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Truthfully, aside from today, Ian hadn't actually heard any singing.
"But the rite must be performed every seven days, and gathering the proper offerings isn't easy. That's the High Priest's, " Cassandra began explaining the intricacies of the temple's rituals to Ian, her tone patient and matter-of-fact.
As she and Ian slowly disappeared down the winding stone path, within the temple's quiet halls,
In a shadowed alcove, a group of robed figures, priests, had been watching their departure in secret.
"We must retrieve the Dream Queen!" One of them hissed, his voice taut with urgency.
"Yes! And the heretic! That one, he destroyed the god's body! Merlin's beard! We shall surely suffer divine retribution for this sacrilege!" another cried, casting a fearful glance at the High Priest, whose face was half-obscured by shifting magical runes inked into his skin.
"Silence!" The High Priest barked.
His expression twisted into something unreadable.
He glared at the anxious priests and silenced their panic.
"There was never a 'god's body' upon the altar," he said hoarsely. "Only a chair remains within the sanctum. The chamber has been empty for generations!"
"What?!"
Disbelief flashed across the priests' faces.
They did not question the High Priest's words, for he alone had the right to ascend the altar and cleanse the chamber every seventh day.
"Then… what was it that child destroyed?"
A chill ran through them all.
"I would like to know that as well," the High Priest said coldly. "Send someone. Follow them. Find out where that boy, that stranger, is taking the Dream Queen."
His eyes gleamed beneath the writhing ink of his enchanted markings.
"The end draws near. We cannot afford to lose another Dream Queen…"
His voice turned gravelly,
Filled with dread.
And something else, fear.
···
As Ian stepped into the ancient city of Pompeii, He truly felt as if he had walked into the pages of a living history book.
The surrounding structures were masterfully built with arched domes and spell-carved stones. People on the streets wore long-flowing robes cut in unique styles, speaking a lilting tongue that was clearly early Italic, peppered here and there with words that resembled Old English.
Fortunately, Ian had studied nearly every language used in wizarding civilizations during his Twilight Realm meditations. If not, he would've found conversing with the locals an impossible task.
"I wonder… did Riddle study these languages too?" Ian mused, his mind once again turning toward the Dark Lord who haunted this time like a shadow behind every wall.
But soon, His thoughts were interrupted by the life teeming around him.
The city was bustling with colour and sound. The market was brimming with fresh fruit, handmade trinkets imbued with light enchantments, and street performers manipulating flame and shadow with effortless spellwork. Children ran barefoot across the cobbled roads, laughing. It was a world rich with magic, and visibly thriving.
Then Ian noticed something else.
A group of people clad in bright crimson robes walked down the stone lane with stately precision. Their footsteps echoed in harmony, their faces unreadable, and their eyes glowed faintly with something far more than human insight. Wherever they passed, civilians bowed their heads with reverence, parting like the tide.
Ian's magical instincts prickled at once; these were no ordinary folk. They radiated magic.
"They're the Night Watchers," Cassandra whispered beside him. "Formed by the city's ruling wizard, they're the Enforcers who uphold magical law and keep the peace."
Ian had to admit, this caught him completely off guard.
"Wizards and non-magical folk… living side by side? And wizards serving as peacekeepers?" Honestly, Ian thought to himself, Grindelwald would absolutely adore this place.
"Who rules the city?"
His curiosity surged. The world Grindelwald dreamed of, where wizards led and guided the world, had apparently already existed two thousand years ago. This… this was something even magical historians had never uncovered.
"It's a wizard," Cassandra replied matter-of-factly.
Just as Ian had suspected.
"If I get the chance, I'd very much like to meet that wizard," Ian muttered, his eyes scanning the market stalls as he walked beside Cassandra. He even spotted wizarding merchants selling vials of potions openly by the roadside.
There was no fear here. No hatred. No secrecy. This was a wizarding society that had integrated peacefully, and perhaps that was why it was doomed to fall.
