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Chapter 89: The Life Of Ekrizdis
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 14:58:32 +0000 UTCIn the rugged settlements of North America, where the untamed wilderness stretched as far as the eye could see, a child was born who would one day leave an indelible mark on the wizarding world. His name was Ekrizdis, the son of a local wizard from the indigenous tribes of the land and a colonial woman who had ventured across the ocean in search of a new beginning. From the moment he drew his first breath, Ekrizdis was destined for greatness, though his path would be one of mystery, power, and darkness.
Ekrizdis’s father, a respected shaman of his tribe, was a master of the natural magic that flowed through the land. His mother, a witch from the Old World, brought with her the knowledge of European magical traditions. Together, they raised Ekrizdis in a unique blend of cultures, teaching him the ways of both worlds. From his father, he learned the ancient arts of the tribe—magic that was deeply connected to the earth, the spirits, and the creatures that roamed the wild. From his mother, he inherited a curiosity for the structured and scholarly magic of Europe.
By the age of eight, Ekrizdis had already achieved what many wizards could only dream of. He had mastered the art of perfect self-transformation, becoming an Animagus at an age when most children were still learning basic spells. His form was a falcon, a creature of speed, precision, and freedom. The tribe celebrated his achievement, proud to have such a prodigy among them. But their joy was short-lived. One day, without warning or explanation, Ekrizdis disappeared. The tribe searched for him, but no trace of the boy could be found. It was as if he had vanished into the wind, leaving behind only questions and a sense of loss.
Unbeknownst to his tribe, Ekrizdis had left North America entirely. His destination was Hogwarts, the school of witchcraft and wizardry he had helped create in a past life. Though he was only eight years old, he knew that Hogwarts accepted students at the age of nine, and he was determined to be among them. But before he could begin his new life as a student, there was one place he needed to visit: the Malfoy Manor.
The Malfoy family had been a cornerstone of his last life legacy more so than Hogwarts. The ring he had created as Armand Malfoy, passed down through generations, was a symbol of his enduring influence. Ekrizdis knew that the current head of the family, Brutus Malfoy, would be the key to securing his place at Hogwarts. When he arrived at the manor, he was met with a look of disdain and skepticism from Brutus, who saw only a young boy standing before him.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Brutus demanded, his voice dripping with condescension.
Ekrizdis, unfazed by the man’s arrogance, stepped forward. “I am the true master of the Malfoy family,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “And you will show me the respect I am due.”
Brutus scoffed, but before he could respond, Ekrizdis raised his hand, and the ring on Brutus’s finger began to glow. A searing pain shot through Brutus’s body, forcing him to his knees. “This ring,” Ekrizdis said, “is a symbol of my power. It can kill you if I so choose. Do not test me.”
Brutus, now trembling with fear, nodded. He had heard the stories passed down through his family from one head to the next—tales of a man who had lived many lives, a wizard whose power was unmatched and he was the true founder and master of their family. He had never believed them until now. With Brutus’s cooperation secured, Ekrizdis made his way to Hogwarts, his next destination.
Things had changed, now before going to Hogwarts children would go to Diagon Alley to collect home supplies. In his past life, Diagon Alley was not found yet. Ekrizdis found the concept both interesting and unique, to think people from all backgrounds would gather to go to the school. He has never seen so many children in one place and all are wizards and witches.
When he arrived at the castle, he was greeted by the sight of hundreds of students bustling about, their laughter and chatter filling the air. For a moment, he felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering the days when he had walked these halls as Armand Malfoy, observing the work of his four students, how far things had come.
The sorting ceremony was a grand affair, with students lining up to be sorted into their respective houses. When it was Ekrizdis’s turn, he stepped forward and placed the Sorting Hat on his head. The hat, enchanted by the founders themselves, immediately recognized him. “You,” it whispered, its voice filled with awe. “You are—”
“Keep it between us” Ekrizdis commanded, his voice low but firm. “Put me in Ravenclaw.”
