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As he observed the twisted image, he felt a wave of negative emotions emanating from Voldemort's fragment. 'Horcruxes... is this magic based on Astral Souls?' he pondered. If Voldemort had found a way to split his Astral Soul and anchor the pieces into objects—or into Harry himself—he could essentially achieve immortality, as the Astral Soul represents one's true existence. Even if the physical body perished, the Astral Soul could regenerate it.
Harry couldn't afford to let Voldemort's fragment linger. He needed to understand and harness the Astral Soul fully. His thoughts turned to Ayo, the Shaman Priest, who seemed to hold the key to mastering this ancient magic.
Ayo's voice broke the silence, guiding Harry back to focus. "Whatever you see, Harry, is you. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can master it."
Harry grimaced, thinking, 'I will not accept that Voldemort is me. No thank you.'
Ayo observed Harry's discomfort but didn't comment directly. Instead, he chose a philosophical approach. "Our beliefs shape our reality, Harry. To control your Astral Soul, you must face all parts of yourself, even those you reject."
Harry took a deep breath, pushing away the immediate revulsion. He had to focus on the task at hand. Ayo continued, "The Astral Soul is about understanding your essence, your deepest self. It is a journey not many undertake, for it reveals truths that are often hard to accept."
The shaman's hut was filled with an air of mysticism, each artifact and symbol whispering tales of ancient wisdom. Harry closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts, and focused on the light within him as Ayo had instructed.
"Ayo, how does one separate a dark presence from their Astral Soul?" Harry asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
Ayo's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and respect. "It is a rare question, Harry. Separation is not the goal; integration is." Ayo, who assumed Harry was talking about an embarrassing, maybe a dark facade of his existence he wanted to separate, so he advised Harry to integrate it into his soul, meaning accepting every part of himself, but coincidentally, the wording and misunderstanding on his part changed Harry's plans. As he thought, absorbing Voldemort's soul was the correct way. How this would unfold was unknown yet, as neither would imagine something like this could happen. Ayo, unaware of Harry's true intent, continued his guidance.
That evening, Harry returned to the Chieftain's hut. As promised, Obafemi led him and Blaise to the traditional ceremony where the tribe would celebrate life, death, and magic. The air was thick with anticipation, and Harry could feel the energy of the gathering before they even arrived.
The ceremony took place in a large clearing surrounded by towering trees. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting a mystical glow over the area. Tribal members were dressed in their finest robes, adorned with intricate patterns and symbols that told stories of their ancestors and their deep connection to magic.
As they approached, the rhythmic sound of drums filled the air, accompanied by the melodic chants of the tribe's elders. The music was haunting yet beautiful, resonating with the very essence of the forest. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, not from fear, but from the sheer power and unity he sensed within the community.
Obafemi guided them to a spot near the center of the clearing, where a large bonfire blazed. The flames danced and flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. Around the fire, several figures stood, their faces painted with symbols that Harry recognized as ancient runes.
The Chieftain began to speak, his voice carrying over the assembly. "Tonight, we gather to honor the cycle of life and death, and the magic that binds us all. We celebrate the gifts bestowed upon us by our ancestors and the spirits that watch over us, and time that carry us to next adventure without a rest."
Harry watched in awe as the ceremony unfolded. The tribe members performed intricate dances around the fire, their movements fluid and graceful. Each step seemed to tell a story, a dance of life and death, intertwined with magic. The flames responded to their motions, growing brighter and more intense with each synchronized step.
At one point, Obafemi stepped forward, holding a carved staff adorned with feathers and beads. He raised it high above his head, and the chanting grew louder. "We honor those who came before us, those who have departed, and those yet to come. Their spirits guide us, their magic sustains us."
The tribe's shaman, Ayo, stepped forward, his presence commanding respect. He carried a bowl filled with a dark liquid, which he began to sprinkle around the fire. The flames flared in response, shifting colors from red to blue to green, each hue representing a different aspect of their beliefs.
Ayo's deep voice resonated through the clearing. "Magic is a gift, a tool, and a connection to the very essence of our existence. It is neither good nor evil, but a force to be understood and used."
As the ceremony continued, Obafemi turned to Harry and Blaise. "This celebration is not just for our tribe, but for all who seek to understand the true essence of magic. You are welcome to join us, to learn and to share in our wisdom."
Harry nodded, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. "Thank you, Chieftain."
The ceremony lasted well into the night, with stories, songs, and rituals that captivated Harry's imagination. He could see the deep bond between the tribe members, their connection to their heritage, and their unwavering respect for the natural world.
After the ceremony, as the fire began to die down, Harry found himself sitting with Obafemi and Ayo. The Chieftain spoke softly, "Magic is a journey, Harry. It is not just about power or skill, but understanding and harmony. You have shown great potential, but remember to seek balance in all that you do and to respect the gift you were bestowed with."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. There's so much more to magic than I ever realized."
Ayo shook his head, a calm yet critical expression on his face. "Magic is not as grand as you put it, Obafemi. It is a tool the gods created to serve us," he said, his voice carrying a hint of skepticism. The firelight danced in his eyes, reflecting the fervent beliefs he held.
Obafemi frowned, his expression thoughtful but disapproving. "Ayo, you always see things so differently. Magic is woven into the very fabric of our existence, not just a mere tool."
Harry listened intently, noting the philosophical divide between the two men. Ayo's perspective reminded him of Nicolas Flamel, who often viewed magic with a practical, almost clinical detachment. Harry had always disagreed with this approach, believing that magic was something to be respected and cherished, not merely used.
Ayo continued, his tone unwavering. "The spirits guide us, Obafemi. Magic is their gift, meant to serve humanity, not to be revered as an entity on its own."
The Chieftain's eyes darkened slightly. "We honor the spirits, Ayo, but we also honor magic itself. It is a part of us, inseparable from our souls and our heritage."
Harry felt a mix of irritation and understanding. He respected the traditions and beliefs of the tribe, but Ayo's view clashed with his own deep respect for magic. For Harry, magic was not just a tool but a vital, living part of who he was.
The discussion moved on to lighter topics as the night progressed. Obafemi shared stories of the tribe's history and their connection to the land.
"Young Harry," Obafemi began, "tomorrow we will take you to one of our sacred places. It is a site where the spirits are particularly strong. I believe you will find it enlightening."
Harry nodded, grateful for the opportunity. "Thank you, Chieftain. I look forward to it."
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