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1st of August, 1957 – ICW
Gaston Ramirez POV
Outrage rang throughout the hallowed chambers of the International Confederation of Wizards, a cacophony of howling sounds, sounds that were reminiscent of riotous jackals. Calls and demands of and for harsh action vaguely discernible and understood battled against the furious accusations of sabotage and warmongering.
As Commander of International Affairs, an ICW body within the organisation similar to the International Auror Department – though it was little more than MOS's front – and as such he was privy to these halls as part of his duties as the IA attaché.
He couldn't help but let a shadow of disappointment mar his face, a mere fraction of his true contempt, as he stared at the men and women who were responsible for much of the magical world.
Men and women that had decades of experience and with more than a few exceeding well over fifteen decades in age bickered and shouted at one another with self interest in mind, careless in their words and the consequences they yielded, consequences that would plunge a world into a war they didn't understand nor comprehended its goals.
As he stood watchful, he wondered how it came to be like this, how the organisation he'd worked for since his early twenties had become such a place of ignorance and self-interest in only sixty years.
'Don't be so naïve' the gravelly voice of his father chastised him, a voice that often chastised or cynically corrected him of his erroneous and sometimes idealistic thoughts and it was a voice that he had heard more in the past few months than he had decades prior as he looked around at the unimpressive visage of the Mugwumps.
'It was always there, it always is. The higher you are, the clearer you see the smog and the more it sticks on you'
He could see his late father in his mind's eye, his father half hidden by his straw hat as he wore his beloved and aged blue overalls, and he could hear his father's words through a disappointed face ringing in his ears as they often did whenever he spoke with burning calmness
'And you, my dear boy, have it caked on you like a second set of clothing'
With a rueful sombre thought, Gaston wondered if his father hadn't been the wisest man he'd ever known before he soberly considered the situation once more.
Things had moved so quickly in the past few months so much so that ostracising Illos was no longer the immediate action. Not since MOS suddenly changed direction and intensity that rippled through the magical world with awful and shameful fury.
And perhaps it had been always there, that self-interest and blatant misuse of power, but it never became so glaring or so filthy when MOS began to act so heavily in the past few months.
He could see the touch they had on the Mugwumps, the way their hidden hands guiding their actions and their whispered words out of their mouths and it was like watching serpent dragon slowly but assuredly swallow a live cow whole…feet first.
They were behind the antagonism, the antagonism that was pushing the magical world into another war because of their obsession. He understood their obsession and he understood their fear even more, the interpretation of the prophecy – a prophecy he had confirmed to be true – left little to imagination yet the manner in which they decided to act to achieve the conditions in which the prophecy could not come to pass…
It gnawed at his sense of right and wrong, this warped grey muck that his morals had turned into. Like an infection, it had disorientated him, left him unbalanced as if one of his limbs turned into a rotting putrid lump and it made him perpetually ashamed at the manipulations that he was witness to…that he was accessory to.
More than a few times he felt…himself sink lower and lower into an abyss with crystalized damnation, an awful depth he'd sunk to that he couldn't escape from and it was a far cry from the moral heights he once strove to and been destined to reach.
The change of tact and operation at International Affairs in the last few months had been increasingly jarring each time he and his colleagues intervened and made people change their minds – he remembered the shameful times when he'd taken part and watched proud men turn deathly pale with but a few words on parchment held with quivering hands – and as time went on, and the results became more difficult to swallow he was becoming numb to it all…accepting it all for what it was.
As the Supreme Mugwump got things under control as magic enforced order into the chambers, he thought the fact that it was for the betterment for the Magical world didn't help nearly as much as it should…as he might have expected.
His gaze fell on the Bulgarian Mugwump who had been watching the entire affair with what he could only describe as dispassionate amusement as he lounged back in his seat, his sheer presence radiating as he were a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
Cullaica was the epitome of what the ICW was becoming, the consequence, the example of what International Affairs and MOS were permitting to sit amongst what had once been a body of justice committed to a united goal of seeing their world protected and preserved.
All because of their drive to stave off an apocalyptic future with any means necessary
The characters of these people were unimportant, irrelevant in comparison to the power they wielded, magical or political and such deals with the devil couldn't be summed up better than the ones struck with the Raven recently, a key weapon in the war to come.
Unsavoury politicians…
Foul men with poisonous beliefs who sought to infect others…
Dark wizards masquerading as civilised men...
All in the name of a preventing a prophecy that heralded the end of Magic.
"I thank you, honourable Supreme Mugwump" the Mugwump for Egypt in a smile that raised Ramirez' hackles. It was the same oily smile he'd seen on the faces of German, Austrian and Danish officials when he pursued Grindelwald throughout Europe.
Boutros had grown in sizeable power over the past decade or so as he consolidated power in the Egyptian Ministry with the considerable aid of the ICW.
Cairo, the seat of the Egyptian Ministry was now beholden to the ICW.
Egypt, a people who could claim to be the first melting pot of wizarding cultures, a people who have a magical history stretching back over six thousand years, were now beholden to a foreign power in Alexandria for the third time in their history.
Boutros looked around the chambers "I can understand the…intensity of runaway emotion that my fellow colleagues have shown in this sacred chambers. It is not with an easy heart that we must consider the testimony of our esteemed colleagues."
Ramirez spared the diplomats who went to meet with Saunders a look.
The diplomats had been a combination of senior personnel from the Administrative Agency and Mugwumps chosen by the Assembly. Most of them hard faced yet the Spanish Mugwump looked miserable, almost ashamed. Her testimony had been utterly emotionless and exact accounting he'd ever heard before.
He felt a pang of sympathy for the woman.
Boutros seemed to inflate himself as he continued to speak, a stormy expression on his face "Chancellor Saunders has made the position of Illos clear and it is a position that we cannot accept." Murmurs of approval rang around the chambers as the discordant voices were muted by the volume of those who did agree.
