Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

POV Mestionora 

I was sitting in my favorite spot in my library. Between my hands was a large tome, and as I opened the hefty book and my eyes began to travel across the lines of written text, the world around me vanished. And no, I’m not speaking metaphorically—it literally vanished. I was floating in a white space, alone. Just me, my chair, and the book in my hands. This way, no distraction could pull me away from the joy of reading.

Ah, there was nothing better than a good book. You see, books and knowledge are my domain; I am the Goddess of Wisdom. So you can imagine how annoyed I was when I started to hear someone calling me. This space I created specifically to avoid interruptions was suddenly invaded by Ventuchte, a subordinate goddess like myself and the Goddess of Weaving.

"Mestionara, Mestionara, stop reading! I have to show you something!" Ventuchte's voice carried a tone of urgency that I couldn’t ignore.

Reluctantly, I set my book down and closed it. The world around me began to shift once again. The empty white space vanished, and we were back in my library.

"Ventuchte, how many times do I have to tell you not to shout in my library? This is a sacred sanctuary for all knowledge, and it’s incredibly rude to yell inside. And why are you here? I already had my weaving class with you earlier. Wasn’t that torment enough for one day?" I said, clearly annoyed.

"First of all, what I have to show you is of the utmost importance. And second, weaving is a very important skill for you to learn, young lady. It’s part of your education as a goddess for a reason," Ventuchte replied, her tone equally irritated.

We’d had this argument countless times. And she wasn’t the only one who scolded me for spending all my time in the library. Kunstzeal also pestered me about it, though in her case it was about my art and music lessons. Worse yet, my mother, my aunts, and even my grandmother sided with those two, making my life even more difficult.

I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. All I craved was returning to my book. The sooner I got through whatever trivial matter Ventuchte needed to show me, the quicker I’d be back in the sanctuary of my library—immersed in the pages I longed to read. With a resigned sigh, I summoned the golden shumil, handed him the tome to return to its rightful place, and rose from my seat.

The room began to swirl and distort once more. This time, I found myself in Ventuchte’s sanctuary. She stood at my side in a chamber adorned with exquisite tapestries. Unlike the decorative ones mortal artists use, these tapestries told the entire saga of the gods and our Garden. Each tapestry chronicled a pivotal moment in our history, the woven images so vivid they seemed to breathe, blurring the line between memory and reality.

At the heart of the room stood a magnificent loom, its threads moving on their own as it wove the destinies of the mortals who lived within the Garden.

Ventuchte walked directly to the loom, and I followed her. The loom was just as always, weaving the lives of mortals. Nothing was amiss, well, nothing new at least. You see, when the Garden first came into being, the weave was vibrant, made of threads in shining colors. But over time, the weave began to lose its splendor and hue. Now, all that remains is a dull grey, and it's hard to pinpoint exactly when or why this decay began. Time flows differently here in the realms of the gods than it does in the Garden, where mortals live.

This is concerning. 

Just recently, a massive number of threads snapped. Many human lives began to fade away. This issue has become a major concern for all of us. The Garden, while being the place where mortals live, is also a massive magical seal meant to contain my father Ewigeliebe, the god of life. His primary goal is to erase all life out of jealousy. He’s obsessed with my mother and seeks her attention for himself. In fact, he even tried to encase her in ice to ensure she would never live. It was only through the efforts of my aunts and uncles that she was saved from his grasp.

He even tried to kill me when my mother was pregnant with me, but that’s an ancient story I won’t bore you with. What you need to understand is that if the Garden falls, Erwaermen, my friend and mentor, will perish with it. You see, he was stripped of his status as a god and made the guardian of the Garden as punishment. He was blamed for what happened to my mother.

In the past, I tried to advocate for him, to prove that he was not guilty and did not deserve such punishment. But my grandmother, in her gentle way, convinced me to stand down and not object about Erwaermen’s fate.

Once we were in front of the loom, I inspected it, looking for something, but found nothing.
“I don’t see it,” I said, annoyed. “It’s the same dull weave. I don’t see anything out of place.”
“It’s not the weave, but the patterns that it's starting to form— that’s what you should be looking for, Mesti.”

Ah, the patterns. You see, the weave is the story of mortals, woven as you live your lives, all the choices that you freely make. And before you ask, no, we don’t interfere in your lives. You have free will, and all those free-will choices are represented here. The loom can only show the past and the present. The loom doesn’t predict the future, but sometimes it reveals patterns that suggest a possible path forward—shaped by the choices mortals make. It’s not certain; just a potential, woven from your decisions.

I am not particularly skilled at detecting patterns in the fabric—a fact Ventuchte never hesitates to remind me of, given how little effort I invest in her weaving lessons. It took me some time, but eventually, the pattern she referred to became clear. The realization sent a chill through me. My hands trembled, and cold sweat trickled down my back. The weave indicated the garden’s imminent annihilation. Unlike previous times, when such outcomes were mere possibilities, this prediction was a near certainty, as unyielding as the fabric itself. Never in all our existence had we faced something so absolute.

Frozen in place, a single thought consumed me: I have to inform the Supreme Couple. I turned to rush out of Ventuchte’s sanctuary, but her iron grip stopped me in my tracks.

“I know,” Ventuchte said, her voice calm yet insistent, “but that’s not all I wanted to show you, Mesti.” She took my hand, guiding me to another section of the fabric.

Once again, I stood before the weave, and this time Ventuchte pointed to a specific area. My eyes landed on a single thread—a vibrant, radiant red. It stood out starkly against the dull, lifeless tangle surrounding it. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. But as I examined it further, I noticed something miraculous. Threads that came into contact with the red strand had begun to regain their color, their brilliance.

“How?” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, still fixated on the red thread.

“As you know,” Ventuchte began, a knowing smile on her face, “when mortals are introduced into the weave, their threads shine with color and life. Over time, that brilliance fades—that’s the norm now, though it wasn’t always. This thread, however, hasn’t dimmed in the slightest. In fact, it’s restored vibrancy to others it’s touched. As for how ... why don’t you see for yourself?”

I stepped closer, hesitantly placing my hand on the glowing thread. In an instant, I was pulled into the weave, witnessing the life of its owner unfold before me. It was as if time froze; the entirety of her story passed before my eyes in what felt like mere moments. When I returned to Ventuchte’s sanctuary, my thoughts were racing. The implications were staggering.

Now, more than ever, I needed to speak with my grandparents. Without delay, I called one of the star children and sent a message, informing them I was on my way to discuss a matter of utmost urgency.

I appeared in the throne room. My grandparents were already there, I greet them. 

“What is this matter of utmost urgency, Mestionara? Don’t tell me you’re here to complain about Erwaermen’s punishment again. No argument you bring will change our minds,” my grandmother said, her tone sharp and unyielding.

Her words cut deeper than I cared to admit. For centuries, I had tried to persuade them to release Erwaermen from his punishment and restore him to his rightful place. But now, my pleas had shifted. I wasn’t asking for his freedom anymore—just for his survival.

“No, it’s not about Erwaermen...” I replied, my voice barely audible.

Gathering my composure, I recounted everything Ventuchte had shown me earlier. As I spoke, I noticed their expressions shift from dismissive to deeply concerned. My grandmother summoned Ventuchte to verify my claims, and the goddess confirmed every word I had said.

“This is dire news,” my grandfather said, his voice heavy with irritation. “The last time we imprisoned Ewigeliebe, it required a monumental effort. And even then, we barely succeeded. There’s no way the same strategy will work again. He’s had eons to plot his revenge, to prepare for the moment he regains his freedom. This time, we face a far more formidable foe.”

Why were they speaking as if the garden’s fall was inevitable? Their words made my stomach churn. They spoke of strategies and battles to come but ignored the one truth that mattered most to me: if the garden falls, Erwaermen will die. It was as though his existence meant nothing to them.

I quelled the anger and dissatisfaction brewing within me and continued explaining the red thread and what I saw when I touched it—the soul of a young girl named Myne. Frail and delicate in appearance, she was nonetheless endowed with an indomitable will, which was undoubtedly the key to her survival. But that alone wasn’t what made her remarkable.

You see, when mortals die, their souls are reincarnated. They may be reborn in the same world or sent to a completely different one, depending on the systems each realm’s gods use to manage souls. However, one universal truth binds these cycles: souls lose the memories of their past lives. Why this occurs remains a mystery, even to us gods.

Yet this girl, Myne, defies that rule. She remembers her previous life, carrying the knowledge of her former world into her new one. It is this fusion of her extraordinary mind and warm, tenacious personality that has revitalized the weave, breathing new life into its dull threads.

“I have a proposal,” I said after explaining to my grandparents about the girl named Myne. “It is evident that these changes in the weave are due to the introduction of new knowledge into the garden. Why don’t we allow some mortals to retain the memories of their past lives? Surely this would accelerate the recovery of the weave and prevent its destruction.”

“No,” my grandmother replied instantly, without a moment's hesitation. “I have heard from gods of other realms about souls capable of retaining fragments—or even the entirety—of their past-life memories. Such individuals are exceedingly rare and are typically characterized by an unusually strong will. While it is possible to implement what you propose, it is not something we should even consider.”

My grandfather spoke next, his voice tinged with skepticism. “We cannot guarantee that the knowledge these individuals possess would be compatible with our world—or even useful. There is also the matter of their personalities. I have heard accounts from gods of other realms where these individuals, instead of aiding their worlds, caused immeasurable chaos. In some cases, their meddling led to the destruction of entire realms.”

I was disheartened by my grandparents’ answer. Was there truly nothing we could do? Were we to sit idly by and watch as the garden crumbled, powerless to stop Erwaermen’s demise?

“Although... there might be merit in your idea, Mestionara,” my grandfather said thoughtfully, his tone contemplative. “Introducing new knowledge to restore the weave does hold potential.”

I looked up at him, hope flickering in my chest. “Then... are we going to restore the memories of some mortals?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Our answer on that remains unchanged—it’s far too risky. However, we might be able to make use of the girl from another realm.”

My grandfather fell silent, his expression pensive. My grandmother turned her sharp gaze toward him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It would be difficult to accomplish,” he continued, “but perhaps we could negotiate with the god of another world—one whose knowledge is compatible with ours—and send her to gather knowledge on our behalf.”

My grandmother’s eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “You have to be joking,” she said, her voice cold and cutting.

Before my grandfather could respond to my grandmother's outburst, I interjected.

Why dismiss the idea so hastily? If restoring the memories of past lives to mortals is deemed too great a risk,” I began, keeping my tone steady, “then why not utilize the girl who has already proven herself to be without malice? Myne’s actions demonstrate that her knowledge is not only practical but also instrumental in rejuvenating the weave. Entrusting her with the mission of gathering knowledge from another world, while offering her appropriate compensation, would undoubtedly be far less hazardous than risking open conflict with my father.

My grandmother crossed her arms, her expression a blend of disbelief and concern. “And who will guarantee that this foreign god won’t exploit our predicament? Negotiating with other realms has always been a precarious endeavor. Not to mention the girl herself—what assurance do we have that she won’t become a threat once she gains more power and knowledge? Mortals are unpredictable, Mestionara. Even those with noble intentions can change.”

My grandfather nodded thoughtfully but countered, “That may be true, but it is equally true that this girl has achieved remarkable results in a short time. Denying this opportunity could risk the garden’s very existence.”

My grandmother turned toward him, her gaze sharp and piercing. “And what of this supposed god from another realm? Who will manage the negotiations? And who will take responsibility if something goes wrong?”

He gave her a small, knowing smile. “I was hoping you would be the one to conduct the negotiations,” he said with a touch of humor. “As for responsibility, I’ll bear it entirely.”

After a lengthy debate, with arguments flaring back and forth, my grandmother finally relented. “Fine,” she said at last, though her tone remained sharp. “But mark my words—if this goes awry, it will not be easily forgiven.”

With that, we began drafting our next moves. 

Chapter Text

POV Dumbledore

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was alive with the golden glow of floating candles, their warm light reflecting off the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored a tranquil summer evening sky. Albus Dumbledore stood at the podium, surveying the students with a mix of pride and quiet contemplation. The end of another school year always carried a bittersweet note, as the echoes of laughter, learning, and camaraderie would soon fade into the calm of the summer months.

Clearing his throat gently, he raised his hands, and the murmuring crowd of students fell silent. His voice, soft yet resonant, carried easily across the hall.

“Another year at Hogwarts comes to a close,” he began, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “A year of growth, of challenges overcome, and of lessons learned both within and beyond the classroom walls.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. His gaze swept the rows of students, lingering briefly on the first years who had come to Hogwarts wide-eyed and uncertain, and now sat a little taller, a little wiser.

As the applause filled the Great Hall, Dumbledore inclined his head graciously and stepped back from the podium. The warmth of the students' appreciation lingered with him as he descended the dais, his long robes trailing softly behind.

The end-of-year feast carried on, but Dumbledore's mind was already elsewhere. With a polite nod to Minerva, who had just engaged a group of Hufflepuff students in conversation, he slipped quietly out of the hall and began the familiar ascent to his office.

The spiraling staircase carried him upward, its motion as smooth as thought itself. Yet, as he approached the door to his office, a subtle sense of unease crept into his mind. The door appeared untouched—secure as ever—but something felt off. The air seemed heavier, the kind of tension that set his instincts on edge.

Drawing his wand with practiced ease, Dumbledore stood at high alert. Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the wizarding world; infiltrating it should have been impossible. Not even Voldemort, at the height of his power, had managed to set foot within its hallowed halls.

Carefully, he pushed the door open, his movements deliberate and silent. The scene inside caught him by surprise: a young girl stood with her back to him, strolling leisurely around his office. She examined the shelves and artifacts with a mix of curiosity and familiarity, as if the room were a puzzle she was piecing together.

She murmured something aloud, her voice soft but distinct. The words, however, were incomprehensible to him, their cadence resembling German but not quite matching any language he recognized. Dumbledore remained in place, studying her carefully. She spoke again, and this time a sphere of light materialized above her. It shimmered briefly before bursting into a gentle cascade of glowing particles that enveloped her.

When she spoke once more, her words were clear and precise.

“Now you can understand me. Come in—I don’t have all day.”

Her head tilted slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was clear she had sensed his presence all along. Realizing there was no use in feigning surprise or remaining hidden, Dumbledore stepped fully into the room. His wand remained in his hand, though he kept it lowered—a precaution rather than a threat.

As he crossed the threshold, an oppressive atmosphere seemed to press down on him. The girl turned to face him, revealing a striking appearance. She looked no older than fourteen or fifteen, with hair of a dark midnight blue and eyes of golden honey that seemed to pierce through him. Clad in flowing garments that shimmered with hues of moonlight and starlight.

“So, you are the director of this sanctuary of knowledge, yes?” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

I offered her a gentle smile, though my wand remained firmly in hand. Better not to provoke her, I thought. As I moved cautiously toward my desk, I made sure not to lose sight of the mysterious girl. Taking a seat, I kept my tone calm and even as I replied, “Yes, I am the headmaster of this college.”

With a flick of my wand, I conjured a chair opposite me. “Would you care to sit?” I asked.

She glanced at the chair, then at me, her golden eyes searching, as if trying to discern something. After a moment, she nodded and gracefully took the seat. With another wave of my wand, a teapot, two cups, and a small plate of biscuits appeared on the desk between us.

“May I offer you a warm cup of tea? And please, help yourself to some biscuits,” I said, pouring tea into both cups.

The girl nodded again, her movements as fluid and deliberate as a flowing stream. She lifted the delicate teacup to her lips, taking a sip with elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

“I believe introductions are in order,” I began. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the headmaster of this school of magic and wizardry. May I ask your name—and how you managed to enter my office unnoticed?”

Setting the teacup down gently, she met my gaze with calm composure. “My name is Mestionara. I am the goddess of wisdom, a subordinate to the goddess of wind, Schutzaria. As for how I entered your office—I simply appeared here.”

The words struck me like a bolt of lightning. As she introduced herself, the oppressive atmosphere around me intensified, and a golden aura began radiating from her form. The air seemed heavier, my breath coming in shallow gasps as though an invisible force was constricting my chest.

A goddess? Could this truly be happening?

As the oppressive feeling began to subside, though not entirely, I tried to reason through the impossibility of her claim. This couldn’t be the work of a dark wizard—no spell could bypass Hogwarts’ wards and protections, much less penetrate my office. Not even in the darkest days of the magical wars had such a feat been accomplished.

And yet, here she was.

I began sifting through my knowledge of mythology, searching for any mention of the name Mestionara. Nothing surfaced. Truthfully, I had never put much stock in the idea of gods. What Muggles often regarded as miracles were, more often than not, the work of wizards. And among wizards, belief in deities was exceedingly rare. Yes, there was much we still did not understand, but it was not our nature to attribute such mysteries to divine beings.

“That is quite a bold claim, young lady,” I said carefully. “As far as I know, there is no goddess by that name in our history.”

“I would be surprised if you had heard of me,” she replied, her tone unwavering. “I am not a goddess of this world. I hail from another realm, another universe—whichever term you prefer to use. Although,” she added with a slight frown, “I must admit I am disappointed that you doubt my claim. The goddess of this world speaks highly of you. She said there is no greater—how do you call yourselves? Ah, yes, wizard—no greater wizard alive than you. Perhaps she overestimated you.”

She took another sip of tea, her movements as composed as before, and reached for a biscuit from the plate. Then, as if speaking more to herself than to me, she murmured, “Perhaps this sanctuary is not the right place for her.”

The words piqued my curiosity, but before I could interject, she continued, still musing aloud. “If I recall correctly, there are six more of these sanctuaries of knowledge. Perhaps their leaders will be wiser than this one.” She paused, nibbling thoughtfully on the biscuit. “If I am not mistaken, she was born in a place called Japan, and there is another sanctuary there. Perhaps being back in familiar surroundings would appeal to her.”

She said "another universe." For centuries, we have theorized about the existence of parallel worlds, but the theory has never been proven. And the goddess of our world ? Which goddess? There are countless deities in mythology. And who is her ? What does she mean by saying she was born in Japan, and how is she involved with a supposed goddess from another realm?

My mind raced with questions, but I decided to take the offensive.

“Forgive me,” I began, carefully modulating my tone to sound as polite as possible. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not particularly inclined to believe in gods. And what you just said—about being from another world—it doesn’t make sense. Is there a way you can prove it?”

Her golden eyes fixed on me, colder than before, and the oppressive atmosphere in the room thickened again, pressing down on me like a weight. I gripped the arms of my chair, trying to maintain composure, until the air finally eased once more.

“So you want proof?” she said, her voice sharper now, almost mocking. “The goddess of this world did warn me. She said most mortals here don’t believe in gods, nor do they have any reverence for the divine. What a nightmare,” she sighed, exasperated. “It’s like an entire world filled with people as insufferable as that horrible man.”

Her words hung in the air like a riddle, and before I could inquire further, she continued, the frost in her tone softening slightly.

“What do you expect me to do? What kind of proof would satisfy you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if already weary of my doubt.

I could ask for anything as proof. My mind began to race with possibilities, my thoughts inevitably drifting back to my past ambitions. The Resurrection Stone… Could I ask for Adriana to return? Or for the stone itself?
No, no, I couldn’t. A wave of shame washed over me. I hadn’t changed at all from the foolish man I used to be, clinging to impossible dreams.

Taking a steadying breath, I voiced my request:
“Can you show me your world? Show me this other place you claim to come from.”

Her golden eyes locked onto mine, piercing through me as if seeing the depths of my soul.
“That is unexpected,” she replied. Her tone was even, though the faintest hint of mockery played at the edges of her lips. “I thought you might ask to bring your sister back to life. Or perhaps for that other foolish idea—what was it? Oh yes, the Deathly Hallows, so you could become the Master of Death.”

Her words struck like a thunderclap. She knew. But how? I was a master of Occlumency. No one should be able to infiltrate my mind without me noticing.

“Very well,” she said, standing gracefully. “I will show you our garden.”

With a snap of her fingers, a swirling portal appeared in the center of my office.
“Follow me.”

I rose to my feet, wand still clutched tightly in one hand, and stepped through the portal after her. The transition was disorienting, a strange mix of light and sound that seemed to tug at every fiber of my being. Before I could fully grasp the sensation, we arrived.

We stood atop an impossibly high wall, stretching endlessly in either direction. The air was crisp, humming faintly with energy.

“We are on the Border Gates,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I will not permit you to interact with the mortals here, so this is the only glimpse of my world you will receive.”

I turned my gaze outward. On one side of the wall lay a barren, inhospitable desert of pure white sand, shimmering faintly as if infused with magic. On the other side stretched a dense, verdant forest. In the distance, nestled within the trees, I could make out a city unlike any I’d ever seen—its spires gleaming in the faint light.

“This is the Land of Wind,” she continued, “the domain protected by my aunt, Schutzaria.”

Questions swirled in my mind, but I was too stunned to form words. I focused instead on absorbing every detail, committing the sights to memory.

“Is this enough?” she asked, her tone impatient.

I nodded silently, still processing the overwhelming spectacle.

“Good,” she said curtly. “Let us return. Your foolishness has already wasted enough of my time.”

With another snap of her fingers, the portal reappeared. We stepped through, and I found myself back in my office, the familiar surroundings almost jarring after what I had just witnessed.

Mestionora took her seat again, her golden eyes meeting mine with an air of finality.
“Your doubts have been resolved, I trust?”

I nodded, still at a loss for words.

“Good,” she said, her tone sharper now. “Then let us talk business.”

“So, how can this old teacher be of service, Your Holiness?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice steady.

“Ah, so you’ve learned some respect,” she replied with a faint smile. “Good. That is sufficient progress. I come with a request: we wish for our most beloved daughter to be allowed to study here.”

“Your daughter?” I echoed, confusion evident in my tone. “I don’t believe there is anything new we could teach a goddess.”

“She is not a goddess,” Mestionora said evenly. “She is mortal, just like you. Mortals are the children of the gods, and our precious daughter is someone of exceptional talent and intellect. We wish for her to expand her knowledge here, so she may share it with her peers.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Enrolling her should not be an issue. However, Your Holiness, might it be possible to meet her? And may I ask her name?”

“A meeting can be arranged,” she said. “As for her name, she goes by Myne, though mortals often refer to her as Rozemyne.”

“I understand,” I replied, bowing my head slightly. “Your Holiness, may I ask for a moment? There is someone I need to notify.”

Mestionora raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Very well.”

I rose from my chair and addressed one of the portraits of past headmasters hanging on the walls. “Please contact Cornelius and have him come to my office immediately,” I instructed. Then, turning to one of the house-elves who had appeared silently at my side, I added, “Fetch Professor McGonagall and the heads of all the houses at once.”

The house-elf bowed deeply and vanished with a sharp crack, leaving me alone with the goddess once more.

Cornelius didn’t take long to arrive, nor did Professor McGonagall and the heads of Hogwarts’ houses. Once everyone was gathered in my office, I introduced Mestionora to them. Predictably, their initial reaction mirrored my own—they doubted her claim and looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

Before I could elaborate, the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. The oppressive force I had felt earlier intensified to an unbearable degree, forcing everyone to bow under the weight of it. Cornelius seemed on the verge of fainting.

“Enough!” Mestionora's voice boomed with anger. “I will not endure this disrespect again.”

Instantly, the suffocating pressure lifted, and the room returned to normal. I turned to her and spoke in a calming tone, coaxing her to rein in her wrath. Gradually, her demeanor softened. The others, however, were left visibly shaken, their eyes wide with fear as they straightened themselves.

From that point onward, I explained Mestionora’s request. Though hesitant, everyone eventually agreed to her terms. Satisfied, the goddess departed, but not before leaving behind a collection of peculiar tools and a letter detailing their purposes and instructions for their use.

As the room fell silent, I glanced at Cornelius, who was as pale as a ghost. The other professors were no less stunned, their expressions a mixture of awe and trepidation.

“There’s no time to dwell on this,” I said, breaking the silence. “We have preparations to make.”

Chapter Text

Pov Rozemyne 

The High Priest’s office was steeped in silence, broken only by the rhythmic scratching of quills on parchment. I was focused on the stack of paperwork in front of me, carefully filling in the required details. Once I finished, I stood to hand my completed work to Ferdinand. As I returned to my desk, my gaze wandered across the room, taking in its occupants.

At one desk sat Charlotte, diligently working through her own pile of documents. Beside her was Evelina, Charlotte’s head scholar, reviewing Charlotte’s papers before they were submitted to Ferdinand. Evelina’s quill moved swiftly, her focus unwavering.

