Morgan arched an eyebrow.
"If you ask me… Professor, you're absolutely brilliant! The greatest witch to ever live!" Ian declared at once, piling on an exaggerated wave of flattery.
And, as expected, Morgan lapped it up.
"When using an artifact like this, there is one rule you must never forget: when you pluck the strings of fate, fate, in turn, will pluck at you. Never attempt to shift a destiny greater than your own."
"That would not end well," She added, as if it were an afterthought.
Ian had long since learned that dealing with a dark witch required extreme caution. If he hadn't buttered her up so quickly, who knew whether she would have conveniently forgotten to mention such a crucial detail, one that could very well have led him into a trap later on.
Just like a cunning queen outmaneuvered by a wicked enchantress, Morgan had a habit of weaving hidden pitfalls into her lessons, always watching to see if her students were clever enough to avoid them.
Of course—
If you proved yourself truly capable, the dark witch would genuinely impart her wisdom.
It was rather like the old saying: serving a king is like living among dragons, you never know when one might devour you.
"Professor, is there truly no way for a wizard to undo death once it has come?" Ian asked.
This particular limitation clashed with his personal belief that wizards, in their own way, were akin to gods.
"Are you thinking of your parents? Or that poor girl in the village?" Morgan's tone was unreadable. Whether or not she possessed Legilimency, she could see right through Ian's question.
"Perhaps both."
Ian had never had the chance to meet his parents in this lifetime, and that was certainly a regret. But more than that, what haunted him most was the loss of Ariana, his dearest friend, whose life had been cut tragically short.
Of course, when considered rationally, the rule that time would not permit the past to be rewritten made a certain kind of sense. If such a thing could be changed, the future would spiral into chaos. Entire histories could be rewritten, lives reshaped beyond recognition.
At the very least—
Dumbledore would no longer be the man he was today.
And that alone would be enough to unravel so much of history.
"I regret to inform you that plucking at fate's strings does not mean severing them," Morgan said, her voice carrying a note of sorrow, perhaps the remnants of her own futile attempts to mend the past.
"Even if you were to pay the price to alter the course of events, their fates would still unfold as intended. They would still meet their end at the moment they were meant to."
For the first time, the great witch seemed burdened by the very knowledge she possessed.
"Such is fate," She murmured. "It reigns above all beings... even the gods."
Ian let out a slow breath, disappointment settling in.
"What if," He mused, "Instead of trying to undo the past... I simply went back to a time when a powerful figure was still a child, before they had grown strong, and strangled them in their cradle? That wouldn't be 'undoing' anything, would it?"
Ian couldn't resist pressing further about fate, even miming the act of strangling an invisible figure in front of Morgan— as though wringing the life out of a small, helpless creature.
…
Morgan blinked, clearly taken aback by the boy's morbid imagination.
But.
After a long moment of silence.
She finally spoke, her voice quiet yet unwavering.
"Then, you would never be able to return to your own time. Fate would claim you in place of the one you killed, binding you to a life that was never meant to be yours."
How the dark witch knew this, Ian had no idea.
She didn't sound as if she were speculating.
Perhaps, once upon a time, she too had been curious. It was possible that this sinister sorceress and Ian had become master and apprentice precisely because they were alike in ways neither of them had spoken aloud.
"Shit."
A shiver ran down Ian's spine at her words.
"Alright, then."
He swiftly abandoned certain reckless ideas. The more powerful a wizard became, the more they seemed to fear and respect fate— and with good reason. He had no desire to end up like a certain noseless Dark Lord, cackling as he hurled Killing Curses at everything.
In fact, given the current pitiful state of said noseless Dark Lord, Ian hardly needed to bother going back in time to deal with him. His question had been born purely from curiosity about fate's peculiar workings.
"Has something like this ever actually happened?" He asked, unable to resist. Morgan's cryptic tone all but invited speculation.
To Ian's surprise, the witch didn't seem irritated by his endless questioning.
"If it hadn't, do you think I'd have an answer for you?" She replied coolly. "Everything I know comes from real experience."
Ian's eyes lit up. "Could it be someone I've heard of?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the witch smacked him on the head.
"Too much curiosity can be dangerous, boy. Simply knowing certain truths can bring about fate's backlash." Morgan's gaze darkened, and her voice carried a weight that silenced even Ian's enthusiasm. "All you need to know is that it has happened."
"And it happened in an age before you or I were ever born."
There was something almost nostalgic in her tone.
Her vague answer didn't quench Ian's curiosity, but the sharp smack to his head made it clear that he shouldn't press further.
"Now this is the kind of magical history I want to learn," Ian declared with exaggerated admiration. Sensing her impatience, he wisely switched tactics, enthusiastically kneading her shoulders in an effort to restore her good mood.
After all, she was right here.
There would be plenty of chances to extract more secrets in the future.
So long as he didn't end up like the ill-fated Queen, his senior sister, who had learned a little too much.
—
The Twilight Zone's limited-time experience was already half used up, and Ian planned to visit his friends in the village before it expired.
The legendary witch had no objections.
"Tell your friend you took the dragon. That means he still owes me…" She added, lazily delegating him as her messenger.
What kind of grudge existed between Morgan and Pandero, Ian could only guess. Asking was out of the question— especially after that near-death encounter with the dragon, whose head had been half-ripped off in what had clearly been someone's handiwork.
And if a soul could be torn in half and somehow pieced back together— then Ian, as a living person, had no doubt that losing half his head would leave him permanently stuck as Morgan's apprentice.
"Of course, don't worry, Professor. I'll even give him a good kick up the backside for you," Ian promised, sacrificing his friend's dignity in favor of keeping the witch in a good mood.
"Make sure it's a hard one!"
Morgan's smile was dazzling. She raised her hand, and in an instant, Ian felt something shift around his feet.
Thorny vines twisted up around his boots, their tips gleaming with a faint greenish glow.
Ian, with all his knowledge of potions, couldn't identify what venomous enchantment laced those thorns—
And he certainly wasn't about to ask.
If the answer turned out to be something truly terrifying, how was he supposed to kick his good friend?
As the old saying went, ignorance is bliss— what you didn't know couldn't haunt you.
"Well, a soul can't die twice anyway."
Ian steeled himself.
The moment he stepped out of the castle—
(To Be Continued…)
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