The sky now belonged to Harry.
But the earth still whispered secrets.
From the command deck of the Prydwen, Harry studied the glowing map projected from his Pip-Point. Beneath the ruined Commonwealth pulsed a hidden network of energy signatures—clean, radiation-free, precise.
The mark of the The Institute.
"Teleportation detected," a Brotherhood scribe muttered nervously.
Harry didn't need their scanners.
He could feel it.
A hum in reality itself.
Synthetic life moving through space like chess pieces.
He closed his eyes.
"Revelio."
The world shifted.
For a split second, the illusion of the wasteland peeled back—and he saw it. A white, sterile labyrinth far below ground. Synthetic humans. Laboratories glowing with artificial sunlight.
The Institute had survived by hiding.
Harry smiled faintly.
"I've faced darker things than scientists playing god."
With a crack like splitting stone—
He Apparated.
He reappeared in the center of the Institute's main atrium.
White floors.
Clean air.
Artificial trees beneath a false sky.
Scientists froze in place.
Alarms screamed.
Synth guards materialized instantly—Gen 1s and Gen 2s raising laser weapons in perfect synchronization.
They fired.
Red beams filled the atrium.
Harry didn't move.
The lasers bent around him as if the air itself refused to harm him.
He lifted his wand.
"Finite."
Every synth in the room shut down simultaneously.
Not destroyed.
Disabled.
Their eyes dimmed.
Institute scientists stared in horror.
"That's impossible," one whispered. "We control them—"
Harry tapped his Pip-Point.
ROOT ACCESS: INSTITUTE NETWORK — GRANTED
All their schematics. Every synth design. Teleporter algorithms. Energy weapon prototypes. Clean reactor systems.
Now his.
A door slid open at the far end of the chamber.
The Institute's Director stepped forward, calm but pale.
"You're not Brotherhood," the Director said carefully. "You're not Enclave. What are you?"
Harry's armor reflected the artificial sunlight.
"I am what happens," he replied quietly, "when magic survives the apocalypse."
The Director studied him.
"We are rebuilding humanity," they said. "We are the future."
Harry looked around at the pristine walls.
"At the cost of replacing it."
He raised his wand slightly.
The artificial sky flickered—then transformed. The ceiling projection dissolved, revealing a swirling vision of the real wasteland above. Radiation storms. Raider camps. Settlements barely surviving.
"This," Harry said, "is reality."
The Director hesitated.
For the first time since the bombs fell, the Institute was facing something it could not calculate.
Deep in a hidden bunker far beyond the Commonwealth, encrypted signals flared to life.
The remnants of the Enclave had been watching.
Energy spikes beyond nuclear scale.
Unauthorized control of Institute systems.
Brotherhood compliance.
A commander in black armor leaned forward.
"Prepare the orbital platform," he ordered.
"If this… wizard… wants the wasteland—"
He smiled coldly.
"Let's see if he can survive the old world's final weapon."
Back in the Institute, Harry turned toward the Director.
"You will continue your research," he said calmly.
"But under my rule. No replacements. No kidnappings. No secrets."
He extended one gauntleted hand.
The Institute's reactor glowed brighter—its power stabilizing under magical reinforcement.
Clean energy.
Unlimited.
For the first time in 200 years, the Institute felt hope instead of control.
But above the clouds—
Something ancient was awakening.
And even a maxed-out wizard might soon face a weapon built to destroy nations.