The sky poured torrential rain, and the fierce wind bent trees to the ground. The weaker ones were uprooted entirely, and debris and gravel whirled through the air.
In an abandoned factory, a massive shadow descended from the heavens. Enveloped in crackling lightning, it crashed heavily onto a rusted steel water tank on the roof. Shards of steel pierced through the enormous wings of its feathers. Unbothered, it planted its colossal talons on the iron roof, ready to take flight again.
Suddenly, the factory around it came to life. Steel beams and drainage pipes twisted and combined, forming massive magical constructs. These constructs leapt to the ground, raised their metallic arms, and held the thunderbird in place before it could soar again.
"Hiss!"
Lightning flashed, and the thunderbird raised its enormous head, its feathers bristling like steel needles. From the tip of its sharp beak emanated wisps of black smoke. Its elongated golden eyes, as large as a human head, were filled with chaos and defiance. Electricity surged through its body as it arched its back toward the stormy clouds above.
Crack!
A bolt of lightning struck the thunderbird.
Its four wings expanded further. At the same time, two white skeletal wings tore through its flesh, emerging from its back. Covered in strange magical runes, the bony wings grew rapidly to a span of ten meters. Blood-red muscle fibers crawled over the bones, and countless feathers sprouted in dense layers.
Slash!
The newly formed wings pierced through the chest of one magical construct.
Boom!
With a dull roar, the thunderbird broke free, reducing the constructs restraining it into scattered pieces of scrap metal. Without hesitation, it flapped its six wings, smashing all remaining constructs to bits.
It prepared to take flight once more.
"Boy!"
A raspy shout came from the ground, where an old man stood amid the rain and mud.
"Look at me!" the old man shouted hoarsely. "Calm yourself!"
"Hiss!!"
The gigantic thunderbird, towering tens of meters high, spread its wings, darkening the sky. It lowered its head, and torrents of electricity rained down, striking an invisible shield and dissipating into bursts of energy.
The old man stood firm, dwarfed by the monstrous bird, raising his wand high to maintain the protective barrier. Meanwhile, the shattered pipes and beams reassembled into new constructs. These metallic entities leapt forward once again, clinging to the thunderbird's back.
Man and bird locked eyes for a long moment.
"Forgive me," the old man said softly, his voice firm.
He waved his wand again.
The constructs sprang into action, plunging a thick glass tube the size of a human arm into the thunderbird's neck. The bird let out a mournful cry, struggling in vain as its massive body began to shrink.
Eventually, it returned to human form, collapsing lifelessly on the ground.
In the distance, figures on flying broomsticks streaked through the storm clouds, and others appeared with loud cracks of Apparition. They quickly surrounded the abandoned factory, sealing off the battle site.
Amid the downpour, the old man bent down and lifted the boy's limp body, draping a black cloak over him. Without hesitation, he Disapparated, vanishing into the storm.
Hours Later
In an old house, the white-haired man opened a gramophone, allowing the gentle strains of Erik Satie's Gymnopédies to fill the air.
Hoffa, pale and dazed, leaned against a chair. The ethereal and tranquil music seemed to restore some clarity to his blank mind. He sat motionless, his face pressed against the window.
Outside, the rain poured relentlessly. From the neighboring house came the faint sound of frying eggs, the sizzling almost drowned out by the storm. The gramophone's music played on, repeating in an endless loop. Hoffa stared out the window, watching the old dog sheltering under the bicycle shed below.
From downstairs came the clinking of dishes. Before long, the old man parted the bead curtain with trembling hands, carrying a cup of hot cocoa to Hoffa.
"Sorry I didn't come for you immediately. The sedative will take a while to wear off, but don't worry too much," said Nicolas Flamel, his voice gentle but firm.
Hoffa remained motionless, glancing at Flamel briefly before looking away.
Flamel, with sparse white hair and a long gray robe, had a deeply wrinkled face and bushy eyebrows that almost obscured his bright, piercing eyes. He appeared frail and ancient, unchanged from their last meeting—fifty years ago by human reckoning, though only a week had passed for Hoffa.
It was Flamel who had found him, rampaging in the storm, lost in chaos. The old alchemist had shown no surprise at Hoffa's youthful appearance, nor had he hesitated to bring him to his home.
"Drink this; it'll help," Flamel urged, nudging the cocoa closer.
Hoffa ignored him, his gaze fixed on the dog below, which was now walking unsteadily into the rain.
Flamel sighed and sat beside him, his expression contemplative. "I can guess what happened—at least some of it."
After a long pause, he added, "I admire you, you know. If I had to name someone I truly respect among all wizards, it would be you."
Hoffa stayed silent, his eyes following the rain-drenched dog as it limped away.
