Manwë continued issuing commands.
He directed Yavanna, the Queen of the Earth, to use her authority to commune with every plant in the world of Arda, making them her eyes to track Morgoth's whereabouts.
Oromë, the Huntsman, rode his divine steed Nahar into the mortal world, accompanied by his great hounds, to follow Morgoth's scent across every landscape.
Irmo, the Lord of Dreams, wove himself into the sleeping minds of Arda's inhabitants, searching for any trace of Morgoth within their dreams.
Varda used the Sun, Moon, and stars as her eyes, monitoring every inch of land day and night without rest. Vairë, the Weaver, employed her authority over fate and history, weaving tapestries depicting Morgoth every hour, recording and tracking his movements, and predicting his next course of action.
The remaining Valar likewise contributed their own powers, searching for Morgoth with every resource at their disposal. Even Sylas was pressed into service; Manwë personally requested his aid, asking him to investigate Morgoth's movements across the currents of time.
Sylas agreed.
But no matter what the Valar did, no matter how thoroughly they searched, their pursuit turned the entire world of Arda upside down without uncovering a single trace of Morgoth. The mood among the Valar grew unbearably heavy.
They began to suspect that Morgoth might have left Arda entirely, carrying the Flame Imperishable into the outer Void. Every corner of land and water had been searched. Not a single sign remained.
As the years passed, the Valar reluctantly abandoned the pursuit.
Sylas, meanwhile, turned his attention inward.
He entered the Subspace alone. Before him stretched the vast, boundless Sea of Spirits and the immense Sea of Magic. He had come to absorb and refine their energy, further enhancing his strength for whatever lay ahead.
The Subspace had been connected by Sylas, through the power of time, to countless points across Arda's history. From the birth of sentient life to the present day, hundreds of millions of beings had contributed a portion of their spiritual light, accumulating this staggering reservoir of energy.
Though Sylas had long drawn upon the Sea of Spirits, the power he wielded from it was ultimately borrowed, not truly his own. If the Subspace were ever seized or violently destroyed, the Sea of Spirits would cease to exist.
This was also why Sylas had never absorbed the spiritual energy of the Valar, despite the fact that their contributions alone would have been enough to overturn the Sea of Spirits several times over. If the Valar's spiritual energy merged into the Subspace, the question of sovereignty over the Sea would become dangerously unclear.
But now, after Naururë had spent ages filtering out the emotions and wills of all living beings, what remained was pure spiritual energy, free of any consciousness or contamination.
Sylas intended to absorb it all.
He descended into the Sea of Spirits.
Holding the Ungoliant Vase close to his body, he closed his eyes and began to draw in the surrounding energy. A small vortex of spiritual power formed around him. The energy did not merge directly into his body; instead, it was first drawn into the vase, purified of any lingering impurities, and only then channeled into Sylas as crystalline, refined spiritual force.
The vortex grew larger. Then larger still. A storm erupted across the Sea of Spirits as its vast expanse was drawn relentlessly toward the mouth of the vessel.
Naururë, like an inexhaustible black hole, devoured the spiritual energy without pause, its consumption accelerating with every passing moment. As the purified energy poured into Sylas, his spiritual power grew at an extraordinary rate. More importantly, his primordial soul expanded under the nourishment, growing larger, denser, and more resilient.
Spiritual energy was the finest tonic for the soul, and Sylas felt himself becoming lighter, more buoyant, his soul's quality improving continuously, approaching a state of true immortality and indestructibility.
And then, in this state of comfortable, blissful absorption, Sylas noticed something.
Deep within the core of his soul, hidden beneath layers he had never been able to perceive before, there glimmered a single point of golden light.
Sylas was immediately curious. He sent his consciousness deeper, probing toward the golden light. But his awareness was blocked almost instantly, unable to penetrate the radiance and discern its true nature.
"Is this... the System?" he murmured in surprise.
Sylas had long suspected that his transmigration to this world was the System's doing. His current strength was largely built upon the rewards it had provided. Previously, after ascending to Vala-level power, he had searched every corner of his being for traces of the System, examining his body, his magic, and his soul. He had found nothing.
Yet today, while absorbing the energy of the Sea of Spirits, the System had revealed itself, hidden in the deepest stratum of his soul.
Sylas harbored no fear or hostility toward it. Everything he possessed was inseparable from its gifts. Moreover, since his transmigration, the System had never displayed any signs of self-awareness or independent will. It appeared entirely mechanical, responding to conditions and dispensing rewards without thought or agenda.
Sylas suspected that despite the System's clearly elevated nature, far beyond his current ability to comprehend, it was most likely a construct rather than a conscious entity.
Still, he was intensely curious about its true nature. The System was called the Hogwarts Sign-In System, and every reward it had dispensed consisted of magical knowledge drawn from the world of Harry Potter. So the question that had lingered in his mind for ages now pressed forward with renewed urgency:
Was this System connected to the world of Harry Potter itself?
What connection did this world have to Harry Potter? And why had the System brought him here, to Arda, rather than to the Harry Potter world itself?
Sylas's mind churned with curiosity and unanswered questions.
He gazed at the golden light that had materialized deep within his soul, determined to discern its true form. Though his consciousness had been blocked on the first attempt, he did not give up. He continuously channeled spiritual energy toward the golden radiance, probing its surface, trying to penetrate its barrier and see what lay within.
To his surprise, the golden light did not resist. Instead, it began to absorb his spiritual energy, drawing it in without hesitation, as though it had encountered something it had been craving for a very long time.
At the same time, the golden light grew slightly brighter.
The change was minute. Had Sylas not possessed spiritual faculties of such extraordinary refinement, he would never have detected it.
Seeing this transformation, something stirred within him. He continued feeding spiritual energy into the golden light, increasing the flow. The light accepted everything he offered, greedily consuming it like a starving creature presented with a feast.
Sylas did not hesitate. He increased the supply dramatically.
At the center of the Sea of Spirits, a great storm erupted with Sylas at its eye. A massive torrent of spiritual energy was drawn into Naururë, purified in an instant, then flooded into his body. The volume was so immense that Sylas felt his soul groan with discomfort, an oversaturated, swollen sensation, as though his very being were on the verge of bursting apart.
But the golden light deep within his soul devoured the excess almost as quickly as it arrived.
With each passing moment, with the addition of vast quantities of spiritual energy, the golden light grew more vibrant. Its radiance was soft yet dazzling, carrying an air of supreme, transcendent elegance, something impossibly distant yet intimately familiar.
Sylas stared at it, his expression shifting from curiosity to uncertainty.
This golden light gave him a strange sense of recognition, as if he had seen it somewhere before. His mind raced, sorting through every memory, every experience, every encounter across ages of existence.
A second later, the connection struck him.
The Flame Imperishable.
Though Sylas had only caught the briefest glimpse of the sacred fire when Morgoth's soul-clone had drawn it from behind the Gate of Sorrow, he was certain of what he felt. This golden light, hidden in the deepest core of his soul, radiated the exact same quality as the Flame Imperishable.