Charlotte glanced up and caught me watching. She offered me a warm, happy smile, which I returned. She quickly went back to her work, and I continued to my own desk.

At my shared workspace, my mother, Elvira, was equally engrossed in her paperwork. She served as my head scholar and provided invaluable support as I navigated my duties. I settled into my seat and resumed my work, reflecting on how much had changed over the past year and a half.

It had been a tumultuous time. During Charlotte’s baptism ceremony, there had been an attack on the castle. Men cloaked in black had infiltrated the grounds, targeting us as we returned to our chambers in the north wing.

Wilfried, accompanied by his knights, had managed to escape and secure himself behind the protective barrier of the north wing. Charlotte and I, however, had not been so fortunate. The attackers overwhelmed our knights, and one of them succeeded in abducting Charlotte.

As her elder sister, it was my duty to save her. Without hesitation, I leapt into action, chasing after the kidnappers on my highbeast. My knights, Cornelius and Angelica, followed close behind, determined to protect me and assist in rescuing Charlotte.

As we closed in, the kidnapper panicked. In a desperate attempt to escape and throw us off his trail, he hurled Charlotte into the open sky. Angelica reacted immediately, diving after her with precision. Cornelius followed swiftly, catching both Charlotte and Angelica on his highbeast. Relief washed over me for a fleeting moment, but it was short-lived.

Out of nowhere, a golden net ensnared me, and I plummeted from the sky. Before I could process what was happening, another man dressed in black appeared and restrained me with a rope made of light. He tried to force a strange potion down my throat, but before he could succeed, something—or rather, someone—stormed onto the scene.

A blur of movement crashed into the man, throwing him violently against a nearby tree. A thunderous roar echoed in the air: “Who dares to harm my only granddaughter?”

What followed is something I wish I could erase from my memory, a sight that still haunts me in my dreams. My grandfather—Lord Bonifatius —descended upon the man with terrifying fury. Without hesitation, he crushed the man’s skull with one hand.

I was frozen in place, unable to move or even process what I had just witnessed. Moments later, Ferdinand arrived, his expression a mix of worry and exasperation. He rushed to my side, immediately performing a health check to ensure I was unharmed.

Once satisfied that I was physically fine, Ferdinand’s concern morphed into anger. He began to scold me for recklessly chasing after the kidnappers. His sharp words only stopped when his gaze fell on the lifeless body of the man my grandfather had killed.

Ferdinand's fury shifted toward my grandfather. "What were you thinking?!" he barked. "We needed him alive to interrogate—now we have no way of uncovering who sent him!"

Grandfather crossed his arms, entirely unfazed by Ferdinand's anger. "Anyone who dares lay a hand on my granddaughter forfeits their right to live," he replied coldly, his words as unyielding as steel.

The tension between them was palpable, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the gruesome moment over and over in my mind.

Ferdinand took me away, but to my surprise, instead of heading back to the castle, he brought me to my family's mansion. Mother was already waiting for us. Normally, she embodies the very image of a perfect noble lady—elegant, composed, and graceful. But that day, she was a bundle of nerves, her worry unmistakable in her eyes.

As soon as I was in her custody, Ferdinand left to assist with the investigation into the attack. Mother led me to my room, where a calming cup of tea was promptly served. She sat beside me, her presence a mixture of soothing warmth and silent distress.

Not long after, Cornelius joined us. He approached hesitantly, requesting permission to be relieved of his duties for the rest of the day. When I granted it, he came closer, knelt before me, and looked up with eyes filled with guilt and worry.

“Are you alright, Rozemyne?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Cornelius’s face was pale, his usual composed demeanor shattered. I reassured him that I was unharmed, though my voice wavered slightly. Upon hearing this, he bowed his head and apologized profusely for failing to protect me, his voice heavy with regret.

“If grandfather hadn’t arrived when he did…” His words trailed off, but the unspoken fear in his tone was unmistakable.

I tried to comfort him, but the truth was, I felt just as shaken. That night, sleep eluded me entirely. Every time I closed my eyes, the horrifying image of my grandfather crushing that man’s head replayed in my mind. The sheer brutality of it haunted me, a grim reminder of how close I had come to a terrible fate.

The following day, Ferdinand, Father, and Grandfather visited to check on how I was holding up. The first thing I did was ask if Charlotte was alright. Father assured me that she was shaken but unharmed. I sighed in relief, the weight of that worry lifting slightly.

Ferdinand then began to brief us on their findings. After we left Grandfather, he, along with Angelica and Cornelius, managed to capture the man who had kidnapped Charlotte. Unfortunately, the identity of the man Grandfather killed was still unknown. As for the kidnapper, it turned out to be Viscount Joisontak—my supposed uncle. Ferdinand explained that the interrogation was still ongoing to uncover his motives.

I was told to remain at my family mansion for the time being. Returning to the castle was out of the question for now, as it was under full lockdown. A thorough investigation was underway to ensure no one else was involved in the attack, and to account for any missing or suspicious individuals.

Before they left, I mustered my courage and approached Grandfather. Despite my lingering fear of what he had done, I knelt before him.

“Thank you, Grandfather, for saving me,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Then, turning to Ferdinand, I added, “And thank you, Lord Ferdinand, for coming to my aid so swiftly.”

Grandfather’s expression softened as he gave me a gentle smile.

“There is no need to thank me, little one,” he said warmly. “It is my duty  to protect you. Know this, my granddaughter: I will never allow anyone to harm you.”

A warm feeling blossomed in my chest at Grandfather’s words. After bidding us goodbye, Grandfather, Father, and Ferdinand departed. The next couple of days, I spent in the company of Mother.

During those days, we had many tea parties together. At first, she asked me about my daily life, often steering the conversation toward Ferdinand—her favorite topic. It was amusing to see how much of a fangirl she could be. One day, she asked if I would be willing to perform a series of tests to evaluate my noble manners. I agreed without hesitation.

The tests consisted of hosting a variety of tea parties, where I had to showcase my etiquette and skills as a hostess. However, I never got to hear how I fared in these evaluations, as my health began to decline. The fear and stress of what had happened continued to weigh heavily on me, and my nights were plagued by sleeplessness.

Mother noticed my deteriorating state and became insistent that Ferdinand advance my treatment with the jureve.

I tried to protest, pointing out that I still needed to participate in the Dedication Ritual. Using the jureve now would mean being submerged in it for at least an entire season, which would cause me to miss the Spring Prayer. Ferdinand supported my objections, but Mother silenced both of us with a firm declaration:

“Your wellbeing is far more important than any ritual.”

And so, despite my reluctance, I was submerged in the jureve.

I found myself in a pink-hued world, an ethereal realm that felt both soothing and surreal. In my hands was a watering can, its contents shimmering faintly. At my feet lay countless stones, rough and unyielding. Instinctively, I poured the liquid from the watering can over the stones, watching as they slowly dissolved under its touch.

I continued this process tirelessly, unsure of how much time had passed. The world around me seemed timeless, a liminal space of endless pink and gentle stillness. Finally, when the last rock had dissolved and nothing remained at my feet, I felt an unseen force pulling me upward.

The sensation was abrupt, and before I could fully comprehend it, I was jolted awake by a sharp slap on my back. The force made me cough violently, expelling the remnants of the jureve from my lungs. I was drenched, every inch of me soaked from the ordeal.

Ferdinand and Mother were standing in my hidden room, their expressions a mixture of relief and concern. Ferdinand swiftly cast a spell to cleanse me and performed a quick health check. Once he confirmed that the jureve had dissolved all my mana clumps, his tense demeanor softened ever so slightly.

My body felt weak from the long slumber, but after a refreshing bath and a change into clean clothes, I felt a little more human. Sitting down with Mother and Ferdinand, they updated me on everything that had happened during my absence.

I had slept for nearly two full seasons, waking just as autumn was beginning. Ferdinand looked exhausted—his normally sharp features were drawn, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. He seemed paler than usual, and the air around him felt heavier, as though he was carrying an invisible burden. Despite his usual composure, his appearance betrayed a man who had endured sleepless nights and unrelenting stress.

He began recounting the aftermath of the attack on the castle. The investigation had led to a massive purge. Giebe Joisontak, the man who had kidnapped Charlotte, had given a ridiculous reason for his actions. Ferdinand theorized that he might have been under the influence of a drug, as even after reading his memories, they were unable to uncover coherent answers. Joisontak was executed alongside his entire household.

The man who attacked me was identified as Giebe Gerlach. A search of his house revealed no direct evidence of his allegiance to a larger scheme, but a list of possible accomplices was found. His entire household was executed, save for his youngest son, Matthias .Matthias had cooperated with the knights’ order during the investigation, and as a result, he was spared but stripped of his nobility and turned into a blue priest.

The accomplices listed by Gerlach were thoroughly investigated, leading to yet another purge. My chest tightened at the thought of how many lives had been lost due to collective punishment, especially the children who were innocent in all of this. However, some children were spared if they cooperated with the investigation, and those survivors were sent to the temple.

Mother spoke up next, telling me that she needed to have a very serious conversation with me later. Ferdinand frowned deeply at her comment but said nothing, continuing his report.

The dedication ceremony and spring prayer had been carried out without issue, using the mana that leaked from my jureve to compensate for my absence. To my joy, Charlotte had volunteered to assist during the spring prayer. Hearing how my little sister had stepped up filled me with pride and relief.

Ferdinand finished recounting the events and excused himself, promising to check on me the following day. As he left, I couldn’t help but notice how stiffly he moved, as though the weight of everything was too much even for him.

Once I was alone with Mother, she continued recounting additional events—ones she deemed imperative for me to know.

“The results of the etiquette test I conducted with you were... less than satisfactory,” she began, her tone unusually stern. “I suspected something was amiss with your noble training, so I confronted Florencia.”

I tensed at the mention of Florencia.

“She does not consider you her adoptive daughter,” Mother continued, her voice tinged with indignation. “As such, she refuses to take responsibility for your education. This led to a heated argument between us, and I’ve since withdrawn all my support from her faction.”

The consequences of her decision had been swift and severe. Lady Florencia’s faction had essentially disbanded overnight, leaving her political influence greatly diminished.

I was shocked by this revelation, but that wasn’t all. Lady Georgine had returned to visit Ehrenfest once again. I had missed her visit by a few days, as it occurred while I was still in my jureve. During the Archduke Conference, Sylvester had attempted to refuse her visit, but Lady Georgine managed to rebut his claims and force her way in regardless.

This time, she hadn’t come alone. She brought her young daughter, Detlinde, who, according to Mother, was the spitting image of Veronica.

What unfolded next was something that left my mind in turmoil, unable to process the implications. Apparently, Wilfried had fallen hard for Detlinde. This infatuation caused him to regress to the behavior he exhibited before his education had been corrected. During Lady Georgine’s visit, Wilfried unwisely revealed internal matters of Ehrenfest to Detlinde. Predictably, this information found its way to Lady Georgine.

On the final day of her visit, Lady Georgine made an outrageous proposition: she offered to adopt Wilfried into her duchy. To everyone’s shock, Wilfried accepted the offer without consulting anyone, including his parents. Sylvester and Florencia attempted to block the adoption, but Lady Georgine used the sensitive information Wilfried had leaked to Detlinde to back them into a corner.

Preparations for Wilfried’s departure were already underway. To make matters worse, Lamprecht, my brother and Wilfried’s knight, had announced that he would follow Wilfried to Lady Georgine’s duchy as his retainer.

I sat in silence, trying to process the enormity of what Mother had just revealed. How could Wilfried have been so reckless? So easily manipulated? The thought of him leaving Ehrenfest—and the consequences of the knowledge he had shared—filled me with a sense of foreboding.

“What’s going to happen now?” I whispered, more to myself than to Mother.

She sighed heavily. “That is a question only time will answer. But one thing is certain: Lady Georgine’s schemes are far from over.”

Her words settled over me like a heavy cloud, leaving me with an uneasy feeling that Ehrenfest’s troubles were only just beginning.

The weeks following Wilfried’s departure were marked by chaos and upheaval. Sylvester and Florencia were heartbroken by their son’s sudden betrayal, and the once steady leadership of Ehrenfest seemed to fracture.

Sylvester, consumed by anger and grief, launched a relentless hunt for someone to blame. His frustration led him to storm into the White Tower, carrying the circles required to read Lady Veronica’s memories. He accused her of negligence in Wilfried’s upbringing and sought answers from her long-sealed secrets.

What he uncovered made him pale. Though the details were not fully disclosed to me, the revelations forced Veronica to open her hidden room. What they found inside triggered yet another wave of purges and imprisonments, this time involving several high-profile figures, including Father’s second wife.

Nikolaus, the youngest of Father’s children, was spared execution only after I convinced Sylvester to show mercy. It was a grueling argument, as Sylvester was ready to dispose of all the implicated households, children included. In the end, I managed to sway him, emphasizing Ehrenfest’s need for nobility in the face of so much loss. Nikolaus and other surviving children were sent to the temple, their futures uncertain.

At the same time, I was focusing on recovering from my long slumber and doing what I could to “turn tin-man Ferdinand back into a human,” as I liked to joke privately. Ferdinand looked worse than ever—his health was deteriorating, and his exhaustion was plain for anyone to see.

Amid this turbulence, Charlotte approached me in the temple one day, expressing her wish to join as a blue shrine maiden. Without hesitation, I agreed. Ferdinand was furious with me for accepting her decision so quickly, and Sylvester attempted to talk her out of it, but Charlotte was resolute.

The attacks on the castle, two purges, and Wilfried’s departure had left Ehrenfest in shambles. The duchy was teetering on the edge of chaos, with whispers of civil war growing louder. In a desperate move to stabilize the situation, Sylvester conceded to the demands of the Leisegang faction. He agreed to marry Cassandra, a young woman in her sixth year at the Royal Academy. To ensure her suitability, Grandfather adopted her so she could take the Archduke Course and become eligible as his first wife.

This move was also a public admission of Florencia’s declining influence. Her reputation had taken a severe blow, and she would soon be officially downgraded to Sylvester’s third wife.

The sound of the fourth bell brought me back to the present. Sylvester’s marriage to Cassandra  took place during this year’s Archduke Conference. He had also given me a task: to excel in the Royal Academy and work to elevate Ehrenfest’s ranking.

Sylvester’s goal was clear: to improve Ehrenfest’s image and secure a marriage alliance with a higher-ranking duchy, one capable of providing asylum should Lady Georgine’s scheming escalate further. His hope was to find a bride of an Upper Duchy, preferably one ranked higher than Ahrensbach. If successful, the new bride would take Florencia’s place as the first wife, while Cassandra would become the second.

As I processed these developments, a sense of foreboding settled over me. Ehrenfest was changing rapidly, and not all of it felt like progress. 

I stood up to hand over the last of my work to Ferdinand and take my leave for the day. As I neared the door, a sudden shift in the atmosphere stopped me in my tracks. The air in the office grew thick and heavy, as though saturated with mana, making it difficult to breathe.

A sudden flash of light exploded in the center of the room, momentarily blinding me. When the light faded, I blinked rapidly to adjust my vision and gasped.

Standing in the middle of the office was a young woman whose appearance mirrored my own. Midnight-blue hair cascaded down her back, shimmering faintly with an otherworldly glow. Her golden eyes glinted like sunlight reflected on polished metal, holding an intensity that seemed to pierce through to the soul.

It was like looking at a grown-up version of myself, though her presence exuded a grace and authority I could only aspire to. She radiated power, and even Ferdinand, who rarely showed emotion, froze in place.

The woman’s gaze swept across the room, as though searching for something. When her eyes met mine, a smile spread across her lips—a warm yet knowing smile that sent a shiver down my spine.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

A firm hand seized my shoulder, yanking me backward with unexpected force. Before I could react, Ferdinand stepped in front of me, positioning himself as a shield. His Schtappe was already in his hand, aimed unwaveringly at the newcomer. I hadn’t even noticed him move from his desk, but now he stood there, resolute and alert, a barrier between me and the mysterious woman.

Ferdinand's usual blank expression was gone, replaced by a sharp, almost feral anger that burned in his eyes. His words, cold and cutting, hissed out like venom from a snake:

“What are you doing here!?”

The woman, unfazed, tilted her head with a faint smirk. “Rude as always, aren’t you, Qui—”

“Don’t you dare call me by that name,” Ferdinand interrupted, his voice razor-sharp and brimming with restrained fury. “Mestionara. My name is Ferdinand.”

My heart skipped a beat. Mestionara? The Goddess of Wisdom? What in the name of the seven divine gods was she doing here?

And Ferdinand—how does he know her?

My thoughts spiraled as I stood frozen, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before me. Every instinct screamed at me to act, to beg Ferdinand to lower his Schtappe and apologize. She’s a goddess; she’ll strike you down in an instant! But no words came out.

The air grew heavier, crackling with tension, as though the room itself braced for a clash of unimaginable forces. The weight of unspoken histories and divine power pressed down on me, leaving me breathless. All I could do was watch, paralyzed, as the confrontation between Ferdinand and the goddess began.

It turned out the oppressive feeling was not a figment of my imagination. The golden eyes of the goddess began to shift in hue, their brilliance intensifying into something otherworldly. A golden aura flared around her, growing so vivid it seemed to consume the room.

To my horror, Ferdinand’s eyes mirrored her intensity. His Schtappe trembled slightly in his grip, but whether it was from his effort to resist or from the sheer force pressing down on us, I couldn’t tell. What are you doing, Ferdinand? My thoughts screamed. Are you really trying to stand against a goddess?

The crushing weight in the room bore down harder with every passing second, making it nearly impossible to breathe. My chest tightened painfully, my vision swimming as black spots began to creep into the edges of my sight. If this continued, there was no doubt in my mind that everyone here would ascend the towering stairway, leaving their mortal lives behind.

This is bad. If this keeps up, I’m going to lose consciousness.

Panic clawed at my thoughts, but even as my body weakened, my resolve held firm. I couldn’t allow this to happen. Before my knees could buckle completely, forcing myself to pray. My voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of my desperation.

“O Goddess of Wind, Schutzaria, protector of all. O twelve goddesses who serve by her side. Please hear my prayer and lend me your divine strength. Grant me the shield of wind; please protect the innocent children of Geduldh from the wrath of the Goddess of Wisdom.”

I poured all my remaining strength into the prayer, my words trembling but earnest. Even as the world around me blurred and the oppressive force threatened to snuff out my consciousness, I held onto a fragile thread of hope. Surely Schutzaria would hear my plea.

My mana was pulled into my ring, the gem glowing as the light of a blessing began to pour out. It gathered above us, shimmering like a gentle rain of light before cascading down. I noticed something strange—the blessing didn’t just envelop the room; it also flowed outward, leaving the office and heading to an unknown destination. Yet, even in its ethereal beauty, the light avoided Ferdinand entirely, as if his presence was unwelcome.

Suddenly, a golden capsule formed around everyone in the room, excluding Ferdinand. The oppressive pressure that had been crushing us vanished, and I could finally breathe again. Relief swept through me, but it was short-lived.

Desperately, I stumbled toward Ferdinand, clutching his tunic and pulling with all my strength. “Stop this!” I screamed, my voice frantic and strained. “Apologize, Ferdinand! Please, before it’s too late!”

But he didn’t hear me. His focus was absolute, locked in a fierce, unyielding stare with the goddess. It was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist for him. No matter how much I pleaded, he ignored me, his stubborn resolve burning as brightly as the divine aura surrounding Mestionara.

My heart sank when Ferdinand suddenly doubled over, coughing violently. Blood splattered on the floor, and my panic surged anew. Finally, the crushing force stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence. Mestionara tilted her head, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

“I hope this teaches you some respect, F-E-R-D-I-N-A-N-D,” she said, her voice dripping with cold amusement, savoring each syllable of his name.

Ferdinand, still bent with pain, slowly lifted his head. His expression was dark, his eyes filled with a murderous intensity that sent chills down my spine.

“Ferdinand!” I hissed under my breath, wishing desperately for a harisen to knock some sense into him. What is wrong with him? His blatant disrespect for a goddess nearly killed us all, and he still looks like he’s ready to fight her!

I wanted to scream at him, shake him, do something to break through his stubborn pride before it doomed us all. But I could only stand there, torn between anger and fear, as the confrontation hung on the edge of another explosion.

I stopped my frantic complaints, forcing myself to assess how everyone else was holding up. Mother was gasping for air, clutching her chest as though the weight of the earlier pressure still lingered. Charlotte and Evelina looked pale, their bodies trembling as if they were seconds away from fainting.

My heart sank when I turned my gaze to the others. The gray priests who had been in the room lay motionless on the floor, and Damuel was in the same state. Please, please let them just be unconscious. Don’t let them be dead. The thought clawed at my mind, but I refused to let despair consume me.

I realized that my earlier prayer must have drained a significant amount of my mana, yet I didn’t feel completely depleted. Just tired. The thought gave me a small measure of hope. Perhaps the Goddess of Wind, Schutzaria, had taken pity on us and spared me from expending too much of my strength to keep us safe.

Gathering what little courage and energy I had left, closing my eyes to pray once more. This time, I directed my plea to Heilschmerz, the goddess of healing.

“O Heilschmerz, goddess of healing, please hear my prayer. Grant your blessing to heal the wounded and restore the fallen.”

As before, the light of the blessing emerged from my ring, spreading throughout the room. Some of the light seemed to seek an unseen destination beyond the walls, but this time, I noticed something remarkable: the light didn’t avoid Ferdinand.

The soft glow washed over everyone in the room, and slowly, color began to return to their pale faces. Relief coursed through me as I saw even those who had collapsed on the floor stirring faintly. The blessing had reached them too, confirming my desperate hope—they weren’t dead, just unconscious.

I exhaled shakily, my knees almost giving out from the relief. “Thank you, Heilschmerz,” I whispered, my voice trembling with gratitude. The golden light faded, leaving behind a fragile calm in the aftermath of chaos.

I was utterly exhausted. Heilschmerz’s blessing, while powerful, cannot be used to heal oneself, so the effects of the crushing still lingered in my body. My limbs felt heavy, my breath shallow, and my head spun with fatigue.

Ferdinand finally broke his tense stare at the goddess and turned his gaze toward me. His eyes, usually so composed and calculating, were wide with concern. I must look terrible, I thought grimly.

Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee beside me, his movements swift and purposeful. He reached for his Schtappe, preparing to grant me Heilschmerz’s blessing himself. But before he could, Mestionara’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

“Heilschmerz, to Myne,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

In her hands was Flutrane’s staff, the symbol of the Goddess of Water. The staff began to glow with a radiant light, and a cascade of blessing poured over me. The warmth of the divine magic enveloped me, soothing the lingering ache in my body and lifting the heaviness from my chest.

Ferdinand froze momentarily, his head snapping back toward the goddess. Her golden eyes still blazed with fury, a reminder of the earlier confrontation. He said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. After a beat, he turned his attention back to me and performed a health check, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.

“You’re fine,” he said at last, his voice low but tinged with guilt. “You’re just exhausted. You may develop a fever later today.” He sighed, standing as he composed himself.

Ferdinand straightened and turned to face Mestionara. The fiery intensity in her eyes didn’t falter, but Ferdinand met her gaze without wavering, his posture resolute.

“Whatever business you have here,” he said coldly, his tone edged with defiance, “leave now. The answer to any request of yours is a no.”

“It seems you never change, Ferdinand. Not even being crushed by me will teach you to respect the gods,” said Mestionara, her tone more amused than annoyed. “I’m not leaving. My request isn’t for you, and it’s not your call to reject it.” Her eyes turned cold, her earlier amusement fading.

Mestionara shifted her gaze from Ferdinand to me. Her expression softened, a gentle, warm smile gracing her lips. Even her eyes, which moments ago blazed with fury, now held a tenderness that made my heart skip a beat.

“Hello, child. It has been some time now that I’ve wanted to get acquainted with you. Please, don’t be afraid. Come closer.”

Every instinct in me screamed to stay put. The idea of stepping closer to the Goddess of Wisdom was terrifying. But the thought of angering her—and risking her wrath descending upon us again—was even worse. Reluctantly, I stepped out from behind Ferdinand, moving cautiously.

His hand shot out, gripping my shoulder with an iron-like hold. I glanced up at him, startled by the intensity in his expression. Before I could say anything, Mestionara’s smile disappeared, replaced by a look of displeasure.

