Harry Potter: The Legend of Nero Ravenclaw
Chapter 157: Beneath the Ruins

Chapter 157: Chapter 157: Beneath the Ruins

Nero descended into the depths of the ancient ruin, each step stirring dust that glittered faintly in the dim, sourceless light.

The walls closed in around him, rough stone brushing against his shoulders, etched with carvings so old they were almost worn smooth.

Yet, faintly visible beneath the erosion, were words in a language he did not recognize, swirling like vines around symbols of light and shadow intertwined.

His fingers trailed along the carvings, his touch sending a cold shiver up his spine.

The symbols pulsed faintly, rhythmic like a heartbeat, resonating with an ancient sorrow that seeped from the walls.

It was despair, pure and unyielding, but beneath it, he felt a flicker, faint and fleeting.

With his enhanced sight, he traced the magic tangled in the carvings, threads of light intertwined with darkness, straining against each other, locked in an ancient struggle.

Time had worn away the details, but the essence remained, vibrating with sorrow and a whisper of hope.

He moved cautiously, his fingers brushing the stone, cold and unyielding.

The air grew heavy, each breath tasting of dust and despair.

Yet, beneath it, he sensed something else.

A warmth, faint and fragile, like a dying ember.

Nero followed the pulse of magic deeper into the chamber.

The walls closed in, the path narrowing until he stood before a vast archway, its surface etched with symbols of light and darkness entwined.

The arch shivered as he approached, the carvings shifting, forming words in a language he could not read, yet understood all the same:

"Where Despair is born, Hope follows... Where Hope falters, Despair remains..."

He stepped through the archway, and the chamber opened before him.

It was vast and hollow, echoing with silence.

At its center stood an ancient pedestal, cracked and worn, upon which rested a mask, split down the center.

One half was radiant, carved with delicate lines that shimmered with light.

The other half was dark, its surface rough, etched with jagged lines that absorbed the light around it.

Nero’s chest tightened.

The air vibrated as he stepped closer, the pulse of magic growing stronger.

The mask throbbed with energy, a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

He reached out, fingers brushing the cold surface, and the chamber trembled.

Shadows curled around the pedestal, twisting together, forming a figure that stood tall and hollow, its face hidden behind a mask identical to the one before him.

Its eyes glowed softly, a faint silver light that shimmered with warmth and sorrow.

The figure’s presence was gentle, soothing.

The air lightened, the despair that had hung heavy on Nero’s shoulders lifting.

A warmth spread through him, easing the cold that had settled in his bones.

The figure’s voice was soft, echoing through the chamber like a whisper of wind.

"You seek freedom... from Despair..."

Nero’s jaw tightened. "Who are you?"

The figure tilted its head, the mask shifting, its eyes gleaming.

"I am Hope... the light that lingers in the darkness... the flame that endures."

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Malrik stood at the edge of his throne room, his silhouette a stark shadow against the fractured window.

The glass was shattered in places, jagged edges framing the hollow tree beyond, its blackened branches clawing at the bleeding sky.

The tree had been one of the landmarks of the Shatterveil.

A relic of despair, visible from the fortress’s heart.

Its twisted form shuddered with the pulse of ancient, cursed magic, feeding the land’s corruption like a second heartbeat.

The air was frigid, heavy with the weight of despair that coiled through the citadel, the Shatterveil itself seeming to breathe with his anger.

A commander of his Black Talons knelt behind him, blood pooling beneath his shaking body, the gashes in his armor seeping with crimson.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his voice hoarse as he recounted the battle.

"We... we underestimated him. He moved like a ghost... slipping through space... even within the Shatterveil’s restrictions..."

Malrik’s fingers drummed against the windowsill, the rhythm cold and deliberate, each tap echoing through the hollow chamber.

His gaze never wavered from the tree, his voice sharp as shattered glass.

"Apparition... in my domain." His eyes narrowed, a flicker of intrigue breaking through the shadows. "How... unexpected."

The commander’s body shuddered, the blood loss leaving him pale and weak.

"His magic was powerful... He dismantled two of the outposts... disrupted the anchors, corrupted the relics. He... made it look like monster attacks..."

A faint smile curled at Malrik’s lips, cold and devoid of warmth.

