The Sun God nodded.
The Brute Goddess pieced the clues together thoughtfully.
"I thought he was merely Fate's favored one…" The Sun God's voice carried a hint of dread. He couldn't help but raise his hand and touch the eye that had already healed.
"I should have realized this sooner. But arrogance blinded me. Perhaps… this is the beginning of the Twilight."
As he muttered gloomily to himself, The Brute Goddess frowned and pressed on with her questions.
"You've said so much, but I still don't understand why you and the other gods allowed a Temple of Fate to exist." She could hardly believe such permission was granted merely because it was tied to Fate. After all, temples were matters of faith, and just as humans were with money, gods rarely wished to share their believers.
Faced with his dim-witted daughter, the Sun God felt weary.
"Of course, It was because a consensus was reached." He sighed, no longer trying to enlighten his daughter, and gave her the blunt answer: "So that, in the final chapter of Twilight, Fate could weave us a strand of hope in time."
"It was a bargain, child." The Sun God revealed the secret between the gods and the Ancient Gods. Yet he did not tell her what price they had paid in that bargain.
Even so, the Brute Goddess had her own thoughts.
"So this is the price, then?"
She lifted her hand. There appeared the eternal contract that had not vanished even after Ian's departure. It was as though Ian's presence had already turned this place into a kind of "future."
"No, it is a harvest." The Sun God, however, replied with a tone of calm indifference, giving a response completely opposite to what she expected.
This left the Brute Goddess utterly baffled.
She suspected her father hadn't just burned away his eye yesterday, he'd burned away his brain as well.
A ten-thousand-year servitude contract wasn't a price, but a harvest? Even slavers wouldn't come up with something like that!
"I didn't even ask his name, the one I'm supposed to serve. Oh, right, he didn't ask mine either." The Brute Goddess's tone carried a faintly sour edge.
And just then, "Your Highness, my god once told me his name. I think we ought to remember it." The little girl Cassandra, having finished her hymn, suddenly rose to her feet.
She turned back, her voice earnest as she spoke, and sometimes, the beginning of a story is just such a coincidence. Ian himself perhaps had not yet realized it, but the legend of the Supreme Sorcerer had already begun.
The city of Pompeii was still as prosperous as ever.
And within it, there would always be a few who remembered his tale.
…
Within the corridor of time, the vast power of time seemed to take shape as a great train.
It bore Ian, Malfoy, and Riddle into the future. Ian and Riddle felt a warmth, irresistible, wrapping tightly around them, as though they were resting in the palm of an invisible giant beast.
To this, the dispirited, silent Riddle only sighed faintly. Ian, on the other hand, looked curiously about. This journey through the ages gave him an entirely different feeling than before.
The last time he had crossed over, Ian felt nothing but endless intertwining whirlpools around him, his body pulled by countless unseen hands, while dizziness and confusion overwhelmed his senses, like being trapped in a nightmare from which one could never awaken.
But this time, the moment he stepped into the passage of time, a strange tranquility washed over him.
Perhaps this was the treatment of a Legendary Wizard.
At last, he felt the ease of truly traveling through the years. Malfoy's pale face rested against his shoulder, while Riddle, bound like a cocoon in chains of magic, gave off the stench of rotting wood.
Countless specks of light gleamed in the void. The torrent of time flowed past him, carrying with it an ancient, mysterious whisper, yet also as gentle as the wind brushing across a field of wheat.
"This is really incredible." Ian gazed around him.
Wherever his eyes fell, the specks of time would solidify into vivid, undeniable images.
These were not mere possibilities. They were history itself, sweeping past their side.
This time, Ian not only sensed the chaos of entwined space-time, but it was as though he had been granted a pair of eyes that could pierce history, allowing him to witness scene after scene, clear as if painted before him.
"This is the best way to study history!"
Ian exclaimed in wonder. In his vision, it was as if countless gigantic screens hung suspended in the air, and wherever his gaze touched, the images sharpened instantly.
He saw battlefields choked with smoke, the blazing sun overhead. Roman legionaries clad in heavy armor, spears and shields in hand, their unified shouts and synchronized steps shaking the earth.
Julius Caesar stood in the center of the Senate, with a scepter in hand, his gaze sharp as lightning. Senators whispered among themselves, plots and loyalties weaving together in the air.
"Even if betrayal follows like a shadow, Rome's glory shall endure."
Even Caesar's murmurs, Ian could hear them clearly within the corridor of time. He watched as Rome's legions, under Caesar's command, crossed the magnificent Alps. Silver eagles glittered in the sunlight, the thunder of war drums echoed in their ears, and the soldiers' armor reflected dazzling rays of light beneath the blazing sun.
This was the glory of history.
Yet, in the next instant, the image shifted, Caesar collapsed beneath Brutus' dagger, blood staining the floor of the Senate. At that very moment, the fate of an empire was rewritten.
The vision kept changing.
Like a traveler riding in a carriage, one must always pass by new scenery, dim underground catacombs lit by flickering candlelight. A group of Christians knelt devoutly in prayer, their faces etched with unshakable faith. Though the environment was suffocating, their eyes shone with determination and hope.
"What period of history is this?" Ian gazed upon the scene, with a swirl of complex emotions rising in his chest. There was admiration for their faith, and curiosity about the religious atmosphere of that age.
The vision flowed onward.
Emperor Constantine stood in the square of Milan, holding aloft the Edict of Milan. Sunlight gleamed off his armor, making him look dazzling and radiant.
His voice thundered across the skies:
"From this day forth, the people of Christ shall suffer persecution no more!" The crowd erupted into cheers, and banners bearing the cross fluttered in the wind, heralding the rise of Christianity.
Then the scene shifted again, showing beacons blazing on the city walls, the wails of soldiers and the cries of the people interwoven, as barbarian tribes broke through the walls of Rome. That dawn, the sun rose blood-red.
These were the great turning points of history.
(To Be Continued…)
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