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Morning light filtered through the colored ceramic bead curtain and cast mottled shadows across the stone table.
Ian watched the faintly visible runes beneath the woman's veil. The magical patterns rose and fell subtly with her breathing, writhing as if alive.
The Feast Hall's noise had been reduced to a distant hum by the silencing charm. Even the sound of the owner polishing a bronze kettle felt unreal and distant.
Clearly, some form of magic had been cast, isolating their conversation from eavesdroppers and preventing others from overhearing them accidentally.
"You saw it last night, didn't you? The situation inside the temple."
The woman spoke with absolute confidence, her tone carrying certainty.
Ian did not look up. His gaze remained fixed on the soup bowl in his hands.
"You seem to know quite a lot."
"I'll only ask you this," The Black-Robed Woman said, leaning forward slightly. Her eyes beneath the veil were as sharp as blades. "Do you know about that thing?"
Ian showed no sign of panic. He remained calm and composed, refusing to follow her conversational rhythm.
Once you allowed yourself to be led by another's pace, you became passive, and Ian disliked being passive. He understood social maneuvering well. Even back when he was a Muggle, he was something of a master of psychology.
"So you already know I visited the Temple?" Ian stirred the date porridge with a silver spoon; the sweet scent of honey drifted between them.
The woman's eyes curved faintly behind the veil; she was smiling.
She removed a colored bead from beside her ear and gently rolled it across the table.
When the bead reached Ian's hand, images suddenly appeared on its surface, including the temple scene from the previous night, when he had been investigating the temple chamber.
Of course, Ian himself did not appear in the recording.
But the objects moved unnaturally on their own. Items were lifted as if by invisible hands, and several potion ingredients disappeared into thin air.
Anyone with sharp eyes could tell that something suspicious had occurred.
Ian felt a slight twinge of guilt.
"And what does that prove?"
Of course, he could not admit that he had taken those items. If they demanded their return, it would be a tremendous loss for him.
Besides, the materials would only have been used for vile rituals within the temple. It was far better that they ended up in the hands of a Potions Master like himself.
Fortunately, the woman showed no intention of pursuing the matter.
"It proves nothing," She said softly. "But I know it was you."
She shook her head gently, her veil swaying.
"Your Disillusionment Charm is exceptionally refined. I couldn't detect you at all. But I understand wizards, especially ones like you who dare to question the temple's authority. Curiosity is your greatest weakness and your most powerful weapon."
Her words were not without reason.
"Fair enough."
Ian lightly touched the bead, and the eerie image vanished instantly.
The seemingly decorative object was actually an exquisite magical item capable of recording residual magical energy from specific scenes, the ancient equivalent of a recording device.
It could function as a hidden surveillance tool that required no power source. Even Ian had failed to notice it the previous night.
"Get away from me!"
"Don't touch me!"
Suddenly, the crash of a shattered clay jar erupted from the other side of the Feast Hall. They both turned to see a drunken man being dragged outside by his friends.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Ian lowered his voice and addressed the veiled woman.
"What exactly are you doing? Why was the maid's corpse sealed? What are the priests afraid of? And you...what are you planning?"
He set down his spoon and leaned forward, testing the limits of what she might reveal. He hoped to find answers to the mysteries he had yet to solve.
But...
The Black-Robed Woman did not respond.
She slowly raised a hand and gently touched her lips. The gesture was deliberate and meaningful. Then she shook her head, her eyes revealing both helplessness and warning.
Ian understood instantly.
A Silence Curse.
It was an extremely ancient and powerful binding spell. Once imposed, the victim could not speak of specific secrets voluntarily without suffering intense pain, or even mental collapse.
Even worse, such spells were rarely accepted willingly. They were usually imposed by a higher authority to ensure secrecy.
Not only does the spell prevent disclosure, but it can also distort related memories, making information inaccessible through Legilimency.
"All participants have it?" Ian asked in surprise.
Her gesture struck him like lightning cutting through fog. Suddenly, Ian realized that perhaps every priest involved in the temple's core rituals, and anyone who knew the truth, had been bound by similar magic.
No wonder the priests looked grave before the corpse and yet refused to speak.
No wonder the truth had never leaked.
Because it could not be spoken.
The secret itself was protected by enforced silence.
"Yes."
