Thorondor's appearance had changed completely. His entire body was now cloaked in feathers that shimmered between gold and white, threaded with cloud-like patterns that glowed faintly with living light.

His body had become smaller, more refined, yet his aura was vastly stronger. Where once stood a Giant Eagle, there now hovered a creature of legend.

Two sleek, lightning-shaped horns jutted from his crown, each crackling softly with restrained power.

He possessed not one but two pairs of wings, and even his long tail feathers fanned outward like a third. When he spread them, it seemed as though six wings unfurled to embrace the sky.

The feathers gleamed with a metallic sheen, shifting colors under the sunlight, gold, blue, gray, silver, white, and deep azure, like the changing hues of a stormy horizon.

Thorondor lifted his head and let out a clear, piercing cry that echoed across the heavens. At that cry, the air itself seemed to tremble. Magic burst forth from his body, shooting upward like a pillar of light.

The once-clear sky darkened in response. Clouds gathered in heavy swirls, thunder rumbled from afar, and a fierce wind swept over Weathertop.

Thorondor spread his wings wide. Lightning crawled along his feathers, illuminating his form in dazzling arcs. Under that light, his plumage gleamed like a prism, each feather reflecting a rainbow shimmer.

He beat his wings once, twice, and rose into the air. With a single powerful motion, he soared straight upward, trailing twin ribbons of gold and silver from his tail. The wind followed him, and with it, the storm.

Within moments, thunder cracked through the clouds, and the first flash of lightning streaked across the sky.

A downpour followed, heavy and cleansing. The skies opened above Hogwarts Castle, rain cascading down upon its towers and spires.

Far above, Thorondor's silhouette flickered within the storm clouds, wings aglow with electricity, his cry now filled with triumph.

Below, Sylas, Gandalf, and Arwen watched in awe. A faint golden barrier shimmered above them, keeping the rain from touching their heads.

"We did it!" Sylas exclaimed, his face radiant with joy.

Gandalf's eyes sparkled beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

"Congratulations, my friend. You have brought a new species into this world."

Sylas shook his head, smiling. "Not just me, Gandalf. This is the result of our combined effort."

The old wizard chuckled. "Very well, then. Our creation." He looked skyward again, admiring the glowing figure that danced among the clouds. "What a magnificent being. I believe the title of 'King of the Skies' has just found a new bearer."

Sylas laughed softly.

Arwen's gaze lingered on the Thunderbird soaring above them, her eyes warm with pride. When Thorondor had first been rescued as a fledgling, she had been the one to feed and care for him. To see him now, reborn in light and storm, filled her heart with joy.

From the distance, the people of Hogsmeade stared upward in astonishment. They saw the black clouds swirling above Weathertop, the lightning flashing again and again, and the colossal bird outlined in blinding light.

The storm swept outward. Rain cascaded over the Black Lake, rolling toward the village. The startled townsfolk scrambled for cover, dashing into taverns and under archways as thunder boomed overhead.

When the rain finally stopped, Hogsmeade sparkled. The cobblestones gleamed, the air was crisp and clear, and a vast rainbow arched across the lake, stretching from the village all the way to Weathertop.

On the mountaintop, the golden tree gleamed under the rainbow light, its wet leaves dripping silver drops that glittered like tiny diamonds.

Thorondor descended slowly from the clouds, wings gliding in graceful arcs. He landed before Sylas, Gandalf, and Arwen, his feathers still crackling faintly with power.

He lowered his head and pressed his beak affectionately against Sylas's chest, emitting a deep cooing sound like a child's laughter.

Sylas reached out and stroked the Thunderbird's smooth, glowing feathers. Electricity tingled up his arm, leaving his fingers warm and numb.

"Congratulations, Thorondor," he said softly. "You're no longer just the Giant Eagle, but the first of your kind, the Thunderbird. How does it feel?"

Thorondor let out a series of joyful cries, fluttering his wings proudly, like a child showing off a newly won prize.