"In their refusal to pay for the crimes of their leaders, they have made it clear that they are not ready to be a nation amongst us. Not when they choose to be led by criminals who are a danger to all of magic-kind!" Boutros exclaimed furiously before he continued.
"It is for that reason that I ask this body enact ICW statute D10567AF against the leaders of the rogue state known as Illos along with placing indefinite sanctions against Illos and any that trade with this rogue state!" Boutros shouted out and a chorus of approval rang around the room.
Ramirez felt a pit forming in his stomach as he stared around the fervent chambers.
There it was…
Despite the inevitability, despite the inescapable zenith that had always been on the horizon, it still hit him in the chest with a blow that felt like a furious swipe from a dragon's tail.
The spark that would lit the ocean of exploding fluid beneath their feet, an act that would ripple through the magical world and scorch away any attempts of peace and dialogue out of existence.
War with Illos was now inevitable.
D10567AF was a rarely used statute, one specially designed to allow the ICW nearly carte blanche to deal with those who were deemed 'Dangerous and subversive influences to the integrity and safety of the magical world' allowing them to indefinitely hold individuals to imprisonment without trial…the same statute that had been enacted against Grindelwald after his crimes could no longer be ignored.
The contented smiles littered the chambers whilst the troubled looks were far and few in between and he knew that more would leave.
He closed his eyes momentarily and memories of reality torn asunder, great and terrible magic wrought the world into unrecognisable slags of earth, the very heavens torn open with black lightning and rotting magic that clashed with annihilating power that broke the world with its consuming rage and fury….
They smiled but they did not understand how awful the situation was, how they had etched a conflict into existence that would swallow the magical world whole. Time, it seemed, had eroded the magnitude of the disparity of Atticus Sayre's power.
Grindelwald had not intended to win the war and he had come close anyway.
Had he truly been content to win the war and rule the Magical Europe, chances are he might well have succeeded. The imbalance between what he could do and the thousands of men he had at his beck and call would have been enough.
And now…now they were joyous to want to war against an enemy that boasted two Archmages, one likely to be the most powerful mage to ever exist, and who have thousands of loyal mages at their backs willing to sacrifice their lives for Atticus Sayre just as the Knights of Mimpost would have done without question.
The necessity of the Raven and Cullaica never felt more sickening than in this exact moment, the necessity of their power to be able to stand a chance to defeat the Sayres…
Had he not seen the veracity of the prophecy himself…
He reopened his eyes and a hardness shone through his eyes that could crush diamonds under the weight of his determination.
MOS were not blind, they were not ignorant of the impossibility they set for their forces, for his men, to fight against an enemy could tear down the very heavens with an expression of will alone.
It was why they divulged to him of their ability to See the future much like Atticus Sayre could and why they believed they could avert this prophecy with the existence of the Raven who was as much – or was going to be – a powerhouse as Atticus Sayre himself was.
A deal struck with a Devil that may prove to be little better than Grindelwald yet it was infinitely better than the apocalyptic future Atticus Sayre would bring forth.
They were sacrificing the present to save the future and perhaps the future that may replace the apocalyptic future would be worse than how it was at present with blood purism running rampant in Europe, swathes of Eastern Europe falling under the sphere of the Ravenites and the ICW transforming into an authoritarian entity that imposed itself onto peoples and governments without restraint yet…
Yet it was a future for the magical world even if he feared the path MOS was taking.
He was not privy to their dealings beyond a certain degree, to their plans which he only knew abstractly, only the objectives they set out for him to achieve.
In a way he was happy to be…ignorant…of the finer details of their plans and he felt shamed by that admittance. In the end he only hoped they understood despite their Sight that actions had consequences.
Prophecies were unwieldy phenomena, odes of ill tidings, of inevitabilities or of inconsequence, it mattered not. Magic herself sung those odes into the world through the mouths of her Prophets, odes that went unheard far more often than they were heard, odes that would never happen even if heard and he wished this prophecy had been an ode that had been left unheard.
Prophecies were double edged swords without hilts and no one could wield them – manipulate them – without suffering the consequences.
Still…
No matter his misgivings, no matter the guilt he felt for the actions he took and permitted, in the end he would do what he'd always done.
He did not believe himself to be a good man, not anymore, not for a long time now but he had always fought for the right side, the side that prevailed over greater evils.
His grim smile fell off as the Supreme Mugwump called the vote, a cloud of luminescent green lights overwhelming the few embers of reds, and he turned on his heel towards the heavy set of doors, his face etched in a hard stoic face.
In the end…in the end he would always fight for the right side. Even…even if he hated himself for doing so.
-Break-
Ferdinand Dolcino POV
"Symbols." Sariel began, his emotionless eyes roving around the room before they settled onto him "The moment of our victory is fast approaching." He said, a rare note of triumph creeping into his voice.
Ferdinand's mouth curled upward in a sneering but smirking fashion.
His efforts, his labours, had borne fruit, fruits of such magnitude that it was historic.
Sariel had tasked him to recreate what their forebearers had been capable of, to recreate feats lost for generations, promising death if he failed in this mission.
It had taken him almost a year of non-stop meditation and labour that nearly drove him mad to a way to break through his limitations, to find out the chink in the armour of their implacable enemy, his only route to stave away certain death at the hands of Sariel or Sayre and he'd finally managed to two months ago.
He'd found a way to delay choices until at near the precise moment that altered timelines, a way to make it seem like the future was always heading down the left path until just before at the moment of no return veering right preventing Sayre from being able to counter their actions.
It required immense concentration, immense willpower and so far only Sariel and Ephesus were the only ones capable of it other than him.
No longer were they constrained to reacting to Sayre's changing, no longer were they playing a chess match on a board made of Fate with endless pieces that sapped at them but now…now they could ensnare Sayre into a trap, a trap of their making that would make it too late for him not to arrive at death's door…or his people.
Collaborators that Sayre worked inhumanly to hide from their gaze and those that they did see were whisked away before their men could apprehend them.
