[Those who touch the fragments of time, glimpse the branching and counterflow of the river;
The fragments of thought and memory hold the power to warp cognition;
The fragments of emotion can ignite the flame of life, and also sow the seeds of madness and destruction;
The fragments of void contain the mysteries of connection and isolation, opening realms and pathways;
The fragments of sight meld with the eyes, allowing one to glimpse the vague outlines of destiny, yet also plunge into deeper shackles and struggles...]
This power is not tame; it is both a gift and a curse. Those who overdraw will be consumed themselves, eventually turning into even more unstable fragments, drifting between crevices, waiting...]
Vid looked at the next page, but all the contents had become blurry.
He touched the rough and uneven paper surface; several pages seemed to have been soaked in water, the ink blurred, occasionally letting him make out a word or two, but completely unable to understand the meanings.
Only after turning four or five pages could he see barely recognizable text intermittently:
[...Pain and eyesight were the price he paid, but this cost was far from enough... With the dusk's arrival, they all left this land...
In losing the sanctuary, constraints were also lost; to the humans and other creatures of the world, perhaps this is a blessing?
Yet the fissure persists, like narrow passages less than ant tunnels in the vast ocean—though narrow, they are not entirely nonexistent.
One day, the drifting wanderers will find the path, return, and by then... if humans can find a way to seal the passage, perhaps the coming of that day can be postponed long after...]
The jagged edges of the torn paper — someone had ripped out the subsequent content.
Vid closed the book, his heart gently stirred.
He recalled Dumbledore's mention of "cosmic wounds," what Reck and Amanda had pursued for years, "world fissures," and the "source shards" mentioned in this book...
They all seemed to be the same thing.
Yet the subtle differences in those highly similar yet distinct names led Vid to realize a more critical point:
Their sources of information were separate.
Different individuals, from entirely different paths, encountered almost the same kind of thing.
This suggests that the "thing" might not be an ephemeral myth, nor a delusion born from the ancients' naive conception of the world...
It very likely is real.
A real, highly dangerous existence, and recorded in fragmented and distorted manners by various people throughout history—out of fear, ambition, or the pursuit of knowledge—the truth.
Vid quietly chewed over those words in his mind—
"Wound."
"Fissure."
"Fragment."
These do not sound like normal descriptions.
Generally, descriptions like "divine blessing" are more reasonable, adding a layer of mystique to the recipient of powers.
Those words representing imperfection repeatedly collided in Vid's mind, like the sound of ice breaking, causing him to shiver involuntarily.
Similar metaphors, not artistic embellishments by scholars showcasing literary talent, but more like descriptions by a batch of witnesses who have truly faced certain scenes, grasping from impoverished language the closest to what they have seen and heard in the face of extreme shock and impact.
—A complete, extraordinarily powerful existence crudely damaged, leaving behind an irregular, unsettling state of imperfection.
The sight was so terrifying that throughout historical transmission, regardless of how many renditions and distortions, its core imprint stubbornly persists like a scar.
It was as if a current exploded from the scalp, swiftly jolting down the spine, instigating countless tiny goosebumps to pop up on Vid's skin, making his hair stand on end.
He rubbed his arm, took several deep breaths, and only then suppressed the momentary chill surging in his heart.
As he looked up, a splendid galaxy seemed to emerge before his eyes—the fireflies had returned.
They circled in front of Vid, indicating the locations of the books they had discovered.
Vid rose, noting down all the names of those forbidden books. Each appeared ancient and profound, some having titles that set the imagination alight—
"The Realm of Nonexistence," "Deciphering the Power of Gods," "The Forgotten Pact," "The Goblin's Lies and Truths"...
Vid softly thanked the fireflies, collecting them into his pen pouch, and casually picked up a copy of "The Goblin's Lies and Truths," sitting cross-legged against the wall, flipping through it.
[...For long, the Wizarding World's common understanding of Goblin magic was limited to their unparalleled metal forging skills and financial prowess. This is true, but far from the whole truth.
It's widely known that Goblins have a potent possessiveness over what they craft; no matter how high the price humans pay, Goblins always regard the owner of an item as its creator.
Take, for example, that famous sword.
Godric Gryffindor hired Goblin King Leganar I to forge a sword for him. However, once the sword was completed, Leganar I was unwilling to hand it over to his employer, Gryffindor.
After Gryffindor took the sword, Leganar I dispatched people numerous times to retrieve it, but they were repelled by Gryffindor, leading to Gryffindor still being called a "thief" by the Goblins to this day.
Even now, with both the sword-forging Goblin king and Gryffindor long gone from history, the Goblins still insist the sword belongs to them.