The High-Dimensional Overseer and the Wand

Regulus's soul is also a Starry sky, with Bellatrix being the brightest, but most of the Starry sky is dark.

Those dark places are not holes, not defects, not areas that need to be filled or repaired.

They were always there, forming the complete Starry sky together with the stars.

What's in those dark places?

He looked at it carefully.

Desire to dominate.

He assigned Snape to do what he was supposed to do, Samuel and Lina to gather Muggle knowledge, Avery to be the spokesperson, and Alex to handle external liaison.

Hermes... Hermes doesn't need any assignment; he's the enforcer, or to put it more politely, the one in charge of the fighting.

He put the right people in the right jobs, assigned roles to everyone, and turned a disorganized mess into a cohesive machine.

He didn't enjoy the process; more accurately, he took these things for granted. They needed someone to arrange them, and he was the most suitable, so it was him. But the very judgment that he was the most suitable was a fundamental characteristic.

Then there's something else: the desire for control.

Every matter must be thoroughly analyzed, every level must be seen through as much as possible, and the outcome must be firmly in our grasp.

Uncertainty makes him uncomfortable. He can tolerate deviations in the plan, but he must know where the deviation comes from, why it happened, and how to avoid it next time.

This thirst for information and obsession with results are different manifestations of the same thing.

And there's the never-ending thirst for power.

He's growing stronger every day; no one's forcing him, and it's not to deal with any specific threat.

He wanted to become stronger; power itself attracted him, Magic itself attracted him, and the things he hadn't yet accomplished attracted him.

And a deeper loneliness.

He stood at a height higher than everyone else, overlooking the past and future of this world.

He knew the fates of all the important figures in his original destiny—who would die, who would live, who would betray him, and who would persevere to the end. He looked at those people, spoke to them, interacted with them, and influenced them to change, for better or for worse.

He knew perfectly well what their respective fates were in the original story.

He can see things that others cannot, and he knows things that others do not.

The amount of information he uses when making decisions is on a completely different level compared to most adult wizards, and even the very top ones.

This gap doesn't bring a sense of superiority; it's simply an objective reality.

He was a person standing on high ground, where the wind was strong and there was no one else around.

These things—the driving force behind his arrangements, his thorough analysis, his relentless thirst for power, and his isolation from his lofty position—were all his own. The Dark Enlightenment brought domination, oppression, and devouring; those were Voldemort's things, they were foreign.

These dark aspects of his soul grew out of him.

It has been with him since the first day it came into this world, always there, only it had never been brought out to be seen before.

They are woven into everyday life; we use them when analyzing Dumbledore and Voldemort's intentions, when practicing Magic every day, and when someone is lying in bed thinking.

They have been used all along, just without being named.

The Dark Enlightenment them to step out from the corner and into the light.

When he unleashed his Domination Domain tonight, he felt the exhilarating feeling of crushing everything, the urge to make her kneel down—those things came from the Dark Enlightenment.

But the Dark Enlightenment can evoke them because his soul already possesses frequencies that resonate with them.

The appearance of Voldemort took things a step further.

In the instant when the dark was stirred and the light followed suit, he saw the full picture of his own soul.

Light and darkness have always been one; together they constitute him as a person.

Bellatrix is his Protection, and the desire for dominance is also part of him. His Patronus is the bright reflection of his soul, while the thirst for power drives the dark side of his soul.

Patronus is a reflection of light, then what is a reflection of darkness?

Could it also be condensed into a force that can be mobilized?

He thought of Voldemort's Fear Projection, of the Soul Burning, of the methods of domination and oppression in the Dark Enlightenment.

Those were Voldemort's powers, borrowed, foreign, which he could use, but he knew in his heart that they did not belong to him.

What he needs is the darker power that grows from his own soul.

They share the same origin as light, but their directions are opposite; one is a shining star, and the other is the deepest darkness among the stars.

What exactly it is, he doesn't know yet, but he knows it's there.

What happens after you find out?

Develop it, unite it, and transform it into a stable and complementary force that can be utilized.

As for how to develop it...