The woman nodded slightly. The colored beads on her veil collided softly, producing faint, delicate sounds. Suddenly, her gaze shifted toward the window. A patrol of Temple guards was passing along the street, their bronze spears flashing with blinding light in the sun.
There was nothing outwardly alarming about it.
She was merely indicating that those guards were also bound by similar restrictions, perhaps even more effective ones than her own silence curse, which altered memory and cognition.
"If you want the truth, you'll have to find the answers yourself."
The woman lifted a bowl of hot soup, which had somehow appeared on the table, and took a small sip. Her movements were elegant and restrained, almost ritualistic.
Seeing this, Ian stopped asking questions and pushed the honey jar toward her instead.
"It seems you're hoping someone will disrupt the Temple's plans."
Her reaction was peculiar.
She neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, she dipped a silver spoon into the honey and began to draw an incomplete sun symbol on the stone tabletop.
When the drawing reached two-thirds completion, she suddenly frowned and muttered a curse under her breath. Then, as if afraid someone might notice, she hastily wiped the symbol away with her sleeve.
The implication was obvious.
The moment she tried to give a clearer hint, a magical force restrained her, forcing her to stop.
"Try this," Ian said suddenly, pushing a plate of dried figs toward her. "Imported from the Sinai Peninsula."
The owner arrived at just the right moment to refill their tea, and the silencing charm faded naturally. The two of them continued chatting about trivial matters like ordinary diners until the bells of morning prayer rang from the temple.
As the woman stood to leave, a colored bead slipped from her wrist and rolled to Ian's feet.
"Pay attention to the woman who died today."
As she bent to retrieve the bead, the words drifted into Ian's ear like a strand of spider silk.
Ian froze mid-motion with his spoon.
"Wasn't the body already…"
Before he could finish, she was already leaving.
"Tonight, watch the woman who died, not the corpse, but her death."
She did not turn back, only slightly tilting her head. The veil shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Before her words had fully faded, she had walked toward the doorway, her black robes swaying gently like a ghost of the night.
The wind chime rang once more.
Her figure disappeared into the darkness outside as though she had never existed. As she left, a strange gust of wind followed her. The collision of the colored beads formed a brief, almost musical melody.
Ian watched her depart, his brow furrowing unconsciously.
Her steps appeared calm, yet he noticed something unnatural about her right foot. It moved as if following a specific rhythm or leaving invisible marks on the ground, visible only to wizards.
"Is this some kind of Morse code signal?"
Ian sighed inwardly. He was not a wizard of this era, so he was naturally unfamiliar with what might have been common knowledge among them.
The noise of the Feast Hall flooded back into his ears.
As the one-eyed proprietor came to clear the dishes, he secretly slipped Ian a palm leaf inscribed with hieroglyphs written in beeswax, apparently a hint about the woman's identity.
The warm-hearted owner had likely seen through her disguise and recognized her connection to the temple, fearing Ian might be deceived.
Clearly, the man had sharp insight and likely had a mysterious past of his own.
Ian crushed the leaf in his palm. As the fragments fell through his fingers, they ignited and burned into ash.
He cast one final glance out the window.
The Black-Robed Woman had already disappeared around the corner, but the faint scent of unfamiliar spices lingered in the air like a silent invitation.
She was deliberately exploiting a wizard's curiosity.
As for her purpose...
Perhaps she wanted Ian to investigate further.
Or maybe she was using him as bait to lure him into becoming the next sacrifice. Ian could not yet determine which was true. After all, he barely knew her.
The date porridge on the table had grown cold, forming a thin film across its surface. Ian pierced it with his silver spoon and suddenly realized a contradiction.
If everyone was under a Silence Curse, how had the Black-Robed Woman managed to hint at so much information?
Unless...
"A flaw was intentionally left behind," Ian murmured.
His fingers unconsciously brushed the wand hidden in his sleeve.
He recalled the sun symbol that was erased two-thirds of the way through; her strange, rhythmic steps; and the melody formed by the collision of the beads.
They all felt like parts of a carefully designed code.
Outside the window, the clouds above the temple began forming unnatural spirals.
Ian withdrew his gaze and pressed several copper coins beneath his empty bowl. As he stood up, he caught a glimpse of something glimmering on the seat opposite him.
A single golden grain of sand, left behind by the woman, hovered half an inch above the table, forming an arrow pointing north.
"What's there?"
