Darkness. Silence.

  Then—ashes stirred.

  Beneath the crumbled folds of the Chaos Field’s remains, where the ws of death and dimension blur, something moved. It wasn’t life. It wasn’t even will.

  It was remnant.

  Shattered bones once cimed by the Elder Wand.

  Scraps of cursed flesh marked by the Scarlet Throne’s runes.

  A single eye—clouded, lidless—floating in a pocket of suspended time.

  The shadows convulsed around them. Slowly, deliberately, the scattered particles began to drift inward. Toward each other. Drawn not by magic alone, but by something older. Something hungrier.

  Whispers echoed from the void, speaking no nguage known, yet every soul could feel the shape of it.

  > “You were broken, little thing,”

  “But I have many names for what you can become.”

  “Voldemort was a beginning.”

  The winds howled across the fragments of unreality, carrying with them a sound—a name, ancient and endless, spoken not in voice, but in existence itself.

  > “Dormammu.”

  The eye blinked.

  And from the cracks in space itself, a grin began to form.End