Harrold leaned against the trunk of a sprawling mango tree on Orsus, the tropical breeze rustling the leaves above him. His thoughts drifted back to his old world, to a time when his magic was wild and unpredictable, still reeling from the battle against another dark lord whose name was now a distant memory. It was shortly after that victory that Harrold had embarked on a journey east, seeking to escape the weight of his own legend.
In magical Japan, he had stumbled into the world of shadows—ninjas who blended magic with their ancient arts. It was there that he encountered Himura Shinji, a mysterious figure who could create perfect clones of himself. Harrold had been fascinated, eager to learn how the ninja could divide his essence so flawlessly. But at that time, Harrold was no master of the mind arts. His attempt to read Shinji's surface thoughts had gone disastrously wrong.
Unstable from his battle with the dark lord, Harrold's magic surged, attacking Shinji and inadvertently downloading all of the ninja's memories and knowledge into his own mind. The experience was devastating, leaving Shinji alive but broken and Harrold bedridden for weeks. The influx of alien memories and foreign knowledge had taken nearly a year to organize within his mind, but when the storm finally settled, Harrold emerged with a new understanding of the intricate art of magical cloning.
Shinji's knowledge had revealed the intricacies of a technique passed down through generations in his clan. A magical clone, or "doppelgänger," was a perfect replica of the creator, capable of independent thought and action. However, the process came with a steep cost.
Every minute the clone existed, it drained an equal measure of life force from the creator. This was why most clones were limited to an hour at most. Most clones disintegrated when their magic was exhausted, leaving no trace behind. Harrold as an immortal, does not have an issue with the lifeforce. Nothing will shorten his life. He can take a bullet to his head but still recover in time and wake up.
A ritual could create a permanent clone, but it required tremendous preparation. It needs a lot of blood of the creator and can only be created on a full moon.
Harrold had only once used the permanent ritual. The permanent clone will in time develop their own personality and characteristics. They will not have the magical reserves like Harrold. They will be just average wizards. The First permanent clone he created, within a few years decided to change the gender and live as a woman. Thankfully the clone inherited the metamorphous skills Harrold unlocked and used it to become a woman.
Harrold did not create anymore after that.
The crew of the Hedwig gathered on the beach, their faces lit by the flickering light of a bonfire. They listened intently as Harrold explained his plan to send the Hedwig back to Braavos to gather supplies and magicals from the Free Cities.
"I will not be joining you on this journey," Harrold began, his voice steady and authoritative. Murmurs spread through the crew, but he raised a hand to silence them. "Instead, I will create a replica of myself—a clone. He will accompany you, and you will obey him as you would me."
The crew exchanged uneasy glances. None of them were strangers to Harrold's magic, but the idea of a duplicate was unsettling.
"Will it truly be you?" asked Thoren, the ship's first mate, his brow furrowed.
"In every way that matters," Harrold replied. "He will share my knowledge, little bit of my magic, and my authority. His name will be Harry, and he will be your captain for the duration of the voyage."
"But…" Anya, the ship's healer, hesitated. "How can we trust him? What if the clone goes rogue?"
Harrold chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Harry will be an extension of myself. He will obey the same moral compass that guides me. But rest assured, should anything go wrong, the clone will have safeguards in place. He will not survive longer than necessary."
The crew nodded, some more reluctantly than others.
The ritual took place in the heart of Orsus, in a clearing surrounded by ancient trees that hummed with magical energy. Harrold stood in a carefully drawn circle of runes, the air around him crackling with power.
He began the incantation, channeling his magic into the circle. The process was taxing, the magic draining him with every passing second. He could feel the pull of his own life force, the essence of who he was being divided and shaped.
Slowly, a figure began to materialize in the circle—a mirror image of Harrold. The clone opened his eyes, the same piercing green as the original, and stepped forward.
"I am Harry," the clone said, his voice identical to Harrold's.
"Yes, you are," Harrold replied, exhaustion heavy in his voice. He handed Harry a bracelet identical to the ones worn by the crew, imbued with the same protections. "You will sail with the crew to Braavos. Gather supplies. Bring the magicals back from the Free Cities. Protect them."
Harry nodded, his expression solemn. "I understand."
The next day, the Hedwig set sail, with Harry standing at the helm. The crew, though still wary, obeyed him as they would Harrold. As the ship disappeared over the horizon, Harrold stood on the shores of Orsus, watching it go.
