Chapter 86. The King's Word
He still couldn't believe that he had been chosen as the king of Arthur, who entrusted him to find and protect the Holy Grail. The voice he had heard from under the king's mask echoed in his head, and the memory of an amazing gaze, full of secrets and hope, flickered in his mind. Harry didn't know how he had managed to notice and remember that gaze, but now he felt the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. He knew that he couldn't do it alone. But he didn't dare to object to the king, who seemed to know who and what he trusted. And to emphasize the importance of this mission, His Majesty personally visited the headmaster's office. His visit to Dumbledore's office lasted for hours, and no one knew what they were talking about. And late in the evening, as he looked out the window, Harry saw the king's people and his knights waiting patiently for his return.
Harry couldn't even guess what they were discussing in the headmaster's office, and what secrets they were revealing. He only felt that it was not a simple conversation, but a momentous meeting. When Hogwarts teachers entered the office one by one, followed by several famous Dark Force fighters, Harry realized that something grand was being decided in Dumbledore's office, which concerned almost every member of the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't know if it was related to the War for the Holy Grail or had a different meaning, but he felt it was very important.
None of the students saw him arrive at the castle, but soon everyone learned the sensational news - the great Merlin himself had arrived at Hogwarts. The mysterious wizard and mentor of King Arthur also joined the conversation with Dumbledore and the entire Order of the Phoenix. And although their conversations remained the strictest secret, by morning, every student in the magical school understood the high stakes involved.
"What do you think they are discussing?" Harry asked Jeanne as they creeped towards the headmaster's office under the invisibility cloak, breathless.
"Do you want me to eavesdrop?" Jeanne offered with a cunning smile. "Although I'm not the only Servant here."
Harry shook his head. "Maybe we shouldn't," he hesitated.
She only shrugged in response.
When they returned to the Gryffindor tower, Harry went up to his bedroom and lay down on the bed. For a few minutes, he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Various thoughts and memories raced through his mind. The image of the lion mask and the mysterious gaze from under it still stood before his eyes, peering directly into his soul. The king had offered his guest an entire refrigerator full of various drinks and snacks, but Harry declined uncertainly.
"I wonder..." he said in the limousine. "Where did the Holy Grail come from?"
"Oh, the Holy Grail - an absolutely mysterious artifact of unknown origin! I have heard countless legends about this unfathomable Grail, and each one is unique in its own way. You know, there have been cases where people have sought to use it in the hope of discovering the true source of everything and, of course, gaining such immense power and greatness that no one dared to dream of before!"
"Do the Servants need it?" Harry asked.
"No, all of this is meaningless to the Servants," the king replied proudly. "We are above human desires, accomplishing something greater."
"What is the source of it all?"
"It is a power that governs everything and before which nothing can stand."
Harry looked at him thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps time travel as well..."
Shortly after returning to Hogwarts, Harry questioned Tesla, Jeanne, and Mordred, wanting to know about the source of it all.
"Why didn't you tell them anything?" he asked Mordred.
"They didn't ask," Mordred snorted. "They already know everything. I just dropped a few hints and Makise immediately understood. It's no wonder that weird friend of mine calls her a genius girl."
Now Harry tried to digest all of this, but the longer he thought about it, the more he remembered Fujimaru's words.
Don't think about it.
But the paradoxical source of it all didn't leave his mind. And as complex and incomprehensible as the Grail was to him, this essence seemed even more unfathomable. Maybe Voldemort was aiming for the source of it all to gain that incredible power? Harry smiled. A single thought came to him, a thought that Voldemort himself may not have realized, accustomed as he was to neglecting important details. Every participant in this War for the Grail seeks to obtain the coveted artifact, but no one knows in advance what it is and what they will encounter when they receive it. None of the living have received it, and no one can answer the question of whether the source of it all is reachable for a wizard. No one knows what awaits a person inside this chalice, and what they will have to drink on the path to their desires. No one will inform them of the consequences.
Dark shadows glided around the corners of the room where Harry sat, deeply lost in thought. Thoughts of the Grail battled in his mind, like demons and angels fighting for his attention. And although this mystery was supernaturally complicated for him, he still felt that the brilliance of the source of it all did not escape him.
