Having completed his transformation, Sylas could no longer resist testing the powers of his new form. He spread his golden-red wings and gave a light flap. The motion lifted him effortlessly into the air, weightless and free. Every movement was fluid and natural, and he could feel raw power surging through his body. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he could lift hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pounds without strain. Then, the feathers covering his body stood erect, gleaming with a radiant golden light. Intense heat rippled from him as his wings burst into flames. With a powerful sweep, golden fire poured down toward the ground in a wave of blinding brilliance. The flames were mesmerizingly beautiful, pure, golden, and ethereal, but their heat was fierce enough to melt steel in seconds. More than mere fire, they burned with sacred energy, the essence of the sun itself. Their light would banish any creature of darkness; Orcs and Trolls would shriek and cower beneath it. Sylas flared his wings again, and his body was instantly wrapped in golden-red fire. In a flash of light, he vanished from where he hovered. A heartbeat later, he reappeared on the far side of the chamber. He blinked, astonished. This was the Phoenix's teleportation, a fusion of Apparition and Portkey travel. It ignored anti-Apparition barriers, transcended distance, and operated as effortlessly as breathing. Wherever he wished to go, he simply went. A laugh, half amazement and half exhilaration, echoed through the room. After a few more trials, Sylas prepared to return to human form, but something on the floor caught his attention. The Balrog Heart fragments. The instant he saw them, a strange hunger welled up from within. An instinctive urge pulsed through his mind: Consume them. Perhaps it was the primal instinct of the Phoenix, perhaps a side effect of his altered consciousness, but he did not resist. He dove down and began pecking at the fragments, swallowing them one by one. Content orıginally comes from 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡⁂𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⁂𝙣𝙚𝙩 Warmth spread through him almost immediately. His internal flame burned brighter, more stable, more alive. Then, without warning, the balance shattered. A violent surge of fire erupted from deep within his core, bursting outward uncontrollably. The sacred flames that had felt gentle a moment ago suddenly turned wild and unstable. His entire body ignited, radiating unbearable heat. The air shimmered and distorted around him as fire spilled from his wings, his eyes, even his beak. Panic struck. Sylas tried desperately to suppress the runaway magic, but the flames only grew fiercer, consuming everything in their path. He was becoming a walking inferno. In desperation, he attempted to Apparate outside the castle to avoid harming anyone. But at the exact moment of teleportation, the violent magic within him twisted the spell's coordinates. A blinding flash engulfed him, and he reappeared directly inside the Mithril Furnace. The furnace burned hotter than a volcano, its interior filled with molten Balrog heart crystals, the purest sources of fire-element energy. Now, with Sylas's unstable Phoenix fire mixing into it, the collision was cataclysmic. There was a deafening boom. A torrent of flame exploded upward, shaking the entire mountain. Inside, Sylas screamed in agony as his body combusted from within. His vision blurred. Every nerve, every cell, every spark of magic within him burned all at once. Outside, Arwen cried out, "Sylas!" Her face went pale, and she sprinted toward the furnace. But Gandalf seized her arm. His voice was calm but resolute."Wait. Don't rush in. His Felix Felicis is still active. The potion will not let him die. Trust it." He paused, watching the roaring furnace, eyes glowing faintly under his wide brim. "And… I sense something. This accident may be fate, not failure." Though trembling, Arwen forced herself to stop, staring anxiously into the blinding light. Inside the furnace, Sylas could feel the flames devouring him. Yet even as his flesh and feathers burned away, another instinct awoke within, the instinct of the Phoenix. The searing pain became distant. The fire that consumed him no longer felt like destruction, but metamorphosis. Around him, the Balrog heart crystals began to melt completely, their power drawn into his spiraling flame. The once-blazing heat condensed, flowing into him instead of consuming him. The furnace roared like a collapsing sun. Then, suddenly, silence. The violent energy dissipated, the glow dimmed, and the furnace became utterly still. Outside, Gandalf and Arwen stood frozen, watching as the trembling light faded. Moments passed. No sound came from within. At last, unable to bear it, Arwen rushed forward and pulled the furnace door open with her bare hands, ignoring the heat that seared her skin. But what she saw made her stop short. The once-blazing interior was no longer hot. The Balrog heart crystals had all turned to dust, their fiery essence completely drained. The inside of the furnace was cold, silent and empty. Only a small pile of ashes remained at the bottom. Arwen and Gandalf exchanged a look, sensing something neither could explain. There was a pulse of life within those ashes, a heartbeat, faint but steady, growing stronger with every second. They watched, breath held, as the ashes stirred. And then, from the still gray mound, a small golden-red beak broke through the surface, followed by a tiny, down-covered head. The tiny creature let out a soft, melodic chirp. Its golden eyes blinked open, and as it looked around, it froze in confusion. When its gaze landed on the enormous faces of Gandalf and Arwen, it tilted its head and made an unmistakably human expression of surprise. The newborn Phoenix chick was about the size of a small bird, covered in a few tufts of soft, golden-red down. It looked fragile and clumsy, yet its feathers