Voldemort spoke like a victor making a declaration.
"Do you know how long I've waited for this day?"
His voice was soft and hoarse. "From the moment I saw you in Azkaban, I began waiting. Waiting for an opportunity, waiting for the chance to deal with you myself." Grindelwald looked at him, complex emotions churning in his mismatched eyes. There was no fear, no anger—only a faint, almost pitying calm. "You're still as cautious as ever." His voice was hoarse yet calm. "Even after sending so many pawns, even after coming in person—the one who came is only a Horcrux clone." Voldemort's smile froze for a moment.
Grindelwald continued, his tone as calm as if he were telling a story that had nothing to do with him. "Did you think I wouldn't see through it? This body—it isn't your true self. Your real body is still hiding somewhere, still preparing something, still afraid of something. You've always been like this, Tom—from the orphanage, to Hogwarts, to becoming the Dark Lord—you never dared to face any real threat yourself. You always hid behind others and let them die in your place."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly. The smile vanished, replaced by a cold, almost cruel calm.
"You're right." His voice was soft and dangerous. "This is only a clone. But it's enough—to deal with a severely wounded, weakened Grindelwald whose realm has fallen, one clone is enough." He rose to his feet and took a step back. Those tentacles extended from his body, swaying lightly in the air as though awaiting an order.
"Any last words?" he asked.
Grindelwald looked at him in silence for several seconds. Then he let out a soft sigh.
The sigh was quiet and faint, yet it echoed across the silent hill, carrying an indescribably complex emotion.