“Ferdinand,” she said sharply, her tone low but menacing, “would you kindly suppress your inner Ewigeliebe and allow her to come to me? Or must I remind you of what happens when you don’t?” Her golden eyes began to shine ominously again, their glow filling the room with a suffocating energy.

Ferdinand’s jaw tightened, but he reluctantly released my shoulder, his hand falling to his side. I hesitated for a moment longer, then stepped forward, my heart pounding.

Once I was in front of Mestionara, she surprised me by kneeling, lowering herself to my eye level. It was such an unexpected gesture that I froze, unsure of what to do. Her smile returned, kind and inviting, as if she were trying to put me at ease.

“Hello, dear,” she said warmly. “I came here because I wanted to propose something to you. But before we get to that, I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” I echoed, my voice trembling with disbelief as my heart thundered in my chest. “Your Holiness… I don’t think I’ve done anything worthy of the recognition of the gods. But… I am humbled to accept it.”

I was utterly confused. My mind struggled to process her words, and it felt as though my heart might burst from the overwhelming emotions surging through me.

“I see you are unaware,” Mestionara said, her kind smile unwavering. “You see, we are grateful for your very existence. For a long time now, the knowledge of this world has stagnated, reaching a point where progress is almost nonexistent. This decay has concerned all of us gods—though none more so than myself. Your presence and the knowledge you brought from your past life have breathed new life into our world, and for that, we are deeply grateful.”

Her words left me frozen in place, my thoughts reeling. “But… I can hardly take credit for that,” I stammered. “Everything I’ve ever created here was invented by someone else in my former world. And… without the help of so many others, none of it would have been possible.”

“Yes, the ideas may not be yours originally,” Mestionara said gently, her golden eyes softening further. “But don’t sell yourself short, my dear. You managed to reproduce those ideas in a world vastly different from your own. It is true that others aided you, but it was your guidance, your determination, that made them a reality.”

Before I could respond, Mestionara did something I never could have imagined in even my wildest dreams: she hugged me.

The warmth of her embrace was overwhelming. I couldn’t contain myself any longer, and tears began streaming down my face. Sobs wracked my body as I clung to her, releasing emotions I hadn’t realized I’d been holding onto for so long.

I didn’t know how much time passed, but when she finally released me, my eyes were swollen and red, and I had no more tears left to cry. With a wave of her hand, a delicate handkerchief appeared out of thin air. She gently dabbed at my face, her movements tender and careful.

“As for my request,” Mestionara began, her voice steady and resolute, “we wish for the knowledge you’ve brought to continue flowing into this world. To achieve this, we’ve decided that you should go and gather even more knowledge to nurture this land. For that purpose, we’ve found another world—a place whose knowledge is not only compatible with your former world but also with ours.

“This world has sanctuaries—or schools, as they are called—that focus on educating the young. I’ve already spoken with the headmaster of one such school, and you will be accepted as a student.”

“Bwuh!?” The exclamation burst out of me before I could stop it. She wants me to attend a school in another world!?

“You cannot be serious,” Ferdinand said, his tone sharp and filled with rising anger. His eyes flashed with the same frustration I had seen earlier. “This year, Rozemyne is scheduled to attend the Royal Academy, and she still has numerous responsibilities here in Ehrenfest. As if that weren’t enough, her extended absences will cause considerable difficulties. Sending her away would be a catastrophe!”

Mestionara straightened, her expression hardening as she prepared to argue with Ferdinand once more. But before either could say anything, a sudden flutter of movement drew everyone’s attention. Something entered the room—a bird? No, not an ordonnanz. It was… an owl?

I blinked in confusion. I had never seen an owl in Ehrenfest before. Are there even owls in this world?

The owl circled the room gracefully, its feathers shimmering faintly in the light, before landing on my desk. Its sudden appearance seemed to momentarily distract Mestionara, who turned to observe the creature with a faint smile.

“Just in time,” she said, as if she had been expecting this. Placing a hand gently on my back, she gave me a slight push forward. “Go, see what it’s brought for you.”

Tentatively, I stepped closer to my desk. The owl’s piercing eyes seemed to watch me intently as I approached. In its beak was a letter, which it carefully placed on my desk before vanishing in the same manner as an ordonnanz—but leaving no trace of a magic stone behind.

I picked up the letter, my hands trembling slightly. It took me a moment to read the address, as it wasn’t written in the language of this world but… English. It had been so long since I’d last spoken or read anything in English that I struggled to decipher the words.

Written in an elegant emerald-green ink, the address read:

Myne
Temple of Ehrenfest
High Priest’s Office
Second Desk

The letter was sealed with red wax, bearing an intricate coat of arms. At its center was a large H, surrounded by four animals: a lion, a snake, an eagle, and a badger. My heart began to pound in my chest. I recognized this crest.

With trembling hands, I carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Just like the address, it was written in English, and I had to concentrate to understand the words. Slowly, I read:

Dear Miss Myne,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an institution renowned across our world for its dedication to the pursuit of magical knowledge and education.

Your enrollment has been arranged with the understanding that your unique talents and knowledge will bring invaluable contributions to both our school and your own world.

To formally welcome you and ensure a smooth transition, we kindly invite you and your guardians to join us at Hogwarts for an introductory meeting one week from the receipt of this letter. During this visit, you will have the opportunity to tour the school, meet with the headmaster and faculty, and discuss your academic path with us.

Please use the enclosed instructions to prepare for your journey. If you have any questions or require assistance, an owl bearing the school’s insignia will respond to your queries.

We eagerly await the chance to welcome you into our community of learning and discovery.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

My fingers tightened slightly on the parchment as my mind raced. Hogwarts. This couldn’t be real, could it? My thoughts swirled as I reread the letter, the words finally sinking in.

Ferdinand appeared beside me and snatched the letter from my hands. Under normal circumstances, I might have been annoyed, but I was far too shocked to protest. Instead, I turned my attention to the envelope, searching for anything else it might contain. Sure enough, inside were additional items: a set of instructions and several sheets of pristine white paper.

According to the instructions, the paper was a very special kind, gifted to Hogwarts by Mestionara herself. It allowed communication between worlds. All I needed to do was write on it, and an owl would manifest to deliver the letter. Essentially, it functioned much like a magic letter in our world.

A gentle hand shook my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Mother standing beside me, her gaze fixed on the letter Ferdinand now held. She was trying to read it over his shoulder, but from the way her brow furrowed, it was clear she couldn’t understand the language. Ferdinand, too, was frowning deeply, his growing frustration evident.

When Mother saw me looking at her, she managed to catch my attention. “Dear, can you read it?” she asked softly.

I nodded.

“Would you be so kind as to read it aloud for us?” she continued, her tone patient but tinged with concern.

I nodded again. Ferdinand handed the letter back to me, looking decidedly annoyed but saying nothing. Taking a deep breath, I began to translate the letter for them, word by word.

With each sentence I read, Ferdinand’s frown deepened, the lines on his face growing sharper. Mother, on the other hand, wore a look of growing worry, her lips pressed tightly together. By the time I finished, both of their expressions spoke volumes. Their eyes practically screamed their disapproval, silently begging me to reject Mestionara’s request outright.

“Hm. Your Holiness, this cannot be right,” I began hesitantly, my voice trembling slightly. “Hogwarts can’t be real—it’s a fictional school. And even if it were real, hm… the school semester takes nearly a whole year. My first year at the Royal Academy starts this winter, and Ferdinand is right—I can’t be absent for so long, not with all the problems Ehrenfest is facing right now.”

I braced myself for the goddess’s anger. Surely, she wouldn’t take such a rejection lightly. But to my surprise, it never came. Instead, she looked at me with a confused expression, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as though she was trying to piece something together.

Mother was the next to speak, her voice calm but with a slight quiver betraying the fear she was trying to hide. “Additionally, we know nothing about this world. As her mother, I cannot allow my daughter to go to an unknown place that might be dangerous.”

Her tone was steady, but I could sense the underlying tension. She was choosing her words carefully, weighing every syllable as if trying not to provoke Mestionara.

Deep down, I was tempted to accept Mestionara’s offer to go to Hogwarts. Back on Earth, I’d read the entire series. I wasn’t a huge fan, to be honest—I liked the story, but I’d always preferred the Percy Jackson series. Still, if I were given the choice between attending Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter and going to Hogwarts, there was no contest. Without a doubt, I’d choose Hogwarts in a heartbeat.

I wouldn’t last a week at Camp Half-Blood. I loved the characters, sure, but I couldn’t stand the Olympians, especially Zeus and Hera. Maybe I shouldn’t reproach Ferdinand so much for losing his temper with Mestionara—if I had to deal with Zeus or Hera, I’d probably lose mine too.

And, of course, there was Hogwarts’ library. If the school was real, then those beautiful, unread treasures were waiting for me to discover them. Just the thought sent a thrill through me. But no, no, no—I couldn’t go against Ferdinand and Mother on this.

Mestionara’s voice pulled me out of my musings, her confusion replaced by sharp curiosity. She ignored both my complaints and Mother’s concerns entirely, instead focusing on me.

“Myne, how is it that you already know about this school? As far as I am aware, your former world had no magic. And what do you mean by ‘fictional school’?”

Her piercing gaze locked onto me, and I nodded hesitantly in response. “Well… Hogwarts is the setting of a fictional story very famous in my dream world,” I admitted, my voice wavering slightly. “The series is called the Harry Potter series. I read all seven books before, well… you know, before I died.”

My last words hung heavily in the air. Everyone stared at me in open surprise—everyone except Ferdinand, who already knew about my past life.

Mestionara stepped closer, raising her hand. “Show me,” she said simply.

Show her? How? I had no idea what she meant, but acting on instinct, I placed my hand over hers. The process took only seconds, but in that brief moment, I felt her presence in my mind, sifting through my memories. Her expression softened into a smile as she withdrew. With a graceful motion of her hand, seven books materialized on my desk.

I moved closer, hesitantly reaching for the first one. Opening it, I skimmed the page and gasped. It was written in the language of this world, yet the text matched the first book of the Harry Potter series perfectly.

Mestionara turned her gaze toward Mother and Ferdinand, her smile polite but pointed. “It seems this other world isn’t as unknown as you claimed, Elvira. But worry not—we will not send Myne unprotected.”

She then faced Ferdinand, her expression sharpening. “You may think of yourself as the smartest man alive, Ferdinand, but never forget—I am the Goddess of Wisdom. I didn’t come here without a plan.”

Ferdinand’s frown deepened, but he said nothing, his eyes watching her carefully.

I was still uncertain about all of this. “Your Holiness,” I said hesitantly, “I don’t understand. These books are fiction, stories made up by someone. They can’t be real. Or, at the very least, what’s written in them can’t match the reality of another world.”

Mestionara turned her golden gaze back to me, her expression patient. “You are not entirely wrong. You see, the veil that separates worlds is not perfect. There are gaps that sharp minds—creative ones—can peer through. This ability is often mistaken for dreams or active imagination.”

“So… all fictional books are reflections of other worlds?” I asked, struggling to wrap my head around the concept.

“Not all, but a great many are,” she replied. “And not all are entirely accurate. Some may reflect only a fraction of a world—one percent or less. Others might be as close as ninety-nine percent accurate.”

I was stunned. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend the implications of what she had just revealed.

“So, what is this ‘brilliant plan’ of yours?” Ferdinand interjected, his tone clipped as he cut into the conversation.

Just as Mestionara had conjured the books, she made another item appear with a graceful wave of her hand. It was a beautifully ornate bracelet, intricately crafted with divine precision. At its center was a carved shumil holding a book, and embedded in the book was a gemstone that shimmered faintly in the light.

“This bracelet was crafted by Vulcanift,” Mestionara explained. “It will allow Myne not only to travel between worlds but also grant her one of the abilities we gods possess—omnipresence. Of course, its use will be limited, but it will enable her to be in two places at once. Additionally, it is imbued with protective spells to ensure her safety.”

It was clear now that Mestionara wasn’t going to accept a refusal. Even Mother seemed to reach the same conclusion, her worried expression softening into resignation. Ferdinand, on the other hand, looked absolutely furious, his frustration practically radiating off him.

Realizing there was no way out of this, I relented with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said, my voice low but steady. “But I have a question. The letter said we need to be there in a week. Does time flow differently between worlds, or is it the same? And…” I hesitated before continuing, glancing at Mother. “Can you give us a way to stay in touch so she’ll be less worried?”

Mestionara’s smile widened slightly. “Time flows the same between the two worlds. One day there is the same as one day here, though I believe the length of the year differs. Up there, it is already summer, while here it is still spring.

“As for your second request, worry not—I will provide tools that will allow your parents to keep an eye on you.”

She motioned for me to step closer. “First, come here. I need to grant you a special blessing so you can use the bracelet.”

I approached her cautiously, my heart pounding. Mestionara knelt to meet me at eye level, her golden eyes calm but serious. Placing her forehead gently against mine, she spoke in a low, soothing voice.

“This may feel a little uncomfortable… perhaps even slightly painful. But please, endure it,” she said softly.

It’s a universal truth—whether human or god—that when someone says something will be “a little uncomfortable” or “slightly painful,” they are utterly lying. Uncomfortable and painful didn’t even begin to describe what I felt.

Every part of my body screamed in agony, as though each cell, each atom, was being torn apart and rebuilt. My vision blurred, darkened, and finally, everything went black.

When I came to, I found myself in an expanse of endless white. In front of me stood Mestionara, her expression tinged with guilt.

“Well,” she began hesitantly, “I may not have been entirely honest with you. You see, the bracelet doesn’t grant those abilities—except for the protective spells.”

I stared at her, stunned and unable to speak.

“You see,” she continued, her tone apologetic but firm, “I used my power to transform your mana into divine mana. Congratulations, Myne—you’re now what’s known as a demigoddess.”

What!? My thoughts spiraled as her words sank in.

“You now possess some of the powers of a god,” she explained, “though they are limited. There’s more—you’ve received blessings from all the gods, which will reduce your mana usage to just one percent. You’ll need it. These powers consume a tremendous amount of mana.”

Still reeling from the revelation, I could barely react as she began to train me. First, she showed me how to open a portal between worlds. Then, she explained how to use omnipresence, the ability to be in two places at once. Even with the blessings of all the gods, the powers were incredibly taxing, each use leaving me feeling drained.

“The bracelet,” she added, “will help you control these new abilities. For now, this is all the training I can provide. You may discover other powers over time—this is the first time we’ve done this, so we aren’t certain what else you might develop. Additionally, the bracelet will fuse with your Schtappe once you enter the sacred land. A normal Schtappe wouldn’t be able to contain your divine power.”

With that, she bid me farewell, her parting words wishing me luck at Hogwarts.

I woke up lying on the floor, my head resting on Mother’s lap. Her worried face hovered over me, and beside her were Ferdinand and Charlotte, both looking equally concerned.

“How long was I out?” I croaked, my voice weak and hoarse.

“Just a few minutes,” Ferdinand replied, his frown deepening as he examined me.

Mestionara was gone, but the aftereffects of her “blessing” lingered. My head throbbed, my body ached, and it felt like my skin was on fire. My eyes burned, and my limbs felt like lead.

Ferdinand opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, an ordonnanz landed in front of him. It was Sylvester’s voice, summoning Ferdinand to the castle. The message repeated three times before the bird turned back into a magic stone.

Ferdinand’s frown grew deeper as he glanced between me and the stone on the floor. He seemed torn, clearly uncertain about leaving me in this state. After a long moment, he finally stood, muttering something under his breath, and left.

That left me to deal with the aftermath—well, not really. My eyes fluttered shut, and I drifted back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

POV Ferdinand 

Those words—“I am the Goddess of Wisdom”—infuriated me more than I cared to admit. Yes, she might be the Goddess of Wisdom, but her understanding of human circumstances was woefully lacking. Every fiber of my being screamed to throw Mestionara out of my office, but I was powerless to act on that desire.

To be honest, I wasn’t paying much attention to her peculiar conversation with Rozemyne about fictional books. What little I caught sounded intriguing, but this was hardly the time to delve into such trivialities. Instead, I chose to cut through the nonsense.

“So, what is this ‘brilliant plan’ of yours?” I said sharply.

With a wave of her hand, Mestionara summoned a bracelet and began to explain its purpose. It quickly became evident that no matter what we said, she would not take “no” for an answer. She called it a request, but it was, in truth, an order.

In the end, Rozemyne had no choice but to agree. Her reluctant acceptance weighed heavily on me. My mind raced with the potential risks—threats from an unfamiliar world, the unpredictable challenges Rozemyne might face, and worst of all, the realization that I wouldn’t be there to ensure her safety. This reckless girl, who lacked even the barest shred of self-preservation, would inevitably find herself in danger.

Mestionara beckoned Rozemyne to approach, apparently intending to grant her some form of blessing. Rozemyne stepped forward hesitantly, and I summoned my Schtappe, ready to intervene at the first sign of harm.

The goddess knelt to meet Rozemyne at eye level, placing her forehead against hers.

What followed was a sight I would never forget.

Mestionara’s body began to glow, her form transforming into pure light that surged into Rozemyne. She let out a blood-curdling scream, her legs buckling as she collapsed. I rushed forward, catching her just before she hit the ground.

Cradling her in my arms, I tried to carry her to the bed in my quarters, but the slightest motion caused her to scream again, her voice raw with unbearable pain.

Elvira and Charlotte hurried to my side, their faces pale with fear and worry. Yellow mist began seeping from Rozemyne’s body, and her skin bubbled as if boiling. Her mana was spiraling out of control.

I placed fey stone after fey stone on her forehead, desperate to stabilize her mana. Each one turned to gold dust the instant it touched her, but the rampage continued. Her magic spilled out in waves, consuming every stone in moments.

Before long, I had exhausted my supply of fey stones. Elvira, without hesitation, handed me her own bag of stones, quickly followed by Charlotte.

Even with their contributions, it wasn’t enough. Both bags were reduced to dust, yet Rozemyne’s condition remained unchanged.

“Elvira,” I said urgently, abandoning all notions of noble decorum. She knelt beside me immediately.

“We need more stones,” I explained. “I’ll leave Rozemyne with you while I fetch more from my hidden room.”

Carefully, I transferred Rozemyne into Elvira’s arms. Even with the utmost care, her body writhed, and she let out another anguished cry.

I returned moments later with a fresh bag of fey stones, but they too disintegrated one by one as soon as they touched her skin. Time dragged unbearably, each second filled with her suffering.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rozemyne’s mana stabilized. Her skin, flushed and steaming, began to cool, though her body lay eerily still save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

She was alive.

I cast a blessing to Heilschmerz, calling upon the Goddess of Healing. The spell worked as intended, her breathing steadied, and her body returned to a normal temperature. She remained unconscious, but she was no longer in immediate danger.

As Elvira adjusted her in her arms, something caught my eye. The bracelet that insufferable goddess had shown us earlier was now clasped around Rozemyne’s wrist. Its presence was a silent but infuriating reminder of the chaos Mestionara had unleashed.

Shortly after, Rozemyne regained consciousness.

“How long was I out?” she croaked, her voice weak and hoarse.

“Just a few minutes,” I replied, doing my best to mask the fear lingering in my voice.

I could tell Rozemyne wouldn’t remain conscious for long. Her strength was fading fast. I was about to instruct her to stay awake long enough for me to fetch a potion when an ordonnanz landed directly in front of me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Ferdinand, this is Sylvester. Come to the castle immediately. This is an emergency,” the white bird repeated Sylvester’s words three times before reverting to a magic stone.

Damn it. First, the Goddess of Wisdom, and now my idiot brother. Why is everyone so intent on disrupting my carefully planned schedule?

I didn’t want to leave—not with Rozemyne in her current condition. But disobeying the aub’s orders wasn’t an option.

Cursing under my breath, I summoned my Schtappe, pressing its tip against the stone. “Ordonnanz,” I commanded, and the stone transformed into a white bird once more.

“I’m on my way,” I said, sending the message back to Sylvester.

I stood and entered my hidden room once again, retrieving a potion before quickly exiting. Elvira was still on the floor, holding Rozemyne in her arms. I approached and noticed that Rozemyne had fainted—or rather, she had fallen asleep. I sighed and handed the potion to Elvira, instructing her to give it to Rozemyne if she woke up again.

Walking toward the desk Rozemyne used when she worked in my office, I surveyed its contents: the envelope and letter, seven books with unfamiliar covers, and a set of tools. These were likely the items Mestionara had promised—tools meant to allow us to communicate with Rozemyne once she departed for this school in another world.

I picked up the letter and the envelope, my gaze sweeping over the wreckage of my office. The gray priests who had collapsed were beginning to stir, slowly regaining consciousness. Charlotte, however, remained motionless, clearly in shock. Her scholar, Evelina, was trembling as she stood nearby.

“Charlotte, go rest—and not a word of what happened here to anyone,” I commanded, my tone firm.

“Yes... Uncle,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to Evelina, fixing her with a sharp look. “The same goes for you.”

“Yes, Lord Ferdinand,” Evelina replied, her voice trembling.

I opened the door and left my office, heading straight for the noble gate. On my way, I passed several people lying on the floor. Some were beginning to regain consciousness, while others remained completely still. Damn it. More problems to deal with later.

Upon reaching the temple entrance, I summoned my highbeast and flew at full speed toward the castle. The trip didn’t take long, and I landed at the entrance, where Norbert was already waiting for me. He informed me that Sylvester was expecting me in his office. Without wasting time, I headed there immediately.

I arrived in no time, finding only Sylvester and Karstedt seated around a table. The room had been cleared of others, a rare sign of the seriousness of the situation. I approached the table and took the empty chair opposite them.

As soon as I was seated, Sylvester activated a sound-blocking tool that covered the entire room.

“You’d better have a good reason for summoning me here, Sylvester,” I said, my tone cutting. “The temple is in a state of chaos.”

Sylvester sighed heavily. “It’s not just the temple,” he replied grimly. “The entire city is in the same state.”

I recalled the people lying unconscious in the temple hallways, but what unsettled me more was what I had noticed on my way to Sylvester’s office: the castle corridors were eerily empty, not a single soul in sight.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I couldn’t help but curse Mestionora’s crushing aura. Its effects had clearly spread far beyond the temple—likely encompassing the entire city of Ehrenfest.

“I imagine, given your reaction, that you thought this strange event was limited to the temple,” Karstedt said. “But no. We’ve received reports that the entire city was affected—the noble district and the lower city alike. Though the exact source has yet to be identified.”

“An attack?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes, we believe it was an attack. What else could it have been?” Sylvester replied. “Perhaps some kind of new weapon. At first, I thought it might have been someone’s crushing, but to affect the entire city in such a way... I can’t fathom anyone possessing that amount of mana.”

“Sylvester’s right,” Karstedt interjected. “It must have been some kind of weapon. When it happened, nearly every scholar in Sylvester’s office fainted. Both Sylvester and I nearly succumbed ourselves. If not for those blessings that fell upon us, I’m sure we would have climbed the towering staircase. The first blessing formed some kind of shield that protected us from the attack, and the second healed us.”

Sylvester sighed, his expression conflicted. “The entire knight order is on maximum alert. I’ll have to thank Rozemyne for the blessings—there’s no doubt they were her doing.”

His tone betrayed an undercurrent of unease. Since the confrontation between Elvira and Florencia, Sylvester’s relationship with Rozemyne had been... strained, to say the least. He was grateful for all she had done, especially for saving his children. First Wilfried—despite what had become of him—from being abandoned due to his lack of education, and then Charlotte, rescuing her from being kidnapped.

But Sylvester also carried a deep shame for what Florencia had said and done to Rozemyne. To this day, he hadn’t been able to face her directly outside of matters related to the printing industry or the duchy’s governance.

“We believe it was Georgine,” Sylvester said, his expression grim. “Who else could it have been?”

“No, it wasn’t Georgine,” I said firmly. “The source of this so-called ‘attack’ was the temple.”

“WHAT?” Both of them shouted in unison.

I recounted the events at the temple—the arrival of Mestionara in my office, how she was responsible for the crushing felt throughout the entire city, and how Rozemyne was the one who cast the blessings that had protected and healed everyone. I also explained Mestionara’s so-called request, which was, in truth, an order, as well as the supposed special blessing she gave Rozemyne.

“You can’t be serious, Ferdinand,” Karstedt said, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“I always knew you had a sense of humor, little brother,” Sylvester added, his pale face attempting to force a laugh. “It’s an amusing story, but this is an emergency.”

“I’m not joking, you fool!” I snapped, my voice laced with anger. “Do you think I’d joke about something like this, especially when the entire city was forced to its knees as a result?”

