Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 117: Emerging Truth
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 07:39:21 +0000 UTCThe stadium was silent, still reeling from the revelations about Herpo the Foul. Dante stood motionless, his piercing gaze sweeping over the crowd before he spoke again.
"The next wizard we will discuss is Odin, son of Borr."
A murmur spread through the audience. Some recognized the name from Muggle myths, but none had ever considered him a real figure in magical history.
"At one point in time," Dante continued, his voice steady, "the world worshiped Odin as the Allfather. His tribe were revered as gods. Now, they are nothing more than myth. Their history, their magic, lost to time."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Odin delved into life magic, runes, memories, and prophecies. He was the creator of the Resurrection Stone—not as a tool to summon the dead, but as a means to help the living find peace with the memories of those they had lost."
A few in the crowd shifted uncomfortably. The Resurrection Stone, one of the fabled Deathly Hallows, had been twisted into something far darker than its original purpose.
"He left behind his magic, his work, and the knowledge of his tribe, hoping their story would endure. But most of it was lost. Their stories were changed, people worshiped them then turned them into a myth"
For the first time since standing on the stage, Dante’s expression flickered, just for a fraction of a second, with something resembling sadness. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, his face returning to its usual impassive mask.
The moment did not go unnoticed. Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed [What connection does Dante have to these forgotten figures?]
Before anyone could dwell on it further, Dante raised his wand.
"Long before Odin’s time," he said, "long before wizards used wands or incantations, the world was ruled by elves."
With a wave of his wand, thick smoke billowed across the stage, swirling into shapes before solidifying into figures.
The audience gasped.
Standing before them were elves—but not the small, meek house-elves they knew. These were proud beings clad in gleaming armor, their eyes sharp and cruel. They wore fine clothing, their postures regal, their expressions filled with disdain.
"In that era," Dante’s voice echoed from within the smoke, "the elves had an empire. They worked collectively to hunt human tribes."
The images shifted, showing elves chasing down humans, toying with them like cats with mice. Some elves laughed as they tormented their prey, others struck them down without hesitation.
"At that time, all elves had magic. But humans? Only a handful of wizards existed among them. And unlike today, these early wizards did not have the luxury of mastering multiple disciplines. They could only specialize in one form of magic—usually tied to the elements of nature."
The smoke twisted again, revealing two young boys, no older than Hogwarts students, standing amidst the smoldering ruins of their tribe. Their faces were streaked with tears, their eyes burning with fury.
"Two brothers were born in this dark age. The elder wielded lightning magic. The younger, ice."
The audience watched as the boys fought off three elves, their raw magic lashing out in desperation. The older brother’s lightning crackled violently, while the younger’s ice formed jagged spears. They won—barely—and fled into the wilderness.
"They swore vengeance."
The smoke shifted once more, showing the brothers training near a serene lake nestled between towering mountains. The younger brother, though weaker, was more open-minded. He studied the elves’ magic, trying to replicate it.
"And he succeeded."
Gasps filled the stadium as the younger brother began using magic that mirrored the elves’ own. He taught his older brother, and together, they grew stronger.
Then, realization struck. The lake, the mountains, the landscape was unmistakable.
"Hogwarts…" someone whispered. The brothers had lived where Hogwarts now stood, thousands of years ago.
Dante’s voice cut through the murmurs.
"When they were ready, they returned. They attacked the elves, freeing their people. Then, they rallied the human tribes to fight back."
The images turned grim. Endless waves of elves descended upon humans without mercy. The brothers did their best to protect and teach, but it wasn’t enough.
"Desperation breeds sacrifice." Dante’s voice carried a heavy weight.
The older brother, his face gaunt with exhaustion, made a pact with beings from beyond their world.
"In exchange for their power, he would have to offer them the souls of his fellow humans."
The humans, seeing no other path to survival, agreed.
"And so, the great war began."
The older brother’s lightning turned black, his strength overwhelming. He cut through elves like wheat before a scythe. The war raged for a hundred years, leaving both sides decimated.
It was well known to many of the audience that Dante wielded a very powerful black lighting magic, unlike anything the world has seen before. Some thought that Dante might have made this sacrifice as well.
"In the end, only a handful of humans and elves remained. But it was a human victory. The younger brother wanted to exterminate the elves entirely. The older, weary of bloodshed, refused.”
"A compromise was reached between the two brothers. The elves would become slaves to wizards."
The smoke twisted one final time, showing the younger brother binding the elves' magic, turning them into slaves. The audience watched in horrified silence as the proud, armored elves lost their dignity, their forms twisting, their minds shackled by the magic.
Dante stood still, allowing the silence of the audience to settle before continuing. His voice, steady and cold, echoed across the vast stadium.