"Where did you see the frightening visions you mentioned earlier?" Ian recalled the reason Cassandra had brought him here in the first place. She had led him to a grand stone building with healing sigils carved into the pillars.
Yes, A hospital.
Although there were no red healer's crosses, and it wasn't called a hospital in name, this was unmistakably a temple of healing. A place of magic and medicine.
Above the entrance, carved in gold-leaf runes, were the words Temple of Asclepius.
Ian watched as several citizens exited the building, clutching clay jars of draughts and poultices.
"About a month ago," Cassandra began quietly, "A strange illness started spreading across Pompeii. The temple's been covering it up, but I saw the truth with my Inner Eye."
"It's not natural. It's a sickness seeded by dark magic." Her voice had grown serious. Still holding Ian's hand, she led him through the crowd and into the temple itself, walking with purpose.
Many bowed in reverence as she passed.
This was clearly a restricted area; outsiders were not welcome.
The deeper they walked, the more solemn the surroundings became.
A sacred hush clung to the air, tinged with a kind of weight that even Ian, no stranger to ghosts and veiled realms, could feel.
Sunlight filtered through narrow clerestory windows, scattering patterns of gold across the floor. Dust danced in the light, and the walls bore faint carvings of healing rites and warding spells. A subtle herbal scent hung in the air, mingling with the deeper hush of magic.
"Many of the patients afflicted with the plague, or whose ailments defy healing through ordinary means, are kept in the chambers beyond," Cassandra explained softly, still guiding Ian forward.
At that moment, An elderly priest in ceremonial robes stepped into their path, his eyes narrowing with scrutiny. First, he looked at Cassandra with respectful caution, then turned a wary gaze toward Ian.
"Cassandra, you mustn't bring strangers into this place," The old priest said gently, but firmly. His tone conveyed deference to Cassandra, yet carried a palpable suspicion toward Ian.
"Priest Ryan, this is our god," Cassandra replied innocently. "He and I want to see the patients you've hidden here."
She seemed to think there was nothing odd about what she had said.
However, Ian's face flushed bright red in embarrassment.
He wished he could Disapparate on the spot.
He hadn't expected Cassandra to introduce him like that in front of others. Seeing the priest's unnerved stare, Ian quickly raised his hands in protest.
"I, I'm just a travelling wizard," He stammered. "One who's done a fair bit of research on potion-making." He hurriedly retrieved several glass vials from his pocket, elegantly crafted and filled with vividly coloured brews. They were some of his finer concoctions, brewed with high-grade ingredients gifted by his uncle.
Priest Ryan eyed the vials for a long moment, his expression unreadable. After a pause, he gave a small, approving nod. "Impressive craftsmanship. Your master must be someone of considerable renown."
Clearly, He had mistaken Ian's potions as the handiwork of a more experienced teacher. A fair assumption, even in ancient times, few would believe a young wizard could craft potions of such calibre.
"We haven't even informed the Night Watchers about this affliction," the priest murmured. "Yet you've discovered it through your Inner Eye… Indeed, such a gift is rare, and invaluable in protecting our city."
He looked at Cassandra with open admiration.
Cassandra averted her eyes shyly.
Then Priest Ryan glanced at Ian again. "Come with me. May this traveller from afar succeed where we have failed, may he unravel this cursed malady."
With that, the priest turned and began leading them through a network of ancient stone corridors.
The passage was narrow and winding, with rune-etched walls on either side. Ian noted the strange markings, neither Latin nor standard Runic, but something older. Symbols pulsed faintly with residual magic, their arrangement invoking ancient protective enchantments or rites of healing.
Ian studied them closely, committing each one to memory.
His magical recall was exceptional, ever since he had begun walking the paths of the Twilight Realm, his mind had absorbed such things effortlessly. This was nothing more than routine now. After several turns, they arrived at a sealed chamber.
(To Be Continued…)