Flamel continued, his tone tinged with sorrow. "Compared to you, most of us are just cowardly, self-serving fools. We cling to life, hoarding wealth, and scrambling for a few extra years. Don't let your anger consume you. People's joys and sorrows... they rarely align."
The dog disappeared into the storm. Hoffa closed his eyes, his voice cold and detached. "Get to the point."
Flamel hesitated before speaking softly. "The necklace—do you still have it, Hoffa?"
Hoffa opened his eyes and pulled a delicate necklace from his pocket. It had appeared alongside him in the Ministry of Magic, and even now, he couldn't bear the thought of handing it over to anyone.
"Give it to me," Nicolas Flamel said, his voice trembling as he stretched out a frail hand.
After a moment of hesitation, Hoffa handed him the necklace.
Tears streamed down Flamel's aged face as he clutched the necklace tightly. "Chloe, I'm sorry. We're going home. We're going home," he sobbed.
Something shifted in the atmosphere. Hoffa frowned, the gloom and bitterness within him easing slightly. He observed Flamel, who now wept like a child, overwhelmed by emotion.
"What is it?" Hoffa asked.
"Oh, it's the Resurrection Stone," Flamel replied, his voice shaking. "An alchemical creation I made, inspired by the Peverell brothers' Resurrection Stone. It's designed to preserve a person's soul."
Hoffa's eyes widened. "So Chloe isn't dead?"
"Not yet," Flamel said cautiously, cradling the necklace. "But whether she lives depends on what we do next."
This glimmer of hope pulled Hoffa from the depths of despair. Narrowing his eyes, he tapped his fingers on the table. "Wait a second. How did you know I would come fifty years into the future?"
Flamel wiped his tears and hesitated. "I made a deal with Sylbie Spencer. I helped hide Delphina's true identity, and I gave him information about the Arrow of Time."
Boom!
The cup of hot cocoa shattered on the floor. Hoffa, his anger boiling over, slammed the table into pieces. Grabbing Flamel by his collar, he pressed him against the wall. "You have three seconds to explain yourself!"
Flamel, startled by the sudden outburst, instinctively clutched Hoffa's arm. "His target was always you. It was never anyone else. He promised me that if I could detain you, he would spare my granddaughter's life."
"And you didn't refuse Fattier? You didn't refuse Sylbie?" Hoffa roared, his grip tightening.
"Do you think everyone's like you—able to fight back?" Flamel rasped under the pressure. "I'm just an old alchemist, clinging to life in a chaotic world. I was no match for Fattier de Laces, let alone... that dark overlord!"
"You treacherous old fool! I didn't even know you before this, and you dared to scheme against me!" Hoffa seethed, veins bulging on his forehead as he tightened his hold on Flamel's throat.
"I had no choice!" Flamel croaked, pinned against the wall. "There's so much I can't tell you. But what I can say is this: if Fattier's plan succeeds, and you don't go back fifty years, I won't be able to save anyone. Back then, I hadn't developed any methods for resurrection yet. Cough, cough..."
Flamel's coughing grew violent. Hoffa released him with a shove, sending him crumpling to the ground. "Fine! Your goal's been achieved. I sent your granddaughter back—not just to Britain, but to fifty years in the future."
He kicked Flamel, who lay coughing on the floor, and strode toward the door.
"Wait!" Flamel called out desperately, grabbing at Hoffa's pant leg.
"What now?" Hoffa turned, looking down at him with cold disdain.
"You... cough, cough... you must go back," Flamel stammered.
"Back where?"
"To fifty years ago."
"And why is that?"
"You don't understand," Flamel said, pounding the floor weakly. "You have no idea what terrors and monstrosities that era gave birth to! We have no other way. Only you can stop it."
"This world you see now—all of it exists because you went back. If you don't return, none of this will remain. Laws, nations, economies, order, stability—everything, even time itself, will collapse."
"Oh? And if I refuse?" Hoffa tilted his head mockingly.
Flamel shivered, caught off guard. "You... you'd refuse?"
Hoffa didn't answer. He turned and continued toward the door.
Flamel scrambled to his feet and lunged after him, only to be pushed down again. Desperation drove him to crawl forward, clutching Hoffa's waistband. "You can't do this! You have to go back! Otherwise... otherwise, this world—"
Hoffa crouched down, prying Flamel's hand off him. He stared coldly into the old man's eyes. "So I ran fifty years into the future to send your granddaughter home. And now, you want me to run fifty years back to save the world—what, just to watch myself pull the trigger and kill myself, all so this perfect picture can come true?"
Flamel stared at him, stunned, as Hoffa bared his teeth in a chilling smile. "Do you think I'm some kind of tool for you to use?"
(End of Chapter)
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