Chapter 191: Deathly Hallows(I)

"Death is merely another adventure."

Whether Dumbledore had truly come to terms with this idea, Cyrus wasn't sure. However, regardless of the truth, he was willing to respect anyone's choice.

"Let the trial begin, Mr. Cyrus," Fitzgerald murmured before her figure vanished from the portrait. Suddenly, a high platform that Cyrus had never noticed before appeared in front of him. The platform was located just behind the headmaster's chair, accessible by a spiraling staircase.

On top of it floated a book.

"How did I not notice it last time?"

"Because, in addition to ancient magic, I also employed some Muggle techniques," Fitzgerald's soft voice replied.

By this point in the trial, the fact that the person being tested had made it this far already demonstrated their talent for ancient magic, so standard concealment spells were no longer necessary.

"This book looks just like your diary," Dumbledore commented as he stepped closer. "You'll need to enter it with your memories."

He looked at Cyrus with a playful expression, as if questioning whether Cyrus dared to do so—or perhaps whether he trusted him.

"If you're uncomfortable, I can leave the headmaster's office and come back later."

"I don't mind you staying," Cyrus said with a wry smile. While Dumbledore might have many schemes, his character was still reliable. Besides—

"If you're curious, I can even take you in with me."

Cyrus picked up the book, and immediately, the memories—or rather, the fairy tale of the trial—seemed to materialize into reality. Dumbledore was astonished to find that his office had suddenly lost all its colors, turning into a black-and-white sketch. Even the vibrant phoenix now appeared as moving lines.

"How did you do this?"

It wasn't just Dumbledore who was shocked; Fitzgerald was also taken aback.

The trial she had set up had been taken over by Cyrus, who not only brought Dumbledore into the trial but also brought the world she created into reality!

"What's so surprising? I spent almost fifty years inside that diary," Cyrus shrugged. However, that was the extent of his abilities—only the headmaster's office was affected by the magic. It wasn't possible for Cyrus to pull the entire world into it.

"Alright, let's begin!"

With a wave of his wand, Cyrus erased the distorted lines in the office, reconstituting them into a new scene. They seemed to be reborn in a cemetery, surrounded by twisted thorns.

Beneath their feet was a narrow path leading to a gray, desolate village.

"Have you noticed that we look like two silhouettes?" Dumbledore remarked in amazement, peering around like a curious child.

"Please be more serious, Albus," Fitzgerald's voice echoed in their ears. "This place is just like the real world—Death is everywhere."

"You mean, Death?" Dumbledore asked in return.

Cyrus noticed that Dumbledore's grip on the Elder Wand tightened slightly. His face showed no fear, but rather a readiness to test Death's power.

But since this was an illusion created by Fitzgerald, Cyrus figured that Death here couldn't exceed her understanding, so it didn't hold much real value.

"Ms. Fitzgerald, have you seen Death with your own eyes?"

"In this place, you may call me Niamh," the headmistress responded softly before answering, "I haven't seen Death's true form, but through ancient magic and some of my experiences, I've indeed glimpsed some of its shadows."

"Continue with the trial, and you will understand the full story. For now, you must find my slumbering body, but be careful not to let Death spot you. You might want to find a cloak."

With that, Niamh's voice faded away.

Cyrus and Dumbledore moved past the thorns and crossed a stone bridge. Below the bridge was a dried-up riverbed. In the distance, they saw a dilapidated village. But what truly caught their attention was a massive, hooded shadow. Beneath the cloak, there was no flesh, only stark white bones.

"Is that Death?"

The shadow loomed over the village, towering above the houses, with fingers as tall as a person. Its hollow, eyeless sockets scanned the area, missing nothing that was alive. Within the village, numerous shadowy figures, roughly the size of humans, wandered back and forth.

Cyrus saw them throw out chains that pierced through a villager's back, stealing his life away.

"It looks a lot like the Killing Curse," Dumbledore remarked, noting that those who died from the chains looked eerily similar to those killed by the curse—empty and lifeless.

"Perhaps this curse was left by Death itself," Cyrus murmured, casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself before continuing, "Let's go. First, we need to find the Invisibility Cloak, and then search for Niamh."

The two of them advanced, their forms hidden. Both were masters of the Disillusionment Charm, but Dumbledore's was so profound that Cyrus thought it was as if he had donned Death's own cloak.

"But couldn't we just fight our way through?" Cyrus asked.

"It's best not to," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. "I don't think we're quite ready to face Death directly."

At least not in the story Fitzgerald had prepared.

"I am curious, though—what did the people of this village do to earn Death's attention?" Dumbledore wondered aloud, but no one answered.

For two such skilled wizards, the first trial was no challenge at all. They quickly found the cloak, deceived Death's watchful eye, and reached the end of the first trial.

The scene around them dissolved once more, returning to a world full of black dots, as if ink had been splattered across a blank sheet of paper.

Then, a gray square altar appeared out of thin air before them. On the altar, a slender wand floated, surrounded by dense, sharp, black lines that seemed to radiate light.

Niamh's cold voice echoed once more:

"Take up the wand before you. Do not waste its extraordinary power."

Cyrus and Dumbledore approached the altar. Dumbledore glanced at the wand in surprise, then looked down at the one in his own hand.

"You already have one. Would you mind if I take this one?" Although Cyrus posed it as a question, his hand was already reaching for the drawn Elder Wand.

"Please, go ahead," Dumbledore replied, having no reason to object. After all, this was Cyrus's trial.

Cyrus grasped the Elder Wand.

At that moment, he felt a distinct change in his power. It was as if a spring had suddenly opened within his chest, with scalding hot water gushing forth continuously.

He glanced at Dumbledore, a sudden impulse rising within him—perhaps now, he might truly be a match for Dumbledore.

But Cyrus resisted the urge. The power within the trial, no matter how strong, was ultimately an illusion. Moreover, the fact that both of them wielded an Elder Wand meant that neither truly possessed it. There was still a gap between the magical strength within his body and that of Dumbledore.

After picking up the wand, the scene before them changed once again.

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