Reaching into my robes, I pulled out the letter that so call school that was delivered by the strange looking bird threw it onto the table.

“Here,” I said, pointing to the letter. “This is the harsh reality we now face.”

Sylvester picked up the bundle of papers from the table. First, he examined the envelope carefully, then turned his attention to the letter itself. His gaze was intense, scrutinizing every detail, but before long, a frown formed on his face. Just like me, he was unable to read it.

“And you expect me to believe that a goddess suddenly appeared in your office and this isn’t some elaborate joke?” Sylvester said, frustration lacing his tone. “What is this? I can’t even read it.”

I took the letter from his hands and repeated, word for word, the translation Rozemyne had provided.

“Ferdinand, you can read this?” Sylvester asked, his brows furrowed deeply.

“No,” I replied curtly. “Rozemyne can. She was the one who translated the letter for Elvira and me.”

“So it’s written in the language of her dream world?” Karstedt asked, his tone skeptical yet curious.

“It appears so,” I confirmed.

“And what about this?” Sylvester said, holding up another piece of paper from the bundle. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, shaking my head. “She only translated this one.” I pointed to the letter in my hand, the same one I had just read aloud.

“Haaaa...” Sylvester groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. “I really wish this were a prank. At least then, the attack might have been a foreign assault. But whether it’s a goddess or an attack from another duchy, it’s still more problems for us to deal with.” He groaned again, his voice muffled against the wood. “Karstedt, I can’t handle this. It’s too much. Fetch a bottle of vize.”

Karstedt stood, walked to a cabinet in the office, and retrieved a bottle of vize along with three glasses. He returned to the table and had just taken his seat when a knock at the door interrupted us.

Sylvester sighed and deactivated the sound-blocking tool. “See who it is,” he ordered Karstedt.

Karstedt opened the door to find one of the guards stationed outside. The man looked pale as he informed us that Elvira was requesting permission to enter.

The guard’s pallor was not surprising. Ever since the attack on the castle a year and a half ago, it had become almost routine to see Elvira storming into Sylvester’s office with blazing fury in her eyes. Her mere presence was enough to unnerve everyone who worked there.

The guards who were supposed to protect Sylvester often froze in fear at her arrival, unwilling to intervene. Even Karstedt seemed to shrink under the weight of her anger. I could only imagine that if Elvira ever decided to attack Sylvester outright, no one would dare come to his rescue.

Sylvester grimaced, then sighed deeply before allowing Elvira to enter. I stood and retrieved an extra chair while Karstedt escorted her to the table. Once everyone was seated, Sylvester reactivated the sound-blocking tool.

“What brings you here, Elvira?” Sylvester asked, his tone carrying a hint of irritation.

“I assumed Lord Ferdinand would have informed you about the events that occurred in the temple,” Elvira replied.

Sylvester nodded, and she continued, her voice as cold as a tundra wind. “Good. Then you must understand, Aub, how important it is for me to participate in this conversation—especially because it directly concerns my daughter.”

Sylvester’s eyes widened slightly before he groaned again, letting his noble mask crack completely to reveal his despair. “So it’s real,” he muttered. “I was still hoping Ferdinand was delusional, that it was all some kind of hallucination.”

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Dealing with the possible hostility of another duchy is bad enough—at least that’s something I can comprehend. But a goddess descending into the temple?” His voice trailed off, as if he were speaking more to himself than to any of us.

Sylvester’s despair soon shifted to a look of worry as he turned to me. “Was Charlotte with you when Mestionara appeared?”

“Yes, she was present for the entire incident,” I replied.

Sylvester began trembling. “How is she… and Rozemyne?”

Elvira answered, her voice steady but with a hint of sadness that sent a shiver down my spine. “Charlotte is fine—shaken, but that’s to be expected. She’s resting in her room at the temple. Evelina is keeping her company, and her knights are guarding the door. As for Rozemyne...”

Elvira’s eyes grew heavy with sorrow. “She’s still unconscious and running a high fever. I called Alexandra to the temple to assess her condition. It’s... not good.”

I clenched my fists under the table as Elvira continued. “Rozemyne’s mana is dangerously low, which isn’t surprising given how much she expended casting those two blessings—and how much we drained from her to stabilize her. Alexandra said her body is in the same fragile state it was a year ago, perhaps even worse. More tests will be needed, but those will have to wait until she wakes up.”

I lowered my gaze, frustration and guilt clawing at me. Rozemyne had been improving—slowly, painstakingly, but undeniably. Her health had been better. And now, thanks to that insufferable goddess, we were back at the starting line—or worse.

“Are there mana clumps again?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Not as far as Alexandra has been able to detect,” Elvira replied, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “I suppose we can count that as a small mercy.”

Sylvester and Karstedt clenched their fists, their faces reflecting their barely contained anger. Sylvester grabbed the bottle still sitting on the table, poured himself a full glass, and downed it in a single gulp. Karstedt slammed his fist against the table, cursing Mestionara under his breath. It took a while for all of us to calm down.

“So... what now?” Sylvester asked, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol.

“Before we discuss our next moves, there are some questions I need answered,” Elvira said, her eyes blazing with fury as they locked onto me. “During the meeting, Mestionara mentioned several times that my daughter has memories of a past life—or is from another world. Care to explain, Lord Ferdinand?”

I attempted to feign ignorance, but it was no use.

“It’s no use trying to fool me, Lord Ferdinand,” Elvira continued, her tone sharp. “I’m certain you know exactly what the goddess was referring to. Not once did you show any surprise when such things were mentioned.”

I froze, caught off guard by the directness of her accusation. Sylvester and Karstedt tensed beside me, their reactions not going unnoticed by Elvira.

“It seems my dear husband and our Aub also know about this,” she said coldly, her fiery gaze shifting from me to Karstedt.

Under her relentless stare, Karstedt faltered. It didn’t take long before he broke and confessed everything—Rozemyne’s memories of being an adult woman from a different world, and how she ended up in our world. 

Elvira’s eyes began to change, the seven divine colors swirling with fury within them. She reached into the bag at her belt, and the unmistakable sound of fey stones bursting and turning to gold dust filled the room.

“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” she shouted, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “Why did none of you idiots think to tell me? Knowing she carried the knowledge and customs of a commoner is one thing, but another world entirely is something I deserved to know!”

Sylvester stared at her, stunned by her outburst. Karstedt and I, however, were not surprised—Elvira could not be fooled when it came to Rozemyne’s origins.

“What?” she snapped, turning her sharp gaze on Sylvester. “Did you really think that poorly constructed story about Rozemyne being Rozemary’s daughter would fool me? If not for the fact that Rozemary spent most of her life sick and the nobility avoided the temple like the plague, that tale would have fallen apart in no time. Even Charlotte has started to doubt it.”

Sylvester’s face twisted as if he’d been struck in the stomach, but Elvira continued without pause.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a sharp edge to her voice. “Charlotte doesn’t seem to mind Rozemyne’s origins—she adores her big sister. As for me, I had a heart-to-heart conversation with Rozemyne some time ago. I told her that she is my daughter, and I don’t care where she comes from.”

“Elvira, you have to understand—” I began, but her icy gaze cut me off mid-sentence.

“Understand?” she spat. “No, Lord Ferdinand, it’s you who doesn’t understand. Don’t you see? The values of a different world could affect her ability to truly comprehend and adopt the customs of nobility of our world! Haven’t you noticed how much she struggles to grasp the common sense of our society? If I had known the truth earlier, I would have approached her education differently—made it easier for both of us.

“And beyond that, keeping such a significant part of her identity a secret must have been an incredibly lonely experience for her. Did any of you consider how much she’s endured on her own?”

Elvira continued her verbal assault for some time, dismantling every argument or excuse we offered with sharp logic. By the end, we couldn’t deny it—she was right. The three of us had been utter fools to keep this from her.

Once Elvira had calmed, though only slightly, we began discussing what to do next, particularly regarding the trip to that other world in a week’s time. Given how little we knew about it, the best we could do was prepare as thoroughly as possible, focusing on security measures for Rozemyne and those accompanying her.

As for who would go, it was decided: Elvira, Karstedt, Cornelius, Eckhart, and myself. Sylvester, eager to explore a different world, had also volunteered, but we unanimously rejected the idea. Our aub could not risk traveling to an unknown realm.

A thought struck me then. “Elvira, what happened to the tools and books Mestionara left behind? The books may prove useful.”

“I stored them in the hidden room at the back of my mansion,” Elvira replied.

“Rozemyne mentioned that this school is the setting of a fictional story from her world,” I reminded her. “If that’s true, the books might contain valuable information.”

“I see,” Elvira said, nodding. “Mestionara did say that fictional books sometimes reflect events from other worlds, though their accuracy can range anywhere from less than one percent to nearly 99.9%. Still, it’s worth reading them. I’ll give them to you—but only after I’m done with them. I will not be excluded from anything concerning my daughter ever again.”

I had no choice but to reluctantly agree.

With that, the meeting came to an end, and preparations for our journey to another world began in earnest.

Chapter Text

POV Cornelius

Mother and Father returned home around the sixth bell, both wearing somber expressions. That could not be a good sign. Earlier today, the entire city experienced some kind of attack. I had been training with Grandfather and Eckhart in one of the knight’s training grounds when it happened. It felt as though someone was crushing us with an overwhelming amount of mana. I nearly fainted from the intense pressure, but then lights of blessing fell upon us, forming some kind of protective shield.

When the attack ended, a second blessing fell, healing our injuries and easing the oppressive mana.

It was clear to all of us that the one who cast those blessings was none other than Rozemyne. Grandfather wanted to rush to the temple to ensure she was unharmed—and so did I—but instead, we reported to the knight’s order to investigate what had happened.

The scene there was chaotic. No one seemed to know what was going on. We were ordered to remain vigilant and prepared for a potential second attack. As apprentices, our role was to support the adult knights, assisting where needed.

The bells continued to ring, marking the passing hours, but nothing happened. The aub and Father did not come to give us further instructions or provide new information beyond the assurance that the attack was being investigated. After hours of uncertainty, the apprentices were dismissed and sent back to our homes.

Now, we are gathered in one of the meeting rooms of the mansion. The entire family is here—well, almost. Rozemyne is not with us. When I tried to ask about her whereabouts, Mother informed me that she was still in the temple. My suspicions were confirmed when she admitted that Rozemyne was indeed the one who cast the blessings, but she had fallen ill afterward.

She protected us. A pang of guilt struck me. Once again, I wasn’t by her side to protect her. But I couldn’t dwell on that thought for long, as Grandfather’s booming voice demanded to know how she was doing

Mother hesitated, her tone strained as she replied. “She has a high fever, but she’s stable. Alexandra is looking after her.”

Despite her words, something in Mother’s eyes told me she wasn’t being completely honest. Father’s somber expression only deepened my concern.

Grandfather noticed it too. Before he could say anything, Father ordered the attendants to leave the room. Once the room was cleared, Mother activated a wide-area sound-blocking tool. The faint hum of magic filled the air as the tool came to life.

“She is stable,” Mother began, her voice steady but strained. “That’s not a lie. But there’s more—and it’s directly related to what happened earlier today.”

Mother started recounting the events in the temple. Her words were clear, but my mind struggled to process them. By the time she finished, the room had fallen into a deathly silence, the weight of her revelations freezing all of us in place.

The one who broke the silence was none other than Grandfather. He shot up from his chair, slamming his fist against the table with such force that it shattered under the impact.

“Absolutely not!” he bellowed. “I don’t care if it’s a command from a goddess—my granddaughter is NOT going to attend that school! She is NOT going to another world! Who knows what dangers await her there?” His fury burned like an unrelenting flame as he turned his piercing gaze toward Father.

“Karstedt, why are you so calm about this?” he demanded, then turned to Mother with equal fury. “And you! How could you allow this? Why didn’t you firmly reject that cursed goddess’s petition?”

Grandfather’s anger only grew, his voice trembling with rage. “How dare she hurt my granddaughter! I don’t care if she’s a goddess—if I ever see her, I’ll make her pay!”

“Father, please calm down…”

“Father-in-law,” mother interjected, his voice firm yet weary, “we did try to refuse her. As I told you, Lord Ferdinand confronted her and demanded that she leave. But that only led to the entire city being crushed under her mana. Rozemyne also said no, but the goddess ignored her completely.

"It was painfully clear that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She would have crushed us all until she received an affirmative response. We had no choice but to relent.”

Grandfather frowned, his expression tense, but in the end, he sighed deeply and sat back down.

“So, now what?” he asked in an annoyed tone.

Mother brought out a letter and placed it on the table.

“In a week, Rozemyne will have to go to this other world to meet the school’s staff and familiarize herself with the environment. But she won’t have to go alone. She can be accompanied by us—her parents,” Mother explained.

Father added that they were planning to take me and Eckhart as well, both as her brothers and to provide support and additional protection in case it was needed.

Grandfather stood up abruptly once again, his fury reigniting. “And why am I not going?” he demanded, his voice booming with anger.

Father tried to reason with him, his tone calm but firm. “The entire family can’t go, not with the city in a state of emergency. We still don’t know what we’re going to tell everyone about the attack, and the aub will need all the help he can get to keep things in order.”

It was obvious to me, though, that there was more to it than that. They didn’t want Grandfather to go—and I couldn’t blame them.

Grandfather, despite his age and retired status, is an incredibly strong knight. However, his short temper makes him as much a liability as an asset. The last thing anyone needs is for him to cause trouble in a foreign world.

Moreover, Grandfather can be dangerous to both allies and enemies in equal measure. With Rozemyne’s frail health, I feared that, in his overzealousness to protect her, he might end up hurting—or even killing—her by accident.

It took time to convince Grandfather, but he eventually relented, albeit reluctantly. His grumpy demeanor and the frown etched deep into his face reflected just how unhappy he was with all of this.

After a bit more discussion, the meeting finally came to an end. Once Grandfather had left, Mother revealed another piece of news: Lord Ferdinand would be joining us on the journey.

This announcement brought immediate joy to Eckhart, who began proclaiming that with his master accompanying us, there was nothing to fear. I could only roll my eyes at his fanatical speech, but inwardly, I felt more at ease knowing Lord Ferdinand would be coming along. Especially since he was the only one capable of keeping my little sister’s inevitable rampages under control.

The days leading up to the trip were grueling. Grandfather “kidnapped” me for intense training sessions. His training had always been tough, but this time it was truly hellish. By the end of each day, I was completely exhausted, my muscles screaming in pain. Still, I didn’t complain. None of us knew what we might face in this other world, so we had to be as prepared as possible.

Eckhart joined us in the training, and even Father came to the training grounds to participate. The atmosphere was tense, but we all pushed ourselves to the limit, knowing the stakes were higher than ever.

The day of our departure arrived in what felt like no time at all. That morning, we gathered at the temple and shared a light breakfast. I could sense that all of us were on edge, though no one said it aloud.

As the third bell began to chime, Rozemyne stood up in the middle of the room. With a snap of her fingers, a gate appeared—a shimmering portal that would lead us to this other world.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead. Without hesitation, I stepped through the gate, followed closely by my family.

Pov Dumbledore

The early morning light streamed through the arched windows of my office, casting warm hues on the ancient stone walls and the scattered artifacts that lined the shelves. The gentle hum of magic in the air, ever-present at Hogwarts, felt unusually tense today, as though the castle itself could sense the gravity of what was to come.

I stood by the window, gazing out at the rolling hills that surrounded the school. Beyond the serene landscape lay the unknown—an unknown that would soon cross into our world.

The meeting with the goddess of another universe was still vivid in my mind. The experience was so extraordinary that at times I doubted whether it had truly happened. Perhaps it was merely the early onset of dementia in an old man, I had thought. But no—it was real. The tools the goddess entrusted to us rested on my desk, a tangible reminder of her visit.

Professor McGonagall had used one of those tools, a special pen and paper, to write the acceptance letter, just as she had done countless times before. But this time was different—the student to whom it was sent was not of this world.

Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined finding myself in such a situation. Even now, after it has happened, it remains difficult to believe, much less comprehend. For once, I felt lost—utterly unprepared, with not the faintest idea of what to expect or how to proceed.

Three days after the letter was sent, we received a response. The reply was written in elegant and beautiful handwriting. The girl had confirmed receipt of our letter and expressed her delight at the invitation. She wrote that she and her family would come on the date we had specified and would arrive at the "third bell."

Third bell? What time was the third bell?

With no other choice, the only thing we could do was wait. But wait for what, exactly? I didn’t know. I had no idea what the letter meant by "third bell," nor how or where the girl named Myne and her family would arrive.

A soft pop interrupted my musings as Fawkes appeared on his perch. The phoenix tilted his head, his golden eyes studying me as though he, too, shared my concerns. I smiled faintly and extended a hand, which he nuzzled with surprising gentleness.

“It seems we have visitors today, old friend,” I murmured. “Ones unlike any we have hosted before.”

My gaze shifted to the clock in my office: 9:30 a.m. The precise time felt oddly irrelevant, given the uncertainty surrounding their arrival.

Suddenly, a white-silver cat materialized in the room. Its translucent form glowed softly, and I immediately recognized it as Professor McGonagall’s Patronus. The cat gazed at me for a moment before speaking in her voice:

“They’ve arrived. They’re in the castle lobby.”

I stood and walked toward the lobby, mentally reviewing the schedule for the visit and the topics I wanted to discuss with Myne and her family. I had countless questions. Mestionara had provided little information about their world, leaving us to prepare only for the basics. I was also concerned about cultural differences. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally offend them and complicate things further.

As I reached the lobby, I noticed a small group standing together. Professor McGonagall stood nearby, looking uncharacteristically uneasy. When she noticed me enter, she rushed toward me, her expression tense.

“Professor Dumbledore, we seem to have a problem,” she said, her voice tinged with worry. “They’re speaking a language similar to German, but it’s not close enough for us to hold a proper conversation.”

“Worry not, Professor,” I replied, offering a reassuring smile. “One of the tools the goddess left us is a magical translator. It should resolve the issue.”

I reached into my robes to retrieve the tool, but before I could activate it, a radiant rain of light began to fall over the lobby. The phenomenon was strikingly similar to what had occurred during Mestionara’s appearance in my office.

As we turned toward our guests, one figure—a tall man with sky-blue hair—lowered himself to the ground, kneeling in front of a smaller figure that was now obscured from my view. His voice carried a sharp tone of reprimand as he spoke.

“What are you doing, you fool? Why did you cast that blessing?”

The smaller figure, still hidden behind him, responded with a firm but soft voice. “It’s a prayer to Grammatur so we can understand each other. I can serve as the interpreter for the meeting. And that hurt, Ferdinand!”

The man—Ferdinand, I presumed—sighed audibly, shaking his head before rising to his full height once more, finally revealing the speaker. 

I nearly jumped back in surprise—the girl was the exact image of the Goddess of Wisdom, only younger. She had long, midnight-blue hair, styled into an intricate braid adorned with a flower-shaped hair ornament. Her golden eyes glimmered with curiosity and vitality. She wore a stunning dress in various shades of green, embroidered with intricate patterns. Even from this distance, it was clear that the fabric was of the highest quality. Her ensemble was completed with fine jewelry: a delicate ring on her left hand and an exquisite bracelet on her right wrist.

For a brief moment, I wondered if she might be the goddess in disguise. But I quickly dismissed the thought. She lacked the overwhelming energy of divinity that surrounded Mestionara, and her demeanor was far more joyful and less arrogant. Still, she carried herself with elegance and an undeniable aura of authority.

I turned my attention to her companions. The one she called Ferdinand was a striking young man. His light blue hair and pale golden eyes contrasted sharply with Myne’s midnight hues, making them seem like night and day standing side by side. His clothing, like hers, was clearly expensive and tailored with care.

Next, I noticed a woman with gleaming dark green hair styled in an intricate updo. Her dress, also made of high-quality fabric, was adorned with beautiful embroidery. She wore several pieces of jewelry that sparkled subtly in the light. Her presence exuded an air of dignity and refinement; every gesture she made was graceful, as though she had been born to command attention without effort.

The other three companions wore clothing similar in style to Ferdinand’s, though their outfits seemed designed to allow for more movement. The man standing beside the woman with dark green hair was middle-aged, somewhat robust, and had reddish-brown hair. His commanding presence suggested he was a leader, someone accustomed to giving orders.

They were also accompanied by two younger men, both with green hair, though in different shades. The younger one had a lighter, fresher tone, while the older’s hair was darker, closer to the shade of the woman’s. It was clear they were brothers, likely her sons.

Given her refined demeanor and the familial resemblance, the woman must be Myne’s mother. But her father? Myne’s golden eyes and striking midnight-blue hair bore no resemblance to anyone else present, save Ferdinand. Could he be her father? The possibility seemed plausible, especially given how close he stood to her, as if ready to intervene at any moment.

That left the man with reddish-brown hair. Perhaps he was an uncle or a mentor, someone closely tied to the family but not directly related by blood.

Professor McGonagall and I began approaching the group. I couldn’t help but continue observing them with surprise. What truly caught my attention was the color of their hair. Except for the man with reddish-brown hair, the vibrant shades they sported were unlike anything common in our world. Did everyone in their world have such strikingly colored hair?

Their attire also stood out. At first glance, it was clear they were a wealthy family. That wasn’t unusual here at Hogwarts, where many students came from high-profile families. However, the picture they painted was different—standing before them felt like encountering a noble family from a bygone era.

Once we were in front of them, Professor McGonagall began the introductions.

“Good morning, and welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am the Deputy Headmistress of this school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Good morning, and I welcome you to Hogwarts,” I added with a warm smile.

The girl at the front of the group stepped forward and, to my astonishment, knelt gracefully, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was melodic, like the chiming of a bell, as she spoke.

“We are pleased beyond words that Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time, has woven our threads of fate tightly together and allowed us to meet.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what her greeting meant or if I was supposed to respond in kind. Before I could decide, she stood and continued speaking.

“My name is Rozemyne, and these are my family and guardians. This is my mother, Elvira,” she said, gesturing to the woman with green hair. “This is my father, Karstedt,” she added, surprising me as she indicated the man with reddish-brown hair. My earlier assumption had been wrong.

“They are my elder brothers, Cornelius and Eckhart.” She gestured to the two young men with green hair. I noted that the younger one, Cornelius, had a lighter shade, while the elder, Eckhart, had darker hair. Their names, at least, weren’t as unusual as their appearances, and I felt a small sigh of relief internally.

“And this is my mentor, Ferdinand,” Rozemyne finished, motioning toward the man with light blue hair. So, my earlier guess about him being a mentor or close family friend had been correct, though I’d inverted their roles.

With the introductions complete, I spoke.

“If you would be so kind as to follow us to my office, we can begin discussing what the school has to offer. I also have a few questions I’d like to ask... This is, after all, a rather unique situation for us.”

“We would be delighted,” Rozemyne replied, her voice light and easygoing. “And worry not, Professor—it is a strange case for us as well.”

As she spoke, Ferdinand shot her a sharp, disapproving look, but she seemed to ignore him entirely.

“Let’s go; we will lead the way,” I said, gesturing for them to follow.

Chapter Text

POV Elvira

Witnessing my daughter open a portal to another world with a mere snap of her fingers filled me with a deep sense of dread. The uncertainties of what awaited us on the other side, coupled with the ominous implications for our future, weighed heavily on my mind. But above all, I felt an overwhelming anger toward this entire situation—particularly directed at Mestionara.

The goddess had descended into our mortal realm, imposing an unreasonable demand on my daughter. Yet, what truly ignited a fury so intense it blurred my vision was the so-called "help" the goddess had bestowed upon Rozemyne.

The memory of my daughter's heart-wrenching scream when the goddess granted her that supposed blessing still haunted me. Her face, contorted in agony, was seared into my mind. In that moment, I had thought I was about to witness my daughter ascend the towering staircase, leaving this world behind forever.

Even after this horrendous situation had passed and Lord Ferdinand declared my daughter stable, I couldn’t stop trembling. More than anything, I wanted to stay by Rozemyne's side, ensuring she was safe and comforted. However, this whole mess required immediate action. As soon as Lord Ferdinand left to meet the aub, I carried Rozemyne back to her room and summoned her doctor, Alexandra, to examine her condition.

Alexandra arrived swiftly, her face tightening with concern the moment she saw Rozemyne. Without wasting a second, she began assessing her condition with practiced precision.

