togophonebook Chapter 563-572: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 1
Chapter 563-572: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 1
Chapter 563-572: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 1
Grindelwald certainly has a great sense of the big picture.
and.
He was able to think like Dumbledore.
"With my reputation in the wizarding world," no one would doubt it. I am Grindelwald, the former Dark Lord, a prisoner recently released on parole. What reason would I have to harm you? Too many. Revenge? A prison break?
Jealousy? Pure madness? Let them think what they want.
The difference between Grindelwald and Voldemort lies in this: Grindelwald's inner strength is so great that he can completely disregard the opinions and criticisms of the outside world.
If it were Voldemort, he would be in a state of impotent rage.
That is actually a manifestation of low self-esteem.
This is already evident in Dumbledore's memories.
Dumbledore looked at his old friend, a hint of something unspeakable in his eyes: "This will make you a target again. The Ministry of Magic won't understand, the International Wizarding Union won't understand, the entire wizarding world won't understand. They'll see you as a dangerous dark wizard who can never change."
He also wanted to clear his old friend's name.
Grindelwald shrugged, his manner as casual as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather: "I've been in that tower for almost five years. A few more years wouldn't make a difference."
He paused, looked at Dumbledore, and a serious glint flashed in his heterochromatic eyes: "Besides, Albus, we owe this world too much."
"Not as Grindelwald and Dumbledore, but as—two old guys who once thought they could change the world, but were ultimately changed by the world."
"This time, consider it paying off a debt."
It was clear that years of reflection hadn't left Grindelwald unchanged; perhaps Dumbledore's original intention in imprisoning him was indeed having an effect. Upon hearing this, Dumbledore remained silent for a few seconds, then nodded slightly. He didn't speak, but everything he said was enough.
Ian watched this scene quietly, a complex light flickering in his deep eyes.
He knew what had happened between the two old men, knew that their grudges and affections spanned nearly a century. He also knew that the tacit understanding between them at this moment, the unspoken comprehension, was something that could only be achieved after sharing the deepest pain, the most utter failure, and the longest period of time.
Outside the window, the night remained deep. The roar of the waves grew closer, as if something enormous and indescribable was slowly rising from the depths of the sea.
"We still have plenty of time."
Ian stood up, walked to the window, and gazed into the darkness.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald also stood up and walked over to him.
Three figures stood side by side in the dim light.
A twelve-year-old child from the future, possessing power beyond the legendary.
A man over a hundred years old, the headmaster of Hogwarts, and the greatest white wizard in the wizarding world.
An equally aged Black Demon King who once stirred up trouble in Europe.
They faced the same darkness, the same enemy, and the same fate-determining moment.
"Then," Dumbledore said, his voice calm and firm, "it's settled then."
Grindelwald nodded: "It's settled then."
Ian turned around and looked at the two of them.
Those deep eyes shone with a light completely out of character for someone their age—a light that only someone who has experienced true battles, true loss, and true growth possesses.
"I will wait in this dreamlike realm. Waiting for that signal."
"When you call upon me"
He paused, then a slight smile appeared on his lips, a smile that was both youthful and incredibly confident: "I will appear."
As he finished speaking, his figure began to blur, as if shrouded in an invisible mist. The mist grew thicker and thicker until it completely engulfed him.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald watched the spot silently, waiting for the fog to dissipate and the place to be empty.
However, Ian remained standing in the same spot after the fog dissipated.
The boy tilted his head, watching the fleeting look of surprise on the two old people's faces, and couldn't help but laugh out loud. His laughter was clear and pure, finally showing some of the characteristics of a twelve-year-old child.
"Sorry, sorry," he said with a smile. "Just kidding. The atmosphere was too heavy; we needed to lighten it up."
""
Grindelwald's brows furrowed, his heterochromatic eyes filled with annoyance that said, "Are you kidding me?" Dumbledore shook his head helplessly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"So, what's going on?" Grindelwald's voice carried a hint of danger. "Was all that you just saying to tease us?"
"No, no." Ian quickly waved his hands, his smile fading and his expression becoming serious. "It's true that I entered the Enchanted Realm, and it's true that I waited for your call. But before I went in—"
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the two faces, a solemn light flashing in his deep eyes: "I need to give you a guarantee."
Ian spoke easily.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow slightly: "Guarantee?"
Grindelwald also looked puzzled.
Ian nodded: "You are about to face a legend, and a legend being transformed by the forces of deep space. Even with the decoy plan, even with my final intervention, the process is still full of variables."
I need to make sure—in the worst-case scenario—that you survive.
Grindelwald stared at him, a hint of wariness flashing in his heterochromatic eyes: "What guarantee?"
Ian was silent for a few seconds, then slowly spoke, saying each word clearly: "The guarantee of becoming a legend."
The tavern fell silent instantly.
Grindelwald's expression changed. It wasn't surprise, nor anticipation, but a complex, almost wary look. He stared at Ian, his eyes, which could pierce the mists of time, narrowing slightly.
"To become a legend?"
Grindelwald's voice deepened. "You know better than I the concentration of magic in this era, the limitations imposed by the rules of this world. Countless wizards have spent their entire lives trying to cross that threshold—and now you tell me, can you guarantee us anything?"
He took a step forward, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with a sharp light: "Do you want us to break through like Voldemort, relying on the power of some 'Ancient God'? To become vassals of some being? To exchange freedom and soul for power?" His voice grew colder, carrying an undeniable firmness: "If that's the case, I'd rather remain forever below the legendary level."
This is the pride a true wizard should have.
Dumbledore didn't speak, but the same wariness flickered in his deep blue eyes. He looked at Ian, awaiting his answer.
