The ruins of R'lyeh sealed shut completely behind Ian.
Lingering ripples of spatial distortion spread across the water before finally sinking into the dark-green depths of the silent sea.
A piece of history had vanished completely.
And in its place, a new history began spreading toward the future.
What Ian had done went far beyond destroying a Dreamscape dimension or defeating a manifested incarnation. When he left, stepping through the fading ripples of space and time while carrying the Authority he had seized, [Chaos Erosion/Foundation of Order], what occurred was an overwrite on the level of existence itself.
A replacement on the level of Authority.
As the newly ascended Chaos Overseer, Ian had silently and completely purified a deeply corrupted territory, reclaiming it as his own.
Within that Domain, where scorching heat intertwined with an indescribable, freezing madness, the illogical structure of space and time resembled a beach about to be swallowed by an overwhelming tide.
Yes. History was changing.
The process was silent, yet so violent that any observer's soul would have evaporated in an instant.
In the end, though, there was no earth-shattering explosion. There was only fading. Dissolution.
Cthulhu's mark upon existence, the symbol of ultimate chaos and madness, was slowly and irreversibly erased from the geological and mystical history of Africa, as if wiped away by a higher-order eraser.
Once the last remnants of the Old One Dominator Cthulhu's active will and corrupting nature were removed and transformed from the fabric of Earth itself, the river of time was finally freed from the ancient, insane reef that had blocked it for countless ages.
The change had begun.
Like a stone thrown into a river, ripples spread steadily from the point in the past where Cthulhu had been dealt with, moving calmly but firmly toward the future.
It wasn't a violent tsunami that instantly destroyed every trace of what had been. Instead, it was something closer to correction, an overwrite. History's natural resilience took effect, absorbing this massive variable and weaving it into a coherent timeline.
The vast majority of ordinary people, whether Muggles or wizards, noticed nothing. Their memories, experiences, and even their basic common sense were seamlessly updated the moment the ripples passed over them.
But for places and people deeply connected to the secrets of the past, the changes left far clearer marks.
The altered timeline surged into the future, powerful yet non-destructive. After all, the African Ministry of Magic that Saruman built in later generations had originally been established to conceal the Cthulhu Ruins. Because of that, the affected area remained manageable.
Perhaps Saruman had planned for this possibility from the very beginning and made extensive preparations.
In any case, the African Ministry of Magic was the place most heavily affected.
In the original timeline, the Ministry had been created to monitor, research, and above all else, conceal what lay deep beneath it: the source of the Cthulhu Ruins. Even someone as skilled as Saruman had only been able to suppress it; he had never been able to eradicate it completely.
Now, the ripples had arrived.
The waves of the shifting timeline silently swept across the land and through the towering structure above.
Deep within the tower lay an underground prison.
It wasn't meant for ordinary criminals; it existed to contain and deal with the most dangerous, unspeakable horrors.
The lighting was dim. The walls were made not of brick or stone, but of a dark metal that seemed to devour light and sound alike, etched with layer upon layer of dizzyingly complex sealing runes. Many of those runes were based on principles Saruman had developed a thousand years ago during his research into the madness lurking beneath the earth.
Inside a specially constructed cell on the lowest level sat a lone figure.
"Master... did you really succeed?"
Clad in a tattered black robe, he sat quietly on the freezing, rune-covered floor, his body hunched.
And his face, it could no longer be seen.
Not because it was hidden in shadow, but because where his head should have been was a writhing, shape-shifting mass of dark matter. It consisted of viscous shadows, phantom-like tentacles, and blasphemous runes that endlessly appeared and vanished.
This was the terrible price he had paid for confronting the corruption of the Cthulhu Ruins head-on, even using a portion of his clones and power to help suppress it. His body and soul had undergone irreversible mutations.
This was the student who had spoken with Saruman earlier: the nameless Auror.
He wasn't a criminal. He had volunteered to stay here as a watcher while awaiting purification, patiently holding out for the next chance to undergo an ancient ritual said to strip away corruption. The chances of success, however, were infinitely slim.