For the first time in centuries, he felt the weight of his own limitations. He had sent a piece of himself out into the world, trusting it to carry out his vision. And as he turned back toward the jungle, he couldn't help but wonder what the future would hold—for him, for Orsus, and for the magicals he had sworn to protect.
As Harrold walked through the dense jungle of Orsus, his thoughts drifted to the nature of magic in this world. It was wild, chaotic, and untamed—a stark contrast to the controlled, polished magic of his old world. In his previous life, magic had been like a well-oiled machine, predictable and smooth, honed through centuries of refinement. Here, however, magic felt like an unbroken horse: powerful, raw, and stubborn. It demanded not just mastery but an understanding of its untamed nature.
The first shock had come when he tried to Apparate. He still remembered the sharp backlash, the magical recoil that had left him staggered and breathless. It wasn't just that Apparation didn't work; it was as if the very fabric of this world's magic rejected the concept entirely. The same went for portkeys—objects imbued with travel magic simply fizzled out, inert. Travel here was bound by physical laws, and no amount of magic seemed to override that.
Transfiguration, a branch of magic he had once mastered to near-perfection, also behaved strangely. While he could still transfigure objects, the process demanded an extraordinary amount of magical energy, far more than he had ever needed before. And even when successful, the transformations were fleeting, often reverting to their original forms within hours or even minutes. It was as though the magic of this world actively resisted being reshaped.
Conjuration was even more finicky. Attempts to summon objects out of thin air almost always failed. When it did work, the conjured items were unstable, prone to disintegrating into nothingness moments after creation. It was a frustrating limitation, and Harrold had quickly learned to adapt by relying on physical tools and resources instead.
Defensive and offensive spells, thankfully, behaved more predictably. A shield charm would hold against an attack, and blasting curses still packed their usual punch. While not as efficient as in his old world, these branches of magic retained enough reliability to make them usable in battle.
But what fascinated Harrold most was the magic of runes.
Runes in this world weren't just functional—they were exceptional. Harrold had always appreciated the art of runework in his old world, where it was often overlooked in favor of faster, flashier magic. Here, though, runes seemed to thrive. Whether it was Norse, Celtic, or even ancient Egyptian, every rune set from his old world not only worked but often surpassed his expectations.
When he carved protective wards into the Hedwig's hull, he had expected them to last for a month or two at best. Instead, the runes pulsed with an almost sentient energy, amplifying his intent and drawing on the wild magic of this world to maintain their strength. It was as if the magic here respected the permanence and structure of runes, finding solace in their order amidst its own chaotic nature.
Even more intriguing was how this world's runes—those etched into ancient ruins, artifacts, and landscapes—resonated with his own. On several occasions, Harrold had discovered rune sets entirely alien to him, yet when he experimented with them, they integrated seamlessly with the runes he already knew. This world's magic seemed to favor runes as a bridge between intent and reality, making them a cornerstone of his efforts moving forward.
Harrold's curiosity burned brighter than ever. He was eager to learn the native runes of this world, to decode their secrets and weave them into his own magic. There was so much potential here. Runes could be the key to overcoming many of the limitations he had encountered—perhaps even finding a way to replicate travel magic or stabilize conjurations.
His mind was already spinning with ideas. What if he could combine the wild power of this world's runes with the refined techniques of his old one? Could he create a hybrid magic, something entirely new?
But more than that, Harrold recognized the practicality of runes. They offered a stability that other branches of magic lacked in this world. They could be carved into weapons, armor, buildings, and even the island itself, turning Orsus into a fortress that no force—magical or mundane—could breach.
Yet, with this eagerness came a sense of responsibility. Harrold knew that his understanding of magic set him apart, but it also gave him power over others. He had already seen how the magic of this world could be twisted and corrupted—Valyria was a haunting testament to that. If he was going to experiment with runes, he needed to ensure his knowledge didn't fall into the wrong hands.
His plans for Orsus grew clearer with each passing thought. The island would become more than just a refuge; it would be a training ground, a center of learning for magicals who had been neglected and misunderstood by their world. And runes would be at the heart of it all.
If this world's magic was wild, then Harrold would tame it. Not with force, but with understanding. And perhaps, in time, he would reshape the chaotic magic of this land into something greater than even his old world could have imagined.
As Harrold wandered through the dense, vibrant jungle of Orsus, he marveled at the sheer abundance of magical flora and fauna that thrived on the island. Towering trees with shimmering, silver leaves stood alongside vines that glowed faintly in the dark, their light pulsing like a heartbeat. Exotic fruits with crystalline rinds dangled from branches, and small, luminous creatures flitted between them, their translucent wings refracting sunlight into rainbows. The island was alive with magic, and it filled Harrold with both awe and ambition.