shimmered faintly with sacred light. "Sylas?" Arwen asked hesitantly, her voice trembling between disbelief and hope. The chick nodded vigorously and chirped again, the sound high-pitched but full of life. Gandalf smiled, eyes glimmering beneath his hat. "It seems our friend has just undergone a true Phoenix Rebirth. The process must have completed perfectly. This," he gestured to the chick, "is his most complete metamorphosis yet." Arwen carefully reached into the furnace, the lingering warmth tickling her fingertips, and gently lifted the tiny Phoenix into her palm. She studied the little creature, its small beak and awkward wings, and couldn't help but smile. "Sylas, can you change back into your human form?" she asked softly. The chick tilted its head, hesitating, then nodded again and motioned for her to set it down. The moment its feet touched the floor, Sylas closed his eyes and focused. In his mind, he recalled the structure of his human magic circuits. Light flared around him. The intricate flow of energy within his body began to twist and realign. The tiny bird's body expanded rapidly, feathers vanishing, limbs reforming. In the span of a heartbeat, the Phoenix was gone, and in its place stood Sylas. Or rather, a very small version of him. To his horror, Sylas realized he had turned into a child of no more than three years old. Arwen's eyes widened. For a brief second, she was speechless. Then her lips curled into a delighted smile, and laughter sparkled in her eyes. Gandalf, meanwhile, let out a hearty chuckle that echoed through the room. "Well, well, I never imagined you'd be so adorable when you were little," he teased, stroking his beard. "But tell me, little one, how do you plan to attend your wedding ? Should I ask Lord Elrond to postpone it until you've grown up again?" Sylas flushed a deep crimson. The fact that he was currently naked didn't help. Covering himself hastily with one hand, he summoned his wand with the other and muttered a quick spell. A small burst of magic wrapped around him, and in seconds, a perfectly fitted child-sized outfit appeared. He glared at Gandalf, cheeks puffed in indignation. "No need! I can brew an Ageing Potion if it comes to that. Besides, Phoenixes grow quickly. A year will be more than enough for me to return to my full size." The words came out confident, but the high, childish tone made it sound more like a toddler declaring war. Arwen couldn't help it, her eyes softened, and a hint of maternal warmth flickered across her face. Her hands twitched slightly, as though she wanted to scoop him up and hug him. Sylas noticed immediately and took a wary step back. "Arwen… don't even think about it," he said, voice tiny but stern. Gandalf chuckled again, clearly enjoying himself. "A shame, really. You're rather cute ." "Thanks a lot," Sylas muttered darkly, shooting him a glare. Deciding to ignore Gandalf's laughter, Sylas climbed back onto the edge of the furnace. With a wave of his wand, he gathered the fine white ashes that remained inside and guided them into a crystal vial. These were Phoenix Rebirth Ashes, a sacred and nearly mythical material. In alchemy, they were valued as one of the most potent healing reagents known to exist, capable of restoring damaged artifacts, curing grievous wounds, and serving as the primary ingredient in Resurrection Potions. He sealed the bottle carefully and placed it inside his robe pocket. Then he looked back at the now-empty furnace. A faint sigh escaped him. The Balrog Heart Crystals, once precious sources of fire-element energy, had been completely consumed during his Nirvana. The Mithril Furnace, once able to melt even divine metals, had lost its core fuel. "It's a shame," Sylas murmured softly. "Those crystals were priceless. Without them, the furnace won't reach half its former power." Arwen stepped beside him, her expression gentle. "But they gave you your life back," she said quietly. Sylas smiled, the glow of the Phoenix fire still flickering faintly in his eyes. "You're right. It was worth every piece." After gaining his Phoenix Animagus, Sylas's mastery over life and death transformed completely. He no longer needed the Philosopher's Stone or the Elixir of Life to preserve his existence. The very essence of the Phoenix flowed within him, granting him a form of true immortality. If death or age ever came for him, he could ignite himself in sacred fire and undergo Phoenix Rebirth, burning to ashes, only to rise again as a fledgling, beginning life anew. It was a cycle without end: death, rebirth, and renewal. Yet immortality came with a cruel price. Each rebirth demanded that he endure unimaginable pain. The process was far worse than any mortal death, for ordinary flames consumed flesh quickly, leaving no time for suffering. But the Phoenix's fire was divine, it burned slowly and completely, stripping away not only flesh and bone but also every thread of mortal weakness. During each Rebirth, Sylas would feel every ember devouring him, every nerve shattering, until his entire body turned to dust. Only when nothing remained did the pain fade. It was not merely death; it was purification through agony. This was the price of eternity. Still, the advantages were beyond imagination. When gravely injured, Sylas could ignite himself in Phoenix Fire to restore his body anew. Even the dreaded Killing Curse could not truly destroy him, its deathly magic would disperse with his ashes, leaving him to be reborn moments later. In essence, he could no longer be killed by conventional means. Yet immortality did not mean invulnerability. Each time he underwent Rebirth, the Phoenix Flame within his soul weakened, needing long periods of rest and meditation to recover. The Phoenix's power came from this inner flame, the Nirvana Flame that burned eternally at his core. If he ever exhausted it through repeated deaths or reckless use, the flame would eventually fade. And when the Nirvana Flame went out, even a Phoenix would truly die.