A glass vial filled with strange golden potion floated out of Amosta's pocket and hovered before his eyes.
Soul Nourishing Potion.
That was what had been written in runes on the cover of the stack of manuscripts Salazar Slytherin had left inside the black box in the vault, manuscripts that seemed to record the method for brewing this miraculous potion. As for the contents that followed, Amosta had been about to read them when the upheaval in the lava lake had forced him to leave in haste.
His focused gaze fell upon the gleaming little glass vial. Amosta's lips were dry, and his heartbeat unconsciously quickened.
Even now, there remained one final peak for him to climb on the path of magic. He had stood at the foot of that mountain for some time, yet he had never taken the first step, because Amosta knew that he still lacked a little accumulation before he could push open that barrier.
Compared with ordinary wizards, his rate of progress had already been swift enough. Even Voldemort, who had performed many extremely dangerous Dark Magic alterations on his own body in his youth, was far inferior to him. This undoubtedly proved Amosta's extraordinary magical talent, born as he was with the power of two souls.
However, talent alone was not enough when facing that barrier. He also needed time to settle and accumulate. Yet the approaching danger would not give Amosta ample time to prepare.
Although Amosta had long been mentally prepared for Voldemort's resurrection, when Voldemort truly returned, he had to admit that he was still somewhat worried.
That worry was not merely because of Voldemort. Rather, he feared that Voldemort's return would stir up even greater conspiracies lurking beneath the surface.
The present-day wizarding world was no longer what it had