Ian met their gaze quietly, his face showing no sign of offense. Instead, a deep smile, far beyond his years, played on his lips: "That's not how it is."
He shook his head, his voice calm yet resolute: "I don't want you to become appendages of any being. I want you to—be yourselves."
Grindelwald's brow furrowed even more: "What do you mean?"
Ian raised his hand, his fingertips tracing a faint, silvery-white trail in the air. The trail slowly rotated, forming a complex pattern that seemed to contain some kind of regularity.
"This era cannot produce legends," Ian stated his judgment. "I've actually been considering the reasons, and I think it's not because of insufficient magic concentration, nor because of the limitations of the rules, but because—the coordinates of this era—are fixed."
"Coordinates?" Dumbledore asked repeatedly.
Ian nodded. "Every era has its own frequency, like different radio channels. The reason legends can't be born in this era is because the channel's ceiling is locked. To break through that ceiling, you need to switch channels."
Upon hearing this, Grindelwald's breath hitched slightly. He looked at Ian, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with disbelief.
"You mean—go to other eras?"
Ian nodded: "Go to an era with a higher ceiling. Go to an era that can bear the power of legends. Break through in that era, and then return here with that legendary power."
He smiled slightly: "It's as if I came here from the future."
Silence fell over the tavern once more. Dumbledore and Grindelwald exchanged a glance, both seeing shock, confusion, and an barely suppressed excitement in each other's eyes.
"Is this... feasible?" Dumbledore's voice was somewhat hoarse. "To transcend time, break through to legendary status, and then return—doesn't that violate the laws of time? Wouldn't it cause irreversible disruption to history?"
Ultimately, he still wanted to prioritize the greater good.
Ian looked at him, a serious glint in his deep eyes: "If it were anyone else, of course I would. But you're different."
"Why?" Grindelwald asked.
Ian's lips curled up slightly, revealing a mysterious smile: "Because in my time, you have already reached the legendary level."
These words struck them like a thunderclap.
Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply. Grindelwald's hand trembled slightly, almost dropping his glass.
"What did you say?" Dumbledore's voice was almost trembling.
Ian looked at them, his gaze devoid of boastfulness or smugness, only a calm, resolute statement: "In my time, Albus Dumbledore was a legend. Gellert Grindelwald was a legend too. You crossed that threshold in different timelines, in different ways. So—"
He paused, his voice softening further: "I'm sending you to break through, not to 'change' history, but to 'realize' history. The outcome was already predetermined; I'm simply making it happen at a more opportune time and in a safer way."
Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His chest heaved violently, revealing the turmoil within him. After a long while, he reopened his eyes, his deep blue pupils gleaming with an unprecedentedly complex light—shock, anticipation, confusion, and an indescribable sense of relief.
"So," his voice was hoarse, "in the future, we—"
"They're all alive," Ian continued, picking up where he left off. "They've all transcended legend. They're all continuing to protect this world."
"Of course," he glanced at Grindelwald, "it's in a different way."
Grindelwald's lips twitched slightly. He understood, of course, what Ian meant—that in the future, he and Dumbledore would still be "different." Perhaps still enemies? Perhaps they had reconciled? Perhaps—he didn't know, but he did know that he was still alive, still existed.
It also left its mark in that distant future.
That's enough.
"However," Dumbledore suddenly spoke, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "the Time-Turner cannot allow us to change history. The Ministry of Magic has countless cases to prove this. Even the most powerful time magic cannot truly interfere with the past—you can only change what was destined to be changed anyway."
Ian nodded: "You're right. Ordinary time-tamperes can only create time loops; they can't truly change established history. But the one I used—"
He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips, revealing an unfathomable expression that belied his age: "It's not a time converter."
"What is that?" Grindelwald pressed.
"Time Machine"
Ian raised his hand, and a tiny, intricate model, composed of countless gears and rays of light, appeared in his palm. The model slowly rotated in his hand, radiating a timeless, mysterious light: "Older, more powerful, and more—unreasonable than a time-tamper. It can truly traverse timelines, freely moving between different eras without triggering time paradoxes. Because it doesn't follow causality," but rather—"
"The Law of Fate."
The things the ancient Titans made were indeed valuable.
Upon hearing this, a strange light flashed in Dumbledore's eyes.
He certainly knew what the word "fate" meant—it was something deeper and more essential than time. Time was merely the vehicle for fate, while fate itself—
Old Deng looked at Ian, his voice becoming unusually serious: "Who exactly are you, kid?"
The tentative inquiry yielded no definite answer. Ian met his gaze, and in those deep eyes shone a light far beyond his years, almost divine. He smiled slightly, a smile that contained naivety, depth, and a serene composure that seemed to belong to a higher realm, making it impossible to look directly at him.
Who I am is not important.
He paused, his voice becoming even softer, yet it exploded in their ears like thunder: "The important thing is one."
"I am the embodiment of destiny."
The tavern was deathly silent.
Even the sound of the approaching waves outside the window seemed to be stunned by those words, and briefly disappeared. Dumbledore and Grindelwald stared at him in disbelief.
My mind went completely blank.
The embodiment of destiny.
These five words, like the oldest incantation, the deepest truth, and the most untouchable taboo, were uttered from the mouth of this twelve-year-old child.
Yet it carries a sense of entitlement and unquestionable power.
After a long, long silence, Dumbledore finally spoke with difficulty. His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible: "Those ancient texts—the accounts of ravens—say they are messengers at the end of fate—say they are the untanglers of cause and effect—say they are—I see."
Dumbledore, of course, believed this.
He also knew a great deal about ravens.