He knelt by a cluster of vivid blue flowers growing at the base of a gnarled tree, their petals shimmering like glass. They reminded him of moonshade blossoms, a key ingredient for restorative potions back in his old world. Picking one delicately, he held it to his nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent. He had no doubt it contained potent magical properties. If he could unlock the secrets of these plants, he might be able to recreate some of the most powerful potions from his old world—or perhaps even invent new ones.
Potions had always fascinated Harrold, even before he came to this world. They were a perfect blend of art and science, requiring precision, patience, and intuition. He thought back to the time after he had mastered the downloading knowledge technique. It had been a turning point for him, a moment when his pursuit of knowledge became limitless.
The memory of his encounter with the old potion master came to mind. With the master's permission, Harrold had used the technique to download every ounce of his knowledge—decades of experience brewing complex elixirs, antidotes, and poisons—directly into his own mind. But as invaluable as the knowledge was, it hadn't been enough. Harrold had spent years afterward working side by side with the potion master, refining and perfecting what he had learned. The technique gave him the foundation, but true mastery came only through practice and experimentation.
That experience had taught Harrold the true potential of the downloading knowledge technique. It wasn't just a shortcut; it was a tool to expand his horizons in ways he'd never imagined. Over the centuries, he had used it sparingly but effectively, always ensuring he had permission before delving into someone's mind. With it, he had absorbed not only magical disciplines like advanced warding and enchanting but also mundane skills—shipbuilding, navigation, engineering, and even farming.
Here, on Orsus, he saw an opportunity to combine his old and new knowledge. The island's magical ecosystem was unlike anything he had ever encountered, but his expertise in potions gave him a foundation to start from. He imagined crafting potions with entirely new properties, drawn from the unique ingredients the island offered. Perhaps he could create a potion that enhanced magical sensitivity, or one that temporarily bolstered physical strength without the dangerous side effects of traditional brews.
Harrold's thoughts turned to the creatures of Orsus. He had already cataloged several magical species: a small lizard that could turn invisible when threatened, a bird whose song seemed to calm even the most agitated minds, and a serpent with scales that shimmered like molten gold. Each creature was a potential source of magical components, their properties waiting to be uncovered.
The potential of the island excited him, but it also reminded him of his responsibilities. Knowledge, after all, was a double-edged sword. The potions he created here could heal and protect, but in the wrong hands, they could just as easily harm or destroy. He would have to tread carefully, sharing his discoveries only with those he trusted implicitly.
Still, the possibilities were endless. Harrold imagined the day when he could teach others what he had learned—when the magicals he brought to Orsus would not only learn to control their gifts but also contribute to the growth of their shared knowledge. The island would become a sanctuary for learning and innovation, a place where magic and science intertwined to create something greater than either could achieve alone.
The key, Harrold realized, was balance. The island's magical resources were vast but not infinite. He would have to ensure they were used responsibly, not only to sustain the magicals he brought here but also to preserve Orsus's natural beauty and power.
As he walked back toward the camp, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. Orsus would not just be a base or a training ground—it would be a cradle of knowledge, a place where the magicals of this world could thrive. And with the skills and insights he had gained, Harrold knew he could turn this vision into reality.
The wild magic of this world might resist being tamed, but Harrold wasn't trying to control it. He wanted to work with it, to unlock its secrets and use them to build a future for himself and the people he had chosen to protect. In this untamed land, he saw not chaos but endless possibilities, waiting for someone bold enough to seize them.
Harrold's fascination with this new world's untamed magic drove him to push the boundaries of his abilities further. The idea of wands had lingered in his mind for some time. Ever since he became the master of death, he was able to wield magic without a wand. However the clones will need wands to perform magic. He knew from experience that wands could act as powerful amplifiers, focusing and refining magical energy. While he did not encounter any magical who has enough magic to weild a wand, he realise that they might fine some who can.
Harrold retreated to one of the workbenches he had set up on Orsus, surrounded by piles of materials scavenged from the ruins of Valyria and the island's own abundant resources. He experimented with various woods from the island, such as the dense, iron-like obsidianwood tree and the flexible glowvine branches. For cores, he used magical materials he had either found on Orsus or salvaged from the creatures he encountered—serpent scales, bird feathers, and shards of Valyrian steel, all imbued with latent magic.
