This was the most intense chase the Wizarding World had ever seen.
One was the Sky-Splitting Gray Mist; the other, the World-Breaking Divine Beast.
From the war-torn mountains of Yugoslavia to the frozen plains of Siberia, and from there across the seas to the vast Australian Outback, their pursuit scorched the land and sky alike. After leaving a massive crater in the heart of the desert, the chase continued—this time, toward India.
They clashed and separated, struck and vanished, again and again. As long as Morgan didn't resort to Divination, she could never escape Dantes's relentless pursuit. Of course, she could use Divination as before—but the interval between such spells was too short. The strain on her already aging body would be immense, and even then, Dantes had dug her out from deep underground in Yugoslavia the last time she tried to hide. Even if she escaped again, she wasn't confident she could truly conceal herself this time.
"Emrys, why are you hunting me so mercilessly?" Morgan's voice carried a mix of exhaustion and anger. "I admit, there are grudges between Merlin and me—but what does that have to do with you? With the power you now wield, I cannot believe you're the kind of man who would kill simply to fulfill an ancestor's dying wish!"
Dantes's reply was cold, unyielding.
"My mother died because of your obsession with eternal life."
Morgan fell silent.
It didn't take her long to piece the story together. Since the fourteenth century, the Emrys family had slowly grown restless, emerging from seclusion. During that era, Morgan had brought immense misfortune upon them—so much so that she had nearly annihilated their line, leaving only a single orphaned daughter alive.
So when Dantes spoke of a mother-killing grudge, Morgan knew—this was no misunderstanding.
If she had known that the Emrys family would one day produce someone like Dantes—a man who had passed all of Merlin's trials and inherited his full legacy—her actions centuries ago might have been far less ruthless.
But regret was useless now.
Still, she was not one to surrender without a final attempt.
"Emrys," she said, her voice low but steady, "you do realize the dead aren't necessarily lost forever."
Dantes snorted. "I don't need you to tell me that. I know more than you ever will about bringing the dead back from the realm of death."
Morgan persisted. "Then why not cooperate? Why waste your power chasing me like this? I know countless ancient arts. Together, we might be able to bring your mother back from the Sea of Death."
She clearly didn't know that Dantes had access to Avalon, and that Avalon's Emrys Paradise already provided a way to reach the departed.
To Dantes, Morgan's words were meaningless. His enemy had no bargaining chips left. To continue speaking with her was a waste of time—time better spent ending her once and for all.
His answer came in the form of a spell—a terrifying fusion of Avada Kedavra and lightning magic.
Morgan's form dissolved into black mist, narrowly avoiding the near-unblockable strike.
"Emrys! Don't push me too far!" she screamed.
The irony was bitter. Once, she had been Britain's most powerful witch—the ruler of Avalon, the so-called Land of Bliss. Arthur, the fated king, had danced in the palm of her hand, and even Merlin, the god of magic himself, had fallen victim to her schemes, sealed away within an oak tree.
And now?
Now she was being chased across continents by a descendant of that very man. The humiliation was unbearable.
If she could not have peace, then no one would.
Her decision was made. She turned and fled toward Britain.
The Department of Mysteries
Deep beneath the British Ministry of Magic, the Department of Mysteries stood silent—its air thick with the echo of the unknown.
A ripple of fate tugged at Dantes's heart, pulling him toward the ancient, veil-draped archway of the Death Chamber.
Moments later, the heavy door creaked open again—and Morgan rushed in, her gray mist form darting toward the arched gateway.
Dantes was right behind her. A surge of blue light shot from his wand, missing by inches. Morgan, utterly desperate, twisted and evaded like a phantom. Even for someone as strong as Dantes, capturing her was no easy feat.
After all, she had lived for over a thousand years. Her knowledge and instincts were vast, her cunning unmatched.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Dantes shouted, fury in his voice.
"Of course I do," Morgan snapped, dodging another barrage of spells. Her form flickered, sometimes solid, sometimes vaporous, as she pushed ever closer to the archway. "If you won't let me rest, then you'll never have peace either! You'll never reach Avalon! You'll never save your mother!"
