Darkness surged in from all directions like a tide, completely cutting off this corner of the night market, once full of bustling life, and turning it into an isolated island. The silence shrouding everything was strange and oppressive. Only Voldemort's soft, hoarse voice, piercing the eardrums like ice picks, echoed through the air. "Good evening, my dear... professor. And two... unexpected 'distinguished guests.'"
Voldemort slowly stepped forward, the hem of his black robes brushing the ground without stirring a speck of dust. His scarlet eyes glowed like burning coals in the dimness as they swept over Dumbledore, lingered meaningfully on Grindelwald, and finally flicked toward Ian—each glance extremely brief, almost casual.
Then he looked away. That gaze seemed to say: just some young man who did not know his place, perhaps an unlucky student who had wandered in by mistake. Not worth his attention.
Raven?
What Raven?
Could he possibly be stronger than the only legend in the world—himself?
The other party's traits would merely become his nourishment. Voldemort had already regarded Ian as prey trapped in a jar, so now he only wanted to vent the resentment he had built up over the years.
Namely, against Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
What first-generation Dark Lord?
There was only one Dark Lord in this world—him!
"Mm." Ian stood quietly where he was, expressionless. Only his deep, abyss-like eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were observing—or waiting.
Dumbledore's fingers tightened around the Elder Wand, his blue eyes filled with gravity and vigilance. He stepped half a pace forward, faintly shielding Ian behind him. Although he knew this young man might not need protecting at all, as an elder, this was still his instinctive reaction when facing the Dark Lord. His voice remained steady, but carried an undeniable force of challenge. "Tom. You actually