Prelude to Destruction 5

Dumbledore felt the gaze.

He had assumed the other party would come over and speak to them.

But unexpectedly—

That was not the case.

The young man merely glanced at them before turning away again, as if nothing had happened. He continued along the walkway on the opposite bank, strolling in a direction parallel to but opposite from the one Dumbledore and the others stood on. His steps were steady, his silhouette stretched beneath the dim yellow streetlamps, and before long he was about to merge once more with the shadows cast by the riverside buildings.

But Dumbledore was already certain—though he could not make out the man's face clearly, the outline of that figure, his gait, and especially that distinctive aura, that detached calmness, matched Jorkins's description of the young wizard who had turned the tide with astonishing precision! It was undoubtedly the person Jorkins had described!

The so-called—Raven!

"Heh heh."

Grindelwald continued to watch the retreating figure with keen interest. Light flickered in her mismatched eyes as she spoke softly, every word reaching Dumbledore's ears with perfect clarity.

"It seems that Mr. 'Raven'... not only noticed the 'audience,' he appears to be... showing us the direction of the 'next act.'"

Grindelwald seemed to have guessed the other party's intentions.

"Is that so?"

Dumbledore tightened his grip on his wand, his fingertips turning faintly cold. He looked toward the figure vanishing into the darkness on the far bank, then glanced at the unreadable Grindelwald beside him.

In the night, a silent "invitation" that spanned prophecy and time itself seemed to have been issued. The figure on the opposite bank walked farther and farther down the dim pathway, no more than a vague silhouette in the darkness, soon to disappear into the deeper shadows cast by the buildings. Yet both