The fervent words fell.
The scene seemed to distort towards a specific moment. That day appeared to be pushed back in time, under the night sky, as dark clouds loomed overhead, the air filled with the scent of dampness and death. Inside the Dumbledore family's small house, candlelight flickered, and Ariana's screams tore through the silent night.
"Is there another problem?"
Albus Dumbledore rushed into his sister's room.
"I should have agreed to that deal; we really have no other way, Ariana, don't be stubborn, it's all for you, for our family."
Young Dumbledore saw his sister's body suspended in mid-air, surrounded by violent magical turbulence. Furniture shattered and walls cracked under invisible forces.
"She's not going to last... we've tried every method... her magic is too unstable, tearing her soul apart like a storm."
Aberforth was thrown to the ground, blood streaming from his forehead.
"I won't accept this ending! I won't watch her die!" Young Dumbledore refused to accept this, and at that moment, a shadow slowly emerged from the corner, as if stepping out of the void. It had no face, only two deep eye sockets, its voice low and cold.
"She won't make it through the night."
The hoarse voice carried an icy chill.
Albus abruptly turned, his wand pointed at the newcomer—an eerie figure clad in a tattered black robe, hooded and faceless, only a swirling darkness beneath, as if the abyss itself.
"God of Death..."
Albus's voice was tense with fear.
"Yes, you may call me God of Death." The shadow chuckled, its voice like the wails of countless souls, "You know the way, you know I can save her."
"The price is just high."
The God of Death, conjured by the Illusion Realm, spoke softly.
Dumbledore's expression was torn.
"A million souls, I know, I've found the way, but Ariana... " Clearly, this conversation revealed a piece of information.
Ariana previously rejected Dumbledore's choice of trading a million souls for one life—that scene left the frail old Dumbledore shedding tears.
In his heart.
This was Ariana's choice.
"Don't mind how she thinks; it doesn't matter how she thinks compared to your choice. You must know, if she's gone, her views will also be meaningless."
"I've already arrived; soon I'll take her life."
The God of Death spoke calmly.
Young Dumbledore looked despairing.
"Don't make me watch, I beg you, don't make me continue to see this." Old Dumbledore knelt within the scene presented by the bronze, his heart shaken again and again by these illusions.
Old Dumbledore gazed at his younger self, watching the moment of sacrifice, surrounded by silence, with no one to offer comfort, just as in the original timeline, forced to drink the potion at that moment, without Harry Potter handing him the antidote—and he realized what might happen if he faced such a moment back then.
The scales would definitely tip.
Sure enough.
"A million souls?"
Young Dumbledore gritted his teeth, his eyes flickering.
"Yes," the God of Death replied, "You can obtain them by any means—war, plague, magic—as long as you fulfill the contract, she can live forever."
The room plunged into a deathly silence.
Aberforth looked at his brother in horror: "Albus, are you listening? He said a million souls! That means destroying countless families!"
Clearly.
Aberforth still retained some sanity.
However.
Young Albus Dumbledore's gaze had changed, from sorrow to determination, to coldness.
Albus's pupils contracted sharply.
"Deal." He spoke without hesitation.
In an instant, the God of Death reached out, his fingertips touching Ariana's forehead. Her body shuddered violently, then calmed, breathing steady, a long-lost flush on her face.
"She will survive," the God of Death murmured, "But your soul no longer belongs to you."
The shadow vanished.
What remained was young Albus's empty gaze.
"This was absolutely not a wise choice." Old Dumbledore watched the illusion, murmuring to himself, yet knowing that if it were his younger self, he might truly choose this.
After all.
This was the interest far more important than a million souls in his heart.
Illusions aren't frightening.
It's terrifying as they present another reality.
...
The scene continued to evolve.
Ten years passed.
Dumbledore saw Ariana's life after regaining health.
She learned simple Magic Spells, her face adorned with a joyous smile. But Dumbledore knew, behind this smile lay an unspoken pain deep within him.
"Brother, I'm so happy, thank you for saving me." Ariana in the dream realm leapt into his arms, her voice clear.
"Ariana, as long as you're healthy and happy, that's enough." Young Dumbledore gently stroked her head, yet his eyes were filled with guilt.
At this moment.
Albus Dumbledore had become Hogwarts' youngest Magic Spell professor, talented and elegant, loved by his students. But his heart no longer held light, only a path leading to the abyss. At night, he worked alone in his office, researching ancient forbidden magic, seeking more efficient ways to harvest souls.