The times when they came close, the Hounds of Death had come and intervened, often leaving a trail of death in their wake. It was in one of those instances that made it clear that Sayre had rules to this game, rules that made it clear direct actions against him, his family or his people would result in the same consequences.
Again and again, their visions had changed to gruesome deaths until they had to concede, having to admit defeat and swallow their pride and play the game in the narrow terms Sayre forced them into.
Now, they had the upper hand.
The only issue with this ability was that the future became blind, the right fork of the road was as dark as shadows, a future that they conspiring to make happen but one they could not view due to their trajectory towards the left fork that would continue until it was changed at the last moment.
However, their enemy would be just as blind as they were and the undeniable advantage they now held access to was what was going to win them this war.
A war that was coming to an end soon with the destruction of Illos and the death of the Sayres. They would deal with the Ravenites afterwards and the Design as they saw fit would come into being.
Pergamom scowled angrily but said nothing and the smirk on Ferdinand's face deepened. As a consequence of the others'…limitations, they were kept ignorant to ensure that the advantage was kept lest their enemy learn before they could strike a deathblow against him.
Pergamom's growing exclusion from matters of the Three all but heralded his own rise to the leadership of their organisation. Loadicea's death had been a great boon for it kept Pergamom's anger contained lest he find himself equally bereft of life.
In any case, there was little that would be discussed of value in this meeting. All of this was theatre in a way and they all knew it even if they were unaware of the details, theatre meant to ensure that the fork would continue on its trajectory without issue.
An hour passed as they went through the motions before he was left alone with Sariel and Ephesus. "Ramirez will soon be on his way to retrieve the asset" Ephesus said.
"A slight deviation to the timeline but nothing major." Sariel titled his head towards him "It seems like Sayre has remained limited as we suspected."
A pattern had been established that made it clear that Sayre had limitations, glaring limitations that they determined after they analysed every single action and reaction of themselves and Sayre.
He was vulnerable to the actions of others and to the actions that would not be apparent if they were set to pay off far enough in the future. They determined his limit was thirty years in the future, a far cry from their ability to see until the end of their timelines which before the veil had been stripped had been to their deaths more than a hundred years in the future for some of them.
Ferdinand was sceptical however "The test might have succeeded but it is not conclusive." He said pointedly. They set in motion a plan to assassinate the entire Sayre bloodline some thirty-five years in the future and it still continued apace without any interference.
"No." Ephesus agreed "However if you consider all the individual tests that we have gathered on his abilities, it is clear that it is far more probable that he is limited in his ability with Celestial time."
"We have argued this point enough times" Sariel said dismissively "In the end, over-caution without proof of validity will only guarantee our defeat, not enable it."
Ferdinand sneered internally though he grudgingly agreed with the sentiment.
"Now" Sariel said as he folded his hands onto the table, his emotionless eyes roving between him and Ephesus "Let us address the unacceptable mobilisation times of our forces."
-Break-
3rd of August, 1957 – St. Mungos Hospital
Dorea Potter POV
Dorea looked over the file of her next patient, a small frown on her face as she looked over the stated symptoms. It was an unusual reaction but not entirely uncommon. She got up from her seat and left her office towards the waiting room.
The waiting room in the Dai Llewellyn Ward was relatively sparse this evening and there were only about six people waiting.
"Mr Sycamore?" She called out and a middle aged kindly looking man dressed in worn robes stood up. He had a few scars on his neck and the bottom of his jaw as well, old looking scars. She could see the swollen hand with two distinct bite marks on the lower part of the back of his hand.
"Ma'am" the man said in his surprisingly baroque voice.
"Follow me please." Dorea said as she smiled politely at the man and she took him to her clinical room. As a Senior Healer, they were required to take clinic duties across the different floors when cases in their area of expertise were light.
She waved her wand over his hand, a light yellow glow wrapped around his hand "And it's been throbbing despite applying Essence of Dittany?" Dorea asked as her magic intuitively communicated the results of her scans to her.
"Yes." Mr Sycamore said with a wince as he bent his fingers slightly "I've been bitten before, a few decades ago, and all it took then was a little bit of dittany."
She hummed as she stopped her scan and went towards her cabinet before she returned with a few different healing balms "It's not uncommon to develop immunity to dittany." She paused as she applied one of the stronger curative healing balms on the outskirts of his wound "You're in the creature rearing industry correct?" she asked with a glance at the man's face.
The man nodded "Yes. Over seventy years now"
"Likely used dittany often to treat wounds in that time too" she surmised and the man nodded affirmatively. A few tests later that tested his reactions to the healing balms, she determined which healing balm was best suited for the man.
"You have to reapply the Sanding Burdock balm again tomorrow around midday." She said as she wrapped the man's hand up that was lathed in the balm underneath the cloth "Only once more and you'll be as good as new" she said with a small smile before she grew a little serious.
"I'd advise you stop using dittany to treat any wounds you may receive at work. At best it will only stop bleeding instead of knitting the wounds close." She told him as she got up and handed the man a small pot of the burdock balm who took it appreciatively from her hands.
"Oh, I will have to get rid of it then." The man said with a sigh before he looked to her with an appreciative smile
"Thank you Ma'am." The man said with a bow of the head.
Dorea smiled at the man before she led the man out of her temporary office.
It was almost nine o'clock in the evening when she had seen her last patient and she felt like a bag of potatoes by the time she finished. Charlus was likely still in the office today knowing that she would finish late so she decided to spend a bit of time at the staff lounge with her colleagues before she went home to sleep.
She walked through staff canteen and stopped in her tracks at the sight of her colleagues crowding the M-TV with seats arranged in a semicircle that were all filled were whilst there were a few people standing behind the sofas. She quickly walked towards them with a frown on her face and saw that they were watching Percival Prewett, the famous anchor man of Evening News on the Camelot Britannia channel, discussing about what the Minister might have to say.
She stopped next to Jack Greaves who stood with his arms folded and a concerned frown on his face and asked with surprise in her voice "What's going on?"
