"So, my dear colleagues," Tierra asked with a smile, "you should now know how to urge those stubborn pockets of power scattered across Europe to relocate to the United Kingdom... Oh, no, I mean the small units of power all across Europe, right?"
"After all, this is not my power." Tierra smiled. "These are your little units of power. How much power you can gain in the future depends entirely on this."
Tierra's words stirred a wave of excitement in the hearts of the wizarding officials. They began considering how they could acquire more population in order to expand their families' influence and resources.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Europe, within another layer of space inside the Vienna Golden Hall.
The struggle for the position of President of the International Magical Federation had also reached a fever pitch.
The young-looking Voldemort stood on the stage alongside the other two candidates, facing the thousands upon thousands of ordinary wizards in the hall. They were about to begin today's speeches and debate.
Voldemort stepped up to the podium, and his tall, lean figure immediately drew the audience's attention. He smiled and nodded to those around him. Everyone could feel the authority and confidence radiating from him.
Tom Riddle—
Or rather, the young Voldemort—was dressed today in an impeccably tailored black wizard's formal robe, shimmering beneath the brightly lit lamps of the Vienna Golden Hall like stars in the night.
A golden olive wreath rested casually atop his head.
It seemed to symbolize victory.
Voldemort wore a smile. In his youthful form, he was extraordinarily handsome; merely standing on the elevated stage was enough to draw every eye.
Several representatives of dissenting wizarding factions cast suspicious looks his way, but he paid them no mind.
"Honored listeners, my dear and pitiful wizarding colleagues, thank