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Then, Ian flicked his wand lightly. In the next instant, the two opposing roads dissolved into nothingness. Ahead of them, a brand-new path formed where there had been none.
Dots of black and white and flecks of color danced in the air, swirling and weaving together until they solidified into a bridge with true, vivid hues, A bridge that stretched far into the unknown, with no end in sight.
"Oh, lucky us! Now that's amazing." Ian turned to Merlin with a bright, excited grin on his face.
Only to find Merlin staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
"Yes… truly amazing," Merlin said flatly, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably. His expression shifted repeatedly; he clearly did not believe this was a mere coincidence.
"Lead the way, Grand Sorcerer!" Ian scratched his head awkwardly, quickly retreating back behind Merlin. His cautious maneuvering earned another helpless sigh from the ancient mage.
"Can you at least pretend to be brave?"
Grumbling, Merlin still stepped forward, and the two of them began walking along the floating bridge into the unknown.
Behind them, the scenery slowly faded into a hazy blur.
It felt as if they were stepping into a deeper layer of space itself.
"I think I'm a little afraid of heights," Ian muttered cautiously, glancing down from the bridge. Below was an endless abyss of darkness, yet within that darkness, he could make out countless shadowy figures writhing and drifting.
They were… Dementors.
The bitter wind still howled, and Ian slowly realized that the bone-deep chill of this world was likely tied to the sheer number of Dementors lurking below.
After all, even a single Dementor was like a walking, super-powered air conditioner set to subzero.
"Do you see them?" He addressed Merlin.
"Yes."
Merlin's gaze was fixed on the Dementors as well. In this world of shadows, a legendary wizard suffered no impairment of sight; even without light, they could still pierce through darkness and see the truth of things.
"They're not even coming up to attack us…" Ian observed. The Dementors seemed half-asleep, drifting aimlessly in the darkness without consciousness.
On each of their hunched backs was a heavy stone tablet. Its meaning was unclear; there were no carvings or words, only weight, enough to bow their spines.
"I don't think these are Medivh's defenses for guarding his tomb. Dementors are just… troublesome creatures, nothing more," Merlin said, shaking his head and withdrawing his gaze.
"Maybe this isn't even a tomb at all," Ian murmured. He raised a hand, and snowflakes drifted around them, landing softly in his palm, pure white and pristine.
But as they melted, they left no trace of moisture. On closer inspection, these flakes of white weren't snow at all; they were more like ash. Ash that might have come from a single person, or from countless souls. Perhaps it had fallen here from the mortal realm above.
The thought sent a chill down Ian's spine. He quickly wiped his hand on Merlin's robes and pulled a small umbrella from his coin pouch before hurrying after Merlin again.
The world's monochrome palette was slowly bleeding into hints of color, though Merlin's spectral form remained pale and translucent.
"Hm?" Ian was still peering down at the Dementors below, mentally calculating the feasibility of using them in a "new Azkaban," when he suddenly bumped straight into Merlin's back.
The sorcerer had come to an abrupt stop.
"What is it?" Ian looked up, following Merlin's gaze. At the end of the bridge, in the pitch-black void, there loomed a massive palace suspended in midair.
The palace was grand and imposing, with towering stone pillars and spires faintly visible through the gloom, like a slumbering beast lurking in the shadows. Darkness swirled around it like storm clouds, thick and oppressive. Within the gaps of that shadowy shroud, a throne could be seen, faintly illuminated.
And seated upon that throne was a humanoid figure, its form obscured by darkness, as though the shadows themselves conspired to keep it hidden.
"Is that Medivh?" Ian's expression hardened. He furrowed his brow, straining his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make out the figure clearly.
He turned instead to Merlin.
But, Merlin didn't respond.
His gaze was locked on the palace in the sky, staring at the darkness as though it might swallow him whole.
"What's wrong?" Ian asked.
Merlin's face was pale as parchment, cold sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes filled with a gravity Ian had never seen before.
That sight sent a surge of unease rippling through Ian.
"What… is that thing?"
Ian was certain now, Merlin was truly terrified.
"Gulp…"
Even Merlin's throat betrayed him, the sound of him swallowing echoing far too loudly in the suffocating silence.
