"Let me reintroduce myself." Tom Riddle first looked up at the sky, then drew his wand with a light chuckle and swiftly traced through the air, writing three gleaming names:
"Tom Marvolo Riddle"
Tom Riddle gave his wand a sharp flick—
The letters rearranged themselves into:
"I am Lord Voldemort"
"Voldemort is my past, my present, and my future," Tom Riddle said slowly.
The wizards below the stage were dumbfounded by the sight before them. Some immediately came to their senses, drawing their wands and warily preparing for any danger that might arise. They knew this man was no ordinary figure; his appearance might signify the awakening of some mysterious power or some other unforeseeable event.
Other wizards had long understood the full story behind this scene. They wore cold smiles, their eyes carrying a trace of disdain and mockery. To them, this spectacle was perhaps merely the beginning, and they had long anticipated everything that would happen next. These wizards remained calm, as though they had already placed themselves outside this game.
Still others chose to remain neutral. Neither terrified nor sneering, they watched the entire scene with cold detachment. Their eyes held an air of transcendence, as though they did not care in the slightest about what was happening before them, yet concealed a hint of observation and anticipation.
Ignoring the noise and clamor of the many wizards below, Tom Riddle merely stood quietly and slowly took several steps backward.
With every step back, his body seemed to grow lighter. In the end, as if supported by some mysterious force, his feet left the ground and he floated in midair.
Suddenly, a throne that appeared to be cast from silver materialized in the air, its sheen reflecting dazzling light beneath the volcanic sun.
Tom Riddle slowly sat upon