"So, it was as I suspected..." he murmured.

His fingers twitched, a ripple of magic echoing through the room, causing the shadows to coil around his body like living serpents.

"Not merely a foolish warrior. He understands deception, and patience."

The commander’s voice faltered, his eyes wide with fear.

"He killed Jerak... encased him in ice. When I awoke... he was shattered. He must have thought I was dead... and fled when the monsters attacked..."

Malrik’s smile widened, but there was no warmth, only a cold finality.

"You know the consequences for failing me."

The commander’s head jerked up, panic flooding his face.

"M-Master... I... I did all I could..."

Malrik’s gaze sharpened, like a blade slipping between ribs.

"You failed... because you were weak."

He raised a single hand.

Malrik’s fingers twitched, and the shadows surged, wrapping around the commander’s body like vipers, constricting his limbs, forcing him to the ground.

His breath caught in his throat as the darkness seeped into his skin, black veins spreading like cracks across his flesh.

Malrik’s voice was cold, unyielding. "Weakness... is a disease. And I do not tolerate it."

The commander’s scream echoed through the chamber, his body convulsing as the shadows devoured him, reducing him to ash.

Silence followed, hollow and cold, the dust scattering across the stone floor.

Malrik lowered his hand, his expression untouched by pity or rage.

Only satisfaction.

He turned back to the window, his eyes fixed on the hollow tree, its branches twitching as if sensing his rage.

His fingers curled, magic crackling around him like static. "Apparition... in the Shatterveil," he murmured, his voice low, thoughtful. "You dance through my shadows... But who are you truly?"

The tree shuddered, a low groan vibrating through the air, ancient voices whispering from its depths. NovelFire

Malrik’s eyes gleamed, dark with malice. "A spark... defying the darkness..." He laughed, soft and cruel. "Very well... Let’s see how brightly you burn... before I snuff you out."

He turned away from the window, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked through the shadows, his footsteps echoing through the cold stone hall.

The darkness coiled around him, whispering secrets, and his eyes gleamed with sudden understanding.

His lips curled into a smile, cold and calculating.

"Oh... so you have made contact with it..." His voice was low, a whisper tinged with intrigue.

"Hope... in the Shatterveil." He laughed, the sound sharp, laced with mockery.

"You are bold... or foolish."

He walked to his throne, a twisted structure of blackened iron and ancient bones, roots from the hollow tree coiling around its base.

The air grew colder as he sat, shadows wrapping around him like serpents, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

His fingers drummed against the armrest, his gaze distant, calculating. "Very well... Let’s see how long you survive... before despair devours you."

Malrik’s eyes flicked to the darkness gathered at the edges of the room.

The shadows twisted, forming shapes, humanoid figures with hollow eyes and cloaks that rippled like smoke.

They stepped forward, six of them, their movements silent, seamless, as if they were part of the darkness itself.

Malrik’s voice was cold, commanding. "Shadow Hunters... I have a task for you."

The figures kneeled as one, their hollow eyes fixed on him, their presence cold, suffocating.

Malrik’s smile widened. "A ghost dances through my shadows... A spark of light defies the darkness. Find him." His voice dropped, filled with malice. "Bring him to me... or snuff him out."

The Shadow Hunters bowed their heads, their voices a whisper that echoed through the chamber. "Yes, Lord Malrik."

They stood, their forms fading, melting back into the shadows, their bodies dispersing into smoke as they vanished from the room, leaving only the faint echo of their words behind.

Malrik leaned back on his throne, his fingers curling around the armrest, his eyes fixed on the hollow tree.

Its branches shuddered, the ancient whispers growing louder, crawling through the air like poison.

He watched the tree, his gaze cold, calculating.

"You think you can challenge my will... with hope?" His laughter echoed through the citadel, cruel and hollow. "You will learn that hope... is just another form of despair."

The shadows coiled around him, whispering in his ears, the voices of the hollow tree mingling with his laughter as the Shatterveil shuddered beneath his will.

He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the throne, his presence wrapping around the tree, his magic entwining with its roots.

"Run... little ghost," he whispered, his voice an echo through the cursed land. "Run as fast as you can... It won’t save you."

And the hollow tree continued to whisper, ancient curses riding the wind, the Shatterveil pulsing with malice.

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