His first few attempts were rough. The wands often sparked uncontrollably, emitted faint wisps of smoke, or refused to channel magic altogether. Harrold sighed in frustration but pressed on, using his knowledge of enchanting and runes to refine the designs.
After weeks of trial and error, he created a wand that functioned consistently. It wasn't perfect—nothing like the precision and craftsmanship of Ollivander's wands—but it worked. The wand amplified his spells and allowed him to cast them with greater precision, albeit with a slight delay in response time. It was good enough, and it gave Harrold the foundation he needed to produce more.
With his newfound success, Harrold crafted additional wands, each imbued with slightly different magical properties. Some wands were tailored for offensive magic, while others excelled at defensive spells or warding. These wands, he decided, would serve his clones.
Now equipped with functioning wands, Harrold began creating clones at a steady pace, producing two to three per week. Each clone was an extension of himself, sharing his knowledge and skills but assigned with specific tasks to aid in the development of Orsus.
Some clones were tasked with delving deeper into the magical flora and fauna of the island, experimenting with potions to uncover their unique properties. Others focused on the intricate art of runes, carving and inscribing them onto everything from tools to the structures being built. The clones were tireless workers, and their shared knowledge allowed them to collaborate seamlessly, each building on the progress of the others.
While some clones dedicated themselves to experimentation, Harrold and the rest began constructing temporary shelters for the magicals he planned to bring to Orsus. Using the wood and stone found on the island, they erected several dormitory-style buildings, simple but sturdy. The dorms were designed to house dozens of people, with enough space to ensure comfort while keeping things practical.
Next came the communal buildings. They constructed a large kitchen and dining hall, capable of feeding everyone efficiently. Harrold also planned for classrooms, where magicals could learn not only to read and write but also to control their powers. Everything was functional and temporary, but Harrold already envisioned replacing them with more permanent, elegant structures once they had the resources and time.
The work was demanding, even with the clones. Harrold found himself physically and magically exhausted at the end of each day, but he took solace in the progress they were making. Orsus was slowly transforming from a wild, uninhabited island into a sanctuary for magicals.
Harrold knew that bringing magicals to Orsus would not be easy. Many of them were isolated, mistrusted, or even hunted in the cities where they lived. He would need to offer them not only safety but also a sense of purpose. The crude shelters and temporary facilities would suffice for now, but he needed to ensure that the island felt like a home—a place where magicals could build a future together.
To achieve all this, Harrold knew he would have to rely on his clones more than ever. The work was too vast for one man, even one as powerful and experienced as himself. But with the clones, he could divide the responsibilities and focus on the tasks that required his personal touch.
As Harrold stood on a hill overlooking the bustling camp, he felt a flicker of pride. Orsus was far from complete, but it was already becoming a beacon of hope—a beginning. For the first time in a long while, Harrold allowed himself to feel optimistic. They were building something that could change the course of this world, one step at a time.
As Harrold stood atop one of the ridges overlooking Orsus, the sheer beauty of the island struck him once again. The dense jungles, vibrant flora, and shimmering coastline stretching as far as the eye could see reminded him of Bali, an island from his old world he had visited centuries ago. He estimated Orsus to be roughly the same size, perhaps slightly larger.
The island's circular shape, with its mountainous center rising like a natural fortress, gave it an air of isolation and mystery. Harrold marveled at the way nature had claimed every inch of the island, untouched by the outside world. Streams cascaded down from the mountains into lush valleys, where dense forests teemed with life. The coastline, dotted with pristine beaches and hidden coves, was a paradise in its own right.
Harrold's thoughts shifted from admiration to practicality. This island is perfect, but it's fragile, he thought. He wanted Orsus to remain a sanctuary not only for magicals but also for the creatures and plants that called it home. Preserving its natural beauty while building a functional base was a delicate balance he would have to maintain.
Harrold decided that the first step in understanding Orsus—and protecting it—was to map it out. While he had explored parts of the island, much of it remained uncharted. He summoned one of his clones and tasked it with the critical job of exploration.
"Take this," Harrold said, handing the clone a sturdy notebook and a wand imbued with tracking and mapping runes. "I want every corner of this island mapped. Mark the streams, the forests, the clearings—everything. Pay special attention to the magical hotspots. If you encounter anything unusual, magical creatures especially, note it down and avoid disturbing them."
The clone nodded. "What's the priority, Harrold?"
Harrold considered for a moment. "The mountainous center. It dominates the island and likely affects everything around it. Explore there first. And be cautious—this island is magical, and its secrets won't give themselves up easily."
