"Matrix?" A flash of inspiration lit up Moriarty's mind, like lightning cleaving the darkness, brilliant yet fleeting.
His thoughts were hurled across the horizon, caught in the shimmering swirl of light and memory. Everything he had learned, all the knowledge he had amassed—magical formulae, runes, numerical arrangements, abstract concepts—came rushing back, coalescing into a singular form.
In his mind's eye, he saw a matrix—an orderly structure of magic composed in a perfect square, an n×n grid. Each element, a unique arcane symbol, never repeated in the same row or column, created something greater: a three-dimensional magical construct.
He channeled his magic into it. The matrix, no longer flat, unfolded into a cube, pulsing with energy. As he wove his spiritual energy around it, the magical symbols came to life. Runes glowed, shifted, evolved—alchemy's promise of transformation materializing before his eyes.
The living cube of symbols responded, shifting forms as though conscious. Moriarty realized he wasn't just forming a matrix; he was forging a system—one that could adapt, respond, learn. A magical construct of autonomous function. He was, in essence, creating magical artificial intelligence.
Whenever he wanted a new wand configuration, the system would instantly design it.
But the process had exacted a price. Just creating this framework had taxed him beyond measure. His body stood rigid, eyes glassy. His mind, once a storm of thought, was now eerily silent.
Lilith and Jericho stared in horror. The enchanted armor standing beside them, however, remained calm. "Do not fear," it said, its voice echoing with age-old authority. "The boy is transcending. Such systems cannot be built in mere minutes. His mind is currently void of thought—give him two hours, and he shall awaken anew. But when he does, feed him dragon meat and ensure he rests. Otherwise—well, the mind can be fragile after such work."
"What nonsense is this?" Lilith shouted, her wand almost drawn. "What happened to Moriarty? Say it clearly—or I swear we'll destroy every fresco in this castle! We're not afraid of expulsion!"
Jericho stepped forward, wand in hand, fury written on his face.
"Wait, wait!" the armor raised its hands quickly. "Alchemy needs materials, yes? The boy has used his own thoughts as the raw material—he's building a system using a matrix pattern! His mind itself is the alchemical tool!"
"That doesn't make sense!" Lilith snapped. "You said he was in the occult? What does that mean?"
"Precisely that," the armor replied. "Alchemy is but a gateway to the deeper arts—the occult. The runes and equations he studied were but fragments, shortcuts. But now he doesn't walk the shortcut—he is the path itself."
Lilith couldn't make sense of it, but her only concern was Moriarty's safety. She tensed, ready to fight, but the armor quickly added, "Just do as I've said. Feed him dragon meat and let him sleep. He is Slytherin's heir, and Merlin once made a pact with Salazar himself. If they help me find my missing head, I'll owe them dearly!"
Jericho, trying to process this, recalled the few times he'd seen Muggle computers. "Wait," he said cautiously, "when you say 'system'—do you mean like a Muggle computer? Like… Moriarty used alchemy to write a magical program into his mind?"
The armor tilted its head in confusion, clearly not grasping the Muggle concept. It stared at Jericho, then at Lilith, choosing to remain silent.
Jericho interpreted the silence as befuddlement. "Right," he muttered. "Figures. A knight from King Arthur's time wouldn't know computers…"
Still, the armor released a thoughtful sigh. "I don't understand your machines," it said slowly, "but I do know that this boy gave not a part, but all of his thoughts to the matrix!"
Lilith let out a horrified scream. "No!" Her mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion. What if his mind never returned? Her eyes brimmed with tears.
The armor, however, continued, turning to Jericho. "Boy, I told you already—the human mind is endless, limitless!"
"Does that mean his mind isn't… gone?" Jericho asked, hopeful.
"Of course not," the armor replied. "He's just spent every last thought he had. Exhausted, not destroyed. People overflow with ideas—I've seen it. Dreams, fantasies, schemes—they're more than real! Perhaps not in this world, but somewhere beyond, they must exist!"
Lilith and Jericho were overwhelmed by the scale of what was being described. Still, some part of it felt right, as if the truth of it resonated with something deep within.
"This is what we call the occult," the armor said gently. "And no sane wizard willingly studies it. Even Merlin abandoned his research halfway. I warned him it would bring ruin."
"How do you know Merlin stopped?" a cold voice interrupted.
Moriarty.
His eyes were clear, his posture steady, but a flicker of suspicion danced in his gaze. He stared at the armor with measured hostility.
"Moriarty!" Lilith cried, her fear melting into relief. "I thought you'd turned into an idiot!" She glared at the armor. "Didn't you say two hours? That was five minutes!"
The armor recoiled, jaw agape. It took several paces back, staring at Moriarty in astonishment. "You… how did you recover so quickly? Merlin took an entire day to finish the matrix. He needed water from the Elf Forest's holy spring to restore his mind!"
"Answer my question," Moriarty demanded. "How do you know Merlin gave up his study?"
"I—I was there," the armor stammered. "Old Salazar was there too. Merlin said he would remain at Hogwarts to create an alchemical relic using dragons as materials. Something massive—possibly for protection. Salazar disagreed, said it wasn't necessary. I wasn't privy to what came after. That was their mission, not mine."
Moriarty narrowed his eyes. "Strange. There's no record of that in Salazar's notes."
"I swear it's true," the armor insisted. "Merlin wanted to use dragon materials for something powerful. But Salazar urged restraint. I was just a knight—my duty was to serve, not to spy."
Moriarty studied the armor closely. Its story sounded plausible—too plausible. Merlin was the perfect figure to anchor a lie. Ancient, mysterious, and mostly undocumented. Even in the magical world, few knew the truth of Merlin's work.
Jericho, distracted, raised his hand. "Did you say dragons were used in alchemy? Is that even possible?"
"Of course!" the armor answered, puffing out its chest. "Dragons and elves are the most compatible creatures for mystical studies. Avalon's traditions include countless alchemical experiments using dragons. If it weren't for Merlin's fondness for the elves, I might've gotten myself a cute elf head by now!"
Jericho blinked. "Wait—you?"
The armor sighed. "What? Can't I appreciate a beautiful artifact?"
"Wait a second…" Jericho paled. "You're saying… you're a male knight?"
"Yes!" the armor snapped. "Don't you dare judge me for my preferences!"
"Oh Merlin's beard…" Jericho turned away, visibly shaken. He clutched his chest, trying not to throw up.
Moriarty took an instinctive step back. "You know what? I won't question the Merlin thing for now. It's late. I need to try this so-called dragon meat you recommended. Let's hope it's as delicious as you say, hmm?"
"Go on, young Slytherin," the armor said with a wave. "Now that your mind has evolved, you'll grasp the matrix more deeply after rest. You're destined to surpass Merlin—mark my words!
As for Merlin…" the armor paused dramatically, "well, you'll understand one day. Dragons are alchemical materials, and your school motto hints at more than you think. I've already said too much.
And now—it's time for me to gallop to the battlefield once more!"
With a thunderous clang, the armor sprinted away, the castle echoing with the sound of its charge.
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