Harry potter: I am the king of United Kingdom

The man's final breath was a quiet one, the kind that barely registered with the world around him. His lungs, once filled with the rush of life, slowly gave way to stillness. The hospital room, cold and sterile, began to fade away as he felt himself slipping from his earthly existence. There was no pain, no fear—only an overwhelming sense of calm. And then, he was no longer aware of his body, his mind untethered as he was pulled into a realm beyond the physical.

A bright, endless white stretched before him, and in the center of this vast space stood a figure—a presence, more than a person, radiating warmth and familiarity. He felt no need to question who it was; the answer was inherent. He knew this was God. And though the being's face remained shrouded in light, there was an undeniable sense of knowing—he was in the presence of something truly infinite.

The man's voice, shaky yet filled with wonder, broke the silence. "Am I… dead?"

The figure nodded, its voice deep and all-encompassing. "Indeed, you have passed from the mortal world. But now, I offer you a gift: three wishes. You may ask for whatever you desire, and I shall grant them."

A deep breath filled his chest. He stood there for a moment, absorbing the weight of what had just been offered to him. He had died, yes, but this moment, this strange encounter, held the potential to reshape everything. The man had lived a life full of regrets, unrealized dreams, and untapped desires. But here, now, was the opportunity to forge a new fate. His heart raced as the possibilities flooded his mind.

"I… I want to be king," he finally said, his voice steady, the decision firm. "I want to be the ruler of a land where magic is real—where wizards and witches exist. I want to be the king of the United Kingdom in a world like that."

A soft glow surrounded the figure before it spoke again, a quiet reverence in its tone. "A powerful wish, indeed. Your desire is granted. You shall be the king of a magical realm, where magic and wizardry shape the course of destiny."

The man nodded, his heart soaring with the knowledge that he was about to enter a world far beyond anything he had ever known. His dream had always been to live in a land of magic, where the rules of reality were more fluid, more wondrous. But that was only his first wish.

"I also want to have the abilities and appearance of Yuno from Black Clover," he continued, a growing excitement evident in his voice. "Give me his wind magic, his strength, his spirit. I want to be as powerful as him, with his determination and mastery over the wind."

Once more, God's light flickered, and a sense of inevitability washed over the man. "It is done. You will possess the powers of wind magic, and your appearance will mirror that of Yuno—dark hair, sharp eyes, and a heart as fierce as the wind itself."

He could feel the magic pulse through him, a current that seemed to breathe life into his very being. His hair, once a dull black, now shimmered with an energy he couldn't fully comprehend. The wind, once a distant concept, now called to him as if it were an old friend. He was no longer just a man—he was someone with the power to shape the world around him.

But there was one more wish to make—one that would tether him forever to the magical world he sought.

"My third wish," he said, his voice a mix of certainty and anticipation, "I wish to be born on the same day as Harry Potter, to be marked as his rival, the one who will stand against Voldemort. I want my fate to be intertwined with his."

A ripple of recognition passed through the divine presence before it responded, "Your wish shall be granted. You will be born on the same day as Harry Potter, and your fate shall be tied to his. You will be marked, and your rivalry with Voldemort will become legend."

In an instant, the world around him seemed to warp and twist, reality itself bending as his wishes took form. The man's body, once suspended in the ethereal plane, began to solidify. He felt his consciousness sinking into the vessel that would become his new life. His new body.

The first thing Arthur Pendragon II became aware of was the sound of soft murmuring. It was a low, rhythmic sound—like waves crashing against the shore. Then came the warmth, like the gentle glow of the sun, and the sense of being held. His eyelids fluttered, the world around him beginning to come into focus.

He opened his eyes and blinked against the bright light that poured into the room. The soft murmur of voices faded, and he realized he was not alone. A woman—his mother, he assumed—was kneeling beside his bed, her face filled with love and concern. He had never seen her before, but she was familiar all the same, as though he had always known her. The room around him was lavish, more regal than anything he had ever imagined. The stone walls, the rich tapestries, the flickering candlelight—everything felt like it belonged to a time and place that was as far removed from his previous life as possible.

"Arthur…" The woman's voice was soft, her words laced with emotion. "Arthur, my son…"

The name struck him like a bolt of lightning, and in that instant, everything became clear. He was no longer the man who had died. He was now Arthur Pendragon II, the heir to the throne of the United Kingdom. The memories of his past life, his previous identity, collided with the knowledge that had come with his new birth. He was no longer just a man reborn. He was someone else entirely—a child with a powerful legacy, and a destiny that had already been written.

The weight of it was almost overwhelming. The magic, the power, and the responsibility—all of it would rest upon his small shoulders. He could feel the traces of it, as if the air itself vibrated with unseen energy. He was in a world of wizards and witches, a magical realm where his powers could manifest in ways he had only dreamed of.

But that was not all. His wish had been granted: he had the powers of Yuno from Black Clover, the wind magic that had once only existed in the pages of a manga, now his to command. His hair, dark as midnight, began to flow around his face as if caressed by an invisible breeze. The wind was alive in him, an extension of his very being, and he could feel the magic stirring deep within.

Arthur's hand instinctively clenched into a fist, the wind swirling around his fingers in response. He was no longer a powerless child. He was the heir to a kingdom, the one who would eventually face Voldemort and the dark forces that threatened his world.

But that was not all. He had been marked, as had Harry Potter. His fate was tied to the Boy Who Lived, destined to stand as his rival in the fight against the Dark Lord. The prophecy was not just some old tale; it was his legacy.

"I will be a king," Arthur whispered to himself, his voice filled with conviction. "I will be more than just a king. I will be the one who changes everything."

And with that thought, he knew his journey was only just beginning. The years ahead would be full of challenges—political intrigue, magical mastery, and the looming shadow of Voldemort—but Arthur Pendragon II was ready. He would claim his destiny, and the world would know his name.

The wind, his wind, whispered in his ear, guiding him toward greatness. He had been reborn with a purpose.