Yet he was one of Saruman's most loyal and gifted disciples. He had inherited a portion of his master's burden, and with it, that crushing secret.
Through long years of pain and endurance, he had forgotten his own name, and official records had deliberately erased it as well. That was why no one ever spoke it.
A nameless hero, that was all anyone needed to remember.
"The purification procedure is about to begin."
The black-robed wizard had already cleared every prisoner from the underground facility. He had even personally sent his own teacher on his final journey. Now, utterly exhausted in body and mind, he could only wait for a miracle.
Fortunately, Saruman had not disappointed him.
As he waited to undergo purification, the effects of the altered past finally caught up to the present.
At last. The moment he had been waiting for.
He suddenly raised his "head", if that writhing mass could still be called one. He hadn't heard anything; instead, he felt it in something far more fundamental.
"It's here... Will it be an even more tragic ending, or a good one?"
The black-robed wizard didn't know. He only knew that the one thing left for him to do was bring this chapter of history to a close.
He waited anxiously.
Then, the complex sealing runes on the walls, active for countless years, began to shift.
Their light neither dimmed nor brightened, but the fundamental logic behind them subtly altered. Some of the suppression circuits designed to contain the subterranean madness suddenly seemed to lose their target. The rune formations became redundant, idling without purpose.
Then the cold metal floor beneath him vibrated softly. It wasn't an earthquake, but the hollow sensation of something being erased from existence itself.
The faint background whispers of madness, the ones that made the soul instinctively recoil, were fading.
Not gradually, but rapidly, as if a massive eraser were wiping them from the canvas of reality.
"Did it succeed?!"
Excitement flared within the black-robed wizard as he watched history rewrite itself.
The prison changed around him. The dark metal walls paled, their texture shifting to ordinary dark stone.
The most complex and critical sealing runes, those tied to whatever had lurked underground, silently melted away like ice under a blazing sun, leaving behind smooth, blank stone. Even the iron cell bars softened and reformed into standard prison structures, resembling ordinary cells built for regular Dark wizards.
"Good! Good! Good!"
The wizard sprang to his feet, his mutated body trembling with excitement.
Deep within the writhing mass, two points of fiery light burned fiercely. He felt the environment changing rapidly, yet peacefully. This wasn't an attack, it was a correction.
The fundamental reason for this prison's existence had been to contain that unspeakable horror beneath the earth. And now, that source was being erased at its root.
Therefore, the prison no longer needed to exist.
"Master..."
A hoarse, distorted sob, barely human, tore from his chest.
"You... succeeded... just as I thought... You and that person from a thousand years ago... you..."
He understood.
This wasn't a disaster; these were the aftershocks of victory. A rescue from the past was overwriting the present.
Back then, his master Saruman had resolutely followed that unfathomable Raven into the Forbidden Land. They had never sought mere suppression, they had set out to eliminate the problem completely.
And they had succeeded. In that distant past, they had severed the nightmare at its source.
"The world is finally safe!"
Tears could no longer flow from his mutated face, but the writhing mass churned violently, reflecting the overwhelming relief in his heart.
Centuries of watchfulness. Centuries of torment from corruption. The mutations and sacrifices of his comrades. The unbearable loneliness of keeping such a secret, all of it had meaning now. All of it had been worth it.
His master's triumph had crossed the river of time to wash away the corruption of the present.
"Come!"
Realizing that the outcome he had waited for was a good one, the wizard finally let go.
He stopped resisting the changes, spreading what remained of his arms to welcome the cleansing wave of time like an embrace. Powerful seals meant to contain his corruption began loosening and restructuring as the prison's purpose shifted.
The madness embedded in his bones and soul lost its anchor. Though his physical mutations remained horrifying, the constant pull toward the Abyss rapidly faded.
"This will completely rewrite my life."
