Time.
Like death, it was one of the natural forces of the world, an unbreakable magic that even wizards could not fully unravel.
It existed innately, beyond the reach of any wizard's absolute control—just as even the most powerful wizard could not escape death.
Voldemort had exhausted every means to cheat it, crafting Horcruxes and using the Resurrection Stone to reconstruct his body. But in reality, from the moment Lily's spell destroyed his physical form, his life had already ceased to be truly alive.
Even if one counted his half-existence after that, his lifespan wasn't even long by wizarding standards—not even ninety years!
"A Time-Turner?" Fitzgerald turned to look at him in surprise. "I thought that after the Time Chamber in the Ministry was completely destroyed, wizards could no longer wield the power of time."
It wasn't the inscriptions of runic spells on a Time-Turner that made it function—it was the Sands of Time.
Most of that had already been destroyed. In theory, the tiny Time-Turner in Cyrus's hands should no longer work.
But he had devoured that time-related skill he had gotten. His magic was far too powerful.
Time itself seemed to bend in his grasp—golden rings of light spiraled backward, turning against the current of time!
"Do you intend to travel so far back?" Percival asked, his voice laced with worry. "You shouldn't. No one knows what kind of consequences that might bring."
Of course, Voldemort knew.
He had reversed decades of time, returning to various points in his own past—
and he had even managed to evade time's punishment…
But back then, Voldemort had the assistance of the Time Chamber and had even managed to transfer the side effects of time's backlash elsewhere. As for now, the price of reversing time would be far greater!
"I don't need to reverse time. I just need to see the past," Cyrus said calmly.
This was one of the fundamental differences between him and Voldemort—Cyrus still held reverence for certain things. Time, the natural laws of the world—he respected them. Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn't take reckless risks.
...
Under the power of time, the once-blurred figure grew clearer.
Cyrus frowned slightly—the man looked ancient. His sparse, brittle hair clung to his scalp, and his body was hunched at an unnatural angle, almost bent at ninety degrees…
He leaned on a cane, but Cyrus genuinely couldn't tell whether the cane or the man's wrist was more withered. His skin was like aged parchment—dry, lifeless, stretched taut over frail bones, and his body seemed more like a walking mummy than a living man.
Every step he took made Cyrus wonder whether he would simply stop breathing altogether.
Just one glance, and Cyrus dismissed the idea that this was the so-called "transfer student."
If such a transfer student truly existed, Cyrus did not believe that mere centuries would reduce a powerful wizard to this decrepit state.
This man was far older.
And more than that—he was deeply entrenched in the darkness of the most sinister forms of magic.
"Do any of you recognize him?" Cyrus asked.
For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that this man looked oddly familiar—as if he had seen him somewhere before.
However, the four Guardians shook their heads simultaneously.
"I'm afraid we've never seen this person before. But the real question is—how did he enter the Hall of Knowledge, and what was his purpose?" said Rookwood.
"We'll find out soon enough," Cyrus replied as he continued channeling his magic.
His fingers curled slightly, and his wrist turned in precise, deliberate motions—as if winding the gears of time itself.
The decrepit, zombie-like figure reached forward and opened the starry ground beneath his feet.
It was as if he had stepped directly into the vast sea of stars.
"He went underground," Cyrus observed.
"But beneath the Hall of Knowledge, there's nothing," Sen Bacal said, frowning in confusion.
Even now, they had no idea what this mysterious figure's true goal was.
They all watched in silence, waiting for time to continue its reversal—but suddenly, the vision froze.
"What happened?"
Fitzgerald instinctively voiced her concern, but there was no need for Cyrus to answer.
The answer revealed itself before their very eyes—
The ancient figure abruptly lifted his head.
It was then that everyone finally saw his face clearly—a visage etched with countless deep-set wrinkles, furrows more gnarled and uneven than the bark of the Whomping Willow itself.
His eyes were clouded and murky, as if a mixture of rice and flour had been mashed into a thick, indistinct paste.
It was hard to imagine that such a pair of eyes could see anything at all—yet not only did he clearly perceive the path ahead of him, he also gazed across the flow of time itself, staring directly at Cyrus in the present.
Heh~
Then he grinned.
The movement was grotesque, as if a strip of dried, rotting skin had been forcibly torn apart.
And the next moment—countless writhing maggots squirmed out of his body.
A wave of pure, visceral revulsion shot through Cyrus, making his entire body tense instinctively.
The vision instantly shattered.
"He saw us!" Rookwood's voice rose sharply, laced with rare unease.
Even though he was nothing more than a painting, the sight had still shaken him.
To peer from the past into the future—what kind of being possessed such overwhelming power?
That thing was no longer human.
Perhaps it had transcended entirely, into something beyond comprehension—perhaps even a god.
"Who… was that?!"
"Whoever he was, I swear on my name—he is no living man," Fitzgerald said grimly.
She didn't need to elaborate; everyone had already sensed it.
The sheer stench of death clung to that figure like a decaying shroud.
It was as if he had only just crawled out from beneath the earth, his body still swarming with the filth of the grave.
The Guardians took a long moment to regain their composure.
Only then did they notice that Cyrus had been silent for quite some time.
He stood there, head slightly bowed, deep in thought.
In truth, at this very moment, Cyrus was combing through every memory stored within his mind—from the moment of his resurrection to the present, searching for even the faintest trace of the mysterious figure.
Like an observer watching a film, he meticulously sifted through every detail, every shadow of the past.
Yet—he found nothing.
"Well? Did you remember anything?"
Cyrus shook his head.
"My mind functions like a living Pensieve—no memory, no detail escapes my sight. If I had ever encountered that man before, there would be some trace of it. But there isn't."
He exhaled lightly and shifted his approach.
"Let's take another angle. Open the enchantments sealing the Hall of Knowledge."
The four Guardians exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement.
In an instant, the massive doors leading underground swung open once more.
Cyrus descended the spiral staircase—returning to that place once again.
But this time, everything felt different.
__________
Read 12 Chapters ahead:
Patreon.com/HornyFBI