The throne room was vast—silent, heavy with history.
Dark stone pillars stretched toward a shadowed ceiling, and at the far end stood the throne. Not decorative. Not symbolic.
Authoritative.
A seat meant for someone who ruled.
I sat.
Slowly. Deliberately.
And as I did… I placed the two rings upon my fingers.
The moment they settled into place—
Power answered.
It wasn't gradual.
It was immediate.
Violent.
Absolute.
The Slytherin Ring ignited first.
A cold, serpentine force slithered through my veins, coiling around my magic like a living thing. My connection to Parseltongue deepened instantly—no, it evolved.
I could feel them.
Every serpent in the forest beyond the castle walls.
Every scaled creature, every hidden predator.
Their awareness brushed against mine like whispers in the dark.
Obedient. Waiting.
Magic surged from my core, and I raised a hand slightly.
A serpent formed from pure magic, coiling in the air before me—perfect, precise, alive in every sense that mattered.
I clenched my fist.
It vanished instantly.
No effort. No strain.
My spells…
Felt lighter.
Sharper.
Deadlier.
Even the simplest magic now carried lethal intent.
There was no resistance. No instability. No chance of backlash.
Just… perfection.
Then the second ring awakened.
The Peverell Ring.
This one was different.
Where Slytherin's power coiled—
This one consumed.
A pressure built inside my mind, expanding outward, breaking limits I hadn't even realized were there.
Thoughts sharpened.
Perception widened.
And then—
Silence.
Not the absence of sound.
The absence of resistance.
I could feel minds.
Not faint impressions. Not vague emotions.
Clear. Distinct.
Layered.
With a mere thought, I reached outward—testing.
A servant somewhere in the castle froze.
I felt their confusion.
Their fear.
Their thoughts.
And then…
I changed them.
A single idea, placed gently into their mind.
Return to your duties. Forget this moment.
The connection severed.
Clean. Perfect.
Effortless.
I leaned back slightly in the throne.
"…Impressive."
But that was only the beginning.
Knowledge flooded in—not learned, not studied—understood.
Soul magic.
Not the crude, broken version I had used before.
Not the flawed Horcrux method that shattered sanity.
No…
This was complete.
Refined.
Whole.
I could feel it.
The boundaries between life… and death.
Thin. Fragile.
Something that could be touched. Bent. Controlled.
A faint smile formed on my lips.
"So this… is the true inheritance of the Peverells."
I stood from the throne.
Power rolled off me in waves now—controlled, but immense.
And yet…
Despite everything…
I frowned slightly.
"Still not enough."
Because there was one constant.
One variable I could not ignore.
Albus Dumbledore.
The greatest wizard of this age.
Perhaps the greatest in history.
A man who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald at the height of his power.
A man wielding the Elder Wand.
Even now…
Even with all of this power…
I was not certain of victory.
That realization didn't anger me.
It focused me.
I turned and left the throne room, my cloak trailing behind me as I made my way deeper into the castle.
Toward the library.
The Peverell Library was beyond anything I had imagined.
Ancient texts lined every wall.
Magic that predated Hogwarts.
Knowledge that had been lost to time.
I began reading immediately.
Not skimming. Not browsing.
Absorbing.
Devouring.
History.
Soul theory.
Ancient rituals.
Forgotten branches of magic.
Hours passed.
Then days.
And with every page…
My understanding deepened.
My power refined.
My vision sharpened.
This was no longer about brute strength.
It was about perfection.
Dumbledore may be the greatest wizard of this age…
But I would become something else entirely.
Something beyond age.
Beyond limitation.
Something inevitable.