Chapter 48: Echoes of the Past (1)

The vault pulsed with an almost living energy, the air thick with ancient magic.

Nero could feel it seeping into his skin, humming in his bones.

This was it, the moment when the past would no longer be a mystery to his friends, when they would finally understand what he had been carrying alone.

Lilith, Ember, and Alaric stood motionless, their gazes locked onto the four towering figures before them.

The legendary Founders of Hogwarts, preserved not in mere memory but in magic itself, waiting for this moment. For all their bravery, uncertainty flickered in their eyes.

Helga Hufflepuff stepped forward, her warm gaze settling on them with motherly reassurance. "There is no need to fear," she said gently. "You were always meant to remember."

Salazar Slytherin regarded them with a calculating expression, his voice smooth. "Though, I must admit, it will not be a gentle experience."

Rowena nodded, lifting her hands. A soft glow emanated from her fingertips, casting long shadows along the vault's walls. "The memories are already inside you, waiting to be unlocked. But magic of this nature is not passive. Memories are not merely recalled," she warned. "They demand to be relived."

Godric Gryffindor smirked, arms crossed over his broad chest. "So, brace yourselves. This is going to be a hell of a ride."

Nero turned to his friends. "Are you ready?"

Ember scoffed, masking her unease with a smirk. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Alaric let out a breath and nodded. "No turning back now."

Lilith's sharp emerald eyes met his. "Let's do this."

Rowena lifted her hands higher, and the glow intensified, forming threads of silver light. T

hey snaked through the air, weaving around each of them, drawn to them as though sensing the souls within.

Then, without warning, the magic struck.

A force unlike anything they had ever felt surged through their bodies, an overwhelming rush of power that burned and chilled at the same time.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

Lilith Slytherin

The world around Lilith twisted, shadows swirling like ink in water. The air reeked of parchment, burning incense, and something metallic, magic itself, raw and potent. A memory, yet more than a memory, solidifying around her.

She was no longer in the vault.

She stood in a grand hall, its towering obsidian pillars stretching toward a vaulted ceiling so high it disappeared into darkness. Twisting silver serpents coiled around the columns, their jeweled eyes gleaming as though alive.

The walls pulsed with an eerie, rhythmic energy, as if the chamber itself breathed.

Magic, old and potent, hung in the air, wrapping around her like an unseen force.

A chill ran down her spine. She knew this place.

And yet… she did not.

Her gaze was drawn forward, to the raised platform at the far end of the hall.

There, seated upon a throne of intricately carved black stone, was a man she recognized without ever having met.

Salazar Slytherin.

He was a figure of both quiet power and effortless command. Long, sleek dark hair framed sharp, aristocratic features, his high cheekbones casting deep shadows in the dim torchlight. His robes were an elegant shade of deep green, accented with silver embroidery that shimmered faintly in the dark.

A serpent-shaped ring coiled around his index finger, and with every subtle movement of his hand, the silver snake seemed almost to shift, as if alive.

But it was his eyes that held her captive, piercing, knowing, impossibly grey.

He watched her, his expression unreadable, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth as silk, but edged with something far sharper.

"So," he murmured, voice smooth as velvet. "It is you."

There was no surprise in his tone. No hesitation.

Only quiet acknowledgment.

Lilith parted her lips, but no words came. Her throat felt dry, as if she had not spoken in centuries.

Then, the memories struck.

Not gently. Not gradually. They consumed her, drowning her in an unrelenting tide of forgotten truths.

A girl, brilliant and ruthless, carving her place in a world that sought to confine her. A strategist, a leader, a warrior who bent the world to her will.

A name spoken in reverence and fear. A legend, reborn.

Pain lanced through her skull, a firestorm of recollections unfurling all at once. The weight of expectations. The satisfaction of success. The thrill of victory.

Her knees nearly buckled. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain standing as the full force of her past life surged within her.

She knew now.

Who she had been. Who she was meant to be.

"I…" she gasped, gripping her head as though trying to hold the memories inside, overwhelmed by their sheer intensity. "I remember."

A slow smirk formed on Salazar's lips, the barest hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes.

Salazar's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Good." He rose, his presence filling the room like a storm gathering strength. 

Lilith straightened, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

Salazar's smirk deepened.

"Then let us see if you are worthy of carrying my legacy."

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