The golden sand arrow trembled faintly before him, like a magical compass guiding the way. When he reached out and touched it, the tiny particles scattered instantly and then reassembled in midair into a simple hourglass shape.
Ian studied the sign thoughtfully.
She had told him to pay attention to her death tonight, which implied that nothing abnormal had happened yet. His curiosity deepened. What exactly did the woman mean? What transformation was unfolding within this city?
"A secret destined to be buried by history..."
Ian realized that he might be witnessing events that would one day lead to the downfall of the ancient Egyptian pantheon.
Lost in thought, he pulled out a waist token and unconsciously rubbed the bronze badge he had taken from the woman.
Its edges were engraved with delicate lotus patterns, and at its center was a sun symbol entwined by a serpent. The metal felt cold and heavy in his hand.
This was clearly not the insignia of an ordinary priest. The magical fluctuations within it reminded him of the enchantments that guarded the Restricted Section of Hogwarts.
"This is quite substantial."
Ian weighed the token in his palm.
He had taken it from the woman, not to impersonate her, but to borrow her authority temporarily.
The white stone pillars of Memphis's Grand Library shone like ivory beneath the midday sun.
Twelve guards stood in formation before the magnificent alabaster structure. Engraved upon their breastplates were not the usual Eye of Horus emblems but rather the same serpent-entwined sun symbol as the token.
Ian steadied his breathing, allowing his black robes to fall naturally and conceal the wand at his waist, already poised for action.
"Good day, Wise One."
The captain of the guard lowered a bronze spear across the entrance, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's.
"The library is closed for cataloging today."
Without a word, Ian revealed the token. Its bronze surface shimmered with an eerie blue-green sheen in the sunlight. The captain's pupils shrank instantly. He stepped back half a pace, lowering his spear.
"Forgive us. A messenger of the God-Favored High Priest may pass freely."
"No need to be nervous," Ian said, imitating the Black-Robed Woman's faintly echoing tone as he brushed his fingers over the token's engraved patterns. "I was merely testing your vigilance."
To his surprise, the guards immediately dropped to one knee in unison, their spears striking the ground with a thunderous, synchronized sound.
Clearly, the woman's status was extraordinarily high. Even her messenger commanded immense respect.
Feeling justified, Ian walked calmly into the library.
The bronze doors slid open silently, revealing a deep interior corridor.
The moment he stepped inside, the light behind him twisted violently. The doorway rippled like water before sealing itself again, a spatial barrier spell of astonishing sophistication.
The interior was much larger than the exterior suggested.
Towering bookshelves spiraled upward toward a dome nearly a hundred meters high. Countless papyrus scrolls and clay tablets floated through the air, drifting along mysterious trajectories.
Ian's wand warmed faintly within his sleeve.
Every inch of air here was saturated with ancient, powerful magic.
"What field of knowledge do you seek?"
A hoarse voice sounded suddenly.
Ian turned to see a dwarf-like old man emerging from the shadows. Seven differently colored threads wound around his withered fingers, each connected to a floating document above.
"The complete Heliopolis Mysteries," Ian said deliberately, naming a forbidden text. "And Resonance Between Stars and the Human Brain."
The old man's brow twitched. The threads tightened instantly.
"Are you certain? Such documents require Level Three authorization."
In response, Ian produced the token again.
The old man staggered backward, fear flashing through his cloudy eyes.
"As you command, Messenger. The western forbidden chamber is marked by a purple flame."
He hurriedly pointed the way.
After passing through three concealed archways, Ian finally reached the true Restricted Section.
The air here felt heavy, almost tangible. Each step felt like wading through glue. Torches along the walls burned with eerie purple flames, stretching his shadow into the shape of a twisted monster.
The labels on the first shelf made his heart beat faster:
Divine Grafting Techniques, Manual for Artificial Deity Cultivation, and Nineteen Methods of Refining Solar Essence.
Forbidden texts, long erased from history, now lay openly before him.
"These are the same forbidden arts they're using..."
Ian quickly pulled out the thinnest scroll. The papyrus trembled faintly beneath his fingers, as if it were alive and resisting being read.
"Memory Palace."
He whispered the incantation. His eyes turned silver-white instantly.
This secret technique, developed by the Hogwarts Library, allowed written knowledge to be engraved directly into the mind.
Hieroglyphs crawled into his vision like living ants, imprinting themselves deep within his consciousness.
Ian was absorbing the knowledge of the ancient world.
(End of Chapter)