Greaves looked towards her "Prewett said that the Minister is making an emergency announcement at nine pm" Greaves broke his gaze and looked at the clock "In about four minutes." He said as he looked to her with careful smile.
"You made it just in time, Dorea."
It was strange for the Minister to make announcements in the late evening on the Screen. She listened to the discussions by Prewett and his guests but it was mostly speculation it seemed like. "And there isn't any clue what it might be about?"
"No." Greaves confirmed "Most people think it's related to Illos though." He said without hesitation in his voice.
Dorea's expression remained carefully non-reactive to what he said. "Why?" she asked already thinking it might be related to the disastrous negotiations in New York.
"The Minister hasn't really once spoken about Illos ever, has he?" she added. It was a criticism of the Minister that was levied against them. The public hadn't been demanding anything – yet – but that was mostly because of the wariness towards the ICW who were cracking down against any nation that wanted to associate with Illos.
Greaves looked at her with a curious look "True." He conceded "But other world leaders have spoken about Illos" he said with a concerned tone before he shook his head "The Minister can't really keep his quiet any further." Greaves said with thinned lips as he turned his gaze to the Screen.
"I don't envy him." Greaves said quietly "But I think he'll do the right thing. It's about time given how blatant the injustice is." He said with quiet confidence.
Dorea swallowed a little harshly as she turned to the Screen.
Injustice…
A word that felt so heavy with all that was attached to it.
And it was a word that felt righter than most others. The way that the ICW treated Atticus Sayre – and Illos – was not right and it reminded her so much of the previous Ministry.
So much had changed over the past few years, change that she could scarcely believe was possible was now something she expected to always remain the same.
Blood purism that ran riot in Germany and in Norway and once upon a time had dominated in Magical Britain was almost a thing of the past now. Almost of course.
There was not a chance in hell, she imagined, that the British nobility would allow their heirs to marry a muggleborn but a cousin far removed from the direct line of succession? The idea was no longer preposterous and even in some circles welcomed in a bid to 'diversify' blood for the future as research into squib births was proving to support the infamous report on Muggleborn and their origins.
Even so, the changes were positive and as time passed the age old tensions were dissipating. And, with a feeling of guilt, she knew that this had been exactly what Atticus had wished for. Equality under the law. Equality in opportunity.
And it was what he was betrayed and exiled for.
A small flame of pride flickered in her stomach at the achievements of her old friend. She always knew that he'd be capable of creating wonders and what wonders he built!
She would readily admit that she drank in every little information she could about Illos, about her old friend and what he'd been up to. She'd even interrogated Pyrites who was an acquaintance of hers and it only left her starving for more.
A rueful smile came across her face, one that was in remembrance of how hard she tried to not remember her old friend's face and now she couldn't have enough of it.
Even in his kingly attire, she believed that he hadn't really changed.
Pyrites' remarks about how a lot of things that didn't make it in the papers he really wanted to include, like how Atticus knew the names of anyone they encountered, something that Pyrites knew almost certainly wasn't for show, was how she came to believe that Atticus hadn't really changed at all…except for the glaring fact that he was King now!
She hadn't expected him to do such a thing, to elevate himself in a way that was incredibly…uncomfortable. There was a taboo on Kings of magical origin. A taboo that was thousands of years old that stemmed back to the days of the ancient pantheons.
One that the Romanoffs had avoided by nature of their junior status of the Romanoff family despite the senior branch's squib status which therefore they couldn't call upon the connection that was tied to their kingdom.
Her maiden family's library had helped educate her on the matter itself, the connection that Kings held to their subjects, a bond that was tied to family magic much like how the magic of the Wizengamot had been tied to the noble families, and it was a bond that the books had considered as sacred as the one's connection to family magic itself!
Walburga thought that this was the reason why the ICW was so adamantly against the Sayres, believing them to be a rival to authority and therefore building up to wipe out Illos and the Sayres with complete ruthlessness but she took that with a very heavy pinch of salt.
After all, Walburga had more than a few screws loose in that disturbing mind of hers.
In any case, despite his questionable actions surrounding the Taboo where gave him the benefit of the doubt – she did not believe that it was a bid for power given that he already everything he could have wanted anyway – she felt assured in her beliefs that her old friend hadn't changed in the way he built Illos.
Pyrites had confirmed that everything he'd written about the place was true and that if anything it was understated. It was a paradise and she could see the longing in Pyrites' eyes when he spoke about it.
It was not a longing that was unique to Pyrites. She'd seen it aplenty in many of her friends and colleagues who said they would go and visit as soon they were able to.
Her gaze went hazy at the thought that it was unlikely she'd ever see the country. Not after the way their friendship had all but ended when Charlus told Archie more than he should have about what he knew about Atticus.
She sighed inaudibly, blinking away the hazy thoughts and she kept silent on Greaves' words, electing to silent watch the Screen as quiet discussions went on amongst those seated by the M-TV, a discussion she kept a half ear on before the Screen cut to the Minister behind a podium in the Ministry Atrium.
"Good evening, my fellow citizens of Magical Britain" Minister Livermore greeted, his voice firm and his expression unchanging as he gripped either side of the podium with what seemed like a death grip.
"We live in a fast evolving era." The Minister began as he swept his gaze across before he looked directly into the Screen. "Faster and more uncertain than any other era since history began. Thirty years ago we were faced with the total collapse of the Statute by the actions of Grindelwald.
Fifteen years ago a war ended that had threatened to engulf the magical world in ruinous destruction but not without claiming tens of thousands of lives and leaving Europe in Ruin." The Minister paused as he stared meaningfully towards the crowd.
"And five years ago Magical Britain underwent its own crisis." The Minister said before he continued, a deep frown on his face as his tone emanated with severity.
"In the span of thirty years, we have seen and witnessed great change, both terrible and good. Magical Britain has come out of our times of peril stronger and more united in more than a millennium however we still live in an increasingly uncertain magical world." The Minister said with a hard solemnity to his voice.
Dorea stood affixed and silence reigned throughout the room.