The hat didn’t hesitate and immediately announced, “Ravenclaw!” The table of blue and bronze erupted in cheers, welcoming their newest member. Ekrizdis took his seat, his mind already focused on that lay ahead.
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After the sorting ceremony, Ekrizdis followed the rest of the Ravenclaws to their common room, his mind still processing the events of the day. The castle felt both familiar and foreign to him, its ancient walls whispering secrets he had known since its creation. As he entered the Ravenclaw common room, his eyes were drawn to a sight that stopped him in his tracks—a ghostly figure floating near the window, her translucent form bathed in the pale light of the moon. It was Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of his beloved student Rowena.
Ekrizdis’s heart sank as he stared at her. Why was Helena a ghost? What could have happened in his absence to lead her to such a fate? His mind raced with questions, but he knew this was not the time or place to seek answers. He forced himself to remain calm, following the other students to his dormitory. Once he was alone in his room, he began to plan. He would wait until the rest of the house was asleep, then seek out Helena and uncover the truth.
When the castle fell silent and the soft snores of his housemates filled the air, Ekrizdis cast an illusionment charm to conceal himself and slipped out of the dormitory. He moved through the halls with the ease of someone who had walked them many times before, his footsteps silent on the stone floors. He found Helena roaming near the Ravenclaw Tower, her ghostly form drifting aimlessly.
“Little Helen,” Ekrizdis called softly, his voice carrying a warmth that made the ghost freeze in place. Helena turned to face him, her translucent eyes wide with shock. Ekrizdis raised his wand and cast a spell to isolate the sound around them, ensuring their conversation would remain private.
“It’s me,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Grandpa Armand. I’ve reincarnated.”
Helena’s ghostly form trembled, her expression shifting from disbelief to overwhelming emotion. “Grandpa Armand?” she whispered, her voice breaking. Tears streamed down her translucent cheeks as she floated closer. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Ekrizdis smiled, though his heart ached at the sight of her. “I’ve missed you too, little Helen. But tell me, what happened after I left? How did you become a ghost?”
Helena’s expression turned guilty, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Slowly, she began to recount the events that had led to her death. She spoke of the diadem, a powerful artifact created by her mother, Rowena Ravenclaw. Helena had stolen it, driven by a desire to prove herself and surpass her mother’s legacy. But her actions had led to tragedy—she had been betrayed and killed, her soul bound to the mortal world as a ghost.
Ekrizdis listened in silence, his heart heavy with sorrow. He had always cared deeply for Helena, seeing her as the granddaughter he never had. To hear of her suffering and regret pained him more than he could express. When she finished her story, he sighed, his voice filled with compassion.
“You must forgive yourself, Helena,” he said. “Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to remain like this, trapped in regret and sorrow.”
Helena shook her head, her ghostly form shimmering with sadness. “I can’t, Grandpa Armand. I can’t forgive myself for what I’ve done.”
Ekrizdis sighed again, his expression softening. “I wish for you to find peace one day, little Helen. You deserve it.”
From that night on, Ekrizdis and Helena would speak from time to time, sharing stories of the old days and the things Ekrizdis had discovered in his travels. Their conversations brought a sense of comfort to both of them, a connection to a past that had shaped their lives in ways they could never fully explain.
Ekrizdis’s life at Hogwarts was largely uneventful, at least by his standards. He excelled in his studies, his natural talent and centuries of knowledge making him stand out among his peers. The professors were impressed by his intelligence and skill, often giving him free rein to explore the library and pursue his own interests. Most of his time was spent among the towering shelves of the Hogwarts library, where he delved into ancient texts and forgotten spells. No one questioned his solitary habits, not when his performance was so stellar.
During the summer months, Ekrizdis would leave Hogwarts to travel and explore the world. He journeyed to distant lands, observing the changes that had taken place since his last life. He noted with growing concern the increasing divide between the magical and non-magical worlds. The term “muggle” had become commonplace, and wizards were retreating further into secrecy, their fear of persecution driving them to isolate themselves from the rest of society.