With a wild laugh, she split herself into three identical clones—three streaks of gray mist shooting toward the archway from different angles.
Dantes hesitated. A wide-area lightning spell would have destroyed all three, but it might also damage the ancient archway itself. He could only target them one by one.
The clones were weaker—less agile—and he blasted them apart in quick succession. But that hesitation, that moment's restraint, was all Morgan needed.
She surged forward.
"Ha ha ha! I win this round, Emrys!" Her laughter echoed in the chamber. "Before I die, I promise—we'll still have plenty of fun to come!"
The gray mist slammed into the archway. A low, resonant boom shook the Death Chamber. The old stone cracked in two, and the veil—a thin, ghostly fabric of light—was torn loose, swirling upward before dissolving into starlight.
Dantes's eyes widened. Just before the gateway was destroyed, he saw Morgan vanish into it.
He immediately reached out through his consciousness, connecting to Avalon via the silver ring on his hand. His senses followed the trail—only to see Morgan crash directly against Avalon's boundary.
Then, like a stone flung into an endless sea, she was banished—thrown by Avalon itself to some unknown place.
It was the ultimate rejection.
Morgan had been eternally expelled from Avalon. She could never set foot upon its sacred soil again. If she even approached the island's borders, Avalon would cast her away, scattering her to a random corner of the world.
Before, Dantes had been able to track her by the magical echoes she left behind. But now, with Avalon's banishment magic in play, her traces had vanished completely.
Without a known location, Divination was impossible. To foresee the future, one must first know where to look.
And so, for the first time in a long while, Dantes had lost his quarry.
The Death Chamber trembled.
Lightning burst forth from Dantes's body, roaring through the air. The spell he had earlier restrained out of caution now erupted in unbridled fury, shredding stone and steel alike. The once-immovable platforms cracked, steps crumbled, and arcs of energy danced violently in every direction.
Even as the storm subsided, his rage did not.
Morgan had escaped again.
Return to the Castle
When Count Dantes returned to his ancestral castle, his attendants noticed something—something different.
Not in appearance; his form, shaped by Merlin's bloodline magic, was unchanged. No, what had changed was something deeper.
The aura surrounding him.
Before, the Count's presence had been like that of a Black Dragon King—powerful, imposing, but restrained. Now, it was something altogether divine. The pressure that emanated from him was suffocating, his magic burning with the presence of a god among mortals.
Even modern wizards—diluted descendants of ancient bloodlines—could sense it.
Something monumental had shifted within him.
Dantes ignored their stares and ascended to his chambers. He crossed to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and withdrew a small, enchanted notebook.
Dispelling the defensive spells surrounding it, he opened it carefully. Inside were rows of names, each meticulously written.
Donna Avery, Sally Avery, John Flint, Cornelius Fudge—each name marked with a neat X.
Beneath Ollivander Avery, it read:
Fled to Cairo. Planning the Cairo Wizard Casino.
Next to Barty Crouch, a note followed:
Currently favored to win the election. Expose his dealings with the Fire Serpent Party after victory.
Another name: Gai Avery.
No news yet. Continue searching.
There were many others. Some names were left blank, such as Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore—names that required caution even from him.
Then Dantes's gaze fell on a heading marked [Avar Coven].
The line beneath it read:
The tapestry has been leaked to the black market. Follow the clues to locate the Coven's base. Professor Babu Ling may be the key.
Dantes brushed a finger across the text. The ink shimmered and rearranged itself into new words:
The Avar Coven has become estranged from Morgan. Though she remains the source of all calamity, the one who truly ordered John Flint to retrieve the tapestry was a senior member within the current Coven. Identify this individual.
The writing glowed faintly, then settled, its meaning absorbed by the Count's mind.
He closed the notebook, sealing it once again with a protective charm.
Outside, thunder rolled across the night sky, echoing his lingering fury.
Somewhere, Morgan still lived—banished but unbroken.
And Dantes, the heir of Merlin's power, the last Emrys, would stop at nothing until she was found.
End of Chapter 160 — Dana's Little Noteboo
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