In Star Orbit Meditation, each star needs to correspond to a specific state of mind and align with the symbolic meaning of that star.

Bellatrix represents inward Protection and establishing boundaries, Betelgeuse represents outward expansion and destruction.

The solidification of the dark side may require the same process: finding the core image of that dark side, making it resonate with the dark side deep within one's heart, and then solidifying it. He doesn't know what the core image is, but there's no rush; knowing the direction is enough, and the rest is simply moving forward.

Regulus withdrew from the depths of his consciousness, his gaze returning to the view outside the window.

The Muggle walking his dog had already gone far away. The streetlights illuminated the empty street, and his own face was reflected in the glass, blurry and indistinct. He thought of those few minutes when Voldemort stood in front of him.

If we strip away the label of Dark Lord, the identity of Death Eaters leader, the manipulator of Pure-bloods politics, the creator of fear, and the usurper of death—all these guises—we'll understand.

What's standing below?

A person who took Magic to places no one had ever been before.

Tearing apart souls—no other wizard has ever accomplished what he has.

To create multiple Horcruxes is to transgress the law of death.

Dehumanization, the transformation of one's physical body into a form that transcends the human realm, whether active or passive, represents a breakthrough in the boundaries of life.

Furthermore, he possessed expertise in Dark Arts; Dark Enlightenment was created by him, and it contained his understanding of Magic, his knowledge of the soul, and his philosophy of domination and power.

Ordinary Dark Wizard cannot create such a thing; it requires a systematic, philosophical understanding of Dark Arts.

And those few seconds of Legilimency he just experienced—the precision and the sense of oppression far surpassed anything he had ever encountered.

All of these things combined make up a wizard who has reached the limits of human potential in the realm of Magic.

He went astray; his soul was torn apart; his rule by fear was distorted; and his attitude toward death was morbid.

But the distance he traveled on that crooked path was farther than almost all wizards who followed the right path traveled in their entire lives.

Is this road still crooked?

It may indeed be crooked, but crooked is not the same as wrong.

Being wrong means you can't go the right way; going astray just means you can't go straight.

Regulus didn't intend to take that route, but he acknowledged its value; the direction was off, but the distance was real.

Those who walk the right path have no right to laugh at those who walk the wrong path for going further, unless they themselves have reached that distance.

Voldemort, the person who went the furthest in the realm of Dark Arts on Earth, someone who expanded the boundaries of Magic to heights that others dared not even imagine, stood right in front of him, four or five meters away, said a few words, glanced at him, and then left.

But he couldn't ask any questions about Magic; not daring was one thing, not being able to was another.

Voldemort does not share knowledge; to him, knowledge is a reward for loyalty.

Bellatrix learned the Black Mist and Black Barrier, but the prerequisite was that she surrendered herself to them—first kneeling down, then giving them gifts.

Regulus wasn't going to kneel, so there was no way to ask.

A twelve-year-old Black heir, asking Voldemort Magic questions, no matter how respectful his words or how humble his posture, was essentially attempting an academic exchange.

Academic exchange presupposes equality; Voldemort did not engage in academic exchange with anyone.

Therefore, he combined Voldemort's and Dumbledore's perceptions, which was the most proactive thing he could do.

That was a demonstration of his attitude towards Magic itself, and hopefully Voldemort would have something to say after seeing it.

Even a simple opening statement, even a comment about Magic, would have allowed him to smoothly transition the conversation back to Magic itself. But Voldemort did not. He looked, remained silent, and then left.

That's such a waste.

But then I thought, he's only twelve years old.

He kept the secret from Voldemort, completed the performance, performed extreme maneuvers under Legilimency, and even saw the structure of his own soul and found the direction of its dark side.

What else do you want?

Next time, next time he sees Voldemort, he won't just be focused on getting through it.

The thought crossed his mind, and he felt it was a bit presumptuous of him.

That's Voldemort, after all. He used every trick in the book tonight just to barely protect the core area. What makes him think he can be more relaxed next time they meet?

Then a thought popped into his head: he would become stronger, and faster.

next time.

