certainly.
Ian certainly wouldn't reveal any information about Azathoth's dream to the two of them here, after all, he didn't want to plunge the two old people into a painful philosophical contemplation.
He will only tell Dumbledore and Grindelwald what they need to know.
It is a kind of kindness.
It's also a form of caution.
After all, in the Cthulhu mythos, knowledge itself is a form of pollution.
"Those beings, we call them—the Great Old Ones." Ian chose to speak only what he could, having already done considerable research on the matter of pollution.
Upon hearing this...
Grindelwald's breathing quickened. Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on Ian, waiting for him to continue.
"One of the oldest and most well-known," Ian said, "Is called Cthulhu. It slumbers in the sunken city of R'lyeh, deep in the Pacific Ocean, awaiting the day the Stars Align. Its power can corrupt any life, distort any reality, and drag all order into eternal chaos."
He paused, a complex emotion flashing in his deep eyes—a helplessness born of having experienced something terrible. "I've faced it before."
Ian spoke easily.
Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply. Grindelwald's hand trembled, and he nearly dropped his wine glass.
"You... have faced Cthulhu directly?" Grindelwald's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
Ian nodded, a look of profound experience, so unlike his youthful appearance, appearing on his face. "During one of my Time Travel, on another Timeline, the will of Cthulhu attempted to corrupt my Minecraft. Its dreams overshadowed reality, its power corrupted the entire dimension. I... fought against it."
He raised his hand, and a faint, dark green light appeared in his palm. Though faint, the light carried a chilling, all-consuming aura. Just a glance at it sent a shiver down the spines of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. "This is the power I stole from it," Ian said, "A part of the Fire of the Old Ones." He withdrew the light and continued, "But that's merely a physical manifestation of it in the material world. The true Cthulhu, its essence, still slumbers in R'lyeh, existing in a dimension beyond our reach. Those Great Old Ones, their existence transcends the material realm, transcends the concepts of life and death. You can destroy their avatars, you can repel their will, but you cannot truly kill them. They are..." He paused, searching for the right words, but couldn't find them.
It can only be expressed concisely and clearly.
"Immortal."
Ian spoke softly.
The tavern was deathly silent.
Only the sound of the approaching waves outside the window seemed like some kind of ominous premonition.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was no longer fear in his deep blue eyes, only something deeper—determination.
Dumbledore didn't disbelieve what Ian said, because he knew that Ian was Raven, and Raven was also an Old God.
Although it's unclear why Ian woke up in the future.
but.
" Ian is indeed an Ancient God, and a Great Demon God at that, as recorded in many ancient texts. Therefore, it's perfectly reasonable for an Ancient God to fight another Ancient God." "So, Tom is now..."
Dumbledore carefully choosing his words, trying to find the right question.
"He's becoming a vessel for some God of Deep Space," Ian preemptively stated the answer. "He's trading his own soul for that power. Once he's fully transformed, his very existence will become a conduit—a conduit connecting this world to those ancient beings."
"That's absolutely foolish, ignoring everything. By then," his voice grew even colder, "They can use him to descend into this world."
Ian also despised Voldemort to the extreme.
Grindelwald abruptly stood up, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with unprecedented seriousness. "Then what are we waiting for? We must find him immediately, before he completes his transformation!"
"I can't find him," Ian interrupted him. "He's hiding somewhere I can't sense. He's just undergone a transformation, been injured, and is adapting to new powers. This is his most vulnerable and vigilant moment. He must be hiding himself very well." As he spoke, Ian looked at Dumbledore.
"Moreover, he knew I was there."
Ian knew Voldemort's personality just as well as the two people in the present.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "He knows you?"
Ian nodded. "I destroyed his five Horcrux Clone. Those clones possessed parts of his consciousness and memories. Although the clones were destroyed, at the moment of their dissipation, what they saw was transmitted back to his original body. He knew that there was a being more powerful than me in this era." He walked to the table, sat down again, his small figure appearing exceptionally solemn in the chair.
"As long as I show myself, he will never appear. He will hide and wait until he has fully adapted to the new power, and then..." He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was already clear.
Grindelwald frowned, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. "So, we need bait. A bait that can lower his guard, make him think there's an opportunity."
His gaze fell on Dumbledore.
Dumbledore did not avoid that gaze, but calmly returned it.
Ian looked at Dumbledore, then shook his head. "Too dangerous. He knows Headmaster Dumbledore's strength, and he was just defeated mentally. He won't take the bait easily, unless..."
"Unless I look weak enough," Dumbledore continued, "Weak enough for him to think that this is a secret weapon that can easily kill me. That's not how Old Deng is."
His long-standing tradition in chess is to immerse himself in the game.
Grindelwald nodded. "His hatred for you is his strongest emotion right now. If you can demonstrate genuine serious injury, weakening him to the point of being vulnerable, he might very well be unable to resist making a move."
"But there's a problem," he continued, a rational glint in his eyes, "To deceive the senses of a Legend isn't easy. Especially a Legend undergoing transformation, whose senses may be even sharper. Ordinary disguises, even advanced illusions, won't fool him." Grindelwald was right. Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds, then looked at Ian, a deep, expectant light shining in his azure eyes.
"You mentioned earlier that you can enter the ' Misty Illusion '?" Dumbledore asked.
Ian paused slightly, then nodded. "Yes. It's a dimension between reality and illusion, not entirely overlapping with the rules of this world. Entering there temporarily isolates you from all external perception—including the detection of Legend. I can indeed travel back and forth there." A hint of surprise flashed in Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes. "You have that ability? The Misty Illusion... that's a field I only dare to study theoretically. Are you sure you can enter and leave safely?"