Sylas laughed, understanding the meaning behind those cries. "Yes, you're powerful now. And magnificent."

Gandalf and Arwen exchanged smiles, quietly watching the man and bird speak in their own wordless language.

Lightning flickered faintly across Thorondor's feathers as he stood beside them. He could easily ignite wood if he wasn't careful, so his original wooden nest was no longer suitable.

To give Thorondor a proper home, Sylas gathered a mountain of iron ore and melted it down in a great furnace. He drew the molten metal into long, thin wires and, with a series of intricate enchantments, wove them together into the shape of a vast nest.

He fastened this structure high upon the golden tree, then took out the Philosopher's Stone and touched the ironwork with its crimson gleam.

In an instant, the metal turned to pure gold, gleaming beneath the sunlight. The golden nest shimmered like woven lightning.

Thorondor was delighted. He immediately claimed it as his own, perching proudly atop it. The stray currents of electricity from his feathers coursed through the nest, polishing it with each surge until it shone brighter and brighter.

The success of the Thunderbird transformation filled Sylas with renewed confidence. If he could reshape the very essence of another creature, then perhaps he could perfect his own.

He was finally ready to attempt the long-dreamed Phoenix Animagus Transformation.

After several days of rest, his magic reached its peak once more. Gandalf and Arwen stood watch as he made his preparations.

Before him lay a Balrog's Heart, pulsing faintly with the remnants of ancient fire. Beside it sat a half-filled bottle of Felix Felicis, gleaming gold in the light.

Sylas raised the bottle to his lips and drank the entire potion in one smooth motion. Six full hours of fortune now flowed through his veins.

Then he took up Aeglos, the fabled spear of icy wrath, and drove it down into the heart.

A sharp crack rang out. Fissures spread across the surface of the blackened organ, widening until it shattered completely.

Within, a pure golden flame blazed forth, burning brighter than any forge fire.

This was the Balrog's life flame, once a corrupted fire of ruin, but now, after purification by Galadriel, it had reverted to its original essence: a sacred Maia Flame, radiant and holy.

Sylas took a deep breath. Then, murmuring the incantation for Animagus Transformation, his body blurred and shifted. Feathers spread from his shoulders, and in moments he had taken the form of a white owl, eyes gleaming with intelligence.

Without hesitation, he swooped down and swallowed the Maia Flame whole.

The effect was immediate.

Agony unlike anything he had ever known tore through him. His throat seared as though filled with molten metal, and his insides felt as if they were being consumed from within.

The flame raged inside him, wild and untamed, threatening to devour his body and soul alike.

Sylas crashed to the ground, writhing in unbearable pain. His feathers smoldered, his magic flared uncontrollably.

"Sylas!" Arwen cried out, stepping forward, but Gandalf raised his hand sharply to stop her.

"Stay back!" he commanded.

The wizard's eyes flashed with resolve. The Ring of Fire on his hand blazed to life, releasing waves of ancient power. Gandalf extended his staff and channeled that energy into Sylas's body.

"Hold on, Sylas! Reconstruct your magic circuit! Now!"

The torrent of Gandalf's fire magic pressed against the raging flame inside Sylas, keeping it from consuming him entirely.

Sylas gasped, forcing his mind to focus through the agony. He summoned every ounce of concentration he possessed and began rebuilding his magical circulation system from within.

He and Gandalf had already designed the theoretical structure of the Phoenix's magic circuit, a design inspired by divine self-regeneration and eternal flame.

Now, all he had to do was reshape his internal pathways according to that blueprint.

But the task was perilous beyond measure.

It was like a warrior in a wuxia tale rebuilding shattered meridians, but far deadlier. A single wrong adjustment could destroy his magical core entirely. Failure would mean either the loss of all magic, turning him into a Squib, or the opposite, a violent overload that would rip his body apart.

