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|| PROPHECY || CHAPTER 36
THE WHISPERS OF A PROPHECY had started to spread like wildfire. It was on the streets, in the dark corners of pubs, and through the gossip of the wizarding elite.
The prophecy foretold that a dark lord—Tom Riddle—would rise up and bring about the destruction of the wizarding world. The very idea was enough to send shivers down the spine of anyone who still clung to hope, but those who knew Tom—those who had seen him in the flesh—knew that there was something more to the tale.
He and his inner circle had continued their journey into the darker side of magic, recruiting followers and slowly making plans for their future.
But this prophecy was a different kind of challenge. It was one of destiny—of fate—and everyone knew that Tom loathed the idea of being controlled by something as abstract as that.
It was a quiet evening at Malfoy Manor. The air had chilled with the early October wind, but the large sitting room was warm and welcoming, with the crackling fire casting shadows on the walls.
The group of friends sat in their usual spots, the weight of the day's conversation lingering in the air. Abraxas was pacing, his usual confident demeanor shaken.
"I can't believe this," Abraxas muttered, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair. "This damn prophecy—People are acting like it's some kind of guarantee that Tom's going to bring the entire wizarding world to its knees."
Nyx, who was sitting with her legs crossed on the couch, looked up at Abraxas, her arms crossed over her chest. "It's nonsense," she said firmly, her dark eyes narrowing. "We all know Tom. He does what he chooses. He doesn't follow some prophecy written by people who were long dead."
Tom, who had been sitting quietly at the far end of the room, turned his eyes to Nyx. His expression was unreadable, but there was a faint flicker of approval in his gaze as he listened to her words. As if she were the only one who could truly see through the fog of rumors.
"I agree," Damien spoke up from where he stood near the window, the dim light from outside casting long shadows over his face. "Whoever wrote that prophecy obviously didn't know him. Tom doesn't care about destiny. He'll carve his own path."
The others nodded in agreement, their faces serious. Even though they had all come from different backgrounds, one thing was clear: they were united in their loyalty to Tom, and the idea that a mere prophecy could determine his fate was laughable to them.
"That's exactly it," Rodrick said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "They act like it's already decided. Like he has no choice in the matter."
Abraxas finally stopped pacing and turned to face the group. "But it's spreading everywhere. I've heard people talk about it in the streets. They're scared. And when people are scared, they act irrationally. It could ruin everything we've worked for."
Nyx scoffed. "Let them be scared. Fear is what keeps them under control. Let them think whatever they want. They've always underestimated Tom."
Tom's lips quirked into a small, sardonic smile at the mention of "underestimating" him. "It's always been that way," he murmured, his voice steady and cold. "People fear what they don't understand."
"But this... this is different," Abraxas pressed. "They're going to start believing it. And when they do, we could find ourselves fighting against an army of people who think they have to stop you."
Nyx's gaze softened. "Then we make sure they understand it's nothing but a lie. We fight with facts, not with fear."
Tom looked at her, his eyes shining with something deeper—appreciation, admiration, but also something that could have been a flicker of love. "You always know what to say, don't you, Nyx?"
She smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Someone has to keep you grounded."
The conversation fell into a brief silence as everyone considered the gravity of the situation. Tom, the unshakable leader, always two steps ahead of the game, knew what this meant. He wasn't just going to destroy the wizarding world. That wasn't the goal. But if the prophecy was to be believed, then there were two ways he could go about this. He could sit back and let others dictate his path, or he could rise up and take control.
Tom stood and walked to the center of the room, his presence commanding attention as always. "Let them talk. Let them spread their lies and their fears. They will have no idea what's coming." He turned his sharp gaze to his friends, each of them loyal to the core. "But no one—not even a prophecy—will define what I will do."
Abraxas looked at him, his gaze firm. "We're with you, Tom. Always."
The others chimed in, each offering their quiet but resolute support. Nyx, however, said nothing more. She simply looked at Tom with a deep, knowing expression. She had always trusted him, and even in the face of this prophecy, her loyalty never wavered.
"That's settled, then," Tom said, his voice calm but commanding. "We carry on with our work. We will continue as we always have. But no one—not the wizarding world, not the Ministry, not even a prophecy—will stand in our way."
They all stood together, united not by fate but by choice. A choice to carve their own path, regardless of what anyone—or anything—tried to dictate.
The meeting took place in the shadows of the night, as most of the wizarding world remained blissfully unaware of the new wave of darkness slowly creeping back into existence. It was a private ceremony, one that only the chosen few could witness. In the hidden depths of a dimly lit room, the group of friends stood together once again.
Abraxas, Damien, Rodrick, and the others gathered in a tight circle as Tom raised his wand, his eyes unwavering. The Dark Mark was more than just a symbol; it was a mark of allegiance, a binding force that connected them all in ways that went beyond loyalty.
"Are you ready?" Tom asked, his voice low but commanding.
They all nodded. It was time.
The ceremony was quiet, but the power that flowed through the room was palpable. As each person stepped forward, Tom placed the Dark Mark on their arms, marking them as part of his growing army. It was a silent oath, a pact made in shadows and fire, one that they would all uphold no matter the consequences.
Abraxas's eyes glinted with a mixture of pride and determination as he received his mark, the familiar symbol of a serpent and skull now burned into his skin. He looked up at Tom, his voice steady. "We'll make them regret underestimating us."
"We won't just make them regret it," Tom replied with a cold smile. "We'll make them wish they never dared to cross us."
As the ceremony concluded, the group stood together, the weight of their commitment heavy in the air. They knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy, but they had made their choice. The prophecy didn't control them—they controlled their fate.
