Darkness embraced him.
Harry floated within an abyss, weightless, untethered from the physical world. The aftermath of battle still lingered in his mind—the final clash, Njörun's last words, the sheer exhaustion that followed.
Then, a voice called out to him.
Soft. Melodic. Familiar.
"You have done well, my child."
Harry's eyes snapped open, but he was no longer in the frozen battlefield. Instead, he stood within a space beyond comprehension—a cosmic realm of shifting colors, starlit skies, and golden mist that swirled like living threads.
A woman awaited him, clad in regal violet robes, her ethereal presence undeniable.
Pandora.
The mother of all Campiones. The one who had guided him through his first ascension.
"You have slain another god," she said, stepping toward him. "And thus, you are entitled to the spoils of your victory."
Harry took a deep breath, relaxing himself. Last time after he killed fenrir he didn't know who she was but now with his memories of Jacob it madde things more understandable.
"So, How was it," She asked him, a little smile on her face. "Your first actual fight".
"Njörun was… beyond anything I expected," he admitted. "It wasn't like Fenrir—It wasn't the cat and mouse like fight when Fenrir was just toying with me, this was a real fight and If I had made one mistake she would have finished me off in an instant."
"But you did not." Pandora smiled. "You adapted. You learned. And now, you will reap what you have sown."
She raised a hand, and golden light pooled between her fingers. Threads of divine essence swirled around Harry, weaving through the air like silk strands from a celestial loom.
"The authorities of Njörun are now yours."
Harry felt it before he heard her words. His very soul trembled as new power surged into him, merging with his own.
Authority of the Hunt – The embodiment of the eternal predator. Enhances all tracking abilities, making prey unable to escape his gaze. His senses sharpen to an impossible level, allowing him to perceive his surroundings even without sight.
Predator's Gaze – Once marked, prey can never truly hide from him.
Hunter's Instincts – Reflexes, speed, and battle awareness surge in combat.
Authority of Dreams and Illusions – The power to influence perception, bending the boundary between reality and fantasy.
Dreamwalker – This allows him to invade or manipulate dreams.
Veil of the Huntress – Can temporarily obscure himself from all forms of detection, even divine ones.
Harry exhaled, his body shaking from the sheer weight of the abilities now intertwined with his being. It was exhilarating, overwhelming, and terrifying all at once.
Pandora tilted her head, watching him. "You grow stronger, my child, little by little. And yet, this is only the beginning."
Harry clenched his fists. He could feel it, the power within him, the path that stretched forward.
"Thank you," he asked, he looked at her hesitantly before adding "Mother"
Pandora smiled brightly as she grabbed into a tight hug and gave him a kiss on his forehead. "You are welcome. Now, It's time to wake up."
Harry jolted awake, gasping.
He was lying in a luxurious bed, soft silk sheets tangled around him. The room was far grander than the hotel he was in, gilded fixtures, and the faint hum of warding spells in the air. This was no doubt a Mage Association facility, one meant for important figures. They must have relocated him after the battle.
He sat up slowly, body aching, breath shaky. He knew he had met Pandora. Her presence lingered, imprinted on his soul—but the vision itself was lost to him. The memory of what was said, of what was shared, slipped through his mind like fog, intangible and elusive. All that remained was the undeniable sense that he had changed—and the pulse of new power in his soul.
He had gained Njörun's authorities.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. His gaze flickered to the bedside clock. Three days had passed since the battle. Three days of rest, uninterrupted.
The Mage Association had kept their distance, respecting his recovery. Sigurd had checked in once, offering information on the supernatural landscape of the world. But beyond that, they gave him space as he had asked.
The Dursleys, too, had been unusually quiet.
And Harry? He had spent the past few days after he woke up enjoying his remaining vacation.
For once, His summer was actually nice, there was no Relative making life unnecessarily hard, no immediate threat. No life or death battle looming over him. Just the simple reality of being truly alive without someone nagging at him.
And it felt… strange, nice but strange.
He stood, stretching, his body still sore but whole. The wounds from Njörun's spear had healed fast, a little while after the battle.
He loved being a Campione.
Either way, he wasn't going to waste the time he had left.
He had a few more days in Iceland before returning to England. Before returning to a world that still saw him as just Harry Potter.
He intended to enjoy them, Before going back to dealing with the Winx.
Harry spent the following days wandering Reykjavik. The city was peaceful, and sightseeing, its people blissfully unaware of the battle that had nearly torn the sky apart just days ago.
He visited the harbor, watching the ships drift over the icy waters. He explored the old streets, tried new things, breathing in the crisp air, letting himself exist in a moment without responsibility.
And for the first time, he felt something close to peace as Harry Potter.
Even the Dursleys had ceased their usual hostility. Vernon barely spoke to him, Petunia avoided him, and Dudley… well, Dudley just kept watching him, as if trying to understand what had changed.
Harry didn't bother explaining.
Let them wonder.
Soon, the day arrived.
Their flight was scheduled for the afternoon, the Mage Association having arranged a first-class return. They understood the importance of keeping a Campione comfortable.
He truly did like having an entire Organization bending to his will.
As Harry stood in the airport, waiting for boarding to begin, he allowed himself a final moment to reflect.
He had changed.
No longer just a boy caught in the whims of fate.
No longer just the Boy Who Lived.
He was a Campione.
A Godslayer.
With one last glance at the Icelandic skyline, Harry stepped forward.
It was time to go home.
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