Few Wizard can do it, but some people can.
Grindelwald was one of them.
He downplayed it.
Some people are pretentious.
Ian stared at him speechlessly, then continued searching.
This time, the harvest was even more astonishing.
Phoenix Feather —three feathers from the Phoenix King. Done.
Dragon's Tears—a whole tankful. Done.
The Basilisk, all eight intact. Done.
Grindelwald dragged a box from the corner, opened it, and inside were twenty thumb-sized pieces of the Philosopher's Stone's Philosopher's Stone. Each piece radiated a gentle, golden light.
Ian's eyes widened in disbelief. "This... how is this possible? It was given to you by Nicolas Flamel too?"
Grindelwald shook his head, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I made it myself. It's not a complete Philosopher's Stone, but I can still make some fragments."
Ian was silent for a few seconds, then gave a sincere thumbs up. "You're ruthless."
Finally, the Sands of Time.
Grindelwald led the two to the deepest corner of the vault. There, there was a crystal box wrapped in countless Protective Charm. He broke the spells and opened the box.
Inside was a small clump of silvery-white sand, more than five times the amount in Dumbledore's clump.
"Is that enough?" Grindelwald asked.
Ian glanced at it and shook his head. "Almost there."
Grindelwald frowned. "Still short? This is all I have left."
Dumbledore remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly said, "It seems we have no choice but to go find him."
Grindelwald looked at him, a complex light flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. " Nicolas Flamel?"
Dumbledore nodded. "In this world, if there's anyone else who could gather all these materials, it's him."
He paused, a slight, meaningful smile playing on his lips.
"Besides, he owes me a favor."
When I came out of Gringotts, it was already dawn.
In the early morning in London, the air is thick with fog, and the Street are deserted. In the distance, the River Thames appears and disappears in the morning mist, like a sleeping silver serpent.
Ian walked between the two, carrying a bulging bag—the materials they had looted from the two vaults. It wasn't quite enough, but it was much better than they had expected.
" Nicolas Flamel..." Grindelwald suddenly spoke, "Is he really willing to help?"
Dumbledore didn't answer directly, but instead asked, "Do you know why he lived for over six hundred years?"
Grindelwald thought for a moment, "Because of the Philosopher's Stone?"
"It's not just because of the Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said, "But because he understood a truth—that some things are more important than immortality." He paused, his gaze becoming distant.
For example, friends.
Grindelwald was silent for a few seconds, then chuckled softly. In that chuckle was self-deprecation, relief, and a complex, indescribable emotion. "Friend... what a luxurious word."
Ian looked up at them, his deep eyes gleaming with a light beyond his years. He didn't speak, but simply walked and listened quietly.
The morning mist gradually dissipated.
In the distance, the sun is rising.
And they are heading towards the world's greatest Alchemy, who lived for over six hundred years.
Heading towards that crucial point that could decide everything.
In the Devonshire countryside, the morning mist had not yet completely dissipated.
Dumbledore led the two through a dense forest and finally stopped in front of a seemingly ordinary farmhouse. The farmhouse was covered with vines, warm light shone from the windows, and wisps of smoke rose from the chimney. Everything seemed so ordinary and peaceful.
But Ian could sense that the seemingly ordinary farmhouse was shrouded in layers upon layers of complex and dazzling Protective Magic. Each layer of magic was enough to obliterate even the most powerful Auror.
"We've arrived," said Dumbledore, stepping forward and gently knocking on the green-painted wooden door.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
The person who opened the door was an elderly woman who looked to be in her sixties, with gray hair, a kind face, and wearing an apron embroidered with stars. When she saw Dumbledore, a warm smile bloomed on her face.
" Albus!"
Dumbledore smiled and gave her a gentle hug, " Perenelle, you're still so young."
"Stop being so glib," the old woman said with a smile, her gaze passing over Dumbledore and landing on Grindelwald and Ian. The moment her eyes fell on Grindelwald, they narrowed slightly—a gaze of all-knowing wisdom, the kind that belongs to an old person who has lived for hundreds of years.
