The ghostly blue light above the altar slowly revolved before him. Something within it could vaguely be seen—a ancient scroll covered in dense writing. Along the edge of the altar was carved a line of words, more conspicuous than any of the warnings before it:
"Those who ascend this platform must offer up all their power. Those who bear power are unqualified to face fate."
Voldemort stared at those words in silence.
Offer up all his power.
Not a portion, not most of it, but all of it.
He stretched out a hand and touched the mass of ghostly blue light.
The light danced at his fingertips, and a stream of information flooded directly into his mind—he "saw" countless intruders stepping onto this platform. Some were powerful wizards, some ancient warriors, and some unknown explorers. All of them reached into the light and offered up their power. Then, without exception, they left in misery. Some staggered away, some had to be supported by their companions, and some collapsed to the ground and never rose again. "Damn it! How could there be a rule like this?!"
Voldemort withdrew his hand and stood there without moving for a long time.
He could offer up his power. He believed that with his abilities, even if he lost all his magic, he could recover it in a short time. But the question was—was this truly part of the trial?
Or was it another trap laid by these ruins?
He closed his eyes and extended his senses into his surroundings. His perception passed through the platform, the altar, and that mass of ghostly blue light—he felt it. At the very deepest part of the light, behind the scroll, there was a door. A tiny door, nearly impossible to detect. Behind it was what he had