Faintly, a jumble of voices drifted over from the distance.
The sounds interrupted Voldemort's daze and forced him to think faster.
In an instant, his consciousness entered the world of memory, and time stretched out before him.
The resplendent world of memory unfolded, each memory playing out like the real world.
If Voldemort wished, he could even use this fragment of memory to conjure a false world.
But he did not. Instead, he turned his gaze to the spaces between those little worlds.
There, the invisible river of fate, influenced by his consciousness, guided those worlds, leaving them frozen in place and making them repeat endlessly.
"Am I, too, in a world like this, an illusion?"
Voldemort murmured to himself, but soon shook his head and dismissed the question.
Not because it was unworthy of consideration, but because it was meaningless.
For someone as focused on his goals as Voldemort, he would not allow himself to become lost in such questions.
"Should I follow fate's course, or break free of it?"
"After it is broken, will that fate already have been anchored in place?"
"But if I follow it blindly, will everything ultimately end in destruction?"
Once he abandoned philosophical speculation, everything became open to thought.
Before long, Voldemort's consciousness returned to reality.
"Augustus, what does the future in your memories hold?"
At Voldemort's words, Augustus suddenly shuddered.
He looked as though something had frightened him.
"Master, the contract forbids me from speaking of that future," Augustus said.
Voldemort nodded. He did not press him, but after a moment's thought, asked, "Do you think I should follow that future?"
"Master already has his answer. Augustus will follow Master's will," Augustus replied.
Voldemort nodded. It was true; he already knew what he would do.
"Then go and do it, Augustus. Earn