In his fifth year, Ekrizdis came across a piece of information that piqued his interest. Nicolas Flamel, an accomplished alchemist, had created the Philosopher’s Stone, an artifact that granted immortality. Flamel and his wife had lived for over 300 years, their lives extended by the stone’s power. Ekrizdis was amazed by this discovery. He had spent centuries seeking the secrets of life and death, and here was a man who had seemingly achieved what he had only dreamed of.
Determined to meet Nicolas Flamel, Ekrizdis made the decision to leave Hogwarts at the end of his fifth year. His journey led him to France, where Flamel and his wife were said to reside. As he traveled, Ekrizdis couldn’t help but wonder what he would learn from the legendary alchemist. Would Flamel’s knowledge bring him closer to understanding the mysteries of immortality?
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Ekrizdis stood before a modest house in the French countryside, the home of the legendary alchemist Nicolas Flamel. The house was unassuming, blending seamlessly into the rolling hills and fields around it. Ekrizdis knocked on the door, and after a moment, an elderly woman answered. Her face was kind, but Ekrizdis immediately felt the breath of death upon her. Her soul was nearing its end, tethered to her aging body by a thread. He knew at once who she was—Perenelle Flamel, Nicolas’s wife.
“Good day,” Ekrizdis greeted her politely. “Is this the home of Nicolas Flamel? Is he present?”
The woman smiled warmly and nodded. “Yes, this is our home. I am Perenelle. And who might you be?”
“I am a student from Hogwarts,” Ekrizdis replied. “I couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet Mr. Flamel when I heard of his accomplishments. His work is truly remarkable.”
Perenelle laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, come in, then. I’m sure Nicolas will be delighted to meet such an admirer.”
Ekrizdis stepped inside, his sharp eyes taking in the cozy interior of the house. It was filled with books, alchemical tools, and the faint scent of herbs and potions. In the sitting room, Nicolas Flamel himself sat by the fireplace, his aged but lively eyes turning to greet his guest.
“Ah, a visitor!” Nicolas said, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity. “And from Hogwarts, no less. What brings you here, young man?”
Ekrizdis bowed his head slightly, showing respect. “I’ve long admired your work, Mr. Flamel. The creation of the Philosopher’s Stone is a feat unlike any other. I couldn’t resist the chance to meet the man who cracked the secret of immortality.”
Nicolas chuckled, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “It was luck as much as skill, I assure you. But I’m afraid I won’t be sharing the details of the Stone’s creation, no matter how nicely you ask.”
Ekrizdis nodded, unfazed by the refusal. “I understand. But I have a different question, if you’ll indulge me.”
Nicolas raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”
“How does the Stone break the chains of death that bind your soul?” Ekrizdis asked, his voice calm but probing. “When the life force binding your soul and body is depleted, the chains of death drag your soul beyond the Veil. I can feel the breath of death all over you, meaning your soul’s time is due, and your aging body is proof of that. Yet, you persist. It’s as if death is dragging other souls instead of yours. How does that work?”
Nicolas’s expression shifted, his eyes widening in shock. He had never heard anyone speak of the Veil or the chains of death, yet this young wizard had described the very essence of his work with unnerving accuracy. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.
Before Nicolas could respond, Ekrizdis’s face changed. His eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened as if he had just realized something terrible. “Ah, I see now,” he said, his voice low and cold. “Your Stone was created during the great war two centuries ago, when thousands of muggles and wizards died. It was forged from their souls, wasn’t it? I can feel it—the souls being dragged away. You feed death other people’s souls. You didn’t overcome death; you’re cheating it. And you instigated that war, didn’t you? You didn’t just happen to be around to reap souls. You made sure it happened.”
Nicolas’s face darkened, his earlier warmth replaced by a look of anger and fear. The boy had figured it out. Without warning, Nicolas drew his wand and attacked, but Ekrizdis blocked the spell with ease. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed Nicolas and sent him crashing into the wall. Perenelle, hearing the commotion, came running into the room, only to be petrified by Ekrizdis before she could utter a word.
