The Sorcerer’s War

The world was light and fire.

Harry felt himself pulled apart, his very soul caught in the heart of the explosion. The ancient runes they had activated were burning with power, brighter than the sun, filling the cavern with a radiance so pure that time itself seemed to slow.

The First King screamed.

Not in rage. Not in pain.

But in defiance.

The force of the binding spell was unlike anything Harry had ever known. It wasn't just magic—it was the will of the world itself, a force beyond even the First King's power.

For the first time, the god of ice and death was being pulled backward.

His skeletal armor cracked, his burning blue veins splintered like glass, and the immense vortex of power he had been drawing into himself began collapsing inward.

Harry's entire body shook as the runes around them exploded in golden flame, sealing the chamber, closing the gate. The First King's form was dragged downward, his body being erased from existence—

But then—

Something went wrong.

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The Ritual Breaks

The binding magic was unstable.

The ancient runes that had been carved into the ice were meant for another era, another world. They were not designed to contain a being of pure power, a force that had walked the earth before dragons, before men.

The First King, even as he was being torn apart, was fighting back.

His skeletal fingers clawed at reality, his body bending, warping, forcing itself to remain.

"No—" Harry gasped, realizing what was happening. He's resisting the seal.

Jon gritted his teeth, pressing his hands to the ground, trying to keep the ritual stable. Daenerys did the same, her eyes burning with determination as she poured all her power into the runes.

Arya stood near the edge, her dragonglass dagger gripped tight—watching, waiting, looking for an opening to strike.

Tormund roared over the deafening noise, "Why isn't it bloody working?!"

The First King lifted his head, and for the first time, his frozen mask shattered completely—revealing something that was no longer human.

His face was a void, endless darkness filled with burning blue stars, the echoes of a thousand voices screaming in a language that should not exist.

And he spoke.

Not with words. But with power.

The cavern exploded outward, sending Harry, Jon, and Daenerys flying backward.

The ritual collapsed.

The runes flickered, their magic beginning to fade.

And the First King—though still bound, still caught within the circle—was not fully sealed.

He was trapped—but he was not gone.

And his eyes locked onto Harry.

"You… will not leave."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. The weight of the First King's will was pressing down on him, suffocating, stealing his very magic.

The First King raised a hand. A spear of pure void energy formed in his palm, pulsing with unholy darkness.

He was going to kill Harry first.

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The Last Sacrifice

Harry couldn't move.

The magic pressing down on him was too strong. His fingers twitched toward his wand, but he knew—he was too late.

Then—

A shadow moved in front of him.

Jon.

Jon Snow stepped between Harry and the First King, raising Longclaw as the void-spear was hurled forward.

It was instantaneous.

The spear of darkness pierced through Jon's chest.

Time stopped.

Harry's world narrowed to the sight of Jon staggering, his breath catching, his knees buckling. The spear vanished, but the wound it left was blackened and hollow, as if it had torn away a piece of his soul.

Daenerys screamed.

Jon collapsed to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes met Harry's—full of determination, full of acceptance.

And then he did the unthinkable.

With the last of his strength, Jon slammed his hands onto the runes—pouring every last piece of himself into them.

The seal reactivated.

The cavern was filled with golden light, the magic roaring back to life, now fueled by something even greater than power—

A willing sacrifice.

The First King screamed again—but this time, his voice was shattered, broken, dying.

The seal took hold.

And the First King was ripped from reality.

The cavern collapsed.

The last thing Harry saw before the world vanished into nothing was Jon Snow's body turning to light, becoming one with the runes—

And then he was gone.

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The Aftermath

Harry awoke to darkness.

His entire body ached, his magic felt hollow, and his mind was spinning.

He gasped, sitting up, realizing—

The cavern was gone.

He was somewhere else.

The air was cold, but not lifeless. The ice beneath him was still, untouched by the battle. The sky above was dark, filled with swirling stars.

And Jon was not there.

Daenerys stirred beside him, her eyes red and hollow. Arya was standing silently, looking at where Jon had been—her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

Tormund was sitting on the frozen ground, breathing hard, his usual energy gone.

Drogon was the only thing that remained unchanged—standing watch over them, his golden eyes filled with something deeper than thought.

No one spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

Jon Snow was gone.

And the First King—though sealed—was not destroyed.

The war was not over.

But they had bought the world a chance to fight another day.