Had this happened decades earlier, during that old entanglent, Grindelwald might have grabbed Ian by the throat and demanded a hundred tis over, " "Will Dumbledore mourn for you?"
"I personally feel quite well. No need to worry, Professor." Ian hadn't sensed any discomfort or danger himself. Regarding his own condition, he had knowledge that would be difficult to explain to Dumbledore.
"For now, perhaps. But don't let down your guard. Anything tied to those vanished gods is no trivial matter." Dumbledore remained as cautious as ever.
With a look, he motioned for Ian to continue reading Riddle's work. Ian nodded and bent over the book again.
As he turned the pages, his furrowed brows gradually smoothed. Surprise flickered across his eyes. He had to admit that Riddle truly made him see him in a new light.
"This...this is unbelievable." Ian muttered, his finger resting on a diagram of a complex magical array. "Could Riddle actually write sothing this good?"
The book's contents far exceeded his expectations. Riddle--or rather, Voldemort--had systematically analyzed dozens of magical forms, from ancient European runes and African bone-curse rituals to Eastern five-elent techniques and Arican totemic magic. Each spell structure was dissected with thorough precision.
Beside each one were detailed notes and suggestions for improvent. It was so erudite and ticulous; no wonder Ian was astonished. After all, his own stereotype of Voldemort amounted to only two things:
One, that hideous, grating "Ga-ga-ga-ga" laugh.
Two: an obsession with scheming and plotting. Nothing else.
At best, the only real achievents Ian had seen from Voldemort lay in his experints modifying human wizards' magic. Indeed, the magical thods revealed in this book leaned toward the darker arts, reflecting Riddle's tastes.
"Research like this from Riddle...it could shake the world and earn him a place in history."
Ian kept reading, marveling with each page.
Who would have thought that Voldemort, a man who once pursued only the darkest magic and dread of world domination, could write such a valuable work?
"Talent and morality don't always go hand in hand, Ian." Dumbledore responded softly. "No one has ever denied his gifts. What I have always condemned is only the evil in his heart."
Indeed, that was the truth.
In all of Dumbledore's assessnts of Riddle, he had never belittled his talents. He only ridiculed Riddle's narrow vision and inability to see the broader future.
"Riddle's talent really is sothing."
Ian was utterly absorbed in the book, sotis frowning in thought and sotis nodding slightly. Dumbledore stood nearby, watching him expectantly. After a while, the old headmaster spoke.
"Ian, why don't you try practicing one of these spell systems related to the gods right here and now?"
"I trust this will not be difficult for you."
Dumbledore knew that Ian's speed in learning dark magic was nothing short of astonishing.
Indeed, that was exactly the case. With only a glance, Ian had fully mastered the contents he had flipped through. Ever since he beca a legend, his learning speed in this field had grown even more impressive.
Even before, he had been considered monstrous. When it ca to dark magic, Ian was a prodigy, instantly able to comprehend and command it.
"There is no such thing as good knowledge or bad knowledge, only bad wizards!"
Ian's frenzied studying spilled over in his attempt to disguise his excitent.
He turned to the chapter on "Divine Magic," and his eyes lit up imdiately. This section detailed the rituals for communing with gods and the forms of magic rooted in myth.
It even included sections on how to steal divine power through specific spell structures. Naturally, such thods existed for a reason. In the margins, Riddle had scrawled a line in red ink:
"The god who rules has never once responded to . I can only secretly borrow Their Divine Power to verify these contents."
This fellow had to make a note in his book clarifying that he hadn't stolen power from any other gods.
A little too cautious, one might say.
When Ian saw this note, the corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably. Although he didn't feel drained or weakened, he furiously added a new debt to Riddle's tally in his notebook.
Stealing?
Impossible!
Nine tis out of ten, it all cos back with interest.
"I've got it." Ian calculated, still able to grasp the spell in an instant. He closed the book. Embedding this era's archaic magic into other spell systems was not difficult for him.
After all, a spell is just a frawork, and magic is simply the result of filling that frawork with magical power. As long as he used a different frawork to achieve the sa result, he could naturally produce the sa magic with a different spell.
The frawork changed.
This was exactly what Dumbledore suspected: when gods were involved, Ian's magic would undergo strange mutations.
"Very good. Then we should proceed to the next step." Dumbledore's expression grew faintly strange, though he passed no judgnt. Instead, he stepped forward and placed his hand on Ian's shoulder once more.
The familiar sensation of pressure surged over Ian. When his vision cleared, he and Dumbledore were standing on the edge of a steep canyon. The biting mountain wind whipped through his hair.
"Godric's Hollow."
Ian recognized this unique place that always seed to resurface in his life story. In the distance, the setting sun painted the jagged cliffs with a blood-red glow.
Dumbledore was gazing at the horizon as well.
"Actually, our family did not live here in the beginning."
He spoke as if recalling old mories.
"At first, we lived in a small village. I still rember how the flowers there always withered quickly. Because my father was imprisoned in Azkaban, my mother brought us here, to Godric's Hollow. This was once the ho of our ancestors."
The old headmaster's words stirred Ian's mory of the Dumbledore he had t in the other tiline. Just as he wondered if that Dumbledore had ever ntioned him in the family records, Dumbledore spoke again slowly.
His tone carried sothing hard to decipher.
"The Dumbledore line is destined to bear suffering.
"I think the reason my mother brought us here was because our ancestors said that the curse of the Dumbledore line could only be redeed by living here."
Such familiar words.
Ian had heard that sa sentint before, from the other Dumbledore.
Yet hearing the old headmaster repeat them now filled Ian with a completely different emotion. He grew unsettled, casting a glance at Dumbledore's calm, unreadable face.
"Professor..."
At last, Ian understood why this Dumbledore appeared so full of vitality after his return and why he was willing to use a mory Charm to preserve rlin's secret.
Perhaps in Dumbledore's eyes, so long as nothing went wrong, he was certain he could reach his destined goal. Studying Riddle was the crucial step in completing that journey.
After all, these words ca from the oldest family records. In that genealogy appeared a na as unfathomable as the Ouroboros itself-- a na Albus Dumbledore could never ignore.
"Let's begin."
Just as Ian was about to speak, the old Headmaster smiled and broke the silence.
So Ian could only set aside his doubts for the mont. He began using the frawork of ancient Greek mythological incantations to cast what, for wizards, was the most ordinary of spells, the Lumos Charm.
The next instant, The setting sun in the sky suddenly flared as if injected with fiery blood.
A pillar of light crashed down as though the heavens themselves were collapsing.
"The Sun God…"
Ian felt the presence of that familiar aura.
(End of Chapter)
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