"It defines a nation on how it deals with fear." The Minister spoke up again after a heavy silence, his look almost frozen with contemplation.
"Fear that comes with uncertainty, the unknown." The Minister said with his knuckles softly rapping at the wooden surface of the podium.
"Fear…" the Minister continued, his expression harder and his tone resolute "is what has gripped large parts of the magical world and the fear that has gripped it is unreasoning and unjustified. Fear that is been made manifest by those with unscrupulous intentions who seek to drive our world into further uncertainty without just cause or reason!" The Minister said with an explosive voice and Dorea drew in a deep breath as her colleagues murmured wide eyed at the Minister's reactions.
"They seek to fan the flames of war against an imaginary enemy convicted of imaginary crimes!" the Minister continued with a passionate voice "The bill that the ICW has voted for is nothing more than a witch hunt intent to plunge the world into a war no one wins but everyone loses and I cannot help but feel that is exactly what they wish for!"
"You have all heard and read about Illos, a magical kingdom that, a nation that has captured our attentions and our imaginations! Half of its people are our people, fellow sons and daughters of Magical Britain, kin to nearly everyone in our nation, who left to escape a corrupt Ministry and have built a nation that is equal to Atlantis itself! They are not our enemy." The Minister said with a hard low tone.
"Neither are Atticus Sayre, a son of Magical Britain who has fought for our liberty and defeated the worst Dark Lord ever to live or Emily Slytherin-Sayre, a daughter of Magical Britain who has changed the lives of thousands of our people for the better." The Minister said amidst loud claps of the audience at the Atrium, a rousing symphony of approving shouts of 'Hero of Britain' and 'Founder Reborn' could be heard through the Screen.
The Minister let it go on for a few more minutes before he spoke again "Almost ten years ago, the old corrupt Ministry had banished away our greatest hero since Merlin himself for the false crimes of treason when all he wanted was to change the lives of everyone in his homeland for the better." The Minister paused for a few minutes as he let that sink in.
"I do not have to tell you how much of a travesty that was – an injustice that is a black mark against our nation done by treasonous officials but!" The Minister said as he raised his finger
"But…we can start to heal the wounds that should never have been made now and that is why I and our government have rejected the false assertions of the ICW about Illos and two of the greatest witches and wizards to have ever lived and thus…" The Minister paused as he drew in a heavy breath before he continued, every single soul in the staff lounge silent as the dead just as the press and audience in the Atrium were, just as Dorea imagined anyone else tuned into the press conference was.
The Minister drew himself up a little as he released his grip from the podium "Effective immediately Magical Britain has withdrawn its membership from the International Confederation of Wizards…" the noise droned out the rest of his speech and the flashes that emanated from the cameras almost was like a strobe light that didn't seem to end.
The staff lounge itself erupted in shock and sudden argument with one another.
She heard a low whistle and she remembered Greaves was next to her. He kept his gaze on the Screen but he spoke nonetheless "I didn't expect him to go that far." He said with a sigh before he shook his head and crossed his arms. "At least it's quite likely Ireland will join us. With the collective war-wards active, I doubt there is much the ICW could do without really committing"
"What are you talking about?" Dorea asked with a frown, still somewhat in a daze about the shocking announcement. "Why would we activate the war-wards. We haven't declared war."
Greaves turned to her with a grim look on his face. "No. But we might as well have with the comments that the Minister said and the withdrawal of membership."
"You really think it'll come to war?" Dorea asked stricken. She remembered the last war and the amount of pain and death she'd seen. For it to touch her homeland…
Greaves remained silent for a few moments. "I don't think so. Our support probably won't go that far." He said finally before he shook his head.
"I don't know. Honestly, it depends on how closely we align with Illos." Greaves looked at the Screen again and she followed his gaze and saw that Prewett was in a heated discussion with his guests though she couldn't really hear anything considering her colleagues were awfully loud still.
"At least it is the right thing to do." Greaves said with a sigh before he turned around and made to walk away though not without uttering "We're going to be in for some interesting times"
Dorea remained still for a few more moments before she walked away too. She felt conflicted about the whole ordeal though surprisingly she felt mostly pleased that the British Ministry wasn't against her old friend.
She shook her head and she quickly walked towards the Floo. She and Charlus would have much to discuss!
-Break-
4th of August, 1957 – Illos
Threads of timelines, of possibilities sailed by his field of perception, threads made out of filaments as thin as the diameter of hairs that went on into infinity, inverting and expanding and collapsing in endless tesseracts of immeasurable sizes, in this space he constructed within his consciousness where his existence was beyond three dimensions.
He walked through the dense forest of Time Tesseracts, his perception reducing the Tesseracts into smaller cubes of possibilities emanating infinite filaments and threads, his silent steps treading on a surface made of emptiness, his fingers hovering over the possibilities with echoes saturating his perception of what they may hold.
Time…
The concept vibrated within his consciousness like the strings of his harp under his touch and just like the tones and frequencies the vibrating strings sprang through air, Time sprang across space and existence through threads of infinite variety made from uncountable filaments of choices linked to all those who existed, exist and would exist.
His finger flicked at one of the threads and a stream of events filled his perception, random and uncoordinated yet he relished at the beauty of the way he was understanding Time and all of its infinite importance to the universe.
Time was the suture that bound the structure of the universe together, the membranes that made up the core constituents of existence itself. Magic. Reality. Consciousness.
Through Time, Life was inextricably linked with itself through choice and chance that echoed in the past present and future, by laws that governed the non-physical much like the laws of governed the universe with just as much 'spooky action' influencing choice and chance just as the quantum world influenced the universe.
'Spooky action' that did not have laws in the traditional sense, laws that could not be explained or defined through words but only understood through experiencing them, through feeling the tangles connected to choices, choices that were expressional acts of consciousness that made up a small portion of the membrane that permeated throughout the universe, tangles that had always existed and would always exist.
