Translated Chapter
206. The Storm 2
Chapter 206: The Storm 2
As the storm raged overhead, the wind howled through the trees, sending shivers down the spine.
In the clearing, a group of figures stood in silence, their dark cloaks billowing in the gale. They wore wide-brimmed black hats, their faces obscured beneath the shadows, the only visible feature being the thin, pale skin of their jaws. The most striking aspect was the way their faces seemed to retain a faint, ghostly glow—whether from moonlight or some other source, it was hard to tell.
The dark cloaks were a kind of coarse, heavy wool, and they clung tightly to their bodies as the wind tore at them. The hoods cast deep shadows over their eyes, making them appear even more sinister. Though none of them seemed to possess any great physical strength, they still emitted an unsettling presence—each time the wind howled, a low, mournful moan would rise from them, chilling the blood and making the hair on one’s neck stand on end.
The boy stood at the edge of the clearing, his face turned toward the path. He lifted his hand, holding a small wooden wand, and pointed it forward. His eyes narrowed, scanning the distance between the trees.
Everyone else stood frozen in dread, their breaths shallow. Even the usually calm and composed Albus Dumbledore looked deeply unsettled. The storm raged around them, but it was the silence in the air that felt most oppressive.
The boy lowered his wand, placing it carefully on the black cloth of his cloak. The dark cloak fluttered slightly in the wind, the black fabric clinging to his form like a second skin. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with a strange intensity.
A sudden, sharp cry echoed through the woods—then silence.
The boy took a deep breath. "I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day I first arrived," he said quietly. "I always thought I understood him—thought I knew what he was capable of. But now I see... I was wrong."
He paused, his voice growing quieter. "I thought he was just a man, someone ordinary, someone I could reason with. But he’s not. He’s a force—cold, calculating, utterly without mercy. He doesn’t care about people. He doesn’t care about the consequences. He only cares about power."
A deep breath. "I was wrong to think I could change him. I was wrong to believe I could save him. He’s beyond redemption."
He turned slightly, glancing at the others. "We’ve all been wrong. We thought we were the ones who would stop him. But we weren’t. He’s always been one step ahead. He’s always been stronger."
He clenched his jaw. "I thought I could do it alone. But I was wrong. I can’t carry this burden by myself. Not anymore."
The storm raged on. The wind howled through the trees, and the boy stood motionless, his face half in shadow, half in the faint glow of the moon. The silence that followed was heavier than any sound.
Then, from the edge of the clearing, a voice cut through the wind.
"...I was wrong."
The boy turned.
His eyes met those of the man standing at the edge of the trees—Wade Gray, his expression grim, his cloak soaked through.
Wade stepped forward, his voice steady. "You’re right. He’s not just a man. He’s something worse. And we can’t stop him by thinking he’s just another enemy. We have to think like him. We have to be faster. We have to be smarter."
The boy nodded slowly. "Then we’ll do it. Together."
And in that moment, beneath the storm-wracked sky, a new resolve took root.
The storm raged on. The trees swayed. But in the clearing, something had changed.
No one spoke. No one moved.
But the silence was no longer empty.
It was full of promise.
And then—nothing.
The boy turned back to the path, lifting his wand once more.
He stepped forward into the woods, followed by Wade and the others. The path led deeper into the forest, winding toward the edge of the clearing, where a narrow trail disappeared into the dark.
There, beneath a gnarled oak, a single, ancient stone lay half-buried in the earth. On it, carved into the surface, were words—faded, worn, but still legible.
> "Wade Gray • The Last of the Watchers • 1961–1979"
> "Power is not power. It is absence."
The wind died. The storm paused.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then, slowly, the boy reached down and touched the stone.
And the forest fell silent.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
