In shadows cast by whispered lore,
Three relics forged in days of yore.
The Elder Wand—its thirst untamed,
A crown of flame, in blood proclaimed.
The Cloak weaves through the silent gloom,
Where lost souls stir in hollow tombs.
And when the Veil begins to part,
The Stone will wake the sleeping heart.
Hear the echoes, cold and bold,
A warning carved in gold:
"Power claims its fee—
Beware what you decree!"
Raise the Hallows! Storms ignite!
Truth and sacrifice take flight!
Fate may bend, but tyrants break,
When the worthy dare to wake!
Death, you claim what all must keep—
Yet kneel before the Hallows three!
The Peverell line, a ghostly hand,
Still shapes the fate of mortal man.
The wand will shatter, the cloak will fray,
The Stone’s embrace will fade away.
But one who walks with tempered will,
No king nor pawn—unbroken still—
Shall turn the tide, refuse the throne,
And stand where light and dark are one.
Unite the three, the chains unbind,
No grave shall cage the steadfast mind.
Not steel nor spell, but love alone
Can shape the dawn from ash and bone!
Raise the Hallows! Heaven cries!
Stars shall burn in shattered skies!
Fire, shadow, fate will call—
Will you rise, or will you fall?
Death, oh death, your grip’s in vain—
For souls still dream beyond the pain!
"The last enemy to be destroyed… is death."