He turned away from the window, walked to the bedside, and as he took off his robe, his hand touched the wand in his pocket— Blackthorn Dragon Heartstring core, twelve and a quarter inches long.

He pulled out his wand and held it in his hand for a while.

The feel has changed.

This wand had been with him for over a year, ever since the day he bought it from Ollivander, and it had accompanied him in casting countless spells.

Conventional, precise, restrained—perfectly in line with his style.

But tonight, he used it to cast Domination Domain, unleash Soul Burning, cast Fear Projection, invoke the grey power of Dark Enlightenment, and also unleash Fiendfyre.

These things are completely different from what I've used over the past year or so. Before, it was precise, restrained, and controlled; tonight, it's overwhelming, unleashed, and pouring out. The wand is responding.

He could feel the warmth emanating from his fingertips when he held it, as if the wand itself was burning hot.

Blackthorn likes this. Ollivander once said that Blackthorn Warrior's Wood, naturally suited for duels and battles, and the more intense the confrontation, the more its characteristics are brought out.

The previous year or so of regular use must have been a bit frustrating for it; it would pull the millstone, but it wasn't happy about it.

It was pleased tonight, especially the Dragon Heartstring, the strongest core of the staff, capable of unleashing the most powerful Magic.

When the power of Dark Enlightenment flowed through it, it did not resist it; rather, it felt a sense of positive cooperation.

Before tonight, this wand was a tool; now it has inclinations, preferences, and memories.

It remembered tonight's battle, remembered those dark, powerful, and crushing spells.

It likes those things and wants more.

The Warrior's Wood —only tonight did he truly understand its meaning.

But there's another side to this story: the wand was bought when I was eleven.

He was so far removed from the present day. Patronus, Star Orbit Meditation, Space Magic, Light Magic, Severing Charm —these things were piled up one by one.

His understanding of Magic, his perception of his own power, and his view of the world are all changing.

The wand is changing too; it's adapting to him, adjusting its state as he grows.

Tonight's battle was an acceleration, with the extensive use of Dark Arts tilting its preferences in one direction.

But what if it keeps tilting in that direction?

A wand has inclinations and preferences, which means that it can, in turn, influence the user to some extent.

When Spellcasting with a wand that loves fighting, its combination makes attack spells smoother and more powerful, and also makes it easier for the caster to go further in the direction of battle.

It is adapting to him, and he is being drawn to it.

What if one day what he wants to do doesn't align with the wand's preferences?

I want to cast an ultimate Patronus Charm, to use Light Magic to perform extremely precise operations, and to use Space Magic to touch areas that have nothing to do with combat.

Will this wand, which has fallen in love with Dark Arts and battle, still cooperate like this?

Who ultimately controls the relationship between wizards and wands?

Ollivander said that wands choose wizards, but he always felt that this statement was only half true.

Choices are two-way; wizards and wands shape each other, and tonight's events have made this issue even more acute.

He didn't plan to replace this wand; it had been with him for over a year, and their understanding was genuine, but he also didn't intend to use only this one.

He needs more options, or rather, he needs to find a way that doesn't rely on a wand.

I've been practicing wandless Spellcasting, but that's just transferring the wand's function to myself; it's essentially the same logic.

What he probably wanted was something more fundamental: to understand what role the wand plays in the spellcasting process, and whether that role could be replaced or surpassed.

This topic is too broad to cover right now, so I'll just write it down and work on it later.

He placed the wand on the bedside table; the surface of the Blackthorn gleamed faintly in the moonlight, as if it were emitting a dim glow itself. The Warrior's Wood.

He looked away, washed up, changed into his bathrobe, lay down on the bed, and drew the curtains.

The fire in the fireplace was still burning, and its light cast flickering spots of light on the ceiling through the gaps in the curtains.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths of his mind.

The stars revolve steadily within the Mental Space, each tracing its own fixed trajectory.

The Soul Avatar stood quietly in the core area, its outline clearly defined.

The Bellatrix shines brightly, stable and constant. In the places it cannot reach are the dark side of the Starry sky, and those dark places now have names.

He glanced at them, then closed his spiritual eyes.

sleep.