He can only travel to the future, and cannot fully synchronize with the memories of the future.
Ian smiled slightly, a smile that seemed particularly... unfathomable on his youthful face. "I'm sure. That's one of my... special 'talents'."
He's pretending again.
Ian has this kind of pretentious personality.
Dumbledore's gaze deepened. He looked at Ian as if gazing at something distant yet familiar, something unattainable. His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something, yet hesitated. After a few seconds, he finally spoke, his voice hoarser than usual. "In the ancient texts about ' Raven '... there is a mention of the Misty Illusion."
He knew Ian was Raven.
Ian looked at him without saying a word.
"Those ancient texts say," Dumbledore continued, his voice growing softer, " that the Misty Illusion is the space between life and death, the boundary between reality and illusion. Those who can freely enter and leave there..."
He paused, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes:
"It is said to be able to... reach those who have already departed."
Ian's expression shifted slightly. He looked at Dumbledore, and a tenderness, almost pitying, appeared in his deep eyes, completely out of character for his age.
He knew what Dumbledore was talking about.
Ariana
The Girl buried in Godric's Hollow, forever frozen at fourteen. The deepest wound that Dumbledore life.
Ian was silent for a few seconds, then spoke softly, his voice gentle yet like a warm current flowing into Dumbledore's parched heart. " Headmaster Dumbledore, I know what you're thinking."
Dumbledore's body trembled slightly.
"About Ariana," Ian said, "About those... who have already left."
Grindelwald's expression changed as well. Of course he knew who Ariana was—the root of the irreparable rift between him and Dumbledore. He looked at Dumbledore, a complex emotion flashing in his heterochromatic eyes—guilt, regret, and a hint of indescribable... heartache.
Ian stood up and walked to Dumbledore. He looked up, his deep eyes meeting Dumbledore's, clear and firm. "Don't worry."
You will meet again someday.
If he weren't afraid that the Patronus Charm would summon Ariana and attract the attention of those beings from the Deep Space, he could have summoned her right now to show Dumbledore.
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply! A myriad of complex emotions surged within his deep blue eyes—shock, disbelief, doubt, anticipation, fear...and a faint yet incredibly bright glimmer of hope, like a candle flame in the darkness... His lips trembled violently, as if trying to speak, but he found himself unable to utter a sound. His hands trembled slightly, and his entire being trembled.
After a very long, long time, he managed to utter a few words with difficulty:
"What... what did you say?"
Ian looked at him, his gaze unwavering, filled only with a resolute, certain light:
"I said you will see her again. Not now, not here, but at some time, in some place, you will meet again." He paused, his voice becoming even softer:
Some partings are only temporary.
Dumbledore's eyes welled up with tears.
This elderly man, who had weathered countless storms and faced countless life-or-death situations, and who could remain calm even in the darkest of times, was almost brought to tears by a single sentence from a twelve-year-old child.
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, Hard Work to calm himself down. When he opened his eyes again, there were no more tears in his deep blue eyes, only an unprecedentedly bright light.
That is hope.
Genuine, heartfelt hope.
"Thank you, child." His voice was hoarse, but incredibly sincere.
Grindelwald watched this scene, a complex light flickering in his heterochromatic eyes. He didn't speak, but simply picked up his glass and took a small sip. In that action, there were complex feelings for Dumbledore, a renewed understanding of Ian, and a trace of... something he himself couldn't express—the emotion he felt over the word "reunion."
A few seconds of silence fell over the tavern.
Then, Dumbledore a deep breath, composed himself, and regained his calm and collected demeanor. But the light in the depths of his eyes remained bright.
"Alright," he said, "Let's get back to business. We need a plan."
He looked at Ian: "After you enter the Misty Illusion, can you sense what's happening in the outside world?"
Ian shook his head: "No. The Misty Illusion is completely isolated from this world. Once I go in, I will lose all perception of the outside world." "Then how will you know when to come out?" Grindelwald asked.
"I need someone to give me a signal," Ian said. "A signal strong enough, clear enough. When Voldemort shows himself, when the battle begins, when I need to intervene—"
He looked at Dumbledore:
"You only need to call my name. Call me with all your might, on a soul level. Although the Misty Illusion isolates everything, that call from the depths of the soul can, under the guidance of the Phoenix, penetrate the barriers between dimensions." Ian had already experienced this before. Dumbledore nodded. "Understood."
"So, what about our plan for the decoy?" Grindelwald asked. " Albus needs to appear 'truly wounded.' To do that, Acting Skill alone won't be enough. Voldemort's senses are too sharp; he needs to see real wounds, genuinely weakened Magic Power Fluctuation." Dumbledore nodded, then looked at Grindelwald. A complex, indescribable light flashed in his deep blue eyes. Grindelwald met his gaze and instantly understood his meaning.
silence.
A few seconds of silence.
Then, Grindelwald's lips slowly curled into a complex smile, tinged with self-deprecation and a hint of mockery.
"Fine, then I'll betray you one more time."
They all had the same plan.
Dumbledore didn't laugh; he just looked at him quietly. In his gaze, there was gratitude, guilt, trust, and something only the two of them understood.
It is a complex emotion that spans nearly a century.
" Gellert..."
"Enough," Grindelwald interrupted him, picking up his glass and downing it in one gulp. "I know what to do. I will betray you as always, I will ambush you, I will make you look badly wounded and on the verge of death. Voldemort will see it—not just through his senses, but also through his spies planted in the shadows."
He still has a strong sense of the big picture.
Although the word "betrayal" is now clearly used.
But everyone can hear it.
He harbored resentment.
Ultimately, let's stick to the facts.
It was Dumbledore betrayed Grindelwald.