It tried to borrow power from borrowed names, waving threats like a banner.
But Ian only grew more silent, his expression twisting into something stranger with every word.
That name… "Soul Hall."
Who in their right mind would come up with such a ludicrous, tasteless title?
"You know of Soul Hall's envoy?"
Ian's sudden question cut into the shadow creature like a knife.
The thing froze. Its incessant warnings died in its throat as if strangled by an invisible hand. "Y-you… how do you know Lord Envoy's name? No one outside Soul Hall should know of him!"
'Well, well. That sealed it.'
Ian's expression was positively radiant, his face alight with smug satisfaction. He could only think to himself, Truly, I'm a genius.
"Damn it! You're just like Merlin!" The shadow creature shrieked, twisting its fear into fury. "You've set your sights on us! Scheming! Coveting secrets that are not yours! You seek to steal the great gift that belongs to us alone!"
It had clearly misunderstood everything.
And now it was simply spitting curses. Ugly ones, too. Ian found the thing's ranting insufferable, so he promptly tracked down Riddle, who was brewing potions in a side hall, and handed the shadowy being over.
"What is this?"
Riddle's eyes gleamed with rare fascination as he carefully received the writhing creature into his hands.
"Don't kill it, and you'll be fine," Ian replied vaguely. He had no real idea what it was himself, so he left it at that. But the young Dark Lord was sharp enough to take the hint.
"…I see."
Riddle lowered his gaze, studying the shadow with predatory curiosity. The glimmer in his eyes spoke of experiments yet to come. Without another word, he carried it away, leaving Ian and Young Morgan standing in the great hall.
And just then, Ian saw Merlin.
The great wizard strode into the corridor outside, a disheveled man trailing at his side. Merlin spotted Ian, gave a curt nod, then vanished with the ragged figure into the shadows beyond the window.
"Who was that? I've never seen him before." Young Morgan frowned. She knew nearly every face within the castle walls, yet this man was utterly unfamiliar.
Ian parted his lips, hesitated, and only after long deliberation did he speak.
"I think… it's better if you don't know who he is. For your sake. For your family's sake as well."
He had no choice.
Morgan's teacher in the Twilight Zone had already impressed upon him the importance of keeping history on its rails. He could not, under any circumstances, reveal the truth. The man Merlin led away was Uther Pendragon, King Uther, lover of Morgan's mother… and father of King Arthur.
The chronicles branded them "legends," yet the so-called rumors were truer than the "official" histories. With Merlin's magic aiding him, Uther would disguise himself as Duke Gorlois of Tintagel, slipping into Lady Igraine's bed in the dead of night.
Whether Morgan's mother knew or not… history never agreed. Some believed she had been deceived; others insisted she had gone along willingly. But in either case, the affair was undeniable.
Cruel truths like that were not something Young Morgan could be allowed to learn now.
Heaven might not collapse if she did, but history would shift, and perhaps shatter, beyond recognition.
"…Alright then. If you say so, teacher."
Though uncertainty clouded her heart, Young Morgan held her tongue. Ian's grave expression told her it was not a matter to press. She could feel something was off, though she could not name it. So, for now, she pushed the matter aside.
Her thoughts turned to something else, something far more immediate.
"Teacher… are you really going to that tomb?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling with unspoken dread. His earlier hints had already told her more than enough.
"Could it truly be…?"
The young black witch could not hide the quaver in her tone. Beneath the words lingered a weight of fear.
Ian fell silent for a moment, as though weighing the right words. At last, he let out a quiet sigh. "Perhaps… I can't say for sure. That's why I have to follow Merlin and see for myself."
Even if Merlin broke his promise, Ian knew he would still have to go.
The reason was simple. Anyone would feel both curiosity and dread when confronted with their own possible final resting place.
"Teacher, I want to go too!"
Young Morgan's eyes shone with the same curiosity.
But Ian shook his head, firm and unyielding.
"Absolutely not. If that truly is my… I mean, if that really is Medivh's tomb, then I can promise you this much: he would have filled it with enough traps to bury alive anyone foolish enough to trespass. The dangers there will be beyond anything I can currently imagine. I may not be able to protect you."
It was necessary caution. Ian knew himself too well. If that grave truly was destined to be his own, he would have ensured no one could ever desecrate it. Every trap, every safeguard, every cruelty, he would have used them all without hesitation.
"…Alright then."
Morgan's voice carried clear disappointment, but she didn't push further.
"To make up for it, let me teach you some everyday magic. Sectumsempra, it can slice lamb so thin it's like paper, and once scalded, the meat melts on the tongue. Perfect for travel and home alike."
Ian began another lesson, as though the shadow of death were just another excuse to teach.
Time slipped by, minute by minute.
Merlin returned sooner than expected, barely half an hour later.
"Are you ready?"
He had changed into fresh robes.
"Let's go."
Ian, having already gathered every hidden card up his sleeve, nodded. Merlin produced a small box, opening it to reveal a gleaming cube.
"A Portkey?"
Ian immediately recognized the faint magical pulse.
"An old transport device," Merlin replied. The ancient terminology didn't matter, the meaning was the same. He glanced at Ian, and together the two placed their hands upon the cube.
And then, The world warped violently.
In an instant, the Portkey swallowed them, leaving nothing behind but empty air.
Morgan stared at the space they had vanished from, her thoughts tangled and restless. After a moment's hesitation, she darted off in search of Riddle.
"Give me that thing!"
Without waiting, she snatched the shadow creature from his hands.
Riddle didn't dare resist.
Morgan hurried back to the spot where Ian and Merlin had disappeared, clutching the writhing shadow.
"Find them. Tell me where they went."
No matter how hard she tried, Morgan couldn't smother her burning curiosity. A great wizard's drive was always fed by that hunger, to question, to seek, to uncover. Her curiosity had only been buried, never extinguished.
And someday… That very curiosity might become the seed that drew her toward the mystery of Medivh.
As for Ian, he had no inkling of Morgan's reckless pursuit.
The Portkey had already dragged him and Merlin into a vast canyon. Green trees loomed thick, a brook gurgled in the distance, and the fresh scent of earth and leaves hung heavy in the air. Ian turned slowly, scanning the terrain.
The longer he looked, the more unsettling it became. Something about this place tugged at his memory, filling him with an ominous dread.
(To Be Continued…)
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