Erwin felt a pang of contemplation. He had initially dismissed such notions, but the Ravenclaw situation had forced him to reconsider. Perhaps connections between people truly existed, creating strange, invisible threads of cause and effect. He looked down at his palm, wondering if such a connection could ever extend to him—toward the parents he never truly had.
They weren't characters from the original narrative, just variables in a scheme that had already been written. Yet, they had appeared because of him, and departed because of him. But that didn't make logical sense. If their role was no longer necessary, why did they exist at all? Perhaps now, they had vanished entirely from any possible timeline.
As Death had indicated, his parents' souls weren't under Death's jurisdiction. That fact was telling. Death was a god, a warden of endings, yet even he couldn't control their souls. If that was the case, why should Erwin persist in seeking them? He let out a dry chuckle. Perhaps one day, when everything was resolved, he could find a way to locate them. But certainly not now.
A light rain began to fall outside the window, the August weather shifting from clear skies to overcast gloom in an instant. Erwin took out his enchanted communicator and dialed a number. It rang several times, but no one answered.
He frowned. What was Sunny Finch doing? She hadn't contacted him over the holiday, and he couldn't reach her now. It was as if she had disappeared. He didn't dwell on it—though they got along well, they were just friends. Besides, Kunlun was so powerful that Sunny Finch wouldn't be in any real danger.
Only Erwin, having visited Kunlun personally, truly understood its strength. The magical world was far more complex than he had initially imagined. Dumbledore was formidable, but he didn't possess divine power, which limited his ultimate potential. Kunlun was different. Erwin had sensed at least three distinct divine powers there—three individuals who were above Dumbledore's level but below the Four Great Gods. They might even rival them.
That evening, Ravenclaw returned. Erwin couldn't discern any particular emotion on her face; she appeared calm. She greeted him casually, seemingly unchanged, but he could sense a hint of scrutiny and doubt in her gaze. He didn't press. Many things were predetermined from the start, and indeed, many were unfair to Ravenclaw. But unfairness wasn't unique to her situation.
She exchanged a few casual words before returning to her diadem. She didn't question Erwin. It seemed she understood that even if she asked, he wouldn't provide answers. So, she simply didn't ask.
Late that night, Erwin stood by his window, admiring the bright moonlight. Many others were observing the full moon as well.
On a street in Germany, Charlotte finished a day of operations, not even glancing at the incapacitated wizards on the ground. Vinda looked at her with approval.
"Your progress is remarkable, even to me."
Charlotte smiled. "But you and I both know it's far from comparable to the lord's level."
Vinda shrugged. "The wisest thing about people is that they never compare themselves to those they cannot surpass. I hope you understand this principle as well."
"I believe you're right," Charlotte said, looking up. "The moon is very full tonight."
Vinda followed her gaze. "Yes, it is." She thought of her master, who cherished the full moon most. He would say there were too many imperfections in this world, too many regrets, but the moon—only once or twice a month—became complete. Unfortunately, it was fleeting, so fleeting that he had to treasure every opportunity to witness it.
Before every full moon, Vinda would visit Nurmengard to observe it with him. But now, her master probably didn't need her presence anymore. She sighed, a melancholy feeling rising within.
Seeing her expression, Charlotte wisely remained silent. She had heard quite a bit from Erwin. If there was anyone in this world who spoke without constraint, it was him. By his side, even without intending to, she always heard secrets inadvertently revealed in moments of frustration or satisfaction. To be honest, Charlotte was curious about how her lord knew these things.
At the very top of Nurmengard Tower, two figures sat beneath the moonlight, each with a glass of wine.
"Another rare full moon, Albus," Grindelwald said. "Aren't you returning?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Erwin instructed me not to return to Hogwarts before the start of term."
Grindelwald chuckled. "You weren't usually this compliant. Besides, he was simply angry that day. He's not that unforgiving."
"I also want to rest," Dumbledore replied. "You know I have considerable preparations to make for next term."
"Such as?" Grindelwald asked. "The Triwizard Tournament? That's something you began preparing three years ago."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, but this time it shouldn't be called the Triwizard Tournament. It should be the Quadwizard Tournament. I told you—representatives from the East contacted me."
Grindelwald frowned. "It seems the rest of the world has begun preparing as well. According to the prophecy, we have at most five years remaining."
"Five years is sufficient," Dumbledore said. "If we're going to transform the wizarding world, let's transform it completely."
But Grindelwald wasn't as optimistic. "Albus, now that Erwin likely knows the truth, I don't believe he'll proceed as you intend. Knowing him as I do, he's probably already preparing for the final confrontation. He's never been one to follow someone else's design."