He expanded his consciousness with an immense swelling as he turned his gaze towards the Tesseract that held the future of his chosen path that he forced to exist and held a constant connection to even in his unconscious state, its collapsing and expanding form breaking the confines of its shape into a blooming daisy with a centre that held an infinite ocean of liquid threads that stretched into the dark pool of the past, the shallow present and the endless horizon of the future.
Even though he was as knowledgeable as most Ancient Humans when it came to time and energy, he knew that that his knowledge paled in comparison to his instinctive grasp, this instinctive feeling for time and energy.
It was like using words to describe emotions at their heights, when emotions rose to zeniths that words were ill equipped to truly describe the full breadth of the emotion's power in those unforgettable moments.
Words would always pale to capture the full experience of when joy reached a height that lifted one's soul to such lightness that it made it seem as if one could walk on molecules of air with gravity rendered unreal.
Or when one felt love with such strength and purity that it felt like your body was in the process of shattering outward, barely able to contain the limitless power of love in that singular moment.
Words could never capture such vibrant quakes that could engulf people in a cocoon made of momentary transcendence and just like how words could not capture the heights of emotion with the full breadth of its strength, words could never capture his instinctive understanding of Living Time.
He understood the Monk now in ways he could not have imagined years ago. He understood the Monk's frustrating way to guide him to answers that he either knew or would know in the future.
Some things could not be explained and could only be experienced.
He peered through the lens that unfurled itself in the opening of the Tesseract, moving through time as if it was a physical dimension, each step an hour of time with space rendered a nonfactor.
He walked through the streets of one-hour-in-the-future Illos, his perception honed into the thousands of links that faintly resonated out of the people who would be walking these streets in an honour.
In his conscious state, his depth of time and space was limited, constrained to roads immediately connected to one another for perhaps hundreds of miles but in here…
In here…
He had no such constraints.
His gaze, wherever set, could touch every corner of the world, every event, every single conversation that was had the moment he looked towards them though never all at once, never to that degree of Sight, not even with fifty lifetimes could he imagine being capable of reaching that state of omniscience.
His gaze swivelled towards Alexandria, towards the constant link he shared with the linchpin that would usher in victory, and his perception walked through into Gaston Ramirez' office. The link between himself and Ramirez was pulsing, a link that wrapped around Ramirez like a coiled serpent, one that hid his true future with a mirage of his making.
His steps increased and time moved, his careful gaze not once breaking as hours turned into days and as Alexandria fell away and the docks of Cape Town instead.
Atticus watched as his plan solidified into existence, the key to Illos' doom taken to bosom like a priceless artefact, one that would open the gates to a horde of Ravens and ravenous Aurors into a ravishing Eden they could not wait to defile.
He watched as he battled with the Raven with restraint and Emily battled with Cullaica and he watched as all that they had worked for was destroyed in a fiery explosion that launched Illos into Antarctica unleashing environmental catastrophe on the world.
He watched as he stopped and despaired at the loss of Illos inattentive to the deadly blow that was sent this way and Atticus stopped the moment that exact frame.
His gaze fell on the slanted surface of Illos, littered with bodies and broken buildings, littered with those whose names he had memorised the moment they were born in his home or when they became citizens of their new home.
A swell of suffering rippled through his being. It was jarring, to know intimately the consequences of failure. Of their enemies' implacability to see them utterly annihilated without restraint.
A distant, very improbable future that was never to happen but it was one possibility nonetheless.
The future the Men of Symbols Saw and moved to make happen.
It was humbling, Atticus mused with a heavy expression draped on his face, his gaze set on the anguished face of his possible-future self.
The way he could see what hubris could lead to if he ever let himself fail.
His expression hardened as he pulled himself out of the possibility, out of the trap fashioned out of choice and the bounds that he tightened around the nooses of their necks.
They made their choice.
Just as those who followed them did.
They had the opportunity to find another way, another way to prevent this rather incredible misunderstanding of prophecy. In their minds, they held the upper hand and victory was within their grasp but in all of the possibilities, they always chose the easy option, the absolute option.
They chose violence and destruction without fail, choosing to destroy his people with hesitation in every possibility.
And when he returned to reality, the sight of Illos' skyline gleaming under the light of the orbs as he stared affixed by the large window in his office, only one thought coursed through his mind
'If they want absolute violence…they will to taste it with the same vigour in which they would deal it'
He wasn't sure how long he stood affixed watching life go on in the streets of Illos when the door to his office was opened. He turned around and saw Emily walking in and he remembered that it was time for lunch before they'd go meet with Parelius.
She eyed him with an inspecting look, likely having felt his bout of strong emotion through their link. "The veil?" she only asked and he nodded silent as he made his way to her and gently kissed her on the cheek.
She took hold of his upper arm before she leaned back and met his gaze. He gave a reassuring smile and soothing filtered into their bond "Yes but we are still on schedule" he sighed inaudibly
"The sight of Illos' destruction never is something I can ever not feel strongly about"
She hummed softly in quiet agreement. Illos was as much a home to her as it was him, their people her people. "It's good then it will end within a few days." She said with a vindictive look and it was a vindictiveness he shared more deeply than he had felt in many many years.
It was hours later after their lunch that they took a portal to a secured room in one of the barracks in the hinterlands of Illos where Parelius stood waiting.
"Your Majesties." Parelius said with a bowed head.
Atticus smiled slightly at the gesture. Where Sandra, Derek or Hypatia would call him by his given name after having insisted on it, Parelius had only asked if it was an order.
The room was sparse though it had a large board with a Holo table in the middle of the room.
"Parelius." Emily acknowledged with a nod before her gaze went towards the board. "You've been busy." She commented as she walked towards the board.
"Yes" Parelius said before he quietly walked over with his arms behind his back, something that Atticus also did even if he already seen dozens of permutations of the plans. "Despite the plan's rather low probability of failure" Parelius said with a side glance at Atticus before he returned his attentions to the board.
"I have considered other scenarios that we may need to neutralise or factor in."