Rozemyne’s health had always been fragile. Only recently, after awakening from her jureve, had she been declared healthy. Yes, her body was still weak, but she had been steadily improving. Her progress, though slow, had brought hope that she would eventually recover fully with time and care.

That hope was shattered when Alexandra completed her examination. As she turned to me, her expression filled with sorrow, I nearly lost my composure. She informed me that, while Rozemyne’s life was not in immediate danger, her body might regress to its previous state—or worse. Alexandra explained that further tests would be necessary, though they could wait until Rozemyne regained consciousness.

When Alexandra asked what had happened to her, I couldn’t bring myself to answer. The truth behind this catastrophe was too complicated to reveal, and I didn’t even know how to begin explaining it. She also mentioned the effects of what she called an “attack.” According to Alexandra, Mestionara had unleashed her mana so intensely that the entire city was crushed beneath its weight. She also explained that Rozemyne’s blessing, cast to protect and heal those present, had extended beyond the room and enveloped the entire citizenry.

I asked Alexandra to stay by Rozemyne’s side and watch over her. It took every ounce of my willpower to leave the room. My heart ached with the need to stay, but I knew my duties required me elsewhere. My first destination was the High Priest’s office.

The tools and books that Mestionara had left behind sat ominously on Rozemyne’s desk. I gathered them carefully, my hands trembling slightly as I touched the objects. They felt heavier than they should have, as though the weight of the goddess’s presence still clung to them. With purposeful strides, I left for my mansion, where I secured the items in the hidden room of my chambers. Only once they were safely locked away did I allow myself a moment to breathe.

But my task was far from over. My next destination was the castle—the aub’s office, to be precise. By now, Lord Ferdinand would have briefed Sylvester and Karstedt on the events at the temple, and their discussion on what steps to take next would already have begun. I could not afford to miss this meeting. Whatever decisions were made would undoubtedly shape my daughter’s future, and I would not allow others to dictate her fate without my input.

The meeting was a disaster. Chaos reigned as voices rose and tempers flared. As if this whole situation hadn’t already pushed me to my limit, what I discovered during that meeting sent a fresh wave of rage coursing through me.

I had known from the beginning that Rozemyne was not the biological daughter of my husband and that delicate flower he called his third wife. The hastily crafted story they told could never have fooled me. But that wasn’t what angered me.

No, what truly set my blood boiling was learning that Rozemyne had memories of a past life—a life where she had lived to adulthood. And yet, her three so-called guardians, those fools, had deemed it unnecessary to tell me.

How dare they keep such vital information from me? How dare they think I, her mother, didn’t need to know?

The realization struck me like a thunderclap: Rozemyne’s struggles to adapt to noble culture had nothing to do with the differences between commoners and nobles. It was something far deeper—a clash between entirely different worlds. The weight of that truth settled heavily on my chest, but it was soon replaced by a searing anger.

They tried to justify their actions, of course. Words like "protecting her" and "It was in Ehrenfest 's best interest" spilled from their mouths, but they rang hollow to my ears. My patience, already worn thin, snapped entirely.

I stood, my voice cutting through the cacophony like a blade. “You will never exclude me from information regarding my daughter again. Am I understood?”

My gaze swept across the room, daring any of them to challenge me. The fear in their eyes—yes, even in Lord Ferdinand’s usually unreadable face—was a testament to the weight of my words. They knew I meant every syllable.

For the first time in the meeting, silence fell. I sat back down, the tension in the room so thick it was almost suffocating. My fury still burned within me, but at least one thing was clear: the message had been received.

Shortly after the meeting concluded, I rushed back to the temple and to my daughter’s side. Alexandra met me at the door with a deeply worried expression.

“Lady Rozemyne has developed a very high fever,” she informed me. “She’s covered in sweat, and her face is contorted in pain. I’ve already administered medicine to reduce the fever, but so far, it hasn’t had any effect.”

The sight of my daughter lying there, pale and trembling, filled me with dread. Her breaths were shallow, and beads of sweat clung to her forehead despite the cool compresses placed by her attendants. I could do nothing but sit by her bedside, clutching her hand and praying silently for her recovery.

Her condition remained unchanged for two agonizing days. Each moment felt like an eternity, my worry growing with every passing hour. Alexandra and the attendants worked tirelessly to keep her as comfortable as possible, but the fever refused to subside.

On the morning of the third day, however, the fever finally broke. Relief washed over me when Rozemyne stirred and opened her eyes, though her movements were slow and weak. Her attendants, overjoyed, sprang into action, carefully helping her sit up before drawing a warm bath to cleanse her of the lingering sweat. They dressed her in fresh, soft clothes, their hands moving gently yet efficiently.

Once she was ready, the two of us shared a light breakfast in her room. I couldn’t help but watch her closely as she ate, every small movement reassuring me that she was truly awake and recovering. Despite my relief, a sense of unease still gnawed at me.

Now that she was awake, I felt the weight of unspoken questions pressing down on me. I wanted—no, needed—to speak to her about her past life, to understand the memories she carried and the weight she bore because of them. Yet, the words caught in my throat, tangled with my fear of what such a conversation might bring.

After breakfast, I ordered my daughter’s attendants to prepare her belongings for the move back to the mansion. She still looked tired and weak, but we needed to sort this mess out, and there was much to discuss. A more private environment, far from prying eyes, was essential.

We reached the mansion in no time. Once Rozemyne was settled in her room, I entered with Alexandra following close behind to perform a series of health check-ups. By the end of the examinations, Rozemyne was visibly exhausted, her breathing shallow and strained. Alexandra’s expression, usually composed, was conflicted, a flicker of worry visible in her eyes.

“Just like the tests I performed three days ago, there are no signs of mana clumps in her body,” Alexandra began, her tone careful. “According to the results, her condition is no different from the last full medical check-up we conducted. However... there is something different about her mana.”

“Different how?” I asked, my voice tense with concern.

Alexandra pulled out a fey stone glowing with a radiant, pearlescent white light.

“Is that... Rozemyne’s mana?” I asked, my breath catching.

Alexandra nodded solemnly before turning her gaze to Rozemyne. “Milady, have you tried to use your highbeast recently?”

Rozemyne shook her head. “No, we returned to the mansion in a carriage,” she replied softly.

“Would you be so kind as to summon your highbeast, milady?” Alexandra requested gently.

Rozemyne nodded and reached for the small cage on her belt, extracting her highbeast stone with care. She placed it in her palm and concentrated, attempting to transform the stone into her highbeast.

Nothing happened.

The stone remained inert, its surface dull and unmoving.

Rozemyne furrowed her brow in confusion, her hand trembling slightly as she tried again. The result was the same—no response from the stone. Alexandra’s frown deepened, her eyes narrowing as she observed the scene.

“Why can’t I summon my highbeast?” my daughter said, her voice filled with frustration. “I can’t even manage to get the stone to change shape!” She kept trying, her determination evident, until the stone crumbled into dust in her hands. A surprised look crossed her face, quickly replaced by one of deep sadness.

Alexandra spoke softly as she carefully collected the gold dust that had once been Rozemyne’s highbeast stone. “It seems that the mana which first dyed the stone and your current mana are no longer the same. Somehow, your mana has completely changed.”

She gestured toward the fey stone she had placed on the table. Rozemyne’s eyes widened in recognition as she stared at its radiant, pearlescent glow.

“My color used to be pale yellow,” Rozemyne murmured, her voice trembling. “Are you saying... are you saying my mana has been modified to the point it’s changed color?”

Alexandra nodded solemnly. “That appears to be the case. This is something that has never been observed before. Such a drastic change in mana is unprecedented, and it could very well be what’s causing your body to weaken, milady.”

She paused, her expression thoughtful yet troubled. “I will need to keep you under close observation and carefully consider how we might address this issue. Unfortunately, I don’t expect it to be an easy task. As I mentioned, there’s no precedent for a change like this.”

Alexandra handed Rozemyne a potion and gently urged her to rest, assuring her that she would return later that day to check on her. Once Alexandra left, I was alone with my daughter.

The weight of what we had just discovered hung heavily in the room. Rozemyne and I were both shaken, our thoughts racing with unanswered questions and growing concerns.

An ordonnanz suddenly landed in front of me, breaking the silence. It carried a message from Lord Ferdinand, inquiring about Rozemyne’s condition and asking if it would be convenient for him to come see us. I quickly replied that Rozemyne was awake and stable, and that he was welcome to join us. Normally, a minimum of three days’ notice is required to request a meeting between nobles, but this situation was anything but normal.

Lord Ferdinand arrived shortly after, with Karstedt following close behind. After exchanging polite greetings, we settled into our seats. Each of us held a sound-blocking tool in our hands, ensuring our conversation would remain private.

And so, the meeting began.

I informed Lord Ferdinand and Karstedt of Rozemyne’s condition and the diagnosis Alexandra had given us. As I spoke, their faces darkened, their concern evident. Ferdinand’s usual composed expression cracked slightly, his brows furrowing, while Karstedt leaned forward, his hands clenched tightly on the table.

“It’s Mestionara’s fault,” Rozemyne said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Both men turned to her, their eyes narrowing in unison.

Rozemyne took a shaky breath and began to explain. “She... she changed my mana. She turned it into divine mana and said I was a demigoddess now.” Her voice wavered as she continued. “She told me it was a blessing, but... I don’t feel blessed.”

Her words sent a chill through the room. I could feel the tension radiating from Ferdinand and Karstedt as they absorbed the revelation.

“She made you a demigoddess?” Ferdinand repeated, his voice icy and controlled, though his clenched jaw betrayed his barely restrained anger.

Rozemyne nodded hesitantly, her discomfort clear. “She said my new mana was necessary... that she had ‘ensured’ it was suitable for my new responsibilities.” Her voice faltered slightly before she added, “But she didn’t really explain what that means or how to manage it.”

“And what of the cost?” Ferdinand demanded, his voice rising slightly. “What did she say about the toll it would take on your body? Did she even mention it?”

Rozemyne hesitated, her gaze dropping to her lap. “She said it might be difficult at first, but she assured me I’d adapt over time. She... gave me a bracelet to help control the mana and said that was all I needed.” She paused, her eyes filled with unease. “But I can feel it... I can feel how much my body is struggling. She didn’t say anything about how much it would hurt or how it might affect me physically.”

I couldn’t hold back my rage any longer. “That’s it? A bracelet and vague words of encouragement? Does she call this wisdom?” My voice was sharp, my anger spilling over. “She turned my daughter into a demigoddess, left her with no proper guidance, and expects her to endure this alone?”

Karstedt exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “This is beyond irresponsible. Divine mana... No wonder her body is struggling. She was already fragile, and now she’s expected to manage something this immense?”

Rozemyne’s small voice broke through the tension. “I tried... I tried to manage it. But it’s too much. My mana feels wrong—it’s like trying to contain a storm, wild and impossible to control. I’m afraid... without this bracelet, I feel like I might be consumed by my own mana.”

Her words struck me like a dagger to the heart. She looked so small, so vulnerable, sitting there with tears welling in her eyes. I reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly as if to anchor her.

She squeezed my hand back and took several deep breaths to compose herself. Once she appeared calmer, Lord Ferdinand spoke, offering to help her practice and regain control over her mana. His words seemed to have a profound effect on Rozemyne. She thanked him softly, a hint of relief visible in her expression.

Lord Ferdinand then placed the letter from the school on the table. He took one of the pages—the one that had not yet been translated—and handed it to Rozemyne. “Can you tell us what this last page says?” he asked.

Rozemyne read through the text carefully. “It’s a set of instructions,” she explained. “Apparently, the white pages attached to the letter are a special kind of paper provided by Mestionara. They allow communication between worlds. The instructions explain how to use them—it’s similar to sending a magic letter.”

With little choice, we composed a reply to the invitation, accepting the opportunity to learn more about the school and its teachers on the stipulated date. Rozemyne wrote that we would arrive at the third bell.

As she was writing the reply, I hesitated for a moment before asking in a shy voice, “Is this the language of your former world?”

Rozemyne avoided my gaze, her voice low and uncertain. She reminded me of a frightened shumil. “Yes, this is English, but it’s not my... native language. I used to live in a country called Japan, where the official language is Japanese.”

Lord Ferdinand’s curiosity was piqued. “So how can you read this?” he asked, leaning slightly forward.

“Well,” Rozemyne replied, her voice steadying as she explained, “it’s because I was taught it while attending school. English became a universal language—it was used to communicate with people from other countries.”

Her gaze grew distant, as though she were recalling memories buried deep within her. “Back on Earth, there were around 7,000 different languages spoken across various regions. Each language carried its own history, culture, and identity. But for international communication, English became the standard. It wasn’t always easy—learning a new language could take years, and even then, many people never became fluent.”

Lord Ferdinand leaned forward, his curiosity evident. “Fascinating. And yet, with so many languages, they chose one to unify communication across nations. Was this by necessity, or a deliberate effort to impose order?”

Rozemyne shook her head. “A bit of both, I suppose. English gained prominence through historical events—colonization, global trade, and technological advances. By the time I was in school, it was already widely taught as a second language. It wasn’t perfect, though. Misunderstandings still happened, and not everyone agreed on using it as the ‘universal’ tongue.”

I couldn’t help but feel intrigued. “You said there were 7,000 languages... How could anyone manage such diversity?”

Rozemyne’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “It wasn’t easy. Many smaller languages disappeared over time, especially those without written forms or official recognition. Efforts were made to preserve them, but globalization meant some languages simply faded away.”

She paused, her expression thoughtful. “That’s part of why Japanese was so important to me. It was more than just a way to speak—it was a connection to my identity, my culture, my home. Losing it would have been like losing a piece of myself.”

Ferdinand tapped his fingers against the table, his sharp mind clearly at work. “A world with thousands of languages... And now you find yourself here, where your knowledge of this ‘English’ has become a rare asset. How fortuitous for us.”

Rozemyne let out a soft laugh, though her tone carried a trace of melancholy. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Something so common in my old world feels almost alien here.”

I reached out to place a hand on hers, offering a silent gesture of comfort. Her eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I glimpsed the weight she carried—memories of a world long gone and an identity she could no longer fully claim.

Both Lord Ferdinand and Karstedt looked at her with sympathy. We wanted to question her further about the world Mestionara was sending her to, but Rozemyne didn’t look well—she needed to rest. Reluctantly, we decided to leave the conversation there. Lord Ferdinand and Karstedt excused themselves shortly after.

Rozemyne took a nap to regain her strength until it was time to eat. As for me, I retreated to my chambers, instructing my attendants not to disturb me until the meal. Once alone, I entered my hidden room, where the books and tools Mestionara had given us were securely stored.

I carefully retrieved the first book, some paper, and a pen, then sat at my desk. The weight of the book in my hands felt symbolic, as though it carried not just knowledge, but the burden of understanding the challenges Rozemyne would face. With a deep breath, I opened it and began to read, my pen poised to take notes.

I was almost finished with the first book. On my desk lay a pile of notes about the world my daughter would be forced to enter to attend this school called Hogwarts. The more I read, the more I found myself against the idea. What I had learned so far only deepened my concerns.

The voice of one of my attendants reached me through the communication device, informing me it was time to eat. With a sigh, I closed the book, carefully stored away my notes, and left my hidden room to join Rozemyne for the meal.

Rozemyne looked much better than she had that morning. Despite the quiet atmosphere, it was a pleasant meal, just the two of us. The warmth of her presence brought me a rare moment of peace, even though I knew the conversation we needed to have loomed over us.

Afterward, I gently took her hand. “Come with me, dear. There’s something important we need to discuss.”

Her eyes searched mine, hesitant, but she nodded. I led her to my hidden room, knowing this would be an emotional talk for us both.

Once inside, I turned to her. “Rozemyne, I’d like to know more about your previous life. Who you were, what you experienced... if you’re ready to tell me.”

She hesitated, glancing at me uncertainly, but then her expression softened. “I used to live in a world filled with books,” she began, her voice carrying a mixture of nostalgia and longing. “There were libraries everywhere, with shelves stacked so high they touched the ceilings. I had access to so many stories, so much knowledge. It was like a dream come true.”

Her face lit up as she recounted the books she loved and the things she wanted to recreate here—printing presses, public libraries, and literacy for all. I could see the passion in her eyes, the joy she felt remembering those things.

But as she spoke, her expression gradually shifted. The light in her eyes dimmed, and her voice grew quieter. She stopped talking altogether, her hands trembling slightly in her lap.

“What’s wrong, dear?” I asked gently.

She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I still feel regret,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t appreciate my mother enough. She worked so hard, and I was always too absorbed in my books to notice. I didn’t thank her. I didn’t even say goodbye.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at me, her voice trembling. “I just... I want to see her again. To apologize. To tell her I loved her.”

Her confession broke my heart. I moved closer, taking her hands in mine. “Dear,” I said softly, “I know it’s hard. I can’t imagine how much you must miss her. But you have a family here with us now. I’m not asking you to forget her—she’ll always be a part of you. What I’m asking is that you let go of the guilt. Holding onto those regrets will only weigh you down.”

“Yes, I know, Mother,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. “But I can’t help it. I thought I had come to terms with my own death, but... knowing I’ll be returning to a version of Earth, even if it’s not my own, stirs everything up again. It’s like reopening a wound I thought had healed.”

I squeezed her hands tightly, offering her what comfort I could. “Learn to forgive yourself, Rozemyne. You did the best you could with the time you had. And no matter what, you have us now. We’ll always be here to support you.”

Her lips trembled as tears spilled down her cheeks. She stood, climbed into my lap, and wrapped her arms around me, clinging as though afraid to let go. “Thank you, Mom,” she murmured.

I held her close, stroking her hair as she cried softly into my shoulder. The quiet of the hidden room enveloped us, the only sound her occasional sniffles. As the minutes passed, I realized she had fallen asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

Carefully, I lifted her into my arms and left the hidden room. Ottilie, one of her attendants, appeared at my call. “Please take her to her room to rest,” I said softly, placing Rozemyne into her arms.

I watched as Ottilie carried her away, my heart heavy yet lighter at the same time. Watching her sleep, I could see the faintest trace of peace on her face. In that moment, I vowed to do everything in my power to help her heal—not to erase her past, but to give her the strength to move forward.

The days leading up to our departure were plagued with endless activity. We worked tirelessly to prepare our defenses and decide which topics to address during the upcoming meeting. Of course, all of this was done in absolute secrecy, while simultaneously maintaining our normal routines and dealing with the chaos Mestionara had caused in the duchy.

During these days, I attended several meetings with Lord Ferdinand, Aub Ehrenfest, and my husband, Karstedt. We discussed a wide range of issues, including the challenges facing the duchy—problems that had only grown more severe thanks to Mestionara’s interference. I reported what I had learned from the books and my conversations with Rozemyne about this so-called wizarding world.

We reached a consensus: only a select group of people would be informed about Rozemyne attending a school in another world. The first person I suggested informing was Alexandra. It was crucial that Rozemyne’s doctor be aware of the situation, especially since I intended to ask Alexandra to accompany her when she attended the school.

My request was accepted, and additional people would be informed depending on the results of the meeting with the headmaster of Hogwarts. On the day before our trip, we held one last meeting. During this discussion, I shared all the notes I had taken from the books; by now, I had finished the first three.

I will admit that the knowledge this place offers is fascinating, but the dangers presented in each book only reinforced my reluctance to send Rozemyne there. Beyond these dangers, I am deeply concerned about my daughter’s living arrangements. According to the books, students are divided into living quarters based on what a talking hat determines, and they are not accompanied by knights, attendants, or scholars.

The thought of Rozemyne being left to navigate an unfamiliar world without the support she is accustomed to fills me with dread. As an archduke candidate, her every move must uphold the dignity and honor of our duchy. How can she possibly maintain that without an entourage to guide her and ensure her needs are met?

I clenched my hands tightly, the weight of my fears pressing down on me. Sending her there feels like throwing her into a storm without shelter—no protection, no familiarity, only uncertainty. I can only hope that this meeting with the headmaster will provide answers, or at least some reassurance that my daughter will not be placed in an untenable position.

For now, I have no choice but to prepare and trust that my concerns will be addressed. But deep down, the worry remains, gnawing at me with every passing moment.

All of them seemed to share some of my concerns. Lord Ferdinand, in particular, was deeply worried about Rozemyne’s safety, especially because she has a tendency to charge ahead with any idea that crosses her mind without considering the consequences—particularly when books are involved.

In my notes, I listed the Hogwarts library as one of the major challenges we would need to address. We frequently have to pry whatever book she’s reading out of her hands just to get her attention, and now that she’ll have access to such an enormous library, we’re all bracing ourselves for the chaos she might cause. It’s a problem that has given us more than a few headaches.

For the meeting, it was decided that Rozemyne would lead the conversation. None of us were entirely comfortable with this decision, but she is the only one who speaks the language and is familiar with the customs of that world.

Lord Ferdinand then asked if Mestionara had left behind any magical tools that could serve as a translator. I admitted I wasn’t sure—none of the tools had come with explanations of their functions, and I had avoided touching them so far out of caution.

“Bring them to me,” Lord Ferdinand said firmly. “I’ll study them and determine their uses.”

I had anticipated this request, so I had already brought the tools with me. As I handed him the tools and the books I had read, his expression shifted. He examined the tools with sharp, calculating eyes, his fingers lightly brushing over the intricate designs etched into their surfaces.

He carefully placed the tools aside for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning each item with a focus that bordered on obsession. His fingers traced the intricate designs etched into their surfaces as though committing every line to memory.

“These are... unique,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “The craftsmanship is unlike anything I’ve seen before. The magic imbued in them feels foreign, yet undeniably powerful.”

When I handed him the books I had read, he took them without a glance, setting them aside in a neat stack. His attention never wavered from the tools, his focus entirely on unraveling their mysteries.

“The tools will take precedence,” he said after a pause, his tone resolute. “If these are what I suspect, they may provide crucial assistance during the meeting. The books can wait until after I’ve determined their purpose.”

As he spoke, I felt a faint sense of relief. If anyone could unravel the mysteries of these foreign objects and texts, it was Ferdinand.

Back to the present, we were now standing in what seemed to be the entrance hall of the castle. The towering stone walls were adorned with ancient tapestries, and the air was filled with a faint scent of old wood and magic. Enormous chandeliers floated overhead, casting a soft glow that illuminated the intricate carvings on the walls. A large staircase spiraled upward, leading to the upper floors, while doors to the side hinted at rooms and corridors beyond. The atmosphere was both grand and mysterious, as though every corner of the hall held a story waiting to be uncovered.

We were unsure what to do. I suggested we send an ordonnanz to Professor McGonagall to announce our arrival, but before we could act, something—or rather, someone—came to meet us.

It had the shape of a man, floating effortlessly in our direction. When he stopped in front of us, I nearly yelped from the shock. The figure appeared to be a man in his fifties, dressed in ancient garments that, despite being tattered and stained, clearly hinted at their former grandeur. These were clothes that would once have been worthy of a high-ranking noble. Despite his translucent form, he carried himself with a peculiar elegance, as if he still clung to the vestiges of an aristocratic life.

I stared at him, unsure of what to say or do. In the books, it was mentioned that the castle was plagued by many strange and whimsical things—talking paintings, moving staircases, doors that would only open if you asked politely—but the one detail that had unsettled me the most was the presence of ghosts.

Even with Rozemyne’s patient explanations about them, I struggled to grasp the concept. In our world, when someone dies, the only thing that remains is their mana condensed into a feystone, a vessel to honor their passing. Their soul ascends the towering staircase to meet the Supreme Couple at its peak. What happens after that is a mystery—perhaps we reincarnate, as Rozemyne claims she did, or perhaps we simply cease to be.

But here stood proof of an entirely different fate. This man—no, this ghost—remained tethered to the mortal plane, caught in a liminal state between life and death. His translucent form shimmered faintly, like a reflection on water, and his head... I stiffened, my eyes widening as I noticed his head was almost completely severed, hanging at an unnatural angle, attached by what seemed to be a thin spectral thread.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed that all the men in our group had tensed, their hands gripping their Schtappes tightly. Eckhart had even transformed his into a sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Rozemyne turned to them with panic in her eyes. “Stand down!” she urged, her voice trembling slightly. But despite her plea, they didn’t relent, their expressions unwavering as they kept their eyes fixed on the ghost approaching us.

The translucent figure floated closer, his head tilting slightly as he studied our group. He began to speak in a language I assumed was English, but I couldn’t make out a single word. The rhythm and cadence of his speech were foreign, almost musical in its unfamiliarity, and only added to my sense of unease.

