Chapter 88: A Tragedy
The memory faded.
The towering hall, the shattered desks, the lingering echoes of Voldemort's laughter, all of it dissolved like mist in the morning sun.
And then, there was silence.
Nero found himself standing in Aberforth's office once more, the dim glow of candlelight casting long shadows across the ancient room.
The gentle ticking of the silver instruments, the only sound grounding him back to reality, felt oddly distant.
His breath was still uneven.
His body, though untouched, felt heavy, as if it carried the weight of something immense, something beyond him.
That duel, no, that battle.
It was beyond anything he had ever imagined.
For a long time, Nero said nothing.
His mind was still caught between the past and the present, between the sight of Voldemort and Jonathan, between the impossible clash of magic that defied all understanding.