Ian took a deep breath.
He began to recount his experiences in the outer world.
About his encounters with the gods.
The gods were creations of the Titans.
And the Titans were all extraterrestrial beings.
This wasn't a secret that had to be hidden.
When Ian spoke of the Titans dividing the Creator to gain authority, the dragon's pupils had expanded to nearly fill its entire eye socket. Its massive body trembled slightly, scales opening and closing constantly, making a rattling sound.
Regarding this.
Ian nodded as well.
He continued his narration.
"They claim to be from among the stars," Ian recalled the words of the Female Titan, earnestly telling the dragon of his experiences, "drifting aboard the World Ship for seven epochs..."
When he described the scene of the Titans arriving on Earth in an island spacecraft, the dragon's tail uncontrollably swept across the ground, smashing a piece of granite into powder.
"I knew there were aliens in the world for sure! And dragons could indeed be an invasive species!" The dragon suddenly stood upright, wings flapping with a loud sound.
It almost collapsed half the castle.
The guardian statues in the courtyard were so frightened they rolled directly into the fountain pool.
They were all creations of Ian.
"Enough, enough!"
The dragon suddenly covered its ears with its wings, shaking its huge head like a child unwilling to face reality, "My cognitive system needs a reboot! This is just too stimulating!"
It lay on the ground, burying its head in its claws, its scales constantly changing color, from a shocking bright blue to a confused purple, finally settling on an excited orange-red.
When the dragon raised its head again, its eyes sparkled as if it had seen a warehouse full of Golden Galleons.
"Ian Prince." It spoke in an unprecedentedly formal tone, "As the last pure-blooded giant dragon of Hogwarts, I request you— no, I implore you— to summon me to the present world when you have the chance!"
The dragon's tail excitedly slapped the ground, causing the gargoyle statues in the courtyard to fall from their pillars.
"I must see these alien visitors with my own eyes! Touch their spacecraft!" Its voice grew increasingly excited, "Perhaps I can even find a Titan to ask about extraterrestrial matters."
Ian looked at this giant entity, thousands of years old, suddenly resembling a star-struck youth, and he didn't know how to react. The dragon's eyes shone with pure longing, like a child eager to explore the starry sky.
"You... really like extraterrestrial civilizations?" Ian asked tentatively.
"Yes." The dragon was silent for a moment, then whispered: "When I was alive, I always felt an indescribable sense of summoning in my memory, as if an unseen force was guiding me..." Indeed, the ancient giant dragon elder really yearned for aliens.
It must be said.
This is definitely something not well known.
Having never communicated with other ancient giant dragons, Ian didn't know if all ancient giant dragons felt this way, or if this purely ancient dragon in the Misty Illusion Realm was particularly special.
"Is this the real reason you remain in the Misty Illusion Realm? Not just to see those old friends and such?" Ian speculated thoughtfully.
"I don't know either."
The ancient giant dragon lay back down, its voice clearly tinged with a bit of bewilderment.
Seeing this.
Ian also knew that emotionally intelligent people understood not to discuss this topic too much.
"Let's talk about why killing giant dragons would grant world privileges instead?" Ian still felt a sense of perplexity on this topic.
The reproductive power of the ancient giant dragons was indeed not weak, but not to the extent of causing a biological overflow, so theoretically, such an invasive species should be harmless to Earth.
"How would I know such things?" The dragon confidently flicked its tail, "I'm just a dragon, not a wizard; who would remember these boring details?"
"So, did Lady Ravenclaw really have answers to this?"
Ian was taken aback.
The dragon seemed amused by his expression, a rumbling laugh emanating from its throat: "However, as far as I know, that kind of reward is an indispensable reinforcement for those 'feeble legends' who achieve legend status by slaying dragons."
"Feeble legends?"
"They're the ones who achieve legend through tricks." The dragon sneered, "True strength doesn't need killing to prove itself, but there are always some people... well, you know."
"They're relatively weaker, so they need reinforcement; being able to traverse that path makes them no different from regular legends— maybe that's also a reason for the extinction of ancient giant dragons."
The dragon elder's voice became poignant once again. Ian nodded thoughtfully. Suddenly he thought of a question: "You don't seem to have any sympathy for your kind?"
The dragon tilted its head.
As if hearing something amusing.
"Sympathy?"
It lazily snorted, "History destined the dragons' demise, they're already non-existent to me."
This elder lightly tapped the ground with its claw, its tone as calm as discussing the weather, "Moreover, can a domesticated sheepdog be considered the same species as a wild wolf outside?"
Ian was speechless once more.
The dragon seemed pleased with his reaction, squinting its eyes, the tip of its tail swinging joyfully: "Any other questions? If not, I'm going back to sleep."
Ian shook his head, unable to help but admire: "You really have a broad perspective, impressive."
The dragon snorted, lying back down, its massive head resting on its forepaws, eyes slowly closing: "Just lived a long time... I died of natural causes, not by being killed."
Its breathing quickly became steady, the magic runes between its scales flickered slightly, clearly having entered sleep once more. Ian stood there looking at this ancient and wise creature.
And he once again deeply felt the impact of the living environment on a person.
If even animals are like this.
Humans are certainly no exception.
This is also why many people believe culture is the reason for distinguishing races. The dragon elder, because he always interacted within human culture, has no sense of belonging to his true group.
He actually seems more like a wizard.
Including his way of thinking.
With these thoughts.
Ian headed towards the ancient castle.
He still had some time.
So he planned to see his Teacher Morgan.
The chit-chat had ended.
The issue Ian had to face was his lingering worry about the confrontation between the Raven and the God of Death.
In fact.
Especially after the exchange with the dragon elder, this worry didn't increase but decreased, after all, deceiving time, deceiving history might not be just something the wizards are doing.
The conversation just now still echoed in his mind— deceiving time, substituting events, automatic correction of history... If even Dumbledore had attempted these methods repeatedly, then could the experiences with the God of Death, the Raven, and even his own in the black-and-white world be part of some larger deception?
The shadow of the tower gradually swallowed his figure.
The interior of the ancient castle was still as Ian remembered it. The towering ceilings held ancient crystal chandeliers, and along the deep corridors, the magic portraits of past wizards assessed him with scrutinizing eyes.
A few even whispered and murmured.
The air was filled with the familiar smell of herbs, mixed with the old scent of parchment, and a faint hint of dragon musk—most likely from Shadow Wings sneaking a nap in some corner.
Ian walked through the hall, his footsteps echoing in the vast stone walls. The doors to the dining room opened automatically for him, revealing that familiar oak long table, laden with exquisite silverware. The flames on the candlesticks burned quietly, shining on the delicate patterns of the tableware. However, the moment he stepped into the dining room, those knives, forks, and plates suddenly seemed frightened, clanging and jumping from the table, scattering in all directions.
"Again..." Ian sighed, watching a silver table knife panic and dash into the fireplace, then jump out, screaming from the heat.
Teacher Morgan's magic tools were always like this, behaving like a group of spoiled little elves, hiding at the sight of strangers.
He looked around, there were no signs of dining on the table, and the fire in the fireplace seemed freshly lit. Obviously, Teacher Morgan was not here.
"Teacher?"
Ian raised his voice to call, only to be answered by faint echoes from the depths of the castle.
He frowned slightly and continued to walk deeper into the castle. The library, Alchemy workshop, Observatory... every place Teacher Morgan frequented was empty.
Finally, he arrived at the door of the teacher's bedroom—but still, he found no one, however, there was a note stuck to the door.