"Esteemed Lord Sylas and Lady, welcome to Minas Tirith! His Royal Highness the Regent has commanded us to await your arrival. Please follow me," said the leading attendant respectfully.

Sylas wasn't surprised that the Regent already knew of his arrival. The Naval Commander of Pelargir, being one of the Regent's confidants, would have reported the news immediately, and with the palantír in Minas Tirith, the Regent could easily observe events across Gondor.

Guided by the attendants, Sylas drove the carriage into the city.

Minas Tirith, built into the mountain and backed by the White Mountains, rose in seven terraced levels. Each tier had its own walls and bronze gates, strong and majestic. The city had never fallen, becoming a symbol of Gondor's enduring spirit.

Following the winding ascent, the carriage passed through all seven gates until reaching the Citadel at the top, where stood the Tower of Ecthelion, the Royal Palace, and the Great Hall of Feasts.

In the courtyard before the palace stood a white tree, long withered but still pure and untarnished, as white as polished ivory.

"This is Gondor's third White Tree," came a familiar voice.

Denethor II, the Regent's son, whom Sylas and Arwen had met at their wedding, descended the palace steps, smiling. "It withered when Belecthor II, the twenty-first Steward, died, and has stood unchanged since. Welcome again, Wizard Sylas, Lady Arwen. Minas Tirith is honored by your presence."

After a brief exchange of courtesies, Denethor led them into the Ruling Hall, where Regent Ecthelion II awaited on a black stone chair beneath a marble canopy shaped like Gondor's crown. Behind him, a great carving of the White Tree gleamed with inlaid gems.

Ecthelion, though past sixty, looked strong and dignified, his deep voice steady as he greeted them. "Welcome to Gondor, Wizard Sylas. I have long heard of your deeds, seeing you today, I find the tales understated."

He received Arwen with particular reverence. As a descendant of Númenor, Ecthelion knew that Elros, founder of Númenor, and Elrond, Arwen's father, were brothers. In a sense, Gondor owed its royal blood to her lineage.

"If I am respected for my strength," Sylas thought, "then she is honored for her heritage."

Aloud, he bowed slightly. "Your Royal Highness the Regent, we have long admired your steadfast guardianship of Gondor. My wife and I are only travelers here, if our visit causes any disturbance, I beg your pardon."

Arwen, poised and graceful, bowed beside him in silence, her presence serene as starlight.

"There is no need to be so polite, Wizard Sylas. Now that you've come to Gondor, we welcome you with the utmost sincerity!" said Ecthelion II, stepping down from his throne with a warm smile.

He turned to his son. "Denethor, we have distinguished guests today. Go tell the staff to prepare a banquet to welcome them."

Denethor II nodded and immediately went to make arrangements.

Ecthelion then continued, "Since you've come all the way to Minas Tirith, please stay a few days. Allow me to properly fulfill my duty as host."

Sylas bowed slightly. "We thank Your Royal Highness for your generosity," he replied courteously.

Led by Ecthelion, Sylas and Arwen went to the banquet hall together. The feast was lively and cordial, with hosts and guests enjoying food and conversation alike.

As the atmosphere reached its peak, Ecthelion's expression grew solemn.

"Wizard Sylas," he began, "you must have seen the withered White Tree in the courtyard. It is the symbol of Gondor's monarchy. Since it withered, generations of Stewards have searched for a new sapling, but none have succeeded.

I know that your Hogwarts Castle possesses a living White Tree. So I have an earnest request, may I beg a White Tree fruit from you, to plant in our courtyard in place of the withered one?"

Sylas did not refuse but spoke honestly. "Your Royal Highness, I can give you a White Tree fruit, but its growth conditions are extremely harsh. You must be prepared for the possibility that it may never sprout."

Ecthelion nodded, sighing. "I understand. I only wish to fulfill an ancient vow of my forefathers. If it doesn't sprout, so be it."

Seeing his sincerity, Sylas took a silver fruit from his spatial pocket and handed it to him.

The White Tree, bound to fate itself, reflected the destiny of kingdoms and men. When Gondor thrived, the tree flourished; when it declined, the tree withered.

Sylas had a quiet feeling that even if this new seed were planted, it would not awaken, unless Gondor found new strength and hope again.

At that moment, the familiar prompt appeared:

[Hogwarts Sign-in System: Location — Gondor, Minas Tirith. Do you wish to sign in?]

Sylas silently replied, Sign in.

[Sign-in successful. Congratulations on obtaining: Bloodline Magic!]

"Bloodline magic?" he thought in surprise, then, as understanding and power flowed into his mind, his shock turned to elation.