Rozemyne stepped forward cautiously, her movements deliberate as she approached the ghost. She began speaking to him, her voice steady but polite. The exchange was brief, with the ghost waving his hand dismissively before turning and floating away, disappearing into the shadows of the hall.

Rozemyne returned to our side, her expression a mixture of relief and nervousness. “He was asking if we were the visitors who came to get to know the school,” she explained. “I confirmed it, and he said he would inform professor McGonagall of our arrival.”

Despite her explanation, the tension in our group lingered. Eckhart kept his sword at the ready, his gaze scanning the area as if expecting another threat. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing on us all—this place, with its strange customs and beings, was unlike anything we had ever encountered.

Rozemyne looked back at the men, her tone more insistent now. “Please, stand down. He’s not a threat.”

Reluctantly, they lowered their Schtappes, though I could see they remained on edge. As we stood there, waiting for what would come next, I couldn’t help but reflect on how alien this world felt. It was a place where even the dead roamed freely, speaking in languages and carrying themselves with an ease that defied everything we knew.

We didn’t have to wait long before two figures appeared at the top of the grand staircase. They seemed to be deep in conversation, their voices carrying faintly through the hall, when, all of a sudden, Rozemyne began to pray.

“Grammaratur, goddess of words and language, hear my plea as a child of Geduldh. We find ourselves in a foreign land; please bless us so our words may be understood.”

As she finished, her ring began to glow, and a soft light emanated from it, cascading down like rain. The light enveloped all of us, including the pair at the top of the stairs. It shimmered briefly before dissipating, leaving a faint warmth in its wake.

Lord Ferdinand’s exasperation was immediate. He knelt in front of Rozemyne, his hands darting out to pinch her cheeks as he scolded her sharply. “What are you doing, you fool? Why did you cast that blessing without warning?”

Rozemyne pouted, her cheeks still in his grasp. “It’s a prayer to Grammaratur so we can understand each other,” she explained, her voice slightly muffled. “I can act as the interpreter for the meeting. And that hurt, Ferdinand!”

I cleared my throat, drawing their attention. Lord Ferdinand released her cheeks reluctantly, though his frown remained. With a sigh, he healed her with a swift gesture before standing once more and turning his gaze toward our hosts.

While I shared his frustration at Rozemyne’s impulsiveness, this was neither the place nor the time to reprimand her further—especially in this unfamiliar and alien environment.

My daughter’s blessing worked; we could now understand what our hosts were saying. The pair at the top of the staircase exchanged a brief glance before descending toward us. Their voices, now clear and comprehensible, carried a tone of polite curiosity as they spoke.

After exchanging greetings and introductions, they gestured for us to follow. If you would be so kind as to follow us to my office, we can begin discussing what the school has to offer. I also have a few questions I’d like to ask... This is, after all, a rather unique situation for us,” Said the man who identifies himself as the headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore. 

We followed them through the grand hall, our footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floor. The air was thick with the weight of the moment—an intersection of two worlds about to unfold in that meeting.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

We walked behind Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, my heart racing with a mix of awe and trepidation. I could hardly believe it—we were actually in Hogwarts. One word dominated my mind: astonishing . Neither the descriptions in the books nor the scenes from the Harry Potter movies could have prepared me for the reality of this place.

The castle was alive in ways I had never imagined. Its towering stone walls seemed to hum with an ancient, quiet power, as if every brick and beam carried centuries of magic. The stained-glass windows, depicting witches and wizards from ages long past, shimmered with colors more vivid than any tapestry in Ehrenfest. Floating candles illuminated the corridors, their warm, flickering light dancing across polished floors. Above us, the ceilings stretched impossibly high, giving the impression of walking beneath an open sky.

Everything was in motion here. The staircases creaked and shifted of their own accord, as though they were sentient beings deciding where they wanted to go next. Paintings lined the walls, their inhabitants whispering to one another or peering curiously at us as we passed. Even the suits of armor seemed to watch, the faint clinking of their metal echoing softly whenever they shifted slightly in place.

It was chaos and harmony intertwined. Every element of the castle felt like it belonged, no matter how strange or whimsical. Compared to the structured elegance of Ehrenfest’s architecture, Hogwarts was a whirlwind of wonder—and I found myself utterly captivated.

Yet, I couldn’t allow myself to fully enjoy the magic surrounding me. My nerves were frayed at the thought of the meeting awaiting us in the headmaster’s office. This world was so different from ours, and I dreaded how my family might react. If the incident with Sir Nicholas was any indication, I had little hope that things would proceed smoothly.

As we walked through the halls, the tension among my family members was palpable. They were on high alert, their unease evident in every glance and movement. My brother Eckhart gripped his Schtappe tightly, ready to transform it into a weapon at the slightest sign of danger. His gaze darted around the corridor, scanning every shadow as though expecting an ambush.

Ferdinand was no less wary. His sharp, inquisitive eyes scrutinized every corner of the castle, every flickering light and shifting shadow. It was clear he trusted nothing about this place. His shoulders were tense, and his steps precise, as though bracing for an imminent attack.

My dread deepened at the thought of encountering Peeves, the poltergeist. According to the books, he thrived on chaos and mischief, delighting in causing trouble for everyone. If we crossed paths with him, it would be like lighting a fire next to a barrel of gunpowder. The combination of Peeves’ antics and my family’s already strained nerves could only end in disaster. Ferdinand’s cold fury or Eckhart’s reflexive readiness to attack… just imagining it sent a shiver down my spine. We needed to avoid Peeves at all costs.

But amidst these concerns, a question lingered in my mind, one that I couldn’t seem to shake: What am I supposed to do here? Mestionara had told me that my mission was to gather knowledge to bring back to our world. But beyond that vague instruction, her intentions remained unclear. Was I meant to teach? To found my own school? Or was I searching for something specific? The lack of clarity gnawed at me, but I sighed and shook my head. I wouldn’t find the answers now, and dwelling on these thoughts would do me no good.

Another pressing worry loomed over me: my health. I had never been in worse condition—not even during my days as a frail commoner in the lower city. How was I supposed to manage the life of a student in my current state? Even now, as we walked to the headmaster’s office, I had to rely on mana enhancement to keep up with everyone’s pace. But mana enhancement had its limits. Later today, I was certain my muscles would scream in pain, and I’d likely end up bedridden. How on earth was I supposed to endure the daily life of a Hogwarts student, where constant movement through this sprawling castle seemed inevitable?

I channeled a bit more mana into fortifying the muscles in my legs, determined to catch up with Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Both were deep in conversation, their voices low but animated, and I knew it was impolite to interrupt. However, if I had any hope of making this meeting remotely civil, I needed to speak with them first. Gathering my courage, I quickened my pace until I was close enough to act.

Reaching out, I gently grabbed the edge of Professor Dumbledore’s robes to get his attention. He noticed immediately, turning to look at me with his characteristic twinkle of curiosity. Without hesitation, I extended my hand toward him, palm up. He mirrored the gesture, his long fingers outstretched, and into his hand, I carefully placed a sound-blocking tool.

Turning to Professor McGonagall, I repeated the gesture, handing her an identical device. She raised a questioning eyebrow but accepted it without protest, her sharp eyes glinting with interest.

“Apologies for interrupting your conversation, Professors,” I began, my tone earnest but steady. “But I need to speak with you before the meeting starts. The tool I gave you is a sound-blocking device. As long as you hold it in your hand, no one will be able to overhear what we’re saying.” To demonstrate, I held up the tool in my own hand, showing them that I, too, was using one.

Dumbledore studied the tool in his palm, his expression thoughtful as he ran his thumb over its smooth surface. “Fascinating,” he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling with intrigue. “Quite the innovative little device, Miss Rozemyne. I must say, it’s not often I encounter magic entirely unfamiliar to me.”

McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line, but I could see the curiosity in her gaze as she adjusted her grip on the tool. “Indeed,” she said, her voice clipped but respectful. “And what, pray, is so urgent that it cannot wait until we reach the headmaster’s office?”

“Well, I am concerned about the meeting in the headmaster’s office,” I began, my voice steady but tinged with unease. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everyone in my group is quite tense. Any sudden movement could make them turn hostile, and to be completely honest with you, Mestionara’s request was not well received. In fact, they are very much against me attending this school.”

Both professors exchanged a glance, their expressions softening with understanding. It was Professor McGonagall who responded first, her voice calm and measured. “It is true that these are highly unusual circumstances,” she said, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “However, we have experience handling difficult parents. You don’t need to worry, Miss Rozemyne.”

I shook my head slightly, trying to keep my tone respectful yet firm. “Professor, I mean no disrespect, but we are members of the nobility in our world, and there are certain social cues that must be followed. What I fear is that the cultural differences between us will lead to a catastrophe.”

Both professors frowned slightly at my words, and I took a deep breath before recounting what had happened earlier upon our arrival. I described how the men in our group had reacted with alarm to Sir Nicholas and how it had nearly escalated into conflict. Their immediate assumption that he was a threat—combined with their unfamiliarity with non-human entities like ghosts—had only added to the tension.

When I finished, I noticed a flicker of concern cross both professors’ faces. Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and empathy. “Ah, yes, Sir Nicholas,” he murmured. “I imagine his spectral form could indeed be startling to someone unaccustomed to ghosts.”

Professor McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered my account. “I see now why you’re concerned,” she said, her voice slightly more serious. “Misunderstandings born from cultural differences can quickly spiral out of control. I’ll admit, this is a more delicate situation than I first anticipated.”

My words seemed to be understood by both professors, which gave me some relief. As we continued walking, I took the opportunity to give them a crash course on the etiquette of our world, highlighting key social norms and a list of potential pitfalls they should avoid. I wasn’t sure how much longer we had to walk, but each step felt heavier than the last.

Why? It’s true that using mana enhancement causes muscle pain afterward, but thanks to the exercise regimen Alexandra designed for me, I had grown stronger. Or so I thought. Then, it hit me: I was still accustomed to the condition of my body before Mestionara’s interference. My limits were no longer the same.

The realization sent a wave of frustration through me. My body, once fragile but improving, now felt as though it had regressed to its weakest state. Every step required an increasing amount of effort, and my breaths came quicker, my chest tightening as if it were protesting against the exertion.

Trying not to draw attention to my struggle, I focused on keeping my pace steady, though the distance between myself and the professors was slowly increasing. I clenched my fists, channeling mana more deliberately into my legs to stave off the inevitable collapse. But even that felt like a temporary measure, one that I’d pay for dearly later.

Suddenly, I was snatched off the ground. It was Ferdinand who had done this. Once I was securely in his arms, he turned to me with one of his brightest smiles.

I immediately went pale and stopped using mana enhancement. My heart sank as I caught sight of his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes that stood in complete contrast to his smile. They all but screamed that I was in for an endless, merciless lecture later, one that would dissect every single decision I had made today.

“Are you feeling unwell, Rozemyne?” Ferdinand asked, his tone calm and polite, though there was an unmistakable edge beneath his words.

I opened my mouth to protest, to insist that I could walk on my own, but the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips silenced me. It was a warning. Don’t even try it. My gaze shifted awkwardly to the professors, seeking any distraction from Ferdinand’s silent reprimand.

Professor McGonagall’s brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her tone brisk but not unkind. Her sharp eyes darted between Ferdinand and me, clearly trying to assess the situation.

“Oh, everything is perfectly fine,” Ferdinand replied smoothly, his voice as composed as ever. “The lady has merely overexerted herself. It is nothing to be concerned about.”

Professor Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on me, his expression one of quiet curiosity. “I see,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Miss Rozemyne, you mustn’t push yourself too hard. Hogwarts may be enchanting, but it will wait for you. Your well-being comes first.”

I managed a weak smile and nodded, though I avoided Ferdinand’s piercing gaze. If only my well-being were enough to spare me from his lectures.

As we resumed walking, now at Ferdinand’s pace, I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment. The curious glances from the professors only made it worse. Being carried like a child—not exactly the dignified image of a noblewoman I’d been hoping to project.

We stopped in front of the statue of a gargoyle, just like in the books. The entrance to the headmaster’s office was hidden behind it, just as described. Professor Dumbledore spoke the password, “Apple Pie,” and the statue sprang to life, shifting and moving aside to reveal a spiraling staircase leading upward.

Father, Ferdinand, and my brother all tensed at the sight, their eyes narrowing as if preparing for some sort of ambush. Ferdinand’s hand hovered over his Schtappe, his gaze fixed on the moving stone with open suspicion. In contrast, Mother remained perfectly composed, a serene expression on her face.

Of course, she wasn’t entirely unprepared for this world. The day before, she had devoured three Harry Potter books and managed to turn the experience into a miniature book club. She bombarded me with questions about every magical detail while furiously scribbling notes, her enthusiasm turning the evening into a surprisingly enjoyable discussion. The memory brought a small smile to my lips, easing the tension in my chest.

As we ascended the spiraling staircase, the air grew heavier with a quiet sense of magic and history. At the top, Professor Dumbledore opened the door to his office, revealing a space unlike any I had ever seen.

The room was circular, with high, vaulted ceilings and walls lined with shelves overflowing with books, strange artifacts, and glittering objects. Silver instruments ticked and whirred softly on delicate tables, their purposes a mystery to me. A grand desk stood at the center of the room, covered in parchments, quills, and what appeared to be a small, enchanted globe glowing faintly with light.

Above the desk, perched on a golden stand, was Fawkes, the legendary phoenix. His crimson and gold feathers gleamed in the soft light, and his intelligent eyes observed us with calm curiosity.

I froze at the sight, my breath catching in my throat. A phoenix. An actual phoenix. My heart raced as I turned to look at Mother, who was already staring at the bird with wide eyes, her hand covering her mouth.

Ferdinand placed me back on the floor, but his firm grip on my shoulder made it clear that he had no intention of letting me approach Fawkes. “What kind of creature is this?” he asked, frowning, his voice laced with suspicion.

Before Professor Dumbledore could answer, I blurted out, perhaps a little too loudly given the sharp look Mother sent my way, “It’s a phoenix!”

I felt out of breath, though I wasn’t entirely sure if it was from my lingering exhaustion or the sheer thrill of seeing the magnificent bird.

“Calm down, fool,” Ferdinand said in the tone he reserved for scolding me. He knelt beside me, pulling out a dark stone and pressing it gently against my forehead. The stone immediately began to drain my rampaging mana—and with it, some of my excitement.

“Are you familiar with phoenixes, Miss Rozemyne?” Professor Dumbledore asked, his brow raised in curiosity. “Do they also exist in your world?”

I froze. Damn, I got carried away. There was no way I could tell him the truth—that I already knew about this world thanks to a series of books I’d read in my past life. How could I possibly explain that he and everyone here were characters in a fictional story without causing an existential crisis?

“No, they don’t exist in our world,” I replied shyly, lowering my gaze. “Phoenixes are considered fictional creatures, often featured in stories.”

Father, Mother, and Ferdinand nodded in understanding; they were all aware of the true nature of this world thanks to the explanations we had shared beforehand. However, Cornelius and Eckhart’s suspicious gaze lingered on me, clearly unconvinced by my response.

“I see,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his gaze flickering to Fawkes.

As if responding to the attention, Fawkes let out a soft, melodic trill that seemed to fill the room with warmth and calm. Father stiffened at the sound, his instincts on high alert, while Ferdinand’s sharp eyes remained fixed on the phoenix, studying it intently.

Breaking from his musings, Dumbledore’s kind smile returned. “Miss Rozemyne,” he said gently, drawing my attention, “Fawkes seems rather curious about you. Would you like to greet him?”

“May I?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly with excitement.

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course. Fawkes is quite friendly to those he deems kind-hearted.”

Ferdinand’s hand tightened on my shoulder, his disapproval clear. Before he could voice his objections, Mother interceded. “Lord Ferdinand,” she said softly but firmly, “let her approach. There’s no harm in it.”

Though reluctant, Ferdinand released me, and I cautiously approached the stand. My heart raced as Fawkes tilted his head, his golden eyes meeting mine with a look of quiet understanding. Slowly, I extended my hand, hesitating just before my fingers touched his feathers. When I finally made contact, a surge of warmth spread through me—not just physical, but something deeper, almost magical.

“It’s so warm,” I murmured, marveling at the sensation.

Mother stepped closer, her expression alight with wonder. In a soft whisper, she asked, “Rozemyne, does it feel like what the books described?”

I turned to her, nodding eagerly. “Exactly like it,” I whispered back. “This is incredible.”

The moment felt surreal, like a dream brought to life.

Ferdinand cleared his throat loudly, snapping me out of my reverie. “As fascinating as this creature may be, Rozemyne, we are not here to indulge in distractions,” he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I reluctantly stepped back from Fawkes, bowing my head slightly in apology. “Apologies, Ferdinand,” I said softly, though I couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the phoenix before turning away.

Professor Dumbledore turned his gaze toward my parents and, with a polite smile, asked for permission to take out his wand. He explained that he wished to summon chairs and refreshments for the meeting. I silently praised him for following my advice: I had told him earlier that Schtappes—or magic wands, in this case—were considered weapons in our world. Summoning one without warning could be seen as a hostile act, especially when dealing with an unfamiliar party. I had recommended that he always ask for permission and explain his intent beforehand.

My parents exchanged a hesitant look before reluctantly nodding their approval. Meanwhile, Ferdinand, Cornelius, and Eckhart didn’t relax for a moment. Their eyes were glued to Professor Dumbledore’s every movement, their body language tense and ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

Dumbledore retrieved his wand with deliberate, unhurried movements, making it clear that he had no ill intentions. With a graceful flick of his wrist, a round table large enough for all of us appeared in the center of the room. Surrounding it were chairs upholstered in plush fabric, and atop the table were steaming cups of tea and plates of cookies—one for each of us.

The display of magic left my guardians momentarily stunned. Ferdinand’s sharp gaze softened slightly as he studied the conjured items, though his hand remained ready to summon his Schtappe. Cornelius and Eckhart exchanged a glance, their awe barely concealed behind their composed expressions.

Once Dumbledore stepped back from the table, he gestured for us to sit. We moved cautiously, each of us taking a seat. I found myself seated between Mother and Father, their postures as composed as ever despite the underlying tension in the room.

As the host, Professor Dumbledore took his seat at the head of the table. He reached for his cup of tea and sipped it, then picked up one of the cookies and took a bite. The deliberate gesture was exactly what I had suggested during my impromptu etiquette lesson on our way here: tasting the food and drink first would reassure my family that it was safe and free of tampering.

Mother gave a faint nod of approval, her eyes flicking briefly toward me, acknowledging my role in guiding the professor’s actions. Father, meanwhile, remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed on Dumbledore as though searching for hidden motives.

The air in the room felt heavy, a precarious balance between caution and tentative trust. But for now, at least, the meeting was off to a civil start.

With everyone now seated and having sipped their tea, Professor Dumbledore was the first to speak.

“Before we dive into more serious topics, I want to thank you for taking the time to come and for your willingness to discuss Rozemyne's future at Hogwarts,” he began, his tone calm and welcoming. “I know this may be as new for you as it is for her, and my goal is to ensure that all parties feel comfortable throughout this process. Therefore, I would like to start by hearing your thoughts and concerns. Is there anything in particular that you would like to know or discuss before we proceed?”

Mother was the first to respond, her expression composed but firm. “Professor, I am going to be completely honest with you. We are not particularly enthusiastic about the idea of sending Rozemyne to Hogwarts.”

Professor McGonagall responded promptly, her tone curious but respectful. “Yes, Miss Rozemyne has already informed us of this,” she said, her gaze shifting briefly to me. “However, I would like to understand why you are so opposed. Given that this was a request from the goddess of your world, I thought you might feel more… enthusiastic about the opportunity.”

At McGonagall’s words, I felt Ferdinand’s sharp gaze fix on me. His eyes narrowed, the disapproval in them clear as day. He’s not happy I shared that with them, I thought uneasily.

Turning back to the professors, Ferdinand spoke in a tone so cold it felt like the temperature in the room had dropped. “We are not inclined to indulge a foolish goddess's whims,” he said bluntly. “Mestionara effectively crushed an entire city with her mana to force us into compliance. It was not a request; it was an act of coercion.”

Ferdinand’s words hung heavy in the air, but he wasn’t finished. “Furthermore, Rozemyne already has obligations to fulfill. This winter marks her first year at the Royal Academy, and her attendance is critical for her future. Everything related to Mestionara's so-called request has brought nothing but trouble for us.”

The tension in the room thickened as Ferdinand’s words settled. McGonagall’s polite smile faltered slightly, and even Dumbledore’s ever-calm demeanor seemed tinged with thoughtfulness. I glanced nervously between the professors and my family, my heart sinking at the realization that the delicate balance I had hoped for might already be unraveling.

Mother once again began to speak, her voice calmer than Ferdinand’s but no less resolute. “Worry not, Professor. This is not your fault but Mestionara’s. Despite all the problems her request represents, what concerns me the most right now is the safety of my daughter, as well as her living arrangements.” Her hands rested lightly on the table, but I could see the tension in her fingers as she intertwined them tightly.

Professor Dumbledore was the next to speak, his voice carrying a soothing warmth. “It is natural for a mother to worry about her child’s well-being, Lady Elvira. I am truly sorry to hear that the circumstances leading to this unique situation have not been ideal. However, now that we are here, I suggest we focus on the things we can control. Let us begin with the matter of Rozemyne’s safety. I assure you, Hogwarts is one of the most secure facilities in the world.”

Mother tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes fixed on Dumbledore. “I understand that this school is well-regarded in your world,” she said slowly, her tone calm but firm, “but what exactly ensures its security? I would like to hear specifics, Professor. Rozemyne is not an ordinary child; ever since she was little, her health has been frail. What you witnessed on our way here is but a fraction of her true fragility.”

Cornelius nodded frantically, cutting in before Dumbledore could reply. “I still can’t get over the time she passed out on her way to the book room,” he said, shaking his head. That was not necessary, Cornelius, I thought, silently pleading for him to stop. He did not.

“Also, who’s going to stop her from getting into trouble?” Cornelius continued, his words gaining momentum. “Every time books are involved, she loses sight of everything else and charges in without thinking. And according to Mother, she’ll be here without an escort!” He shuddered dramatically, adding, “I tremble at the very idea of her rampaging without someone to control her.”

I buried my face in my hands, torn between embarrassment and the faint desire to disappear entirely. Of all the times for Cornelius to speak freely, why now ?

Dumbledore, to his credit, didn’t seem fazed by Cornelius’s outburst. Instead, his kind smile remained steady, though I noticed the faintest flicker of amusement in his twinkling eyes.

McGonagall, however, raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as though she were suppressing a grin. “Miss Rozemyne’s enthusiasm for books is certainly… commendable,” she said dryly, “though I understand your concerns. Rest assured, Hogwarts staff are experienced in handling students with unique needs and spirited temperaments. I believe we will manage just fine.”

“That remains to be seen,” Ferdinand interjected coldly, his voice cutting through the conversation like a blade. His sharp eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to Dumbledore. “Rozemyne is no ordinary child, as Lady Elvira has already pointed out. Her reckless tendencies and frail constitution make her uniquely difficult to care for. If Hogwarts staff are unprepared or incapable of handling her… particular challenges, then this endeavor will only bring harm to both sides.”

The tension in the room thickened, and I shrank slightly under Ferdinand’s piercing gaze.

“Lord Ferdinand,” Mother said softly. “Let us not be overly harsh. The professors have already expressed their willingness to make accommodations. Surely, with proper planning and collaboration, we can ensure Rozemyne’s safety.”

Dumbledore nodded, his expression calm but serious. “Lady Elvira is correct. Ensuring Miss Rozemyne’s safety is not a matter to be taken lightly, but neither is it an insurmountable challenge. Together, I am confident we can find solutions that address her unique circumstances while allowing her to thrive at Hogwarts.”

From this point onward, the conversation moved more smoothly, though some topics remained contentious. Mother was particularly insistent that I be allowed to bring Alexandra as my personal doctor. Professor Dumbledore initially argued that Hogwarts already had a very competent healer, rendering an additional doctor unnecessary. However, Mother persisted, emphasizing that Alexandra had the best understanding of my unique condition. In the end, the professors relented, agreeing to allow Alexandra to accompany me to Hogwarts.

Father’s request, in comparison, was much simpler: he only asked to receive regular reports on my well-being and that they contact him immediately in case of an emergency. This was easily agreed upon by the professors, who assured him that communication would remain open at all times.

