Uninvited Guest and Half-moon Spectacles

The corridor seemed to stretch infinitely, every step landing on taut nerves. Ares could clearly hear his own heart thundering in his chest, and could also feel the magic radiating from Tom beside him, drawn tight like a bowstring. Sister Martha walked ahead, her back betraying an unusual tension.

Finally, they stopped before the dark wooden door of Mrs. Cole's office. Sister Martha knocked, and Mrs. Cole's voice, more solemn than usual, came from within: "Come in."

The door swung open.

The first thing to catch Ares's eye was the dust-laden window of the office, and beyond it, the gray, overcast sky. Then his gaze was firmly seized by the figure seated in the old armchair opposite Mrs. Cole.

It was not the white-haired, long-bearded elder he had imagined. He had thick, auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same color, though a few silver strands were already visible at the tips. He wore a long robe of rich, velvety purple-red, embroidered with silver runes that were hard to decipher, utterly out of place in the gray, dilapidated orphanage—like a classical oil painting mistakenly set in a cheap frame. A pair of half-moon spectacles sat on his nose, and behind the lenses, a pair of startlingly sharp eyes, the color of the purest sapphire.

Albus Dumbledore. Even twenty years younger, the calm yet powerful aura around him was enough to make this cramped office feel stifling.

Mrs. Cole sat behind her desk, her expression complex—a mix of respect, confusion, and a trace of barely perceptible worry.

The moment the door opened, Dumbledore's gaze swept over like the most precise searchlight, landing first on Tom. That look was gentle, yet carried the power to pierce through all pretense, as if it could see straight to the soul's core.

"So this is Tom Riddle?" Dumbledore's voice was calm and resonant, like warm honey, yet it pressed an invisible weight on Ares.

"Yes, Professor," Mrs. Cole answered quickly, then turned to Ares, hesitating slightly. "This is Ares Phoenix. He... he's also a child here." She seemed unsure how to explain Ares's presence, especially before this extraordinary professor.

Only then did Dumbledore's gaze slowly shift to Ares.

In that instant, Ares clearly saw the calm in Dumbledore's blue eyes crack like ice suddenly breaking. His pupils contracted slightly, his vision locked as if by a magnet, fixed firmly on Ares's face—more precisely, on his heterochromatic eyes, and the golden Blood Pact Markings that wound down from beneath his left eye, faintly shimmering in the indoor light.

Time seemed to freeze for several seconds.

Ares could feel the gentle magical field around Dumbledore waver—extremely subtle yet real, like a depth charge dropped into a still lake. That look was filled with disbelief, deep confusion, and a kind of... recollection and pain, as if he had seen a ghost that should never have appeared, one tightly bound to the past.

[High-intensity mental fluctuation detected! (⊙?⊙) From target: Albus Dumbledore! His focus on the host has instantly surpassed that on Tom Riddle!]

Tom, clearly, had also keenly noticed this abnormal attention. He frowned slightly, a flash of displeasure and deeper wariness in his black eyes. This "Professor's" excessive focus on Ares gave him a sense of loss of control, unplanned.

Dumbledore quickly reined in his lapse, but his gaze lingered on Ares's face far longer than normal before shifting back to Tom, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Pleased to meet you both."

He gestured for them to sit on the two hard wooden chairs nearby. Ares and Tom obeyed, their postures stiff.

"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, turning back to Tom, resuming his gentle, probing demeanor. "I come from a school called Hogwarts. We've received notice that you seem to possess some... special abilities?"

Tom immediately slipped into performance mode. He looked up, his face wearing a perfectly calibrated expression of unease, politeness, and a hint of misunderstood grievance. "Sir, I don't understand what you mean. I just... sometimes strange things happen, but I can't control them." He played the part of an orphan confused and frightened by his own power flawlessly.

Ares observed silently, inwardly impressed by Tom's acting. If he hadn't known his true nature, he might almost have been fooled by this masterful performance.

Dumbledore's blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were as deep as an ancient well. He listened quietly as Tom described those "accidents"—objects moving, animals obeying, and so on—without interrupting, only occasionally asking a key question, each one precisely aimed at the controlling nature and coldness Tom tried to conceal.

Ares knew Dumbledore was not fooled by Tom's disguise at all. He was like an experienced connoisseur examining a carefully forged counterfeit, already seeing through to the real material beneath.

Yet throughout the process, Ares could feel that at least a third of Dumbledore's attention was always faintly lingering on him. That gaze was not as sharp as when scrutinizing Tom; it was more like deciphering a book full of mysteries, written in a lost language.

Finally, Dumbledore concluded his questioning of Tom. He turned to Mrs. Cole, confirmed that Tom would be attending Hogwarts, and arranged the follow-up details. Mrs. Cole let out an obvious sigh of relief.

Then Dumbledore's gaze fell back on Ares, his tone gentle but carrying an undeniable force.

"So, Mr. Phoenix," he said, leaning forward slightly, the half-moon spectacles reflecting the dim light from the window. "About you... Mrs. Cole mentioned that you seem to have lost some memories?"

The storm's center, without warning, had shifted to Ares.

Tom's body tensed instantly, a sharp glint flashing in his black eyes as he stared intently at Dumbledore.

Ares took a deep breath, raised his head, and met those blue eyes that seemed to see through everything. He knew the true test had only just begun.

[Final Stage: The Edge of Wisdom, initiated! Host, tread carefully! (?????)? ??]