As the clone set off, Harrold envisioned the map taking shape: the circular coastline, the jagged peaks of the central mountain range, the winding rivers, and the dense forests. The map would be essential for planning not only their buildings but also the placement of wards to protect both the magical creatures and the humans who would call Orsus home.
Harrold's thoughts returned to the magical creatures he had already encountered on Orsus. Some were familiar from his old world—phoenix-like birds, serpent-like creatures in the streams—but others were entirely new. There were luminous deer-like creatures that radiated a gentle magical aura, massive lizards with scales that shimmered like gemstones, and trees with fruits that glowed faintly at night.
These creatures and plants were part of what made Orsus special, and Harrold was determined to protect them. He planned to set aside large portions of the island as protected zones, warded off from human interference. These wards would keep out all but the most determined intruders and discourage any accidental exploration.
"We can't destroy what makes this island unique," Harrold muttered to himself. "If we're going to live here, we have to respect it. Orsus has been untouched for centuries, maybe millennia. I won't let us ruin that."
He decided that the areas closest to the central mountains, where the most powerful magical creatures seemed to dwell, would be completely off-limits. Smaller sanctuaries would be set up throughout the island to protect specific ecosystems.
Several months had slipped by in an industrious haze on Orsus. During that time, Harrold and his clones had worked tirelessly to construct dormitories and communal buildings, refine potions from the island's flora, and strengthen the wards that safeguarded their hidden sanctuary. Each passing day brought new discoveries—magical creatures in the jungle depths, unprecedented spells gleaned from experiments, and innovative runes that thrived on Orsus's wild magic.
Yet, despite the steady progress, Harrold couldn't shake the sense that something was missing. The dorms stood partially empty, awaiting the magicals he had sent the Hedwig to gather. The vast kitchens and dining hall served only a few. The classrooms and training grounds felt underused.
Then, one sweltering afternoon, the sentry clone posted at the island's western lookout rushed into Harrold's workspace, excitement gleaming in his eyes.
"They're back," the clone said breathlessly. "And they're not alone."
Harrold sprinted to the cliff overlooking Orsus's western bay, where the wards parted just enough to allow ships passage. There, against the shimmering line of the horizon, two ships sailed into view. One was instantly recognizable: the Hedwig, its enchanted sails dyed midnight blue and bearing the silver griffin of House Gryffindor. But beside it sailed a second vessel, equally sleek, its hull reflecting the sun with a glint of reinforced magical wards.
The new ship flew the same silver griffin standard. Its sails, similarly, enchanted, signaled to Harrold that the Iron Bank had delivered on its promise—another Hedwig-class ship. His heart pounded with anticipation. He was glad the clone harry was with the Hedwig crew so that he can add the basic protections to the new ship and key in the ship. Otherwise it would not be able to come this far into the protected wards. Harrold sent one of the clones in a boat to meet the ships and let them know about the new harbor.
One of Harrold's greatest undertakings on Orsus—beyond erecting dormitories and communal buildings—was the creation of a functional harbor. The chosen site lay at the westernmost curve of the island, where a natural inlet cut into the rocky shore. Using both mundane tools and magical runes that softened stone, the clones painstakingly widened and deepened the inlet. They inscribed runic protections into the newly exposed bedrock, stabilizing it and giving the harbor a structural integrity that would withstand storms and heavy ship traffic.
As they worked, the clones took care not to disturb the surrounding environment. Mangroves and other indigenous plants were replanted further inland or relocated to newly formed lagoons, maintaining a balance between the port's functionality and Orsus's rich ecosystem.
With the inlet prepared, Harrold directed the construction of several wooden piers. These sturdy walkways jutted out into the calm waters, anchored by logs protected with weatherproofing spells and runic carvings that repelled rot and barnacles.
At the central pier, a large wooden platform served as the main loading area. Runes etched into the planks ensured stable footing even in rough weather. Lanterns, lit by faintly glowing crystals discovered on Orsus, hung at regular intervals to guide dockworkers through early mornings and late nights.
Another clone directed the incoming vessels by sending up brief pulses of magical light from a runic beacon atop the central pier. The beacon's glow cut through the early-morning haze, allowing the ships' helmsmen to align themselves with the hidden entrance in the wards. Slowly, the ships glided into the hidden bay. Harrold watched from the shore as sailors tossed ropes to secure the vessels, and then the gangplanks were lowered.
The Hedwig and its sister ship disgorged a wave of new arrivals. Harrold estimated roughly five hundred people, men and women of all ages, children clinging to their parents' hands. Even from a distance, he could sense their magic—a faint tingle in the air, as though the island itself was welcoming them home.
