William stood up from the futon, casually tossing the slightly comical helmet aside,
He dug into his ear, his face showing no surprise, only a hint of "just as expected" understanding.
"I seem to remember that name, Lanlock..."
Grindelwald pushed the small round sunglasses on his nose, the covered heterochromatic pupils flickering with a faint light, "I remember, you mentioned, the second Goblin Rebellion... that madman who thought controlling the Secret Vault could overturn the order of the Wizarding World? Didn't you say you burned him so completely that not even a shred of his soul remained?"
"Indeed, reduced to bone ashes, soul scattered."
William nodded, his tone unusually calm, "I can confirm, so, this current 'Lanlock' is either a pretender using that name, or..." He paused, his tone deepening, "there's something seriously wrong somewhere, time..."
William didn't finish, but instinctively placed his right hand on his chest—
He thought of something, but couldn't confirm it just yet.
"Time? What time?"
Grindelwald, for the moment, couldn't keep up with William's leaping thought process, he frowned, wanting to inquire more, but—
Just then, the space beside William rippled lightly like water but emitted a sound as if a steel whip was cracking through the air, a slightly disheveled figure seemed to be spat out by the void, he staggered, barely managing to stand steady by holding onto Mundungus' head.
It was Charlie Weasley.
He looked even more bedraggled than when seen through the image earlier, obviously having gone through something after the signal cut off, Mundungus had even been mentally guessing if this guy might be dead, considering that fierce Black Dragon didn't seem like the merciful type...
As Mundungus' mind raced, like a bursting... cough cough, diarrhea, one black-robed figure after another was spat out from the void, their state not looking good either, one pressing on top of another, overwhelming Mundungus made his knees buckle, collapsing directly to the ground—
"Sir."
Charlie crawled out from the pile of people, his voice hoarse, he nodded first to William, then slightly to Grindelwald, finally handing over the small package in his hand, "Exactly as you said, this was given to me by that woman—according to your previous plan, that guy indeed tried to make a move on us, but the tool you provided..."
As he spoke, he turned back to count heads before continuing, "So far no casualties have been noted—"
"I can see that too."
William took the package, feeling as light as a feather in his hand, even through the hasty oilcloth wrapping, he could sense a chaotic wave of energy, reaching out his hand, he unwrapped it, revealing an eyeball still attached to strands of blood filament before him, the pale-golden pupil lifeless and devoid of spirit.
"...That woman's eyeball? Why?"
"About this, you should understand better than I do, Gellert, or have you lost your memory after being in jail for half a century?"
"..."
Grindelwald was silent for a moment—since reforming, his thinking had greatly shifted from his days of wreaking havoc across Europe, but with just a subtle hint from William, he quickly caught on—Athena was clearly hedging her bets, not even bothering to pretend.
This way, although there's a possibility of being held accountable afterwards, it's the best method for survival, after all, fully siding with either side is akin to seeking skin from a tiger—
So why not just sit and watch the tigers fight each other and later curry favor with the winning tiger.
"So, what are your plans now?" Grindelwald asked, "Continue waiting? Or..."
William rewrapped the eyeball, pocketed it, then set up a spell around his pocket to prevent a Niffler from sneaking in, after doing everything, he tidied his collar, smoothed the wrinkles on his cuffs, and leisurely stomped his feet.
"Wait? No." William laughed, though his smile clearly lacked warmth, "As the old saying goes, reciprocity is a virtue."
While speaking, he walked toward the exit of this space, jumping out from the open door of the vanishing cabinet—"Proceed as planned—" Mundungus and Charlie, following behind him, hurriedly nodded in response, "Yes, sir."
"Then, have those guys ready, the matter—"
As he said these words, William turned his gaze toward Grindelwald, the latter first nodded, then seemed to realize, looking at William who already had his hand on the shop door handle, couldn't help but frown, "Wait..." he called William, "Why do you sound like you're making arrangements as if this is farewell?"
"Ah—"
William turned around, the afternoon sunlight slipped through the slightly open door gap, coating his silhouette in a layer of pale gold, "Because," he began slowly, a kind of eager excitement in his tone, "I'll likely be out of contact for a while—"
Saying this, he pulled opened the shop door, letting the bustling noise from outside gush in.
"After all, reciprocity is a traditional virtue."
William paused, placing the top hat in his hand atop his head, "Now, it's my turn to take the bait—"
As his words fell, his figure had melted into the glaring light outside the door, like a drop of water joining a river, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
...
...
The violent jolt, the roar of space being torn asunder, the cold claws... countless chaotic fragments clashed back and forth in the woman's consciousness.
The last frame frozen in front of her was the Fire Dragon made of ominous black mist, its burning pupils gazing at her before the claws came down—the anticipated sharp pain never arrived, only a peculiar sensation, as if forcibly "stripped" from somewhere, of emptiness followed, then boundless darkness.
Was it moments, or perhaps another century later.
Suddenly, a sliver of cold, dry, dust-laden air slipped into her nostrils.
Thus, Athena's nostrils flared slightly, then she slowly opened her eyes.
However, her same pale-golden right eye seemed somewhat dazed.
She blinked, and what met her eyes was not the blazing daylight of the desert or the gloom of a dungeon she expected, but a blurry, light amber glow like seen through thick frosted glass, she lay on a hard plane, rough fabric beneath her that scraped her skin painfully.
She immediately tried to mobilize magic power, only to feel her heart sinking heavily.
The magic that once flowed like a trickling stream within her, was now almost stagnant, as if her veins had been filled with cement, an indescribable weakness swept through her body, more like a soul level "shackle" being reinforced than a physical one.
She immediately looked down at her wrist.
The circle of ethereal blue flame patterns still existed, but its color had grown exceedingly dull, like embers on the verge of dying out, and its form had subtly changed—
The originally smooth and graceful flame patterns now had slight, twisted black lines like barbs parasitizing on it, slowly but stubbornly eroding the pale blue glow.