Ekrizdis walked over to Nicolas, who lay dazed on the floor, and grabbed him by the neck. “What do you want?” Nicolas croaked, his voice filled with desperation. “Why did you come here?”
“I came to see how you managed to overcome death,” Ekrizdis replied, his voice calm but icy. “To solve the problem I’ve struggled with for so long. But now, I want to see your memories for myself.”
Without waiting for a response, Ekrizdis pointed his wand at Nicolas’s head and began to forcefully extract his memories. The images flooded his mind:
- He saw a young Nicolas, full of life and ambition, meeting the woman who would become his wife. Their love was deep and genuine, a bond that transcended time.
- Nicolas’s desperation as he watched Perenelle grow weaker, her life slipping away. He couldn’t accept her death, not when he believed he could save her.
- Nicolas’s cold, calculated decision to instigate a war, using the chaos to harvest the souls of the dead. He justified it as a necessary sacrifice, a way to save the woman he loved.
- The forging of the Philosopher’s Stone, an artifact that siphoned the life force of others to sustain Nicolas and Perenelle. Nicolas saw it as atonement, a way to honor the lives he had taken by living as long as possible.
- Perenelle never knew the truth. Nicolas had kept it hidden, shielding her from the dark reality of their immortality.
Ekrizdis released Nicolas and stepped back, his expression unreadable. He had seen enough. As he stood there, memories of his own past life as Odin flooded his mind. He had been no different from Nicolas, slaughtering and experimenting on people in a desperate attempt to save Frigg and Baldr. In the end, he had failed, but Nicolas had succeeded. To judge him now would be the height of hypocrisy.
“I won’t kill you,” Ekrizdis said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “But know this: your atonement is a lie. You’ve cheated death, but you’ve also cheated yourself. The souls you’ve taken will never rest, and neither will you.”
With that, Ekrizdis turned and left the house, his mind heavy with the weight of what he had learned. He had come seeking answers, but all he had found was a reflection of his own darkest moments.
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After his encounter with Nicolas Flamel, Ekrizdis found himself grappling with a new question: ‘How close can someone approach the veil of death before their life is claimed by it?’ The question consumed him, echoing in his mind as he wandered the countryside. Nicolas had cheated death by siphoning the souls of others, but Ekrizdis knew that was not the answer he sought. There had to be another way—a way to confront death without sacrificing the lives of others. The answer he came to long ago is by having magic that transcends the limit of the world.
As he traveled, another issue caught his attention. The persecution of young wizards by muggles had reached alarming levels. Many magical children, terrified of their own abilities, suppressed their magic to avoid detection. This suppression often led to the development of a dark, parasitic force known as an Obscurus. The Obscurus would eventually consume the child, claiming their life while they were still too young to understand what was happening.
This raised two pressing problems in Ekrizdis’s mind. First, how could an Obscurus be healed or prevented? Second, the escalating tension between muggles and wizards needed to be addressed before it spiraled further out of control. The situation was getting worse, and Ekrizdis knew that action had to be taken.
Around this time, he heard news of a wizards’ delegation arriving from North America. The delegation, led by Aristotle Twelvetrees, was there to discuss the formation of an International Confederation of Wizards. The name Aristotle Twelvetrees struck a chord with Ekrizdis. He remembered Aristotle from his time in the tribe, long before he had left for Hogwarts. Aristotle had been a respected elder, a man of wisdom and integrity. Ekrizdis decided to seek him out.
Some days later, Ekrizdis arrived at the location where the wizards’ delegations were meeting. The atmosphere was tense, with representatives from various magical communities debating how to handle the increasing hostility from the muggle world. Ekrizdis found Aristotle among the crowd, his presence commanding respect even among the most seasoned wizards.
When Aristotle saw Ekrizdis, his eyes widened in recognition. “You,” he said, his voice filled with surprise. “The prodigy who disappeared all those years ago. What happened to you?”
