Erwin shook his head, forcing down his simmering anger. Soren was done for, in his eyes—utterly doomed. And yet, they'd gone and rescued the fool from who-knew-what manner of horror, possibly even a greater threat lurking in the shadows. No wonder he was fuming.
Still, he hadn't come away empty-handed. Erwin turned toward the massive dragon hovering in the air, its scales glinting under the dim light. Freed from the suppressive pull of any dragon rider's bloodline, the beast blinked in confusion, tilting its head to meet his gaze. Something in Erwin's aura stirred an instinctive pull; the dragon edged closer, almost warily.
"Come here," Erwin beckoned.
The dragon lumbered forward on heavy paws, nuzzling its enormous head against his arm like an oversized hound seeking affection. Erwin scratched under its jaw, earning a low, rumbling purr.
"Got a name?" he asked.
A garbled murmur escaped the beast—far too lengthy and guttural to wrangle.
"Too complicated," Erwin decided. "From now on, you're Big Head."
The dragon froze, wings twitching in what looked like stunned protest. It was a pinnacle predator among magical creatures, after all—a T0 beast in the wizarding world's brutal hierarchy. Big Head? The name grated against its pride.
But one glance at Erwin's steady eyes, coupled with the memory of his effortless dominance in battle, quelled any rebellion. Big Head dipped its head in submission, even rumbling what sounded like approval for its new moniker.
Erwin smirked, satisfied. He rested a hand on the dragon's scaled brow. In an instant, the feral haze clouding its gaze lifted, replaced by a clearer, almost scholarly sharpness. The innate savagery that defined its kind? Eradicated, leaving behind a tamed loyalty without diminishing its power.
"Stay put—I'll be back," Erwin said, eyeing Big Head's now-bright eyes.
The dragon nodded, launching itself skyward with a powerful flap of leathery wings. It settled atop the tower's spire as if the spot had been carved for it alone—tail curled around the stone, claws gripping firmly, wings folded in repose. The perch suited it perfectly, a natural throne amid the ruins.
Erwin shot a nod to Vinda. She returned it with a faint smile. "Go on."
He strode into the tower without another glance. The Ministry officials outside gaped, their authority trampled yet again. First, Grindelwald had waltzed in and out like a guest at a tea party. Now, the enigmatic new leader of the Acolytes sauntered past them into the heart of the matter. It was a blatant slap to the Ministry's face.
But with the ring of Acolytes encircling them—wands at the ready—the officials wisely held their tongues. A few sharper minds among them slipped away quietly, recognizing this was far beyond their pay grade. Soon, the Ministry contingent dispersed entirely, leaving only the Acolytes to stand vigil for their emerging master.
Inside the shadowed chamber, Erwin found Grindelwald propped against the wall, idly turning pages in a worn tome. The old wizard looked remarkably composed, as if imprisonment were merely an inconvenience.
"Your Majesty," Erwin greeted.
Grindelwald set the book aside with a nod. "Take a seat. I imagine you've got questions."
Erwin settled onto a nearby crate. "That... thing out there. What was it?"
Grindelwald's eyes sharpened. "Not entirely sure, but most call them false gods."
"False gods?" Erwin echoed, brow furrowing.
"Beings who pilfer the gods' own authority," Grindelwald explained. "You know how ancient magic faded with the gods' vanishing—righteous or malevolent, they all withdrew from our world. Your duel earlier... if I'm right, you tapped into Founder Rowena Ravenclaw's divine power."
Erwin stayed silent; he couldn't divulge Ravenclaw's secrets without permission. But the founder herself materialized in a swirl of ethereal light, her translucent form hovering curiously.
Grindelwald rose to bow. "Founder Rowena Ravenclaw."
She inclined her head. "A shame, your potential marred like that. With it intact, you might have wielded divine power yourself."
He chuckled dryly. "No great loss. Divine power is beyond mortals like me—even a taste wouldn't upend the board. Gods are just wizards writ large, after all. I'm content with what I've got."
Ravenclaw turned to Erwin. "Child, do you grasp the divide between gods and wizards?"
"Divine power?" he ventured.
"Precisely. Gods are wizards who've transmuted every ounce of their magic into divine essence—a force that eclipses mere spells, as you've now felt."
Erwin nodded, recalling the surge he'd borrowed from her: an overwhelming tide, raw and unbound by incantations.
"The Four Founders," she continued, "earned our title as the era's mightiest because we grasped fragments of it. But true gods? They've forsaken magic entirely, their essence pure divinity. We wielded echoes, but full conversion demands eons—and hidden perils we never uncovered."
"So no wizard ascends to godhood?" Erwin pressed. "That clashes with what you both implied—gods as amplified wizards. How do they make the leap?"
Ravenclaw's spectral gaze distant. "The primordial gods' path eludes us. But later ones? They carved a shortcut, craving divine might without the wait. These pretenders, once they seize enough power, earn the mocking title of false gods."
"The shortcut?" Erwin leaned forward.
"Stealing it outright," she said. "Siphon a god's authority, and you can channel their essence in their stead. Even absent, traces linger—like the Power of Death you claimed. Accumulate enough, and you mimic godhood. But it's hollow; they wield the strength without true dominion. False gods, every one—and that black mist? One such thief."
Erwin's mind raced, piecing together the implications. The tower's chill deepened as Ravenclaw faded back into dormancy, leaving him to grapple with the revelation. Outside, Big Head's watchful silhouette loomed against the stars, a loyal sentinel in the gathering storm.
...
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