"You guessed correctly," He rasped, his voice low and trembling. "Medivh did leave a 'surprise' for those who dared to trespass… but it's not the kind of elaborate maze of traps we imagined."
"I think I finally understand why we walked here without resistance…" Merlin's voice cracked slightly, his face pale. "There was never any need for other defenses."
"What… Do you mean!?"
Ian's own throat tightened. He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze toward the colossal palace looming ahead. As they approached, the shadows wreathing the floating fortress roiled violently, as if disturbed by their presence.
And then, the figure upon the throne slowly opened its eyes.
"A guardian?" Ian whispered, wand snapping up instinctively.
But Merlin's hand trembled.
"No… not a guardian." His voice quavered with dread. "A god."
Merlin forced himself to remain composed, though terror clung to every word. He had never imagined that Medivh would guard his tomb like this, by enslaving the corpse of a god itself.
The figure stirred. Its head rolled stiffly on its neck as it leaned forward, face emerging from the sea of darkness.
It was a corpse-like visage, skin shriveled and dry, sockets hollow and sunken. Yet within those void-like eyes blazed two crimson stars, burning with a pressure so real it made the air itself heavy.
"Medivh… he enslaved a fallen god!" Merlin's whisper was hoarse with disbelief. He glanced at Ian, who now stood with both hands gripping his wand, knuckles bone-white from the sheer force of his hold, not out of fear, but from the overwhelming storm of emotion surging within him.
Was this truly the path his future self would walk?
"The God of War… Ares," Merlin breathed, steadying himself.
But even the utterance of that name drew the being's gaze.
In an instant, Merlin felt a pressure descend upon him, a crushing divine authority, as though Mount Tai itself had been dropped upon his shoulders.
"We're about to declare war on a god. Are you afraid?" Merlin asked in a grim voice, his expression locked in solemnity as he fought to stand his ground.
"Are you afraid?" Ian shot back. He expected Merlin to grin boldly, toss out some heroic quip about bonds and courage, and charge forward with righteous fury.
But instead, "Would I ask you if I wasn't terrified?"
Merlin threw his hands up, completely abandoning any pretense of legendary wizardly composure.
"...What?" Ian blinked. This wasn't the Merlin the history books had spoken of.
He was still reeling from that revelation when, "To see a god and not kneel is to forfeit your fate!"
The voice of the throne's occupant was like thunder rolling through the void.
The corpse of the God of War rose.
Slowly, stiffly, yet with a presence so terrifying that even the shadows seemed to writhe and scream around him, as though they themselves had been driven mad by his awakening.
Merlin instantly bristled like a cornered beast, the magic around him surging in a wild, frenzied storm. He could still cast spells, of that there was no doubt. In stark contrast, the young wizards behind him froze, their entire bodies going rigid as the atmosphere thickened.
The War God, Ares, spoke in a voice that rumbled like grinding stone. The words, however, left Ian utterly bewildered.
"Our names… are etched upon the Reincarnation Stele?"
Ian's voice trembled ever so slightly as he ventured the question.
The ruined visage of Ares turned toward him. That long-dead vessel of a god seemed to struggle to think, its hollow, burning gaze fixed squarely on Ian. At first, there was only confusion etched on its corpse-like features, but then…
"This… is not what we agreed upon… Medivh."
After a long silence, the towering figure sank back onto his throne, the massive frame creaking under his weight. His blazing, blood-red eyes bore into Ian with a weight that could crush the soul itself. The voice that followed carried an overwhelming force, like the judgment of the heavens themselves.
"Not what we agreed upon…" Ian opened his mouth to press further.
But then he felt it, a heat crawling across his cheek.
He turned his head to find Merlin staring at him from several paces away, the great wizard having leapt back in alarm. His expression was a mix of shock and something far darker, his usually steady gaze quivering with disbelief.
"What… did he just call you?" Merlin's voice was shaking even more than before.
The thought had crossed Merlin's mind before that Ian might be a descendant of Medivh. But now, confronted with this scene, a chill gripped his spine like an icy claw, and his scalp prickled in a way he had never felt before.
His instincts screamed at him.
Piece by piece, his mind began assembling a terrifying possibility.
To judge others by oneself, as the saying went… could it be that he had been walking straight into a trap meant to slay wizards themselves?
(End Of This Chapter)