Ekrizdis shook his head. “That’s not important. I left on my own, and now I’m here for a different reason.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a small notebook, handing it to Aristotle. “This is what matters.”
Aristotle took the notebook, his brow furrowed in confusion. He opened it and began to flip through the pages, his eyes widening as he read. The notebook was filled with detailed descriptions of charms, runes, and wards, all designed to create a complex, grand protection system. The magic outlined in the notebook was advanced, far beyond anything Aristotle had seen before.
“What is this?” Aristotle asked, his voice filled with awe.
“A solution,” Ekrizdis replied. “With the increasing persecution of wizards by muggles, we need to unite and defend ourselves, but we also need to avoid direct confrontation and to ensure the young ones' survival. This notebook contains the magic to do that. You can propose and implement these protections, but you’ll need to adjust them based on the scale of the community.”
Aristotle looked up from the notebook, his expression a mix of admiration and curiosity. “Where did you get this? Who created it?”
“I did,” Ekrizdis said simply.
Aristotle’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How could someone so young create this? And why did you not come back to us? Your knowledge could help us a lot.”
Ekrizdis shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I have other things to work on. A grand project to complete.”
“And what are you working on? And what is the grand project?” Aristotle pressed.
Ekrizdis answered with a straight face. “I’m thinking of finding a way to absorb the soul, emotions and memories from people. It’s… complicated.”
Aristotle stared at him, clearly confused by the cryptic response. But he could see that Ekrizdis had no intention of elaborating. The young wizard was as enigmatic and Aristotle could not fathom what he was planning.
Ekrizdis left the meeting shortly after. He had given Aristotle the tools to protect and help the wizarding world, and now he can focus on the other matters. The question of death was still fresh in his mind, and the problem of the Obscurus was still claiming the lives of children. He needed to find answers.
As he walked away, Aristotle watched him go, the notebook clutched tightly in his hands. He didn’t fully understand Ekrizdis’s plans, but he knew one thing for certain: the young wizard was different from others and he was planning something big.
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The winds howled across the desolate island of Azkaban, a fortress of stone and shadow perched on the edge of england. It was a place of infamy, home to a ruthless band of pirates led by a handful of wizards who had turned the island into a stronghold of terror. Their crimes were well-known— attacking ships, raiding coastal towns, enslaving muggles and wizards alike, and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. For years, they had evaded capture, their island fortress shrouded in secrecy and protected by dark magic. But their reign of terror was about to come to an end.
Ekrizdis had heard of the pirates and their atrocities. To most, they were a scourge to be eradicated. But to Ekrizdis, they represented something else entirely—an opportunity. If he could use them to find a solution for the Obscurus, their lives would not have been wasted. It was a cold calculation, but one he believed was justified. The lives of countless magical children depended on it.
With a crack of apparition, Ekrizdis appeared on the island, his presence unnoticed by the pirates. The fortress loomed before him, its dark walls bristling with crude defenses. Ekrizdis wasted no time. Drawing his wand, he unleashed a storm of lighting, his attack precise and devastating. The pirates, caught off guard, scrambled to run back, but they had no chance. The wizards among them tried to rally, casting shields, but Ekrizdis’s lighting pierced them with ease, his attack far surpassing anything they have faced before.
Within a short period, the battle was over. The pirates lay defeated, their bodies strewn across the fortress grounds. Ekrizdis had no intention of killing them, however. Instead, he bound them with enchanted chains, rendering them helpless. The wizards, their magic suppressed, were separated from the rest and placed under heavier restraints. With the fortress secured, Ekrizdis cast a powerful spell over the island, shrouding it in an impenetrable mist. To the outside world, Azkaban would vanish, its existence erased from memory.
For the next decade, Ekrizdis worked in isolation, his experiments dark and unrelenting. The pirates, now his unwilling subjects, were subjected to a series of grueling tests. Ekrizdis focused on the wizards, forcing them to suppress their magic through a combination of psychological manipulation and magical coercion. Over time, the suppression took its toll, and the wizards began to develop Obscurus—dark, parasitic entities born of their fear, anger, and despair.