But she didn't say anything, she just stepped aside:
"Come in. Nicolas is in the study."
The farmhouse is much more spacious inside than it appears from the outside.
After passing through a short corridor and pushing open an oak door, the three entered a study filled with books and Alchemy Tools. Flames flickered in the fireplace, illuminating the entire room warmly and brightly.
Behind the desk sat an old man.
His hair was snow-white, his long beard reached his chest, his face was kind and wise, and his eyes were as clear as a baby's. He wore a simple long robe and held a thick ancient book in his hands, which he was writing attentively.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up and his gaze slowly swept over the three people.
When he saw Dumbledore, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
He raised an eyebrow slightly when he saw Grindelwald.
When I saw Ian
His pupils suddenly contracted.
In that instant, Ian felt an indescribable, gentle yet irresistible force sweep over him. That force was like the softest feather, yet it could penetrate all disguises and reach the depths of his soul.
A few seconds later, Nicolas Flamel put down the ancient book and slowly stood up.
His gaze remained fixed on Ian, his clear eyes flashing with a complex light—shock, awe, and a hint of indescribable... understanding.
" Destiny..." he murmured, his voice hoarse and low, surprisingly recognizing Ian's Magic Power Fluctuation, "The embodiment of Destiny... has actually appeared in my study."
Dumbledore and Grindelwald both looked at Ian.
Ian simply smiled and remained silent.
Nicolas Flamel paused for a few seconds, then turned to Dumbledore, his tone returning to normal:
" Albus, this is the first time in all these years that you've brought so many 'special' guests to see me. So, what is it?" Dumbledore handed over the list.
Nicolas took it, glanced at it, and his expression became subtle.
" Phoenix Feather... dragon tears... Basilisk... fragments of the Philosopher's Stone... the Sands of Time..." he murmured, then looked up at Dumbledore. "What are you doing? Building a time machine?"
"More or less," Dumbledore said. "We need these materials to fix something."
Nicolas's gaze fell on Ian again, and after a few seconds of silence, he nodded.
"I see."
He went back to his desk, took a small velvet box from the drawer, and handed it to Dumbledore:
"Inside is a small, complete Philosopher's Stone. Not a fragment, but a whole one. Enough for your use."
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly. " Nicolas, this..."
"Stop talking." Nicolas waved his hand. "Over six hundred years have passed, and I've long understood one thing—some things are more important than the Philosopher's Stone. For example, the future of this world."
He then took out a crystal bottle from another drawer, filled with silvery-white sand. " Sands of Time, one gram exactly. Is that enough?" Ian nodded. "Enough."
Nicolas handed the item to Dumbledore, then looked at Ian again. His gaze was deep and complex, as if he were looking at something beyond comprehension, "The embodiment of Destiny..." he murmured, "I always thought it was just a legend. I never imagined..."
He paused, then suddenly smiled. In that smile were relief, anticipation, and a hint of the slyness characteristic of the elderly:
"Child, promise me one thing."
Ian looked at him. "Please speak."
"Once you've fixed that thing, if you need any help..." Nicolas Flamel's eyes gleamed, "Remember to call this old man. I've lived for over six hundred years and have never seen a real Time Machine."
Ian paused for a moment, then smiled.
That smile on his young face looked exceptionally bright and sincere.
"Must."
In fact, Ian needs help right now.
"Um, Professor," Ian smiled slightly, looking into Nicolas Flamel's eyes, which were sparkling with curiosity, "I need your help right now."
Nicolas raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh?"
Ian took out the complex model he had shown before, composed of countless gears and rays of light, from his pocket. At this moment, the model slowly rotated in his palm.
It radiates a mysterious light that transcends time and space, and is clearer and more complete than when it was displayed in the tavern before.