Ferdinand, however, was still highly insistent on matters concerning my safety and health. He requested permission for me to bring my defensive charms and be allowed to use my highbeast to cope with the physical demands of student life at Hogwarts. The professors seemed puzzled by his mention of a highbeast, and for a moment, I considered demonstrating it. But then I remembered that my lessy had turned into golden dust after the goddess’s intervention.

Thankfully, Ferdinand had come prepared. He handed me a new highbeast stone and instructed me to dye it again to show the professors what he meant.

Dyeing the stone was surprisingly easy this time; it required far less mana and time than when I had first created my highbeast. Once I finished, I summoned my Pandabus—a small, one-person version designed for quick travel.

The professors’ astonishment was evident as they watched the highbeast materialize. McGonagall’s sharp eyes widened slightly, and even Dumbledore, with his usual composure, looked genuinely impressed. After a brief discussion, they granted me permission to use the highbeast, provided it did not interfere with Hogwarts’ routines or rules.

However, the matter of my protective charms was far more contentious. The professors were wary of allowing me to use magical items without knowing their exact functions, particularly anything that might pose a risk to other students. In the end, a compromise was reached: I would be allowed to wear protective charms, but only those verified to be safe and free of dangerous spells.

Ferdinand reluctantly agreed, though I could tell he remained dissatisfied.

The professors also inquired about my attendance at the Royal Academy, but Mother quickly reassured them. “There’s no need to worry about that,” she said with a calm smile. “We already have it covered.”

Covered, she said. I could only hope that was true. I hadn’t yet mastered my omnipresence ability—not without Mestionara’s help, at least. Opening the portal to bring us here had been a significant challenge, and the thought of doing it on my own filled me with dread. I need to figure it out before my term at Hogwarts begins.

By the end of the meeting, we went on a quick tour of the school. Father insisted on carrying me the entire time, despite my protests. When we reached the library, I couldn’t help myself. The sight of it was too overwhelming, and without thinking, I cast a gigantic blessing.

The reaction was immediate. My entire family turned to me, their faces a mixture of shock and disapproval. “Rozemyne!” Ferdinand snapped, grabbing my cheeks and pulling them relentlessly. “What were you thinking?!”

Even Mother, usually composed, frowned at me, though her disappointment was far less vocal.

Miss Pince, the librarian, soon appeared, her face pale and anxious. “What happened here?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I quickly bowed my head, my cheeks still red from Ferdinand’s pulling. “I deeply apologize for disrupting the peace of the library,” I said, my voice filled with genuine regret.

Thankfully, she seemed to accept my apology, though I could feel her eyes on me as we left the library.

After the tour, we returned to the headmaster’s office. The professors provided us with a list of books we needed to purchase for my studies. Professor McGonagall even offered to accompany us to Diagon Alley to buy them, and we agreed on a day for the visit.

Before we left, I asked if they could provide me with a calendar, as the days between our worlds didn’t align perfectly. Professor Dumbledore graciously handed me a spare calendar he had stored away.

“I promise I’ll pay you back for this calendar next time I see you,” I said earnestly, clutching it to my chest.

But he merely chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “There’s no need to worry about that, Miss Rozemyne. Consider it a gift.”

Finally, both professors returned the sound-blocking tools I had given them at the beginning of the meeting, marking the official end of our discussion. With everything settled, I opened the portal to return home, my family and I stepping through to leave Hogwarts behind—for now.

Chapter Text

POV Charlotte

Ever since I can remember, it was always just me and Mother. Our days were quiet, filled with her gentle presence, and I cherished those moments of simplicity. Then Melchior came along, and our little family grew. Despite this change, one thing remained constant—Father was hardly ever around. His duties as the archduke kept him distant, like a figure on the horizon I could never quite reach.

I also had an older brother, Wilfried. At least, that’s what I was told. Before his baptism, he lived with Grandmother Veronica, and for the longest time, he felt more like a stranger than a sibling. I once asked Mother why he was raised away from us, but she never gave me a straight answer. Instead, her face would darken with sadness, and the conversation would shift to something else entirely.

To be honest, I didn’t like Veronica at all. On the rare occasions I saw her, her sharp, disdainful gaze made my skin crawl. It was as if she saw me as something less than human, something unworthy of even basic kindness. And that same icy contempt was directed at my mother too.

As for Wilfried, I struggled to see him as my brother. He was spoiled and entitled, always complaining about the tea or the toys at our house, comparing them unfavorably to the ones he received from Veronica. His words made me feel as though he considered us lesser, unworthy of his presence. In those moments, I couldn’t help but see him more as a half-brother than a true sibling.

And then, one day, Veronica was gone. My mother and my head attendant explained to me what had happened: apparently, Grandmother Veronica had committed crimes and was imprisoned by Father, sentenced to the White Tower. That alone was a significant change, but it wasn’t the only one. Father had also adopted a girl named Rozemyne, who was a little younger than Wilfried. According to my attendants, she had been given the title of Saint of Ehrenfest for her kind and generous heart.

With Veronica gone, Wilfried started coming by more often. However, he was still the same childish boy, always preferring to run away from his studies to play. I couldn’t understand why this behavior was allowed—Father had named him as his heir, yet he was so irresponsible. Was it because he was born first? Because he was male?

Unlike Wilfried, I took my lessons seriously. Mother was the one training me, preparing me to be an archduke candidate. I worked hard and gave my best effort in every class. And yet, I was never given the same opportunities as Wilfried. I wasn’t even allowed to compete for the seat of aub.

That’s why I was thrilled when Rozemyne became part of our family. All the information my attendants could gather about her filled me with hope. She wasn’t just kind-hearted; she was also credited with being behind many of the new trends and industries that had been appearing in Ehrenfest. Of course, some of the tales seemed exaggerated—perhaps it was her mother, Lady Elvira, who deserved the credit for these creations, but Rozemyne was rumored to be highly intelligent nonetheless.

I was really looking forward to meeting my big sister once I was baptized. But as that day went by, things began to change. Mother stopped spending as much time with me. Apparently, they had discovered there was something wrong with my brother’s education, and Mother was now busy correcting it.

I felt lonely, but I didn’t complain. Mother had been with me my entire life, so I thought it was only fair to share her with Wilfried. Despite the growing distance between us, I wished him no ill. He was still my brother, after all. However, my attendants did not share my feelings. They were openly displeased with Mother’s decision to prioritize Wilfried’s education, whispering their disapproval when they thought I wasn’t listening.

Finally, the day came when I got to meet my big sister. It was close to my baptism, and I was busy supervising the decoration and furnishing of my new room in the north wing. That’s when I caught sight of her—Rozemyne—on her way to report something to Father.

I approached her to greet her, my heart fluttering with excitement. She turned to me with a happy smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth. When I invited her to a tea party after she finished her business with Father, her face lit up even more.

Sister is absolutely adorable. She’s so pretty and small, like a life-sized doll brought to life.

Sister’s business with Father didn’t take long, and she joined me shortly after. We were having a wonderful time, enjoying tea and conversation, when Brother Wilfried stormed into my room unannounced. His furious expression alone was enough to shatter the peaceful atmosphere.

With a loud voice, he accused Sister and Uncle Ferdinand of treason. I was stunned. Apparently, my foolish brother had found his way to the White Tower, where he encountered his beloved Grandmother Veronica. She, of course, wasted no time in poisoning his mind, blaming Sister and Uncle Ferdinand for her fate.

It didn’t take long for Father, Mother, and Uncle Ferdinand to arrive in my room, drawn by the commotion. What followed was nothing short of a disaster.

By entering the White Tower, Wilfried had already committed a grave crime. But that wasn’t enough for him. He went on to accuse two members of the archducal family—Sister and Uncle Ferdinand—of treason, and all without a shred of proof. And as if that weren’t bad enough, he openly defied Father’s authority as the aub during this improvised trial.

The room was thick with tension, and I felt a growing sense of dread. What would this mean for our family? What consequences would this bring? My eyes turned to Sister, silently pleading for her to find a solution.

And she delivered.

Sister’s plan was nothing short of ingenious. With her sharp mind and calm demeanor, she managed to save Wilfried from the consequences of his reckless actions.

The day of my baptism finally arrived, and just as Sister had promised, she performed the ceremony herself as the High Bishop. I was overjoyed. Having her by my side on such an important day made it all the more special.

But my happiness was short-lived.

As Sister, Brother, and I were heading back to the north wing, men clothed in black infiltrated the castle and attacked us. Our knights were overwhelmed, and before I could even process what was happening, one of the men managed to grab me.

I screamed for help, but it felt hopeless. Then, like an arrow piercing the night sky, Sister came to my rescue. Her highbeast soared through the air with unmatched precision, and she saved me.

But the danger didn’t end there. Sister was also captured, and the men tried to poison and abduct her. If not for Lord Bonifatius and Uncle Ferdinand’s timely intervention, I dread to think what might have happened to Rozemyne.

The days following the attack were some of the most restless and terrifying of my life. I couldn’t sleep, haunted by the memories of that night. Mother visited me often to see how I was holding up, her presence a small comfort amidst my fear.

I asked about Sister constantly, desperate to know if she was safe. I was told she was staying at her family’s mansion. While she was out of immediate danger, her health had begun to decline in the days following the attack. To aid her recovery, she had been submerged in a potion called jureve.

Hearing this filled me with sadness. The castle remained on full alert and in lockdown as the incident was investigated. All I could do was stay in my room, consumed by worry.

I wanted nothing more than to see Rozemyne, to thank her for saving me and to confirm with my own eyes that she was safe and sound. But that wouldn’t be possible anytime soon. Her treatment would take at least one, if not two, full seasons.

The people behind the attack were quickly identified, and swift action was taken to punish them. Life at the castle slowly returned to normal, and the playroom resumed its activities. Brother and I attempted to take leadership of the playroom, but things didn’t go as I had planned. Last year, Rozemyne had been the one to organize everything, and she had done a magnificent job. Neither Brother nor I could match her efficiency or creativity.

It was only thanks to Sister’s encouragement and guidance that we managed to get through it. Her knight, Damuel, was also an immense help. I don’t know what we would have done without him.

As winter came to an end and spring began, preparations for the Archduke Conference loomed ahead. But then Uncle Ferdinand brought another pressing issue to Father: the Spring Prayer. Without Rozemyne, the mana distribution this year could be severely affected.

When Uncle requested that we step in to help, I immediately agreed. This was my chance to repay Rozemyne for everything she had done for me.

Participating in the Spring Prayer was far more challenging than I had anticipated. By the end, I was utterly exhausted. How Sister managed to handle all this with such grace and poise was beyond me. She truly was extraordinary. Despite my fatigue, I felt a sense of satisfaction. I had helped, even if just a little, to cover for Rozemyne’s absence.

But once again, things took a turn for the worse.

Mother and Lady Elvira had a heated argument that ended with Lady Elvira abandoning Mother completely. What followed was nothing short of catastrophic—the annihilation of Mother’s faction.

I wanted to understand what had happened, but Mother evaded all my questions, and my attendants did the same. Their troubled expressions only deepened my unease.

Eventually, Vanessa, my head attendant, spoke to me in hushed tones. “It’s a very serious issue, Lady Charlotte,” she said, her voice filled with concern. “But for now, it’s best to leave it in your parents’ hands. They will resolve it.”

Her words did little to ease my worries. The castle felt heavier, its halls filled with an unspoken tension. And once again, I was left in the dark. 

Spring passed, and summer followed, but the tension in the castle only grew, reaching a breaking point. Finally, I was told the truth about why Lady Elvira had abandoned Mother—and I could not have been more ashamed or angry.

Mother had refused to act as Rozemyne’s adoptive mother. Her excuses, in my opinion, were petty and hollow. Sister had done so much for the duchy and, more importantly, for our family. How could Mother turn her back on her?

What upset me the most was how much this reminded me of Veronica. The way Grandmother used to look down on me and Mother, with disdain in her eyes, was a feeling I had never forgotten. Mother, to her credit, didn’t speak ill of Rozemyne—at least not in front of me—and she didn’t look at her with disgust. But her actions… they mirrored something Veronica might have done so closely that it made me feel sick.

Rozemyne deserved better.

I started to distance myself from Mother. I simply couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore. Of course, she noticed, but she said nothing. Perhaps it was because, by the end of summer, we were once again preparing to host Lady Georgine. Father and Mother were entirely focused on ensuring the castle was ready for her visit.

The day finally came, and Lady Georgine arrived in Ehrenfest. She didn’t come alone—her daughter, Lady Detlinde, accompanied her.

I couldn’t believe how much Lady Georgine and Lady Detlinde resembled Grandmother Veronica. But it was Lady Detlinde who unsettled me the most; she was the spitting image of Veronica, both in appearance and in mannerisms.

Wilfried and I were tasked with entertaining our cousin, an experience I came to loathe more with each passing moment. It wasn’t just that Lady Detlinde looked like Grandmother—it was that her personality mirrored Veronica’s perfectly. Wilfried, on the other hand, was utterly thrilled by her presence.

I watched in horror as Bluemfah seemed to dance for my brother, pulling him back into his old habits. All the growth Wilfried had shown—his participation in the Spring Prayer, his attempts to act more responsibly—was shattered in an instant.

Then came the worst part.

Wilfried, in his eagerness to impress Lady Detlinde, all but exposed the fragile political situation of Ehrenfest to our guest. I was horrified. I couldn’t even fathom what consequences his carelessness would bring upon the entire duchy. For the first time, a dark thought crossed my mind: I wished Rozemyne hadn’t saved him during the White Tower incident.

The visit finally came to an end, but on the last day, Lady Georgine made an outrageous proposal—she offered to adopt Wilfried.

To my utter disbelief, Wilfried accepted. He didn’t consult our parents, didn’t even hesitate.

Father and Mother tried desperately to revoke Wilfried’s words, but Lady Georgine cornered them. They were forced to accept.

As Lady Georgine left and with Wilfried’s imminent departure, a single thought ran through my mind: Good riddance. We have enough troubles without having to deal with your stupidity any longer.

With all the troubles plaguing the castle, finally, some good news came: Rozemyne had woken up. But with the upheaval caused by Wilfried’s departure, I couldn’t meet with her. I only caught a glimpse of her during the farewell ceremony for Wilfried, but I didn’t have the opportunity to speak to her.

That night, Mother came to see me. She was visibly sad about Wilfried leaving and seemed to want to mend things with me. However, during our conversation, nothing she said quelled my anger. In fact, I became even angrier. She hadn’t even thanked Rozemyne for saving me. It felt as though my life didn’t matter to her.

That night, something broke between us. Our relationship as mother and daughter was severed, and I wasn’t sure if it could ever be repaired.

I made up my mind. One day, I ordered my attendants to take me to the temple. They were horrified by my request and tried desperately to convince me not to go, but I was resolute. In the end, they had no choice but to comply.

It wasn’t very polite of me—in fact, it was the kind of impulsive thing I used to criticize Wilfried for—but I broke into Rozemyne’s chambers. There she was, sitting behind a desk, deeply engrossed in her work. When she noticed me, she looked startled

“Sister, I’m sorry for coming here so suddenly,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “But I need to talk to you.”

Rozemyne stopped working, her expression softening. Her gray priest attendants quickly moved to prepare the room for an impromptu tea party. Once everything was ready and we were seated with cups of tea and snacks, I took a deep breath and looked directly into Rozemyne’s golden eyes.

“Thank you, Sister,” I said firmly. “Thank you for rushing to my aid when I was kidnapped. And… I’m sorry. I’m sorry you almost got abducted because of me.”

Rozemyne gave me the warmest smile I had ever seen.

“There’s nothing to thank or apologize for,” she replied gently. “I’m your big sister, and I love you. I would never allow anything bad to happen to you. Supporting each other is what good sisters are for.”

A warm feeling began to grow in my chest. I wanted to be there for Sister too—to protect her and support her, just as she had done for me. Her words gave me the strength to voice the request I had been holding in my heart: to join the temple as a blue shrine maiden.

My attendants nearly fainted when they heard me say this, their faces pale with shock. Sister, on the other hand, was thrilled. She immediately ordered the preparations for me to take the oath. The room was ready in no time, and under Sister’s guidance, I completed the ceremony.

Shortly after, Uncle Ferdinand entered the room. His face was blank as usual, but his quick steps toward Sister betrayed his urgency. Rozemyne’s complexion turned as pale as snow, and—though perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me—she seemed smaller, as if trying to shrink away.

Uncle demanded an explanation. It was one of Rozemyne’s attendants who began recounting the events leading up to my decision. When the attendant finished, Uncle’s expression shifted. A shiny, almost unsettling smile spread across his face as he turned to me.

“Lady Charlotte,” he said gently, “would you mind leaving us for a moment?”

Rozemyne’s golden eyes screamed for help, but before I could say anything, my attendants quickly ushered me out of the room and back to the castle.

Later that day, Father came to see me. He was calm but firm as he tried to convince me to renounce my decision. I stood my ground, unwavering in my resolve. With a heavy sigh, he finally accepted, though not without conditions.

I began going to the temple a few days each week, staying only for half a day at a time. During those visits, Sister and Uncle Ferdinand trained me in my duties as a shrine maiden. I was struck by the sheer amount of work the temple demanded—not just the mana-draining ceremonies and donations, but also the endless piles of paperwork.

To my surprise, Sister also managed a workshop inside the temple. I had been wrong; all the trends and industries attributed to her weren’t the work of Lady Elvira—they were hers. Lady Elvira eventually joined us as Sister’s scholar, assisting her in managing the growing influence of the workshop.

While I spent my time at the temple, the political landscape of the duchy was in chaos. Father had launched a personal vendetta, seeking someone to blame for Wilfried’s failures. This resulted in yet another round of punishments for several nobles, most of them from the former Veronica faction.

During my time in the temple, I began hearing stories about Sister’s time as a blue shrine maiden. The gray priests spoke of her as their savior, their gratitude clear in their voices. But as I listened, I noticed inconsistencies in their stories—small gaps that didn’t quite add up.

I also overheard whispers from some blue priests, a group that resented Sister. They called her that commoner brat and sneered at her behind her back. At first, I dismissed these rumors as baseless slander, likely spread by members of the former Veronica faction. But the more I thought about the gaps in the stories of the gray priests, the more those rumors began to make sense.

Could it be true? Could Sister really have been a commoner before becoming a noble?

In the end, I realized it didn’t matter. Sister is Sister. Perhaps that’s why she’s so different from most nobles—why she carries her heart on her sleeve and doesn’t harbor the malice so common in our society. That’s a good thing. She saved me, and I love her. That’s all that matters.

And yet… if I thought deeply about it, the implications were horrifying. If Sister truly was a commoner, then her birth family might already be gone. Father would never allow loose ends; he might have ordered them eliminated.

That thought made my stomach churn. Sister is forced to call family the very people who killed her birth family.

And yet, she always seems so cheerful, so easygoing. She even dotes on me—the daughter of the man who might have been responsible for such a terrible act.

It hurts me to think about it. How can Sister do this? How can she endure it with such grace?

It doesn’t matter. If that’s the burden she carries, then I’ll take it upon myself to be the family she deserves. I’ll make up for what Father did to her.

Time went by, and things in the duchy began to improve. The political turmoil and tensions between the nobles were slowly but steadily calming down. Even Father seemed to take his role as archduke more seriously. For the first time in a long while, it felt like he was truly embracing his responsibilities. During the last Archduke Conference, he even welcomed a new first lady into our family—a move that solidified Ehrenfest’s position and brought a sense of stability to our duchy.

I wish I could say the same for Mother.

Ever since Wilfried left and her political power waned, Mother had become increasingly apathetic. The vibrant, determined woman who had once guided me with wisdom and strength seemed to have vanished. She rarely involved herself in anything anymore, and her once sharp gaze now appeared distant and unfocused.

It hurt to see her like this, but I couldn’t bring myself to comfort her. The wound between us was still too fresh, and her refusal to acknowledge Rozemyne or even thank her for saving me lingered in my mind like a thorn I couldn’t remove.

I think this duchy might be cursed. Just when things were starting to get better, Mestionara, the Goddess of Wisdom, appeared in Uncle Ferdinand’s office. At first, I was delighted when she approached Sister, embracing her warmly and congratulating her for all her hard work.

But then, things took a dark turn.

The goddess gave Sister an order: she was to attend a school in another world. I couldn’t believe it. Sister already had too much work, too many responsibilities, and now a goddess was piling even more onto her shoulders.

Why does everyone—nobles, commoners, and even gods—take advantage of Sister? Hasn’t she done enough? Why do those around her keep asking for more and more?

My horror deepened when the goddess knelt to bestow a special blessing upon Sister. At first, I thought it was a moment of grace, but then Sister screamed. The sound was unlike anything I had ever heard, a piercing cry that cut through the air and froze my blood.

Her skin bubbled and writhed as if scalded by boiling water. For a moment, I thought I was about to watch her climb the towering staircase to the gods. I was powerless, unable to do anything but stand there, trembling with fear.

After what felt like an eternity, Sister’s screams subsided. She stopped convulsing and, miraculously, managed to wake up for a brief moment.

Uncle Ferdinand was immediately summoned to the castle, and Lady Elvira carried Sister back to her room. I, too, returned to my quarters in the temple, though my mind and body were far from calm.

As soon as I entered my hidden room, I collapsed. My entire body trembled uncontrollably, and tears streamed down my face. The image of Sister’s pain replayed in my mind over and over, a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

I returned to the castle, still shaken by what I had witnessed. My retainers were deeply concerned about me, their eyes filled with worry, but I couldn’t tell them what had happened. Uncle Ferdinand had ordered me to remain silent.

Once again, things descended into chaos.

During Mestionara’s visit, her overwhelming mana had crushed the entire city, leaving it in disarray. Rumors began to spread like wildfire, each more outrageous than the last. The most extreme members of the Leisegang faction accused the remnants of the Veronica faction of orchestrating this large-scale attack, claiming they were the masterminds behind the disaster. This rumor gained significant traction among the nobles, but it wasn’t the only one.

Other rumors emerged as well, though most were too fantastical to be taken seriously. Whispers of divine punishment, ancient curses, and secret rebellions filled the halls of the castle.

At the height of the unrest, Father made an official pronouncement: according to the evidence gathered, the attack was the work of a foreign duchy. However, he admitted there wasn’t enough solid proof to name or accuse them directly.

Despite his careful wording, one name hung in the collective minds of the nobles: Ahrensbach.

I wasn’t sure if this was a wise move on Father’s part. Given what had truly happened, I felt just as lost as everyone else. I didn’t know how to reconcile the truth of Mestionara’s visit with the political narrative being spun to maintain order.

All I could do was keep quiet and watch as tensions simmered beneath the surface, wondering how long the fragile peace in Ehrenfest would hold.

I was finally allowed to leave my room and return to normal life almost two weeks later. During that time, Father came to see me several times, checking on how I was doing.

During one of those meetings, I summoned all my courage and asked the questions that had been tormenting me since Mestionara’s descent. The goddess had said some unsettling things about Sister, and I needed to know the full truth.

Father sighed, his expression weary, but he agreed to tell me everything.

He began with Sister’s origins as a commoner. Her biological parents were alive, he explained, but they had been forced to sign a magic contract that strictly regulated their interactions with her. They couldn’t act as a family, and while I had thought they might be dead, this revelation wasn’t much better. Knowing they were alive but bound by such conditions left a bitter taste in my mouth.

But what came next was even harder to believe.

Father explained that Sister had memories of a past life—memories of being an adult in another world. And then, just as casually as one might recount the weather, he acknowledged that the Goddess of Wisdom had appeared in the middle of the temple.

I could barely process his words.

No wonder Sister is so capable, so smart. For a moment, I thought it was unfair—how could anyone compete with someone carrying the wisdom of another life? But then I remembered how often Sister, despite her brilliance, acted childish and naïve. Those memories might give her an advantage, but they didn’t make her invincible.

Instead of envy, I felt pity. I couldn’t imagine being torn from everything I knew, thrown into an unfamiliar world with no guide and no way to return. The loneliness, the confusion—it must have been unbearable.

If it had been me, I think I would have lost my mind.

I knew I had to confront Sister. I didn’t want any more secrets between us. With everything I now knew, it felt more important than ever to stand by her and help her. I didn’t trust Mestionara’s promise to support and protect her in that other world.

The next day, I went to the temple earlier than usual, determined to speak with Sister in private before heading to Uncle’s office to work. When I arrived at her chambers and my attendants opened the door, I froze, struck by the sight of two Sisters in the same room.

