An ancient silver pocket watch lay quietly on the mahogany table, its gilded hands gliding unhurriedly across the face, emitting a faint yet distinct "tick-tock."
The hour hand had slowly passed the Roman numeral "1."
At this time, many had already eaten not just breakfast but even lunch.
Agilbert Fontaine sat behind the table, his gaze fixed on that small patch of moving metal, unmoving for a long while.
Outside the window, the afternoon sunlight was at its peak, illuminating the room brightly.
Salina Godric softly asked, "Headmaster, it's already past one. You haven't even had breakfast... Should we continue to wait?"
Fontaine was silent for a few seconds before he finally closed his eyes slowly and said, "No need to wait any longer."
Salina Godric, seeing his weary look, nodded gently and turned to leave.
Fontaine stood up, no longer looking at the pocket watch, but instead turned his gaze to a photo beside the table.
In the photo, a young Stern was standing with a few classmates, a rare smile on his face.
Fontaine even remembered that it was the last Quidditch match before the students graduated; the outcome didn't matter, only the laughter of all the kids having fun.
A moment later, Salina came back in from outside.
She said considerately, "Headmaster, we're ready to depart... If you don't want to join, we completely understand."
"No... I'll go with you."
Fontaine put away the pocket watch and stood up.
"The students I taught... have now gone astray; how can I not face it?"
...
"Boom!!!"
A dull and violent explosion reverberated as if it originated from the underground, shaking the entire stronghold, and dust fell from the walls.
The Peeping Mirrors installed in the various passages were triggered, emitting a sharp, ear-splitting alarm, continuously assaulting everyone's eardrums, as red lights flashed madly in the dim space.
Stern jolted up from the old sofa, his heart pounding.
It took him two seconds to adjust his pupils to the flashing red light, then he realized he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, having slept here throughout the night.
But the night's rest hadn't relieved his fatigue; it only made him feel more exhausted.
Amidst the rapid alarm, he hurriedly drew his Magic Wand, then momentarily froze.
The argument with Bloren from last night seemed to echo in his ears, and Stern's face slowly turned blank.
At that moment, the door banged open, and a Scourer member rushed into the room, rolling and crawling, face pale as a sheet, voice distorted by sheer terror:
"Mr. Stern! No, it's bad! Wizards... the Aurors from the Magic Congress have broken in! They've found the entrance!"
All his sleepiness and despair evaporated in an instant, and Stern strode over, asking sharply:
"What's going on? Where is the leader? Where is everyone else positioned?"
He rushed out the door, greeted by pandemonium.
In the dimly lit passage, shadowy figures flitted about, with panic-stricken shouts, agonized groans, and the piercing alarm blending together.
The Scourers' firepower was not weak, tongues of flame from automatic rifles flashed madly in the dark, bullets pouring towards the entrance like a metal storm.
But the Aurors had erected barriers thicker than the armor plates of an armored vehicle, advancing while fending off attacks, bullets hitting and sparking densely on it.
Grenades were thrown, but before they hit the ground, they were rebounded by invisible shields, exploding in the narrow passage and sending Scourer members flying.
Some lifted rocket launchers, but before they could fire, they were hit by a precise Expelliarmus, the impact sending them flying.
Some Scourers were using spells to fight back, but most were kids fresh out of training bases, their spells not well-practiced, incomparable to the battle-hardened Aurors.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Stern shouted loudly, "Spread out! Don't bunch together! You're making yourselves targets!"
He shouted while quickly waving his Magic Wand, saving two young people who were almost blown up by a rebounded grenade.
"Mr. Stern!"
Those kids called out with joy as if they were seeing a Savior.
At the rear of the Auror team, Laira Piqueley's voice clearly issued commands:
"Suppress the left side! Right squad advance and watch for crossfire!"
The underground passage hadn't been intended as a battlefield, and the Scourers hadn't managed to set up dense counterattack traps and automatic mechanisms there.
The wizards steadily advanced, their shields nearly completely blocking the angle of attacks, only occasionally creating a shooting aperture to cast spells.
Thus, those mighty and formidable weapons were currently incapable of inflicting effective damage on the wizards, but every explosive spell caused screams among the Scourers.
Cries, pleas, curses, and the explosions of spells interwove into a cacophony.
Many even dropped their weapons, running like headless chickens towards all directions in the passages, only to fall under the crossfire and magic.
Amid the splattering blood, Stern's mind was cold, sharply aware of the death in every corner.
He moved against the chaotic flow of people, his sharp gaze sweeping across every corner, grabbing a young member who was covering his head and running by, terrified out of his wits.
"Where is Bloren?" Stern nearly lifted the person off the ground, yelling into his ear, "Why haven't I seen the leader? Why isn't he here at a time like this?"
The young member's face went pale, teeth chattering as he said, "I... I don't know! I didn't see him since the explosion started! Maybe... maybe he's already..."
"Impossible!"
Stern angrily pushed him aside, a thought suddenly appearing in his mind: Could it be that at this time, Bloren was still stuck at the underground station?
That place... to avoid disturbing the Poppets, it indeed didn't seem to have an alarm system set up.
Although he didn't trust the Illari-made Poppets, at times like these, only those creatures could save the organization!
Stern, like a gust of wind, sprinted through the explosion and scream-filled passage.
He saw a young member curled up in the corner, futilely trying to load his pistol with trembling hands, only to be frozen by a Petrification Spell the next moment.
Two members were shooting back to back, only to be cornered by a Fiendfyre Curse, the flames mercilessly consuming them.
Someone tried to surrender, raising their hands and crying, only to be hit by stray bullets in the chaos and fall.
Stern steeled himself, ignoring everything, as he headed straight for the underground station.
He slammed open the heavy, disguise as an abandoned warehouse, door, sweat soaking his forehead, his lungs burning with pain.
"Whoosh—"
A gust of wind blew past him.
The platform, once filled with Vampires, Werewolves, and Troll Poppets, was now completely empty. Only a few broken chains scattered on the ground and a faint trace of Magic Fluctuation in the air, proving their former existence.
Stern was completely frozen.