Ekrizdis studied the Obscurus in meticulous detail, documenting their formation and behavior. He discovered that the entities were fueled by negative emotions and memories, their magic raw and uncontrollable, reminiscent of the ancient wizards who had wielded power without finesse or restraint. The Obscurus were primitive, yet their potential was immense. Ekrizdis realized that to destroy them, he would need to replace the negative emotions and memories that birthed them—a task that was both complex and morally fraught.
After years of experimentation, Ekrizdis emerged from his seclusion with a solution, though it was one that would be met with controversy and outrage. His research detailed a method for erasing and rewriting a child’s memories, replacing their trauma with fabricated experiences. The process was invasive and cruel, but Ekrizdis believed it was necessary. He outlined the steps in a series of notes, documenting his experiments with the pirates and the methods he had used to both induce and cure the Obscurus.
When Ekrizdis published his findings, the wizarding world reacted with shock and horror. Nicolas Flamel, a prominent figure in the magical community, led the charge against him, denouncing the research as dark and inhumane. “This is not healing,” Flamel declared. “This is torture. Ekrizdis has crossed a line that should never be crossed.”
Others echoed Flamel’s sentiments, calling for Ekrizdis to be punished for his crimes. But Ekrizdis was unmoved. He had expected the backlash, but he believed the ends justified the means. The lives of countless children could be saved, and that should be all that mattered.
Two years later, Ekrizdis published another work, this time detailing a new spell he had developed—’Expecto Electrunom’. Designed to attack the soul and destroy Obscurus, the spell was both powerful and dangerous. Its potential as a weapon was undeniable, and many feared it could become a second Killing Curse. Under pressure from Flamel and others, the spell was suppressed, its knowledge erased from public record.
Ekrizdis watched the backlash with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. He considered silencing his critics permanently, even going so far as to contemplate killing Flamel. But in the end, he chose to walk away. The idiots and their leader were not worth his time. He had more important work to do.
For the next several decades, Ekrizdis turned his attention to his other research—the study of death. He sought to understand the limits of the Veil, to see how close one could come to it without being claimed. His experiments led him to create a hall within the Veil itself, a place where he could observe the realm of death closely. It was a dangerous endeavor, but Ekrizdis was undeterred. The secrets of life and death were within his grasp, and he would not stop until he had uncovered them all.
As he stood within the hall, gazing into the abyss, Ekrizdis felt a sense of purpose. The world might condemn him, but he knew the truth. His work would change everything. And when the time came, they would see.
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For a decade, Ekrizdis dedicated himself to a task that many would consider impossible—pulling souls from beyond the Veil of Death. The Veil was a mysterious and impenetrable barrier, a gateway to the realm of the dead. Ekrizdis knew that breaking it forcefully could have catastrophic consequences, so he proceeded with caution. His experiments were slow and methodical, each step carefully calculated to avoid disturbing the delicate balance between life and death.
Over time, Ekrizdis discovered that certain souls resided close to the Veil—souls of muggles who had died with deep regrets and obsessions but lacked the magical ability to become ghosts. These souls lingered in the liminal space between life and death, tethered to the mortal world by their unresolved emotions. Ekrizdis focused his efforts on these souls, learning to pull them from the Veil without fully breaking it.
His first success came when he managed to extract a soul and give it a physical form. The creature that emerged was unlike anything the wizarding world had ever seen. It was tall and cloaked in tattered, shadowy robes, its face hidden beneath a hood. Its presence was chilling, a cold, suffocating aura that seemed to drain the warmth and light from the surrounding air. Ekrizdis named this new state of existence ‘Amplexus Mortem’—souls embraced completely by death.
The ‘Amplexus Mortem’ were not permanent residents of the living world. Death’s grasp on them was strong, and they could only remain in the mortal realm for a short time before being pulled back. But Ekrizdis was undeterred. He saw potential in these creatures, a way to harness their unique properties for his research.