"You've doubled the men's training exercises" Atticus stated with a glance towards the man and Parelius inclined his head minutely.
Parelius had taken over the training of seventy-two Illosian Guards, many of whom had fought with them during the war, and had been tasked to drilled them endlessly in the operation within the Ever-Changing training facilities where the Guards trained to improve and keep up their fitness.
Atticus turned his gaze towards the board with closer inspection. There was a part about wards within the complex that housed MOS and a substantial number of International Affairs mages that were complicit in many of the organisation's crimes.
"You think we may encounter greater difficulty disabling the wards around the compound?" Emily asked Parelius. It wasn't surprising it concerned him – as much as anything could concern him – but it was noteworthy especially given that it was his protégé that would lead a small team to break all of the wards and seize control of the wardstone.
They'd gone over the plans a number of times and each time he'd been able to map out more and more about the wards. Most of the wards that protected the compound were impressive, better than he'd seen anywhere else. The death wards were interlinked with an almost artful touch, the way some of them enhanced each other covering weaknesses.
Fortunately, they knew were the wardstone was located which was deep underground, some three hundred metres from the ground floor of the complex, under a bubble of wards that would take some time to unravel.
It wouldn't be as easy as simply taking a portal towards it – the wards would instantly kill anyone not tied in – but they had a work around with a Mithril powered mobile ward that worked effectively to create a sphere of protection that resisted the effects of the wards long enough for someone to take down the wards.
"The chance exists." Parelius commented as he turned to face Atticus "I do not believe it will happen but I have considered it nonetheless. The men are being trained to consider the possibility of active hostile wards"
Neither he or Emily commented on his unnecessary precaution. They both knew Parelius long enough that it was his way of being even if he trusted his protégé absolutely especially when it came to wards.
Emily raised her hands and three beads of Mithril flew out of her pockets and began to orbit above her hand. Parelius eyed the beads intensely before he looked up to Emily "They are primed?" he questioned.
"The beads are primed and only await activation." Emily confirmed to Parelius before she returned her gaze towards the orbiting beads.
The beads were enchanted with Fidilius Velamen, a variation of the Fidilius Charm, which encased and anchored the secret within the beads themselves, beads made out of pure Mithril and a suitable alternative to the soul after they figured out the mechanisms of the Fidilius Charm years ago.
Parelius nodded, a glint of approval and perhaps even a hint of excitement in his eyes "It'll keep our casualties to a minimum with them disorientated." He paused momentarily as Parelius glanced at him "I suspect the numbers haven't changed?"
"They haven't. It is still 278 individuals within the complex." Atticus waved his hand towards the holo-table which could interpret magic and intent as readily as the Ancient Human tech that could interpret electrical signals from neurons.
The holo-table changed and highlighted a complex in the middle of muggle Alexandria in a district that was southwest from the magical district. The holo-table zoomed in and altered the complex into a four story three dimensional blueprint, clusters of people and individuals roving through the hallways of the complex with a timestamp hovering at the top of the holo.
"Nothing has changed for over a month now, the longest period of timeline stability in over a decade." Atticus said with an intense gaze, his eyes fixed on the timestamp.
There was little way for them to fool his Sight. Only through seeing through the façade of the key would they know and they were too certain, too confident in their abilities that they understood him, that they understood his capabilities for them to see the noose around their necks.
Parelius stood closer to the holo-table "Then our victory is assured." Parelius said with a rare tone of victory.
For years they played this game with the Men of Symbols, evading their notice and dispatching their agents when they got too close or warning them of total retribution if they veered away from the rules of the game.
No more.
Yes…
Victory was at hand.
And it was a victory that began the countdown towards the endgame.
-Break-
6th of August 1957 – … Alexandria
Gaston Ramirez POV
As he walked with a gloomy air towards them, his mind wandered towards the latest upheavals in less than a week.
Six more nations broke away in the last two days from the ICW after Magical Britain. There was talk about France and India following suit and he didn't doubt there were others who were considering it.
It seemed like the rumours of Auror contributions being demanded had worked in pushing hesitant nations over the limit, rumours that didn't even had a basis in truth.
He sighed as the heavy doors opened with an ancient crawl and refocused his mind.
The heavy doors closed behind him with a heavy thud, his boots rang in the echo-y chambers like bells ringing at the stroke of midday.
The same sight of obscured men greeted him as they always did and he did well to hide that biting taste of disdain that threatened to mar his face.
There was a dossier on the table before him and he stepped forward. "What is this?" he asked as he opened the dossier with a frown.
"Your next mission."
Ramirez looked up and the man in the middle, the man who had called himself Huntelaar, was leaning forward. Ramirez glanced at the other two men for a moment before sitting down and began to read the dossier.
It was always like this, crumbles were fed and left him unsatisfied but always he'd be forced to return by his own stubborn will.
His frown deepened as he the document.
The document detailed events and companies and individuals that operated in the muggle world. Years of proof of muggle ships being expanded magically to several times its normal cargo size, method of propulsion that were heavily magical even some instances of magic being used in manufacturing.
Major breaches of the Statute that went beyond using magic to profit off of the muggle world and whomever was involved in this scheme were looking at very least at a few years of prison.
As he looked through the documents, entries of recent years were looking sparse, ships that were known to be magically expanded were now simple muggle ships with the last entry four months ago that declared the entire Endrian fleet bereft of magical influences.
He flipped to the next page and his eyes widened in surprise.
'Derek Saunders. Educated at Hogwarts and in muggle Business. Husband to Sandra Saunders. Close confidante of Atticus Sayre. Owner of magically expanded cargo ship Lux'
The ship was captained by a man named Ulfred C. Cook, a man who disappeared from Magical Britain years ago with Sayre.
For years they'd always been a step behind trying to apprehend known followers of Atticus Sayre whenever they popped up in the magical world but it seemed they had been hiding in plain sight in the muggle world.
Records of Cook dating back years all the way to his employment with Sphinx Group and Endrian Shipping Company – the first time he was even hearing about these muggle companies – along with other names that were reportedly had worked with the man until recently.
