hoped that the so-called United Nations would prove at least marginally useful, and not merely another new body of supposed international peace that the powerful used to do as they pleased. The gods knew it was taking all he had to keep his sister from unleashing her plan to reconquer their lost territories.
Of course, he would need to find a way to train him in his ritual technique, but he supposed that a private tutor once a week would suffice.
"Father."
Once again, Naruto pulled him from his reverie, and the man's blue eyes blinked a few times to clear his mind.
"All is well, Hurricane. I was just thinking about something you might help me with," Minato said, his tone gentle—though, of course, that very softness made Naruto instinctively suspect that this "something" was not going to be to his liking. Even so, he had been raised to at least listen before refusing a request from his elders.
"I believe it is time for you to attend one of the schools the magical world has to offer."
"I'm not sure the private tutors you hired for my siblings would approve of that—least of all Wendy. You know we've gone everywhere together since the day she was born," Naruto answered calmly, making Minato grimace. He had not accounted for his youngest daughter… Well, he supposed he could do something about that. After all, it was necessary for his son to enter the school if Minato was to force his hand in the governmental affairs of Great Britain.
"I know, Hurricane… but I need you to do this for me. It is the only way to resolve my problems with… the British and their stubborn refusal to accept that non-magicals are a true threat to our people," Minato explained in a quiet voice, more than aware that his son, being as stubborn as he was, would never help him if he detected even the slightest hint of deceit. And Naruto was keen enough to spot even the smallest lie wrapped in a mountain of truths.
It took Naruto a moment to process his words—or rather, to absorb and accept the news. He knew, of course, that there was more to the matter than his father was letting on. But since Minato was not lying outright, he supposed he could at least keep listening.
"So you're sending me to Hogwarts," Naruto asked calmly, though with a faint twist of disdain. After all, if what Artoria had told him about the schools the magical world had to offer was true, then… his stay there—short as he hoped it would be—was going to be a bloody nightmare.
"Indeed," Minato replied simply, though his son's expression shifted from a mere slight grimace to one far more pronounced. "Is something the matter, Hurricane?" he asked, raising a brow. He would not admit it, but with all the crises he had been handling over the past decades, he had paid very little attention to the steadily declining educational standards in the British Isles.
"Mordred… she left that school after only her first year," Naruto commented cautiously, well aware that his cousin would hardly appreciate him repeating her exact words in describing the place. Something about Morgan washing her mouth out with soap if she ever found out her little sister spoke like a drunken sailor with a particularly foul tongue.
"That doesn't surprise me in the least, you know; Mordred is hardly the scholarly type," Minato remarked calmly. Truth be told, his many-times-great-niece was far more a warrior's spirit than a scholar's. In fact, from what he knew, she was already excelling at the Royal Knights' Academy and was on her way to becoming the youngest graduate in history.
"Father, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but… have you paid any attention to Hogwarts' educational standards over the past fifty years?" Naruto asked. Though he had no personal interest in the matter, he had looked into it nonetheless. His mother had told him that, as crown prince, the time would come when he would have to take a more active role in his father's governance of the magical world, and so he kept himself informed about the most important issues.
"I've had rather more pressing matters to deal with, Hurricane," Minato responded, watching his son struggle briefly, as if searching for the best way to explain something he did not know.
"The school has several truly serious problems, Father," Naruto began, having finally found the right words to explain the precarious state of one of the oldest institutions in the magical world. "But three stand out. The first: its Potions Master is, in Cousin Mordred's words, 'a greasy idiot who did nothing but insult me for my blue blood, and the rest of the students for lacking his so-called talent in brewing.'"
Minato pushed aside the urge to scold his son for calling a professor an "idiot," choosing instead to focus on the fact that, apparently, Professor Slughorn had grown senile and rather surly in his old age—or, at best, had retired, leaving his post to someone with poor temper and no real ability to teach. After all, no matter how skilled a teacher might be, he should never belittle his students for not matching his talents, and certainly never insult them. Though, now that Minato thought of it, given how overprotective Artoria was of her younger sisters, he was surprised the man still had his head attached to his shoulders. Well, something to inquire about later.
"And the other two problems?" he asked, perhaps realizing he might need to resolve an educational crisis before addressing the social one.
"The History of Magic professor is a ghost, and there's an apparent curse that plagues the Defense Against the Dark Arts post," Naruto replied calmly, as though these were minor details. He supposed, in a way, they were—since anyone who insulted his family was immediately an enemy to him.
"Is there more?" Minato asked, keeping his voice as even as possible.
"I could make you a list, Father. Mordred was very vocal and specific about all the issues that plague that school, especially after she entered the Academy and saw what a real school looks like," Naruto answered evenly, partly because there were far too many problems to explain one by one, and partly because there were so many he didn't want to miss any. He preferred to confirm with his cousin so as not to forget a single one.
Minato had to suppress a groan of exasperation. If it required a full list to catalogue the school's shortcomings, then it was certainly not going to be a short list. Naruto never made a written list unless there were more than twenty problems.
"Do that, Hurricane. For now, I need to speak with Artoria."
Recognizing dismissal when he heard it, Naruto simply rose, gave his father a polite bow, and left the office. He would spend the afternoon with his little sister—though not before writing to Mordred and asking her to help him draft his list.
End of Chapter.
Author's Note: Yes, another restart—or rather, a re-edition. I realized just how glaringly flawed the previous version had been and, gods, I was a complete idiot with it. Reading it was unbearably heavy, simply awful. This time, as you can see, not only did I use far simpler language, but I even replaced the useless filler with new information.