Ian watched the old man's hunched figure. What it carried was not the aura of a Time Alchemist who created miracles, but the eternal regret of a husband and father who had lost his family, searching alone in the endless corridors of time for decades without finding even a shred of truth.
The meticulously prepared stew, which would never be eaten, seemed to be the most poignant footnote to this regret.
Ian was silent for a long time.
The evening breeze blew through the courtyard, bringing the faint fragrance of unknown flowers from afar, intermingling with the aroma of meat still rising from the clay pot, yet it couldn't dispel the heavy, almost stagnant air between the two of them.
He looked at the old man before him, this Alchemist of Culinary Arts who had poured his life's blood, endless regret, and a sliver of distant hope into both the mysteries of time and a kitchen stove.
The bottomless sorrow was not like a roaring tide, but like the soil in the courtyard—calm yet pervasive, soaking into every moment of time.
Ian understood.
All of Musa's research, all his attempts, even his sitting here now, revealing this profound pain to Ian, a "foreigner," were not for the seemingly impossible "rescue."
Time had already taught him that some losses, once they happen, are like water poured out—impossible to take back no matter how much time power is used. What he was pursuing was no longer a miracle to reverse causality, but an answer. An answer that could put his soul to rest, that could end this long and painful quest... the truth.
Ian took a deep breath, breaking the silence. His voice was clear and steady in the twilight: "So, Mr. Musa, what you need me to do is not to help you save them... but to enter that place for you, find out the truth of their disappearance, and give you an answer. Is that correct?"
Hearing this question that struck at the core, Musa finally nodded slowly and solemnly. The deep pain in his cloudy eyes seemed to have settled down.
In its place was a calm decisiveness and a sense of relief in entrusting this task to someone else.
"Yes, Your Majesty." His voice no longer trembled—though still old, it carried a clarity that comes after dust settles. "I am aware of my own body. My life... is running short, and I am no longer fixated on the impossible. So please, give me a clear answer."
Musa leaned forward slightly, his withered palm gently resting on the rough wooden table, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. "You, a wizard who can still achieve 'legendary' status with your own power in this age of magic decline... your power, your knowledge, might be the only key to unlocking the secret of that place."
"The obstacle I couldn't overcome in my lifetime might not be a dead end for you. I believe if you are willing, you can penetrate that chaotic space and find the clues I have sought in vain for hundreds of years." It was a formal request, and also the most solemn and final commission that a desperate old man, at the flickering end of his life, could issue.
Ian met his gaze without immediately responding. He could feel the weight of this commission, not just an adventure but a burden carrying a soul's decade-old obsessions and final hopes.
"Let me think about it."
Considering his unfinished business on the African Continent, Ian nodded after a moment, his tone calm and assured: "I understand, Mr. Musa. I accept this commission."
He saw the light burst from the old man's eyes and added, "However, I have some previously agreed matters to deal with here in Africa first."
"Once I finish these matters, I will immediately head to the coordinates you mentioned." Ian preemptively stated, as he truly didn't know how much longer the other could live.
Every wizard has their own methods of prolonging life.
Upon hearing this, Musa's face showed a relieved expression. He quickly nodded: "Of course, of course! Sir, I am already deeply grateful that you agreed. I am not in a rush... after all, I'm not going to die tomorrow."
The old man tried to keep his tone light but only revealed a kind of helpless desolation, "I probably have a few more years left to wait. I've endured the lonely wait of these years, so a little more won't make a difference."
His words carried a calm acceptance of life and death, yet also indicated a clear awareness of the end of life.
Ian looked at him and made a solemn promise: "It won't take years. In a few days or at most a few months, I will set off once I handle the urgent matters at hand."
"I will bring you news as soon as possible." What surprised Ian was that Musa did not propose any magic contract or written agreement to bind this commission. In the wizarding world, especially for such an important and potentially dangerous exploration, a contract with magical effect is a common safeguard.
However, Musa's next action was completely beyond Ian's expectations.
The old man struggled to stand, walked inside, and after a while, returned holding a thick stack of notebooks. The notebooks varied in style; some had hardcovers worn to the point of illegibility, while others were merely ordinary paper volumes bound with rough hemp strings, their edges curled and tinged with varying shades of yellow-brown.