He pondered, trying to decipher with naive simplicity how the mysterious Grail could grant Voldemort such incredible power. Suddenly, as if expanding, his smile pierced his lips. It was a thought that not even Voldemort himself paid attention to. Details - they were so important.
The War for the Grail awakened an uncontrollable thirst for knowledge in Harry. Although every fighter in this struggle sought to reach the coveted cup, none of them knew what lay hidden inside, what trials awaited them along the way. It was an experience without maps or clues. Yes, the Grail could open the way to the source of power, but was it possible for a wizard to plunge into the depths of true existence?
And who can say what consequences a person will have to pay when they dare to touch this beautiful chalice? Unknown forces lying deep within it could tempt, unleash storms, or illuminate the eyes with the brightest light. No one can predict the outcome when the Grail finally rests in the hands of those who break barriers and dare to meet the source of it all.
And so, Harry opened his eyes to all the splendor. He felt the true excitement, as he discovered that magic does not hide only in shimmering treasures, but also within himself, in the boundless depths of his being. This treasure, veiled in the shroud of mysteries, can only be realized by those who possess a mighty will, those who boldly walk the thin line between light and darkness, between hope and despair. And only such people, surrendering themselves to the crucifixion of these contradictions, can drink from the Grail and find the truth shining with eternal light.
From somewhere unknown, a feeling arose that Harry would wake up from this beautiful dream any minute now, and all his impulses would slip through his consciousness like a haze. Only when Dudley gently touched his shoulder did Harry stir in a frightened realization - the time had come.
Descending numerous marble stairs to the ground floor and walking through the hall, accompanied by the numerous glances of faces belonging to famous wizards of the past, Harry witnessed an extraordinary scene in full swing.
The low vault of the Hogwarts vestibule was illuminated by bright lamps, casting streams of such pleasant and warm light that instantly warmed the soul. The air was filled with an atmosphere of anticipation, as if the very space was trembling with excitement for the upcoming grand event.
Harry walked slowly along the path, his footsteps fading on the stone slabs, as if the voice of an invisible composer captured every rustle. He paused in front of each portrait of noble wizards, allowing them to deeply penetrate his consciousness. In each portrait, he saw a fragment of history, a legacy that these great individuals carried on their shoulders. It reminded Harry of his own role, that he was a witness to events that people would remember for centuries.
When he reached the top of the marble stairs, his gaze involuntarily stopped on Arthur Pendragon, the ruler of Britain. In his eyes, years of wisdom and strength could be read, echoes of a life lived, full of trials and triumphs. Nearby, at the base of the staircase, lay Mordred, whose image begged for forgiveness and recognition. Tears adorned her face, representing the accumulated pain, and her hand reaching forward seemed to try to reach the most sacred for her soul.
"Father!" Mordred's voice broke the silence. Her cry pierced through the dense air, taking away breath. Each word carried such pain that the origins of a river could be amazed by it.
Harry turned, looking at the dense crowd that gathered around them. The Hogwarts vestibule seemed deserted, but the absence of students only emphasized the significance of what was happening. Only a few teachers and a group of aurors looked at them with their unwavering gazes. And behind them, in the background, the figure of a girl in a crimson dress stood out. Her presence, shrouded in secrecy, seemed to gather all the light and all the glances, remaining an unforgettable vision.
Among the crowd of people, she stood out with her impeccable grace and bright hair, which hid her face, inviting curious onlookers to delve into the deepest secrets of her soul.
Arthur Pendragon and Mordred existed at the crossroads of the world, where one could see it and revel in its splendor, but it never fully revealed its secrets.
Harry saw how deep within Mordred's fatherly heart, she burned her confession, how the flames and life force dispersed between them. She sincerely begged for forgiveness for the battle at Camlann, in which they both were on the brink of death.
Harry couldn't predict Arthur's reaction. His emotions always found a different path of expression, and even if he responded coldly, it would only be one facet of his complex character. But Mordred embodied all of her love, all of her strength, deepest emotional experiences, emanating a mysterious magnetism that captivated anyone she touched with her heart.
And so, amidst the sounds of their silent confrontation, in the midst of those inexpressible emotions woven together by Arthur Pendragon and Mordred, Harry Potter awaited the highest verdict of the king. Glances seeking to unite, words barely audible but significant - all this created a sense of agonizing anticipation that filled the young man's heart. Together with Mordred, who raised her head, he patiently awaited the king's response.