Cold winds howled through the mountains, and the lonely snow seemed never to stop. Even though it was Christmas Eve, the heat of the holiday had not brought the slightest warmth to this place. There were two of the most famous prisons in the wizarding world.
One was Azkaban, located on an isolated island in the North Sea and governed by the British Ministry of Magic.
Dementors guarded it year-round, and it was said that no prisoner could ever escape.
The other had no terrifying monsters, only two elderly Squibs taking turns as guards.
It held only one prisoner.
Yet solely because of that one prisoner, Nurmengard's status was enough to rival Azkaban, striking terror into people's hearts.
The First Dark Lord, Grindelwald.
Strictly speaking, that title was inaccurate.
Grindelwald had never called himself the Dark Lord. He did not even consider himself a Dark wizard.
His followers likewise believed that they were pursuing a path toward a greater good.
Even after their final defeat, they still held their heads high.
The battle back then had not been for personal ambition or a struggle for power. It had simply been a choice between two different paths.
Thus, the only universally recognized Dark Lord of this century was Voldemort. Space rippled, and a milky-white halo appeared. Dumbledore stepped out of it and arrived at the foot of the mountain.
He looked up at the tower.
At the very top, a faint glow could be seen.
After standing there for a full half hour, the old man finally made up his mind and took his first step.
When he reached the barrier, he pressed a sheet of golden parchment against it. A blue magical barrier appeared, fused with the parchment, and then split open.
The Squib guarding the entrance sensed the disturbance