Yet, fortune was with him. The Felix Felicis coursing through his veins guided his every movement with uncanny precision. Whenever he veered close to disaster, instinct pulled him back to safety.

Bit by bit, he reassembled his own magic circuits as if disassembling and rebuilding a vast structure of living runes. Each node he replaced had to connect seamlessly to the next, or the entire system could collapse.

The process was excruciatingly slow, but under the influence of Felix Felicis, his every movement seemed guided by unseen hands.

As time passed, the fragments of his old self began to merge into something greater. The structure of his magic stabilized, taking on a new, radiant form.

At last, the Phoenix's magical circulation system was complete.

Instantly, his owl form began to change. The snowy feathers turned golden-red, burning brighter with each heartbeat. Heat rippled from his body in waves, and the air around him shimmered.

Yet even as he felt the transformation stabilize, Sylas frowned. The magic circuit still felt imperfect, slightly flawed, as if a single missing piece separated him from true completion.

But time was slipping away. The effects of Felix Felicis were nearly gone, and he could already feel the golden clarity of luck fading from his mind.

If he attempted further refinement, he might run out of time, and fail to return to human form at all.

He hesitated, torn between caution and instinct.

Before he could decide, Arwen rushed forward. She had been watching him closely, her hands trembling as she clutched the potion bottle he had given her long ago.

She uncorked it and brought it to his beak.

"Drink it," she said softly, her voice steady but full of worry. "Your safety matters more than anything else. You can always brew me another one later."

For a moment, Sylas simply stared at her. Even in this perilous moment, her eyes held nothing but trust.

His heart warmed. He dipped his head slightly, and with one smooth motion, drank the golden potion.

Once more, luck surged through his veins like sunlight. His thoughts sharpened, his senses expanded, and everything fell into perfect alignment.

He gathered his strength and focused entirely on his inner flow. Guided by intuition, he began reshaping the flawed lines within his magic system, smoothing every imperfection and realigning every current.

At one point, a sudden surge of energy burst outward, threatening to destabilize the entire circuit. For a heartbeat, the magic trembled on the brink of collapse.

Then, with a single instinctive adjustment, Sylas redirected the energy, and the chaotic outburst transformed into perfect harmony.

The circuit stabilized.

He could feel the divine balance settling into place. The Balrog Flame within him no longer raged uncontrollably. Instead, it flowed like molten gold through his veins, merging with his own magic until the two were indistinguishable.

Though Galadriel had already purified the flame into sacred Maia Fire, its power remained immense, scorching, radiant, and eternal. Without Gandalf's Ring of Fire, the energy would have incinerated him long before completion.

But the ring's protective power shielded him, allowing the fusion to continue.

Gradually, the essence of the Balrog Flame intertwined with the Ring's own fire, condensing at the very core of Sylas's being. There, it formed a single, eternal ember, small, yet impossibly bright.

It was the Phoenix's Nirvana Flame, the source of rebirth, the promise of immortality.

When the last trace of the Balrog's essence merged with his own, the transformation was complete. The new circuit pulsed with life, more natural and flawless than even the original design he and Gandalf had envisioned.

Under its influence, his Animagus form blossomed into full perfection.

The bird that stood before them was unlike any creature of this world. Roughly the size of a swan, its feathers shone gold and crimson, the colors shifting and flowing like living fire. Its beak and talons gleamed like molten gold. Its eyes, deep and black, shimmered with hidden flame.

A long, radiant tail trailed behind it, glowing faintly like a comet's trail.

In the shadows, its feathers emitted a gentle red light; in the sunlight, the golden parts blazed as though aflame. When Sylas spread his wings, heat rippled outward in shimmering waves, and golden fire danced along his body, filling the air with warmth and light.

A sacred and noble aura surrounded him.

Sylas gazed at his reflection in a nearby pool. For a long moment, he said nothing.

It was perfect, more perfect than the Phoenix of his memory, radiant beyond imagination.

...

STONES PLZZz

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