The sky wept fire as you descended.

Balerion, the Abysmal Colossal, carved through the heavens, his wings a void against the moonlight, his roar a harbinger of doom. The Death Eaters had gathered in Malfoy Manor, cloaked in their arrogance, oblivious to the force that now tore through their world. The ground trembled beneath the weight of his landing, obsidian talons sinking into the earth as shadows stretched like specters across the grand estate.

Tom Riddle stood at the head of the gathering, poised, regal, unshaken. He did not know you. Not your name, nor the power that thrummed through your veins like molten fury. He had taken a child—your child—unaware of the calamity he had beckoned upon himself.

Alduin stood beside him, unbound, unafraid. His gaze, a mirror of Tom’s own, burned as it met yours.

And then you leapt.

The Death Eaters recoiled as you landed before them, the air fracturing with unseen force, the ground spiderwebbing beneath your feet. Magic bled from you in a suffocating tide, an ocean of power so vast it drowned the very air.

For the first time, Tom Riddle felt something foreign coil in his chest—uncertainty.

He did not know you.

But he knew this presence, this power.

And it was the first thing in his life that whispered of something greater than himself.