He turned his gaze towards the men before him. They had all of this knowledge, all of this information…
"Why have you not acted?" his tone harsh as he reigned in his anger. Much of the evidence was years old with only this entry made in the past few months.
He didn't need to expand.
For years, this was exactly what they – he – had searched for.
This would have been all the proof they would have needed to legitimately bring charges against Atticus Sayre and those who enabled him instead of the farcical casus belli the ICW generating.
That they were bringing it to him now, after Illos has arrived on the world scene, after the farce, didn't make any sense to him whatsoever.
"We cannot act directly"
"Action means defeat."
"Inaction means rout."
"Through you we do neither and avoid defeat all the same."
He looked on irritably. He hated when they did whatever this was. They might not be acting directly themselves but they were acting nonetheless. They were acting through him and through the Mugwumps against Illos and Atticus Sayre.
They even could have acted through him by leaving him a breadcrumb in the first place! They could have ended this illegal operation years ago and levied undeniable charges against them that would have invalidated the Sayres completely!
He didn't mention that though. He knew from experience arguing against their methods would only get him nowhere. "Very well." He said as he took the dossier and placed it inside his robes and turned on his heels.
Days later at the Docks of Cape Town…
Ramirez' boots clunk on the metallic floor as he made his way towards the bowels of the Lux. All of the crew had been muggle, confounded into ignoring the containers that were some spacially expanded eight times the normal size.
That wasn't their true target however.
He stepped through a series of hatches, the smell of human flesh invading his nose, and he felt his temper rise as he arrived at the last hatch, he was greeted by one of his men standing post by the other side of the hatch.
"Sir." The agent saluted as Ramirez walked through the hatch where his other men were congregated over a still but steaming form of a person.
"Is he still alive?" Ramirez asked harshly as he continued to walk towards the men.
"No." the agent said disgruntled "He killed himself before we could subdue him."
Ramirez ground his teeth but he said nothing as his men parted ways allowing him proper sight on severely burned man. "Report." Ramirez barked out as he stared at the team leader who began his accounting of the events that lead to this.
"We did however found this, sir" the team leader, Clarkson, said as he fished out a key of some kind. "We're not sure where it leads but the Quarem Charm points that it is definitely a key to somewhere on the ship itself."
So they might be able to salvage something from this after all? "Search this ship from top to bottom in teams of two. Find it." He said with a piercing look and his men saluted him before they walked away to do their job.
He stood alone as he crouched down to the burnt husk of Cook, a faint glimmer irony rising within him, and stared at it. Immolating yourself with cursed fire just so you wouldn't be captured…
Cook hadn't been a fighter in any degree but the tight space had allowed him to more ably defend than he otherwise would have been and used the few seconds he gained to burn himself to death.
Was this what they were going to look forward to in this war of theirs?
Zealots who deified the Sayres to such degrees that they would rather die than surrender? He got up from his crouched position and made his way out of the hatch.
It was less than an hour later that his men confirmed they found the room hidden behind the engine chambers confirming that it was the man's private room sheltered away from the muggles.
He rifled through the documents that were of some interest, particularly the application for insurance for something called a Griffin Skymobile of all things but the reference to a portkey that captured his attentions.
After they searched through the entire room, they found it. "Sir" one of his agents said, his hand holding a white item that looked like a flower of some kind.
"It's the portkey. No other magicks on it."
Ramirez took the portkey from his hand, his eyes hiding the excitement he felt.
An excitement borne from the fact that it was finally the key to the doors of Illos, a key that would finally let them understand where the place even was!
Illos was hidden, a mystery that was enshrouded with uncertainty when it came to where it actually was. Any war that was to be fought with the Sayres was doomed to end at best at stalemate with them capable of retreating to safe harbour.
Now…
Now they could strike and end Atticus Sayre – and likely Emily Sayre – once they broke the portkey coordinates. He stared at the item, item made of some kind of glass like crystal lighter than he knew glass to be and realised it was a white lotus though with a stain on one of its petals, a stain that was deep red, almost blood like, and the yellow anthers seemed to blur for a moment with a haze, no, a spectral of grey that disappeared almost as soon as it arrived.
He blinked a few times, removing the odd feeling and a feeling of triumph came in its stead. He turned to look to his men "Let's go. We've gotten what we came for." He said as he turned on his heel and walked out with the portkey firmly gripped in his hand.
Had Ramirez noticed, he might have noticed a speck of grey dust on one of his fingertips as he caressed the crystalline lotus, a remnant of the dust that he unconsciously had breathed in moments ago.
Hours later in Alexandria…
He stilled, his body as straight and rigid as an iron bar, the confusion washed over him like sticky black oil sunk into his skin that he couldn't clean away. He shook his head in confusion, and the odd feeling of having forgotten something faded away as his eyes widened and he took notice of his surroundings.
There were three figures hidden by some kind of obscuration charm that were better than the ones he knew and he switched to his duelling stance. "Who are you?!" he asked with a commanding tone moments before he noticed that his wand was not in his holster.
He remembered, he left it the guards upstairs. But why would he do that?
He never allowed his wand to leave his sight. The only times he did had been when in his early years whenever he met with the Director of the international Auror forces.
The three before him stirred, their motions jerky and they seemed to talk to each other under a silencing charm, their bodies were too animate for them not to be speaking. "WHO ARE YOU?!" Ramirez's voice crackled, his violent questioning seemed to stop the movement of the three in their tracks.
"We are M-" one of them tried
"We are…" the other tried
And Ramirez lost his patience and made to speak again but before he could, he felt his throat close. His hands travelled to his throat, his eyes wide in shock at what happening to him and he tried with everything he had to just try and breathe but it was no avail, his throat had betrayed and no air made it passed his mouth.
The three stirred and he thought he saw them make to leave but a blinding light that followed a small earthquake of an explosion ripped from behind him and he fell head first to the ground losing all consciousness with a crack that would have made anyone grimace.