He knew what was coming, knowing he would no longer be entirely the same person. New memories would reshape him into another version of himself, and he accepted it calmly, letting the ripples of time reconstruct him.
The horrifying memories of what lurked underground, the hardship of containing it, even his vague speculations about Saruman's fate, all those heavy secrets were gently erased like words written in sand washed clean by the tide.
When he opened his eyes again, he was still himself, yet no longer the same person.
The black-robed wizard stood in a bright room built from neatly laid dark-gray stone, its smooth walls free of complex runes, lit only by a few permanent light orbs and basic protective enchantments. The room held a simple table, chairs, and even a small bookshelf.
It was a standard observation room used for detaining and studying dangerous creatures or wizards under special conditions, located in a routine containment section of the African Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries.
His black robes were still worn, but the dark aura of corruption had vanished. His head had returned to normal, he was young and handsome, with not a trace of corruption remaining.
But he no longer remembered that past, either.
"Huh? Why am I standing here?"
His eyes were clear and calm, filled with the mild bewilderment of a fresh initiate.
'Who am I? Why am I here? It feels like I've forgotten something very important...'
He only remembered that he was an employee of the Ministry. Everything concerning the underground ruins, the suppression, his master, and that mysterious entity had faded like a dying dream.
All that remained was a vague longing mixed with reverence and relief.
"Right. I'm an Auror with the Department of Mysteries."
New memories surfaced, and he gradually settled into them.
Just then, the door opened, and a witch walked inside. She wore deep-blue robes decorated with silver astrological patterns. Her presence was gentle and wise, her clear eyes looking as though they could see through appearances to the truth beneath.
Her face bore a faint resemblance to Lina, the Seer Priest who had prayed in the jungle clearing a thousand years ago, though she was more mature now, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes that spoke of accumulated wisdom.
She was the current Chief Unspeakable of the African Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries and one of the leaders overseeing this observation project.
"How do you feel?" her voice was calm and warm.
The young wizard shook his heavy head and answered hoarsely, "Much better, Mentor Lina. That chaos haunting me for so long seems to have suddenly vanished. But... I think I've forgotten a lot of things."
Because he had been directly involved in the incident, a few lingering fragments remained; it would take a few days for space and time to fully stabilize.
Mentor Lina nodded slightly, a flicker of understanding and emotion passing through her eyes.
The timeline's correction was complete. The sealing and restructuring of memories was simply history's natural choice.
As for the truth, only those who had walked out of that place all those years ago, along with the great Raven, knew it. And really, there was no need for anyone else to know.
Lina thought this to herself before speaking softly. "Some memories aren't meant to be recovered. Don't force yourself to search for them. Just remember your mission."
After a brief pause, she turned toward one side of the room.
Where a plain wall should have been, a massive, unimaginably heavy bronze door now stood, tightly shut.
Ancient patterns of dizzying complexity were engraved across its surface, belonging to a magical system no longer practiced in the modern age. At its center was a large, abstract emblem combining a bird with a shadow: the mark of the Raven.
The door radiated an ancient, desolate aura, looking completely out of place in the modern Ministry of Magic. Yet at the same time, it felt as though it had stood there since the beginning of time.
"That door..."
The young wizard followed Lina's gaze. The bronze door gave him a strange sense of familiarity, his heartbeat resonating faintly with it, though he couldn't recall any connection.
"Has it always been here? What's inside?"
Then he remembered. Their mission was to guard this door, and wait for the day it opened.
Mentor Lina walked to the bronze door and gently placed her hand against its cold surface, right over the Raven's emblem. Her eyes turned distant and deep.
"This is the Watchers' Gate," she said slowly, her voice carrying the cadence of an ancient legend. "It has existed longer than the Ministry of Magic itself. One of the Department of Mysteries' highest duties is to protect this gate... and remain silent about the legend connected to it."
Lina remembered those days, and that absurd, indescribable experience.
Sometimes, the story remembered by those who actually lived through a legend was very different from the version passed down through the ages.
(End Of This Chapter)
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