The snow was getting heavier.

Each flake drifted down onto his body, bringing a cold yet gentle touch, like feathers poured from the hands of angels.

“We should go.”

Dumbledore looked at Dawn, who stood half a meter ahead, and slowly reached out, intending to take him away.

But the response he received were those crimson, trembling, frenzied eyes.

Dawn would never accept such an ending.

To waste the most precious years of his life, imprisoned in Azkaban with Dementors, sinking into emptiness and mediocrity?

What a joke.

Clenching his teeth, Dawn hurled every trace of hesitation and fear into a blazing fire, forging a desperate resolve.

Crack.

In the silence, he heard a clear snapping sound.

No wand.

No incantation.

He did not even think of using magic.

Through sheer obedience of magic to his will, one of the complex black lines snapped, leaving a small, unremarkable gap.

And then…

Something began to change.

In that vast, desolate world, Dawn felt a foreign kind of magic slowly pour into him, bringing a strange, delicate sensation.

And in the haze of it, he seemed to hear a second heartbeat.

Something like an Animagus transformation?

Dawn drew in a deep breath.

He straightened up in the snow, the tightening wires cutting into his skin, warm blood dragging bright streaks across the white.

“Headmaster, it’s not over yet.”

He lifted his head and spoke softly.

A swirl of silver-white magical mist surged upward.

Those floating symbols, under the pressure of his powerful emotions and intent, began to shift and transform amidst flickering light.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of raindrops hitting the ground.

Dumbledore touched his moist cheek, stunned for a moment.

In that instant, he felt an inexplicable warmth radiating from Dawn, a soothing power that melted the falling snow into trickling water.

Dawn grinned.

“Headmaster, thank you for showing me your magic, your skill, your strength. As your student, I also have something I really want you to see.”

Dumbledore frowned. A sense of danger rose within him. He moved, ready to cast a Stunner.

But Dawn whispered, “This is my magic.”

Pop.

A sharp crack echoed through the air. The warmth beneath Dumbledore’s hand vanished instantly.

“Apparition?!”

Dumbledore asked aloud on instinct.

He could still sense the anti-Apparition spell he had cast earlier, still active. His pupils contracted.

Staring at the empty snowfield and the dangling wires, even the calm old headmaster could not help losing composure.

America.

The Statue of Liberty.

With a burst of firelight, Dawn lay half sprawled on the crown of thorns, clutching his stomach, fighting the dizziness and nausea.

Phoenix Apparition was far more violent than a wizard’s.

If he had to describe it, it was the difference between a washing machine on slow spin and one on maximum speed, a gap of essence rather than degree.

Dawn retched a few times before forcing himself upright.

Far on the horizon, the sunset burned crimson.

The red glow seeped through the clouds in layered streaks.

Moments ago, Iceland had still been bright. Yet in America, dusk had already fallen.

Dawn felt disoriented.

Then sudden screams erupted behind him.

Tourists within the torch of the statue saw the young man who appeared out of nowhere and shrieked, pointing and triggering a wave of panic.

Dawn had no time for them.

He did not even have the luxury to relish this moment of freedom. Instead, he immediately focused on the natural magic now mixed within his own body.

Balancing human form while wielding the abilities of a phoenix—an alternative method to solving the magical creature transformation problem—depended entirely on balance.

He had to stabilize the relationship between his magic and natural magic, letting them pull at each other around him, keeping the symbols in a flickering state.

But feeling the natural magic still seeping into him, and his own magic fluctuating wildly with his emotions, Dawn realized it was far from easy.

Hiss.

Without warning…

A chilling sense of danger slammed into him, like watching a knife thrust toward his heart while bound and helpless.

He reacted before he even thought, muscles snapping tight as he threw himself to the side.

A streak of bright red light tore past his robe, slicing the air before vanishing into the distant skyline.

A Stunner.

Rolling across the ground, Dawn caught sight of it and recognized the spell.

Before he could wonder why someone would cast a spell here, a calm, elderly voice froze him mid-movement.

“Child, Apparition. How did you manage it?”

Dawn looked up in disbelief.

Standing atop the Statue of Liberty’s head, the old headmaster waited quietly, wand in hand, his white beard flowing in the wind.

It should have been a breathtaking, ethereal image, yet to Dawn, it felt utterly terrifying.

“…You really don’t give up, do you?”

After a long pause, Dawn exhaled and murmured, though his heart sank heavily.

He had not expected this at all. Even after successfully Apparating, Dumbledore still had a way to follow.

Pop.

Before Dumbledore could speak, Dawn vanished again, not giving him any chance.

The Lost City in the Andes.

Bolivia’s Uyuni Salt Flats, Spain’s Sagrada Familia.

Maldives Blue Coral Island, France’s Eiffel Tower.

Italy’s Colosseum.

Dawn Apparated again and again without pause, until the backlash stacked too heavily. Holding his head, he had no choice but to stop.

“Can I shake him off?”

Panting, Dawn tried to steady his vision, which had turned into a spinning kaleidoscope.

But a familiar voice shattered the faint hope rising in his chest.

“It won’t work, child.”

Dawn’s fingers locked tightly against the ancient stone of the Colosseum as he slowly turned around.

Dumbledore still stood there, unharmed, his robes billowing, as though he had never left.

“Dawn, don’t waste your strength. Apparition is a convenient escape method, but it doesn’t work on me. The anti-Apparition spell earlier was just for convenience.”

The headmaster sighed softly.

Dawn merely curled his lips into a smile.

He did not bother reaffirming his resolve. Instead, he vanished again, the sharp crack of displaced air expressing his determination far better than words.

He would never surrender.

The world spun around him once more.

Landscapes flashed past like a reel of slides, six or seven in a single second, worsening his nausea.

Dawn shut his eyes altogether.

I can’t keep doing this.

His skull felt ready to burst.

Inside him, the two forces of magic had only barely achieved balance in that desperate gamble. What he needed now was a peaceful environment to refine that balance.

If he kept fleeing like this, the equilibrium would break.

Either his own magic would overwhelm natural magic, causing him to lose the phoenix’s ability to bypass anti-Apparition barriers and be caught by Dumbledore…

Or natural magic would overwhelm his own, transforming him into a phoenix and triggering the world’s correction.

Neither outcome was acceptable.

Especially the second.

Whether it was the examples from Mad Magic: Blood and Taboo, or the experiments he conducted on Amir, the conclusion was clear.

If he remained a bystander during world correction, he might retain his memories.

But if he became the creature being corrected, he would lose them entirely—and might even face some unknown catastrophe.

Dawn’s expression twisted. That was an outcome he absolutely refused to accept.

But…

What should he do now?

___________

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