For years, Ekrizdis studied the ‘Amplexus Mortem’, documenting their behavior and abilities. He discovered that their very presence carried the breath of death, a cold, lifeless energy that reduced the temperature around them. Their natural state allowed them to feed on emotions, memories, and even life force, drawing sustenance from the living to sustain themselves. In some cases, they could even consume souls, though this was rare and required significant effort.
Ekrizdis theorized that as long as the ‘Amplexus Mortem’ fed on enough emotions and life force, they could remain in the living world indefinitely. In a sense, they were immortal, existing in a perpetual state of death. However, they were not invincible. Ekrizdis discovered that their only weakness was light imbued with positive emotions, such as the Expecto Patronum spell. This light acted as a counterforce to death, weakening the death’s hold on the creatures and causing them discomfort. It was the exact opposite of the deathly aura they emitted, which caused pain and despair in the living.
As Ekrizdis continued his research, he made another startling discovery—the ‘Amplexus Mortem’ had their own language and way of communicating. They were not mindless creatures but beings with memories, desires, and regrets. Ekrizdis spent years learning their language, listening to their stories, and understanding their pain. He came to know the names they had carried in life, their most cherished dreams, and the regrets that had bound them to the Veil. This connection deepened his resolve to give them a second chance, even as the world would come to fear and misunderstand them.
Another fascinating aspect of the ‘Amplexus Mortem’ was their ability to summon more souls from beyond the Veil, drawing them into their ranks. However, these new additions required sustenance to remain in the living world. If they could not feed on enough emotions and life force, they would be pulled back into the realm of death. This ability made the ‘Amplexus Mortem’ a self-sustaining force, capable of growing their numbers under the right conditions.
By the time Ekrizdis turned 70, he had developed a deep understanding of the ‘Amplexus Mortem’. He recorded everything he had learned—their behavior, abilities, language, and even their potential to heal soul and emotion-related curses. He made sure these records were accessible to anyone who sought them, believing that knowledge, no matter how dark, could be used for good.
Before his work was done, Ekrizdis created one final Horcrux—a box in which he stored his wand. This act was a means to ensure his return sooner in the next life. With his preparations complete, Ekrizdis summoned 200 souls and transformed them into ‘Amplexus Mortem’. He spoke to them, explaining that he had left instructions for wizards to understand and work with them. He asked the creatures to help the wizards during his absence and to store the souls of vile ones for his eventual return. He promised that when he reincarnated and succeeded in becoming the Master of Death, he would help them walk the living world again and finish their business.
In a final act of sacrifice, Ekrizdis used the remainder of his life force to empower the binding magic that kept the ‘Amplexus Mortem’ in the world. His death amplified the spell, ensuring that the creatures could survive for centuries without needing to feed. As his life faded, Ekrizdis fell to the ground, his body lifeless. The ‘Amplexus Mortem’, understanding what he had done for them, bowed in gratitude. They were creatures of death, but they recognized the man who had given them a second chance, even at the cost of his own life.
When the protective spells around Azkaban lifted, a group of wizards led by Nicolas Flamel finally entered the island. What they found shocked them—detailed records of Ekrizdis’s work and the purpose of the ‘Amplexus Mortem’. Flamel, horrified by the implications, immediately destroyed the records, declaring the creatures to be evil and dangerous. He labeled Ekrizdis as the most deranged wizard the world had ever known, and rumors began to spread.
Over time, the true nature of the ’Amplexus Mortem’ was forgotten. Their name was changed to Dementors, and their purpose was twisted into something dark and malevolent. The creatures Ekrizdis had created to help the wizarding world became symbols of fear and despair, their origins lost to history.
But deep within the shadows of Azkaban, the Dementors waited. They remembered the man who had given them a second chance, and they clung to the hope that one day, he would return.
Comments
HugoH
Flamel really didn’t like having his darkest secret known by another. He spent decades spitting on MC’s works despite its potential for good 😂