Faces glowed with a mixture of relief, excitement, and apprehension. Many had traveled half the world to reach this sanctuary, carrying little more than the clothes on their backs and the hope that life on Orsus would be different. Healers, craftsmen, sailors, farmers—people of all backgrounds who shared one common bond: they possessed magic in a world that often feared or shunned them.
Harrold stepped forward, his heart pounding with a rare flush of emotion. One of his clones, stationed by his side, nodded in quiet acknowledgment. This moment was everything Harrold had envisioned when he first dreamed of creating a haven for magicals.
Captain Elissa, at the head of the Hedwig, spotted Harrold and saluted. "My lord," he called, voice carrying over the gentle surf. "We've returned, and we've brought friends."
A second figure appeared behind Edric—Harry, Harrold's clone who had been sent to oversee the gathering of magicals. Although identical in appearance and manner, Harry bore subtle differences in posture, his experiences clearly having shaped him over the past months.
"We visited Braavos, Myr, Lys, Tyrosh, and Pentos," Harry reported, voice steady but tinged with relief at returning to Orsus. "Every stop yielded more magicals looking for refuge. The second Hedwig-class ship was ready in Braavos, and we claimed it. We named her Helena. She sails just as smoothly as the Hedwig."
Harrold smiled. "A new ship, five hundred magicals… quite a successful expedition."
Harry nodded. "There are more who wanted to come, but logistics proved difficult. We'll have to make another voyage soon."
An older woman with silver-streaked hair, wearing threadbare robes, approached Harrold. Something in her gaze spoke of resilience hard-earned over years of hiding her magic. A small boy clung to her side.
"My lord," she said quietly, voice trembling. "Thank you for giving us a place to belong."
Harrold raised a hand to gently stop her from bowing. "We have all suffered in one way or another," he said, sincerity in his voice. "But you'll find no persecution here. Orsus is a sanctuary for magicals."
He gestured at the newly built dormitories and common buildings just visible through the trees. "We'll start by settling everyone into temporary housing. We have a dining hall, a kitchen, and basic facilities ready. As we learn more about your talents, we'll see how best to integrate you into our community."
The clones sprang into action with practiced efficiency, guiding groups of newcomers to their quarters. The air was alive with chatter: children exclaiming at the tropical fruits and vibrant flowers, adults marveling at the island's wards and the sense of calm that pervaded Orsus.
Harrold's mind raced with the tasks that lay ahead. Five hundred magicals—five hundred lives changed forever. He would have to organize lessons, assign living spaces, and evaluate each individual's strengths and needs. Some might become healers or potion makers, others might train as sailors or runesmiths. The island would soon hum with activity, a hive of magical energy unlike anything this world had seen in centuries.
But for now, he allowed himself a moment of quiet triumph. The vision he had for Orsus—a thriving, hidden sanctuary—was beginning to take shape. The dormitories he and his clones had built would finally be occupied, the classrooms filled with eager minds, and the kitchens would feed a burgeoning community.
As dusk settled over Orsus, Harrold stood on the beach, watching the final stragglers disembark. Lanterns bobbed among the trees, illuminating the path toward the settlement. The soft murmur of excited voices blended with the distant rhythm of the ocean.
Harry, standing beside Harrold, mirrored his stance. "We've done well," he observed, his tone measured but proud.
Harrold nodded. "Indeed. But there's so much left to do. We'll need more dorms, more supplies, and better infrastructure. Still, this is a monumental step."
Harry turned to face him. "I'll rally the other clones. We can begin expansions in the morning."
Harrold gave a brief smile. "Yes, do that." He glanced at the horizon, where the faint glow of stars was emerging. "Tonight, though, let them rest. Let everyone rest. Tomorrow, we build anew."
Thus began a new chapter in the story of Orsus. The island, once silent save for the rustle of palm fronds and the song of exotic birds, now stirred with the heartbeat of a nascent community. Harrold felt a rare spark of hope light in his chest. For the first time in centuries, he saw the outlines of a future he could shape—a future where magicals need not hide, where knowledge could be shared freely, and where his grand vision might finally find fertile ground.
AN – If you recognize anything, they don't belong to me. Please note that I am using AI to help me write the story. If the words, dialogue feel little off, that's the reason. I simply do not have time, energy or the talent to write without AI. If I did, I would publish my own book. I am writing because it makes me happy and hope you will find it interesting. If not, there are plenty of other talented writers and many amazing stories to read.