"Is this Time Machine?" Nicolas's eyes lit up instantly, almost eclipsing the flames in the fireplace. He quickly walked around the desk, leaned close to Ian, and stared at the model with the expression of a child seeing his favorite toy.
"Let me see, let me see!" His voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement. He reached out his hand, but then stopped in mid-air, as if afraid of damaging some precious treasure. "This... this is real? Time Machine? That thing can actually be built?"
Grindelwald watched from the side, a complex light flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. He had seen too many things claiming to be able to travel through time, most of them just tricks. But this one... the light, the aura, the incomprehensible mystery, made him have to believe that it might really be true.
Dumbledore stood quietly to the side, a faint smile playing on his lips. He knew his old friend Nicolas, who had lived for over six hundred years, and possessed an almost obsessive passion for anything new, mysterious, or beyond comprehension. Seeing the Time Machine excited him more than seeing the Philosopher's Stone. "Yes, that's right."
Ian nodded and gently placed the model on the desk.
As soon as the model touched the table, it immediately grew larger, from the size of a palm to about the size of two fists, revealing its complex internal structure more clearly.
"This is the result of a long time of repairs, and to be honest, I'm quite skilled..." Ian said, pointing to the constantly turning gears and flowing light, "But some key components are too badly damaged, and my Alchemy skills... are insufficient to fully repair them." He looked up at Nicolas, his deep eyes shining with sincerity.
"So, I'd like to ask for your help."
Nicolas was no longer listening to what he was saying.
His entire attention was drawn to the Time Machine; he circled the desk again and again, carefully observing its complex structure from every angle. Every now and then he would reach out his hand, only to freeze it in mid-air, muttering to himself:
"The way these gears mesh... no, this isn't an ordinary gear, this is... this is..."
He suddenly stopped, abruptly raised his head, and his clear eyes shone with disbelief.
"This is Titan technology!"
Now it was Ian's turn to be surprised.
His eyes widened slightly as he looked at Nicolas, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You... know Titan technology?"
Nicolas didn't answer, but quickly walked to the corner of the bookshelf and took out a thick, ancient book from a seemingly inconspicuous drawer. The cover of the book was damaged, and the pages were yellowed, clearly indicating its great age. He carefully turned the pages, finally stopping on a certain page, and pushed the book towards Ian's face.
Look at this.
Ian looked down, his pupils contracting slightly.
On that page was a diagram of a complex gear structure, surrounded by dense annotations. The way the gears meshed and their arrangement were strikingly similar to the gears in his Time Machine.
"I found this in an ancient ruin when I was young," Nicolas said, a hint of reminiscence in his voice. "That ruin... was said to have been left by the Titan. I studied it for a long time, but I could never fully understand it. Until today, seeing your Time Machine..." He looked at Ian, his gaze deepening.
"The technology of the Titan has been lost for tens of thousands of years. Even I, who have lived for over six hundred years, have only seen some scattered fragments. How could you possibly have a complete Time Machine?"
Ian paused for a few seconds, then slowly spoke:
"In my time, there was a place... a place that held many things from ancient times. Titan technology was just one of them." This was a white lie.
He didn't go into too much detail, but Nicolas understood. He didn't press further, simply nodding, his gaze returning to the Time Machine. "Alright, I won't ask. But you need to know—this thing isn't just ' Alchemy.' It involves the essence of spacetime, the rules of Destiny, and..." Nick knew Ian was hiding something, and he paused, looking at Ian, "... beings at the Titan level." Ian nodded. "I know. That's why I came to you. If there's anyone in this world who can help me repair it, it's you."
Nicolas was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. The smile on his aged face was exceptionally bright and triumphant.
"Great! Great! I never thought that after living for over six hundred years, I would still have the chance to touch something like this!" He rolled up his sleeves, revealing his lean arms, and walked to the desk.
The old man stared at the Time Machine, his eyes burning with intense passion.
"Come on, let's begin!"
Once this guy got into the swing of things, he moved even faster than the young people.