“The older brother was weary. He had fought for too long, lost too much. All Solomon desired was peace, to fade away and let the world move on without him. But the younger brother… he was not satisfied.”
The smoke above the stage swirled again, revealing the younger brother standing alone in a desolate valley. His gaze held no triumph, only exhaustion. Around him, the world stretched vast and endless, filled with mysteries he had never had the chance to explore.
“For his entire life, he had fought and killed. Every moment was spent in war and conflict. But the world was more than just battle. There were things to learn, places to see, knowledge to gain. And he refused to let death steal that from him.”
The images shifted, showing the younger brother constructing a tomb, an structure built into the very earth itself. The setting was unmistakable. The tomb lay precisely where Hogwarts would one day be built.
“He returned to the place where he had once trained, where he had learned elves magic for the first time. And there, he devised a plan to escape death itself.”
The audience watched in rapt horror as the old man placed his hands over his chest. A blue light shimmered between his fingers, growing brighter as he pulled it free. His face twisted in pain, yet his eyes remained determined.
“He split his soul into two. One half would remain in the tomb, anchoring him to the world. The other would move on, be reborn.”
The spectral figure carefully placed the glowing fragment into the tomb. Then, his body gave out. He collapsed where he stood, his life ending at that very moment.
Dante’s voice rang out once more, cutting through the shocked silence.
“His name was Hogwarts. It meant ‘Seeker of the Future.’”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Dumbledore’s eyes widened in disbelief. Voldemort’s expression darkened with understanding. The others, those who knew of Horcruxes, were horrified beyond words.
“This… This was the creation of the first Horcrux.”
And unlike the dark, twisted method they had come to know, it had not required the death of another. The smoke shifted once more.
Now, the audience saw a different man, standing before countless graves, his expression hollow. Time had passed, and history had changed.
“In his second life, Hogwarts was reborn as Odin. He lost his people once again, ripped away by fate’s cruel hands. In response, he sought a different path.”
The man in the image held up a small black stone, carefully carving runes into its surface. Around him, spirits flickered in and out of existence, whispering in hushed voices.
“He created the Resurrection Stone, not as a tool to summon the dead, but to help those who grieved find peace.”
The years passed in flashes. Odin’s face shifted, aging rapidly, his form morphing into an old man. Centuries blurred together.
“His goal changed. No longer did he wish only to escape death. He wanted to control it. To control, who lives and who dies”
The image froze as Odin carved a mark into the stone. A familiar symbol, the mark of the Deathly Hallows.
“This was his second Horcrux.”
The smoke twisted again, reshaping itself.
Now, the vision showed golden sands beneath a blazing sun. A lone figure stood among them, gazing at an ancient city, Herpo the Foul.
“In that life, he realized something profound. The world moves on. Legends fade. Stories change. When you die, you lose control of your own legacy.”
The audience watched as Herpo conducted his experiments, creating new magical creatures. The merpeople swam through the Nike and the black lake, the first basilisk slithered into the shadows, and small blue creatures, smurfs, were transfigured into what would become the modern-day pixies.
“He watched as his own discoveries were misunderstood. Feared. Twisted.”
The smoke shifted again, now showing ancient Greece. A young man sat before a student, teaching her magic. The audience recognized him immediately.
“Hogwarts was born without magic in this life. But even then, he refused to be powerless, that was no excuse. He found another way.”
They saw him guide Circe, teaching her spells. Then they saw him work alongside her, and he gained magic.
“But he learned something else. When people do not understand something, they fear it.”
The vision played out rapidly now, showing Tertius living alone, traveling and experimenting with magic and eventually crafting a wand that widened Dumbledore’s eyes. He was holding a Horcrux for decades!!
“And he created his 4th Horcrux, the fabled elder wand” Dante spoke.
Tertius continued to grow older and soon, the scene shifted once more. Now, a man stood over a bubbling cauldron, brewing a potion.
Dante’s voice carried over the murmurs of the crowd.
“Sun Simiao, when he saw potential and future in medicine and potion brewing. So he spent the first few decades of his life exploring the field to the limit that was available for him at that time. Creating dozens of potions magical and non magical, for different usage.”
The smoke flickered, showing Sun Simiao walking along a dirt road, where three young men walked by him. The oldest held the elder wand, the second held the stone while the youngest had nothing.
The vision showed the man bringing out a cloak and enchanting it before putting a piece of his soul inside it. He folded it carefully before handing it to the young man.
“With this, he created another Horcrux. And he gave it to the youngest Peverell brother.”
The weight of Dante’s words crashed down upon the audience like a tidal wave. Many present had already begun to understand.
The truth was no longer hidden.
Dante wasn’t just telling history. He was revealing himself.
