The Mystery Underground

No matter what.

Just as the Western world knew little about the African magical world, Ian knew little about this land as well.

Now, standing upon this land during Voldemort's active era, Ian had realized that Africa might be hiding secrets that had remained undiscovered even in his own time.

"Perhaps that's why the African Ministry of Magic and its wizards are so low-profile internationally. They don't want wizards from elsewhere discovering the secrets here."

Just how mysterious was this secret? Ian was filled with mixed emotions. For the moment, he suppressed his worries about the fallen god catching up and focused on the ruins before him. Pale light lit up at the tip of his wand, sweeping across the rough rock walls and massive stone pillars like a searchlight.

The murals on the walls had severely peeled and faded with age, yet some patterns could still barely be made out. They did not belong to the artistic style of any known civilization—neither the solemnity of ancient Egypt, the cuneiform narratives of Mesopotamia, nor the mysterious totems of the Maya resembled what stood before him.

The creatures in the murals took bizarre forms. Some resembled crystalline lifeforms with multiple segmented limbs, while others seemed to be made of flowing liquid metal. They were performing some incomprehensible ritual, surrounded not by the familiar sun, moon, and stars, but by immensely twisted geometric symbols that appeared to represent concepts such as force fields or dimensions.

Besides that, fragments of artifacts lay scattered across the ground. Most were made from a dull material that was neither metal nor stone, cold to the touch, with natural spiral patterns on its surface.

"Alchemical creations?" Ian picked up a fragment and tried to use magic to analyze its composition and age. The result only left him