Amosta stood within the golden pupil of the Vertical Pupil, like a mysterious lord of flames. His gaze, surveying the void, was as grim as a prison, carrying the indifference and majesty of a god.
Rumble!
At the edge of the Vertical Pupil, the ceaseless roar of gray mist and spatial turbulence crashing together sounded like a train speeding past at full throttle.
"Isle of Avalon."
Amosta murmured, his gaze encompassing this expanse of void.
When he had first set foot on the island, Amosta had never had the chance to view the entirety of that legendary paradise. Instead, he had followed a path Gryffindor had opened for him a thousand years ago, heading straight for the temple at the island's center.
Now that the Isle of Avalon had been shattered, he could see it more clearly instead.
Fragments of the island floated chaotically through the void before him.
The larger pieces were several times the size of the Hogwarts grounds, while even the smaller ones covered half the area of the Quidditch Pitch.
As for the rubble within the rings of debris surrounding those massive fragments, there was simply no counting it.
The laws of the void differed from those of Earth's space, and ordinary units of measurement had no meaning here. What looked to be within arm's reach might in fact lie as far away as the ends of the earth.
But judging by the size of those enormous island fragments, the remnants of the dismembered Isle of Avalon probably stretched for dozens of miles.
Put back together, the island must have covered hundreds of square miles.
After only a few glances, Amosta's expression darkened.
First, there was the gray mist permeating this place.
In just a few months of dormancy, the power of death spread by the