MTLNOVEL Chapter 157: The Fall Of The Phoenix
Deep in the heart of the Austrian Alps, a fortress of black stone pierced the sky like a jagged blade. Nurmengard—grim, silent, and forever cursed—stood as a monument to ambition and failure. Its walls were once built to imprison those who opposed the man who carved its foundations, but irony had sealed his fate; it became his own prison.
Etched across the entrance in cold, unfeeling stone was the slogan that had rallied thousands:
"For the Greater Good."
At the fortress's highest tower, in a shadowed cell that had long forgotten the warmth of sunlight, a fire suddenly roared to life.
From the heart of the flame stepped a figure clad in deep blue robes, a phoenix perched regally on his shoulder. The cell's iron door creaked as another figure moved forward from the gloom. Time had not been kind to him. His body was aged and worn, but his eyes—those eyes of mismatched colours—burned with undiminished brilliance.
"Ah, Albus," the man spoke, his voice smooth and elegant despite the years. "How long has it been? Forty years? Fifty? I've long since stopped counting. It seems the great Albus Dumbledore has finally come to visit me."
Dumbledore regarded him quietly, the calm weight of memory settling over him. "Gellert."
Before him stood Gellert Grindelwald, the man whose very name still lingered like smoke over history—whispered in fear by enemies and in longing by those who still clung to his forgotten cause. The man who once conquered Europe. The man who became a legend.
Grindelwald gave a small, amused shake of his head. "You've grown old, Albus. Tsk, tsk. Look what time does to us—frail, grey… and useless."
"Don't blame time," Dumbledore said softly. "Time is a gift. It heals many wounds."
Grindelwald's gaze sharpened. "Even the wounds of love?"
Dumbledore said nothing for a long while.
Eventually, he spoke. "Why did you summon me, Gellert? You used the Ancient Words. The call that cannot be ignored. Why now? What has changed?"
Grindelwald smiled faintly. "Ah, you've grown impatient in your old age, my friend. That's not the Albus I remember. The very people you spent your life protecting—they've taken so much from you, haven't they? Piece by piece. I wonder if there's anything left."
"I protect peace, Gellert," Dumbledore replied steadily. "I want them to live. All of them."
"How noble. How predictable." Grindelwald's tone was not mocking—just… tired. "But that's not why I called you. I had a vision, Albus. A strange one."
Dumbledore's expression hardened immediately. The last true vision that shaken the world—it had foretold the rise of Voldemort, and the boy who would stand against him. And specially Visions from Gellert Grindelwald were never trivial.
"What did you see?" Dumbledore asked carefully.
Grindelwald's mismatched eyes gleamed as he began to recite, his voice rich, rhythmic, almost prophetic:
⸻
**"In the twilight of the wizarding age,
When shadows lengthen and stars turn pale,
The Phoenix shall rise, yet falter and fade,
Its flame to gutter where trust was betrayed.
From towers high, where wisdom did dwell,
A light shall dim 'neath a serpent's fell spell.
The guardian of secrets, with heart ever true,
Shall fall to the hand of a friend turned untrue.
Yet She Who Watches Destiny, veiled in the void,
Decides who to choose and who to destroy.
Her gaze, unyielding, weaves life's fragile thread,
Marking the living, condemning the dead.
A soul comes from afar, not of this world's clay,
He, reborn, where fates twist and sway.
She Who Watches Destiny turns her dread eye,
Observes his path, where secrets and truths lie.
No wand shall save, nor time delay,
The Phoenix's fire on that fated day.
Yet from ashes cold, a spark shall remain,
To kindle the brave when hope wanes again.
The Fall of the Phoenix, the heavens shall weep,
For the shepherd of light in darkness shall sleep.
But mark the dawn, when the lost return,
For the flame of the wise and the stranger shall burn."**
⸻
Silence settled over them like frost.
Dumbledore's hands tightened around his wand. "The Fall of the Phoenix… A prophecy?"
Grindelwald's eyes never left his. "Yes. And I've reason to believe it's already begun."
Dumbledore's mind raced. "The soul from afar… does it refer to Voldemort?"
Grindelwald laughed quietly, a low, humourless sound. "No, Albus. Not him. This soul is something… entirely different. And I know who it is, or rather—what he is. I've encountered one like him before."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "When? Who was it?"
Grindelwald's lips curled into something between a smile and a memory. "Just before our grand duel in 1945. I had a vision—of a girl. She was nine years old, but her intellect was terrifying. In the Muggle world, they called her a genius. She created inventions that threatened to reveal magic to the Muggle masses—tools, weapons, ways to strip us of our power. She was the spark that could have reignited the witch hunts of old."
Dumbledore's voice was sharp. "How could a child—?"
"She wasn't truly a child, Albus. That's the terrifying part. I saw her memories. She came from another world—one where magic did not exist. She was an adult trapped in the body of a child. A soul from beyond this world."
Grindelwald's eyes darkened as he continued. "I tried to learn more, but something—someone—intervened. Her memories were sealed. Erased. The next time I saw her, she was just an ordinary girl."
Dumbledore's voice was low, dangerous now. "Where is she? Why have we heard nothing since? If she could threaten all of us—"
Grindelwald tilted his head, as if mildly amused. "Come now, Albus. You know me better than that."
A cold realization struck Dumbledore. His eyes hardened. "You killed her. You killed a child."
Grindelwald's smile was faint but unapologetic. "I eliminated a potential threat to wizardkind. A soul from another world… unpredictable, dangerous. I wasn't willing to take that chance."
The two men stood in tense silence, the weight of old grief and older sins pressing between them.
Finally, Dumbledore asked, "And the new soul? The one in the prophecy. Do you know who it is?"
Grindelwald's expression became unreadable. "No. I know only that it's a boy this time. But she protects him."
"She…?"
Grindelwald's voice softened into something almost reverent. "She Who Watches Destiny. I don't know her name, but I've felt her presence. She shields him from sight, from fate, even from me."
"I pray," Dumbledore said quietly, "that this boy will not become a threat. And I hope you never find him."
Grindelwald's laugh echoed through the stone cell. "Ah, but Albus… that's your job now, not mine. I made you a promise—I no longer interfere in the affairs of the Muggle or wizarding world. Oh what do muggle say oh yes , I am… retired."
Dumbledore studied him, as if searching for some remaining fragment of the boy he once loved. Without another word, he vanished in a blaze of phoenix fire.
Left alone, Grindelwald stared after him, his voice carrying softly through the empty cell.
"Still never say goodbye to me, do you, Albus?"
With that, he retreated into the shadows, and the flames faded, leaving only the cold stone walls and the silent weight of prophecy behind him.