Never-Setting Sun

"Hey, Nelson!"

Andros did not understand why Nelson had stopped watching. He called out, but when Nelson did not respond, he knew he could not miss such a magnificent spell himself, so he turned back and continued watching the miracle Pythia had brought.

The white snake slowly swam along Pythia's body like a suit of exquisite armor, warding off the bitter cold of deep winter and the heights. The colors of Pythia's council flowed through its jewel-like eyes, and the confusion of the thirteen years it had spent lost on the border of death appeared there without concealment, forming its most important pupils. Warm motes of light drifted down from between its scales, driving away the years of exhaustion and misery from every onlooker.

Beautiful memories flickered in everyone's hearts and eyes. Some of them might not have been happy, and were even filled with the harsh sting of life, but compared with the darkness of so many years, every fragment of memory from before Herpo the Foul appeared was enough to soothe their hearts: the once beautiful and peaceful homeland, loved ones who had already passed away, even fights and quarrels with others... at least they had all happened under the sun, and that alone made them precious beyond measure.

Pythia watched everything she had brought about, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She stroked the cold scales of her Patronus, and every inch of skin it passed over shed the chill of death and became alive again. Never before in her life had she felt her magic as active as it was today. Fate rewarded all who were worthy of respect, and as a prophet who had spent her life seeking fate while serving as its mouthpiece, she understood even better what power beneath shackles could bring.