The moment didn’t last long; one of them vanished like steam dissipating into the air.

The real Sister collapsed, blood dripping from her nose and ear. Alexandra, who was already in the room, rushed to her side, casting a healing blessing and giving her a potion. Sister looked pale and utterly drained.

I hurried to her side as well, my heart pounding with worry. The pain on her face disappeared, replaced by a smile.

“Sister, don’t do this,” I said softly. “Don’t hide your pain.”

She insisted she was fine, but after several reassurances, I finally relented.

Once I had calmed myself, I asked to speak with her in private. She hesitated, clearly conflicted, but eventually agreed. After clearing the room and activating a sound-blocking tool, I told her everything.

“I know about your commoner origins and your memories from your past life,” I said gently.

Her mask of composure cracked, and panic flashed across her face. She began stammering apologies, trying to explain, but I stopped her.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said firmly. “You’re still my sister. That will never change.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief, and her usual warm smile returned.

With that settled, I moved to the proposal I had been carefully planning.

“I want to become your deputy High Bishop,” I said, “and I want to share some of the responsibilities for your industries.”

Sister’s golden eyes turned thoughtful. “Are you sure?” she asked. “It’s going to be a lot of work. I don’t want to burden you with all of this.”

But my determination didn’t waver. I nodded resolutely.

Seeing my resolve, Sister finally agreed. We spent the rest of the day working on a plan to divide the workload in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm either of us. By the time we were satisfied with our plan of action, I let out a sigh of relief.

For the first time in what felt like ages, I felt lighthearted. Knowing the truth about Sister and knowing I could help her sent a wave of peace through my entire soul.

No matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together. Supporting each other, anything was possible.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

I had my head resting on the desk, my eyes closed, trying to fight the nausea. This was my third attempt to use omnipresence, and the results had been the same every time: me collapsing, with my nose and one ear bleeding. Certainly, I can’t claim to be mastering this ability. To be fair, I’m starting to think it’s useless. Perhaps it would be better to find another solution to fulfill my responsibilities here in Ehrenfest while attending Hogwarts.

Charlotte has been my saving grace. During my second attempt, she walked into my room and saw me collapse. What followed was a conversation I didn’t expect. She asked to speak with me privately, and once we were alone, she revealed that she not only knew about my commoner origins but also my memories of another world. My stomach dropped when she said this; I feared she would distance herself, treat me cruelly, or ignore me altogether. But Charlotte is truly an angel, just like my Tuuli. Not only did she tell me she didn’t care about my origins, but she also offered her help. She proposed becoming Deputy High Bishop to take on part of my workload, including responsibilities related to my industries.

Her support has lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. With Charlotte’s help, I feel less pressured to master this frustrating ability in such a short time. However, I still don’t want to overburden her, and there’s the small detail that this winter marks my first year at the Royal Academy. In theory, I have two weeks of vacation during winter at Hogwarts, but that’s not much time. Ferdinand assured me that, with the education he’s given me, I should be able to pass my Royal Academy exams on the first try. In fact, he insists it’s a must—and with high marks. That shouldn’t take more than two weeks, but I have no idea if my vacation aligns with the Academy schedule.

Even if, by some miracle, the timing works out, I still need to participate in socialization events. I have to connect with nobles from other duchies, introduce our trends, and establish crucial relationships. This task is vital—not only to improve Ehrenfest’s economy but also to secure asylum. Sylvester is searching for a wife from a duchy ranked higher than Ahrensbach to protect us from Lady Georgine’s schemes and stabilize Ehrenfest’s internal politics.

“Milady,” came Alexandra’s voice. “Here is a potion. Please drink it slowly.”

I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes. The light was too bright at first, but I adjusted after a moment. A vial of potion had been placed in front of me. I took it and drank the contents in small sips. Ever since Alexandra became my doctor, my medicine has stopped tasting horrible. I still don’t know how she managed it, but she somehow convinced Ferdinand to improve his recovery potions to be palatable—a feat I’ve failed to accomplish despite years of attempts. For that, I am deeply grateful.

“How are you feeling, milady?” Alexandra asked.

“I feel dizzy, and my head hurts,” I replied. Alexandra performed a health check, placing her fingers on my neck and channeling a small amount of mana into my body. The area around her fingers itched uncomfortably. It’s strange—when Ferdinand does this, it feels soothing. His mana is cold, but not in a bad way; it’s like a refreshing spring breeze, comforting and pleasant. When I asked Mother about this once, it led to a very uncomfortable conversation. She was hysterical, demanding to know if Ferdinand had done anything inappropriate to me.

That day turned out to be one of the weirdest and most embarrassing of my life. I had to vehemently defend Ferdinand, assuring her he’d done no such thing. The ordeal also led to an early lesson in “lady education” from Mother. If not for my memories from another world, I might have been traumatized. Thankfully, things are somewhat similar to Earth, though mana complicates everything. There are still many things I don’t fully understand—especially since Mother explained much of it using euphemisms while I was still correcting my education. I have more questions, but Mother promised she’d explain everything in more detail as I grow older.

Fran approached my desk and said, “Lady Rozemyne, Lord Ferdinand, Lady Elvira, and Lady Charlotte are here, and they are asking for permission to enter.”

I gave my permission, and Fran bowed before leaving to escort them in. My general routine has undergone some major changes lately. After we returned from Hogwarts, Mother and Ferdinand asked me to teach them English. Alexandra is also included in these lessons, as Mother decided to reveal our current situation to her.

Of course, all of this was a shock to Alexandra—so much so that she fainted upon hearing it. Once she calmed down, however, she insisted on coming with me to Hogwarts as my doctor. Mother had already planned to make this request herself, so Alexandra’s insistence made things easier.

As for Charlotte, she also wanted to learn English. She believes that mastering the language will be a useful skill for communication and for keeping everything discussed a secret

But I believe Charlotte simply wanted to be included. It doesn’t matter—I’m happy to teach her. One of the tools Mestionara left behind was a magical translation device, but after all the trouble she’s caused, no one trusts anything that comes from her. In fact, Mother and Ferdinand share the opinion that the less we depend on the magical tools provided by the Goddess of Wisdom, the better.

Our study group moved to my hidden room. Once inside, I began today’s lesson. I have to be honest—I actually enjoy teaching them. My mother from my time as Urano was a teacher, and in some way, doing this makes me feel connected to her. The lesson lasted for about a bell. Once it was over, it was my turn to be the student.

I was left alone with Mother. She and Ferdinand take turns teaching me. Mother focuses on instructing me in the common sense of nobles and refining my noble education. After learning about my memories of my past life, she insisted we start over from the very beginning. She wants to ensure I can fully understand and adapt to my life here. I have to admit, things have been going much more smoothly with this new approach. I’ve been able to comprehend cultural nuances that I struggled with the first time around.

As for Ferdinand, he serves as my academic mentor. He tutors me in the curriculum of the Royal Academy, but, of course, this is Ferdinand we’re talking about—it’s never just the standard curriculum. He includes content from the pre-civil war curriculum, which, according to all the adults around me, was far superior to the one currently taught.

Given what Mestionara has done to me, Ferdinand has promised to help me adjust to my new condition as a demigoddess and regain full control over my mana.

It was time for dinner when I was finally released from Mother’s lesson. She joined me for the meal, and we sat together at the dining table, enjoying the carefully prepared dishes. The food was delicious as always, and the atmosphere was warm and familiar, yet I couldn’t shake the subtle tension in the air. Mother seemed preoccupied, her glances toward me laced with hesitation. She looked like she wanted to ask me something but was holding back.

I took a small sip of my soup, trying not to let my unease show. Was she going to ask about my progress with omnipresence? My stomach churned at the thought. I hadn’t made any meaningful advances, and the very idea of admitting that to her made my chest tighten. I knew she would understand, but her concern would undoubtedly weigh on me. It wasn’t just my responsibility to master this ability; it was tied to all of our futures—mine, Ehrenfest’s, and even hers.

Fortunately, the question never came. Mother simply smiled and continued the conversation, asking about smaller, safer topics—how the study group was going, what books I was reading, and whether I had made any new plans for my industries. I answered as cheerfully as I could, but inside, my thoughts were elsewhere.

The truth was gnawing at me: I was failing. Despite Ferdinand’s guidance, despite all my efforts, I couldn’t get a grip on omnipresence. Every attempt left me drained, bleeding, or worse. A power like this should be revolutionary—it should solve so many of my problems—but instead, it felt like a burden too great for me to bear.

I poked at the vegetables on my plate, my appetite fading. What can I do? How can I make this work when every step forward feels like a step into failure? I couldn’t voice these doubts aloud, not now. Mother didn’t need more worries on her shoulders. For now, I’d have to push forward alone, as I always had.

Dinner came to an end sooner than I expected. Mother left, and I was given half a bell to relax and read. But the truth was, I felt too depressed to concentrate on any book. Instead, I retreated to my hidden room, asking my attendants to call me when it was time to sleep. Once inside, I sat at my desk, staring at my diptych. I needed to approach this problem from a completely different angle.

Taking a deep breath, I began by organizing my thoughts. Let’s start with what I know about this ability. First, omnipresence is a power related to the gods, allowing them to exist in multiple places simultaneously. However, my version of the ability is limited—it’s far from the divine perfection they enjoy.

I remembered the lessons Mestionara gave me, guiding me through the use of portals and omnipresence. At that time, it hadn’t felt as overwhelming as it does now. Perhaps it was because we were in some kind of mental space, and she was there to support me. Back then, I didn’t feel the painful aftermath I’ve experienced during my attempts.

The ability to open portals, while simpler than omnipresence, is still mana-intensive and requires deep concentration. Keeping a portal open is a delicate task; without proper focus, the portal becomes unstable. If it collapses while traveling through it… I shuddered at the thought. That would undoubtedly lead to disaster.

I tapped my diptych lightly, my frustration growing. Why is this so difficult? The gods wield these powers effortlessly. Perhaps I was missing a key detail, something fundamental that Mestionara assumed I would understand.

After some thought, I jotted down a few notes on my diptych:

• Mana costs: Both portals and omnipresence are extremely demanding on my mana reserves. The more I attempt to maintain, the more quickly I become exhausted.
• Focus and stability: Without precise control, portals destabilize, and my omnipresence collapses. Mental discipline is just as important as mana reserves.
• Differences from divine use: The gods can handle these powers effortlessly because they are divine by nature. As a demigoddess, I lack the innate mastery they possess.

If I am to make progress, I need to develop a structured approach. Relying on instinct or brute force will only lead to more failures. Perhaps I need to create exercises to strengthen my focus, or maybe there’s a way to stabilize these abilities using tools or techniques I haven’t considered yet.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The weight of my failures pressed down on me, but giving up wasn’t an option. I had responsibilities—to Ehrenfest, to Hogwarts, and to myself. I couldn’t let this ability defeat me.

With newfound determination, I picked up my pen again and began sketching ideas, hoping that this time, I might find the breakthrough I desperately needed.

When Mestionara first explained omnipresence, my mind immediately went to Naruto and his shadow clones. But that was a completely wrong comparison. Naruto’s clones act independently, each with their own autonomy while still connected to him. My situation, however, couldn’t be more different.

The first time I tried to use omnipresence, I quickly realized that my mind was solely responsible for controlling both bodies at the same time. It was as if I had become the puppeteer of two marionettes, trying to move them with the same hand. I had to pull their strings, make them walk, gesture, and speak simultaneously, but it was impossible to coordinate. The strings tangled, the movements became clumsy, and the voices overlapped into an incoherent cacophony. No matter how much I focused, everything fell apart.

As if that wasn’t enough, the sensory overload was overwhelming. My mind was bombarded with two sets of sights, sounds, and sensations, all at once. It was like trying to watch two different plays happening on stage at the same time while also directing both performances. The chaos left me paralyzed, unable to act or even think clearly.

I sighed deeply, tapping my pen against my diptych. Back then, I thought I just needed more practice, but even after multiple attempts, the result has always been the same: failure. Perhaps I’m missing something crucial—a technique or principle that Mestionara didn’t explain fully.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the notes I’d scribbled:

• Sensory overload: Managing multiple perspectives is unbearable without a way to filter or prioritize the incoming information.
• Coordination challenges: Controlling two bodies as if they’re separate marionettes isn’t working. I need a more natural, intuitive method.
• Potential solutions:
• Practice simpler, dual tasks to build my mental capacity before attempting full omnipresence.
• Experiment with dividing my attention in structured ways, dedicating specific focus to each body.
• Seek Ferdinand’s advice on mana control and mental discipline. He may have insights to help me unlock the true potential of this ability.

The thought of seeking Ferdinand’s help made me grimace. His sharp tongue and relentless critiques were never easy to bear, but if anyone could guide me through this, it was him. With his knowledge of mana manipulation and the discipline he’s drilled into me over the years, he might offer the breakthrough I needed.

Setting my diptych down, I allowed myself a small moment of frustration before resolving to try again. The gods made this ability look effortless, but for me, it was proving to be the most challenging thing I’d ever attempted. Still, I refused to give up. There had to be a way to make this work.

An idea came to me—yes, Schrödinger’s cat. I was essentially existing in two places at the same time. If this analogy was accurate, I needed to test the theory.

Before I could delve deeper into my thoughts, the voices of my attendants crackled through the communication device, informing me it was time to sleep. Reluctantly, I exited my hidden room. My attendants moved swiftly to prepare me for bed, but despite my curiosity and the urge to keep musing on my idea, exhaustion won out. The moment my head touched the pillow, I fell into a deep sleep.

Monica’s voice shattered the darkness, pulling me from slumber. I sat up groggily, still feeling as though I hadn’t slept at all. My body ached with fatigue, but there was no choice—I had to prepare for the day. My attendants worked quickly, bathing and dressing me with their usual efficiency. After breakfast, Rosina arrived for my music lesson. We practiced the harspiel until the third bell, a peaceful respite from my restless thoughts.

But then, it was time to head to Ferdinand’s office. I hesitated, my new theory burning at the back of my mind. I wanted to test it before doing anything else. Making a quick decision, I entered my hidden room, informing my attendants that I needed some documents stored there. Once the door closed securely behind me, I moved to the sofa and lay down. Closing my eyes, I activated omnipresence.

The transition was smoother this time. I found myself seeing my body lying motionless on the sofa while simultaneously inhabiting my other form. The usual sensory overload was significantly reduced. I could still faintly feel the texture of the sofa against my back from my original body, but my vision and hearing were perfectly clear in my clone. The silence of the hidden room helped ease the strain on my senses.

Using my clone, I left the hidden room and resumed my usual routine. It was certainly a strange experience. I knew my original body remained safely tucked away, and the only thing tethering me to it was the faint sensation of the sofa. Yet, I moved through the halls and interacted with my surroundings as if nothing were amiss.

The sense of separation was disconcerting but also thrilling. For the first time, it felt like this ability might actually be usable. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress—progress I desperately needed.

I soon reached Ferdinand’s office. Fran opened the door, and inside, as usual, was Ferdinand seated behind his desk, his eyes glued to a stack of documents in front of him. He barely acknowledged my presence at first, engrossed in his work, but after a moment, he looked up and nodded in greeting. I approached his desk, saluted him formally, and offered the usual courtesies. Once our brief exchange was over, I moved to my designated workspace.

On my desk was the familiar sight of a pile of documents waiting to be addressed. Sighing internally, I began sorting through them. I had been trying to convince Ferdinand to train more blue robes to help with the increasing workload, but every time I brought it up, he rejected the idea outright. “It’s a waste of time to train the incompetent,” he would say dismissively. While I could understand his frustration, we would need to reconsider this soon—especially since we still had no concrete plan for managing everything once my semester at Hogwarts began.

I tapped my pen lightly against the table, pondering how to present a proposal Ferdinand couldn’t refuse. The last thing I wanted was for him to revert to his unhealthy habits of skipping meals and sleep, sustaining himself solely on recovery potions. The thought made me shudder.

Shortly after I started working, Charlotte, Evelina, and Mother arrived. With their help, we divided the workload efficiently, and the atmosphere in the room became a little lighter. Even as I focused on my tasks, part of my attention remained on my condition, monitoring how my body and clone were holding up.

The first thing I noticed was that my fatigue was starting to fade. In fact, my original body, still lying on the sofa in my hidden room, had fallen asleep. I could feel her steady breathing, a strange yet calming sensation. My exhaustion seemed to dissipate as my other self rested, leaving me more energized to focus on my tasks here.

Next, I turned my attention to mana consumption. So far, I hadn’t felt any noticeable drain. It wasn’t until I paused to actively examine the flow of mana in my body that I realized something critical: the mana available to this body was half of what I normally had. My mind raced as the realization hit me.

So… the mana of my original body is evenly divided between the two? That would explain why I hadn’t felt any strain yet. If this division is consistent, then each projection would function with an equal share of my mana. While this limits how many projections I can sustain at once, it also means I have a clear way to measure and manage my resources.

I made a quick note of this discovery on a spare sheet of paper. This information could prove invaluable as I continued to refine my use of omnipresence. For now, though, I needed to focus on completing today’s work—and coming up with a proposal Ferdinand wouldn’t immediately reject.

The fourth bell began to ring, signaling the end of our work for the day. I bid farewell to Ferdinand and Charlotte, and Mother accompanied me back to my room. As soon as we entered, I told her about my idea to train the blue robes and its importance with my imminent departure to Hogwarts. I asked her to help me prepare a proposal that Ferdinand couldn’t easily reject. She considered my words carefully, saw the merit in my suggestion, and agreed to help me. But first, it was time to eat.

We took our seats, and it didn’t take long for my attendants to bring the food. Despite the delicious aroma of the meal, Mother still seemed restless, much like the previous night. Her noble mask remained intact, but the worry in her eyes betrayed her unease. Handing her a sound-blocking tool, I gently asked, “Is something wrong, Mother?”

She didn’t answer immediately, instead looking thoughtful, as though searching for the right words.

“Rozemyne, dear… how are you? Lately, I’ve noticed you seem tired, and your complexion doesn’t look healthy.”

Her gentle concern hit me harder than I expected. I hesitated before replying, “I… I’m still struggling. My body feels as if it weighs three times as much as usual. Even the smallest effort leaves me exhausted, just like when I lived in the lower city. If not for Alexandra’s care and the medicine she gives me, I’m certain I would’ve fallen ill with a fever by now… ”

“I see,” Mother said softly. Her voice carried a sadness that her composed expression couldn’t fully hide. Her noble mask remained in place, but the worry in her eyes deepened.

“And, dear, I’ve noticed you seem sad,” she continued. “You may try to hide it, but I’m your mother. I can tell you’ve been feeling down.”

I wanted to lie, to tell her I was fine, but I couldn’t. Not when she looked at me like that. Not when her eyes, filled with love and concern, demanded the truth. My resolve crumbled, and I began to talk. I told her everything—my struggles to master omnipresence, my fears about what awaited me in Hogwarts, and the guilt I felt for causing so much trouble for everyone.

Mother reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. She squeezed it gently and said, “This is not your fault, Rozemyne. It’s Mestionara’s. That goddess placed this burden on you without your consent. And as for omnipresence, don’t pressure yourself to master it. In fact, it doesn’t matter if you never master it. We will find another solution, one that doesn’t depend on the powers she forced upon you.”

I took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, and nodded at her words. She returned the sound-blocking tool, and we resumed eating. The rest of the meal felt lighter, though I could tell Mother was still worried. I tried to steer the conversation to something more cheerful, so I asked her to tell me about her latest love story. It was a tragic tale of two nobles whose love for one another was genuine but ultimately doomed by conflicting goals.

Her story reminded me of the drama between Damuel and my former female knight, Brigitte. Just like in Mother’s tale, their goals didn’t align, and they couldn’t move forward with their relationship. Brigitte, with Mother’s guidance, eventually found a new partner and married last year, leaving my service. Thinking of Brigitte made me smile bittersweetly—her story had ended happily, even if it hadn’t been the one she originally envisioned.

The meal came to an end, and we were about to move to my desk to start working on the blue robe training proposal when a sharp pain shot through one side of my body. My original body had fallen from the chair where she had been sleeping. The sudden movement jolted her awake, and with it, the sensory overload of omnipresence returned.

I collapsed instantly. My nose began to bleed, and Mother rushed to my side, panic evident on her face. “Rozemyne, what’s wrong?” she asked urgently.

Through the pain, I managed to point weakly toward my hidden room before my clone disappeared, leaving me gasping for breath as the overwhelming sensations faded.

I was back in my hidden room, lying on the floor. The side of my body that had hit the ground throbbed with pain, but it was nothing compared to the pounding in my head. This time, it was far worse than before—likely because the sensory overload had hit me without warning. I felt something wet trickling down the side of my head. Blood, I realized faintly, though my spinning thoughts barely registered it.

I tried to push myself up, but my body refused to cooperate. The room spun around me, and the effort only made the nausea worse. The light on the communication device in the room began to shine, and moments later, Mother’s voice came through, filled with panic. “Rozemyne! Are you in there? Answer me!”

Her fear gave me a surge of determination. I couldn’t leave her like that. Summoning what little strength I had, I began to crawl toward the door, each movement agonizingly slow. When I finally reached it, I leaned against it for support, my trembling fingers fumbling for the fey stone. Pressing it weakly, I managed to confirm in a faint voice, “I’m here… in the hidden room…”

I wanted to open the door, to reassure her properly, but an overwhelming urge to vomit stopped me in my tracks. I turned desperately, spotting the trash can in the corner of the room. Crawling toward it, I barely made it in time before my stomach heaved violently.

I emptied the contents of my stomach into the trash can, my body shaking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down my cheeks, mingling with the blood dripping from my nose and ear. I clung to the trash can as though it were the only stable thing in the room, my body wracked with tremors as waves of nausea refused to subside.

I must have looked utterly miserable—a pitiful sight, bleeding and trembling, with tears rolling unchecked down my face. My breaths came in shallow gasps as I tried to regain control of my body, but the nausea lingered, and my head felt like it might split apart at any moment.

The door suddenly burst open, and someone entered the room. I weakly raised my head from the trash can, my vision blurred by tears. Through the haze, I saw Ferdinand. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, and his piercing eyes were a mix of concern and barely restrained anger.

He crossed the room in rapid, purposeful strides, kneeling next to me without hesitation. His gaze swept over me, taking in my trembling form, the blood streaking my face, and my tear-streaked cheeks. He muttered something under his breath—likely a curse directed at my foolishness—before summoning his schtappe. A soft glow enveloped me as he cast a healing blessing. Some of the pain began to fade, my throbbing head easing just enough for me to think more clearly.

"Let go of the trash can," he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

It took me a moment to process his words, my trembling hands still clutching the trash can as though it were my lifeline. With difficulty, I pried my fingers away, my movements slow and shaky. Ferdinand wasted no time, pushing the trash can aside and pointing me with this schtappe.

“Close your mouth and hold your breath,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I obeyed without question, my exhaustion making it easier to comply than to protest. He cast Waschen , and a bubble of water enveloped me. For a brief moment, the cool sensation of the water was both soothing and invigorating. It washed away the blood, tears, and remnants of my earlier distress, leaving me clean. The water then vanished, and I found myself completely dry, my face now free of the grime that had marked my earlier breakdown.

Ferdinand’s sharp eyes locked onto mine as the magic faded, his expression still a mix of exasperation and worry. He said in a tone that demanded an explanation, " What exactly were you thinking?"

I couldn’t respond to Ferdinand. My body was trembling like a spooked shumil, and new tears threatened to spill from my eyes. Seeing this, Ferdinand sighed heavily before leaning down and picking me up in one smooth motion. Too weak to protest, I let him carry me as we exited the hidden room.

The moment we entered my bedroom, I was met with the sight of Mother, Alexandra, and all my attendants. Their faces were pale with worry, and their expressions looked almost as distressed as I felt. Ferdinand ignored them and carried me to a chair, setting me down carefully. I tried to steady my breathing and regain some semblance of control over myself, but my body refused to stop trembling.

Alexandra was at my side in an instant, moving with the efficiency of someone trained for emergencies. She began to check me over while Mother, her face tight with concern, ordered the attendants to leave the room. “Out,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly. The attendants obeyed reluctantly, casting anxious glances over their shoulders as they departed. Once the door closed, she turned her full attention back to me.

After a thorough examination, Alexandra stepped back and gave her diagnosis. “She has a fever,” she said, her voice calm but edged with worry. “She needs to rest immediately.”

I nodded weakly, intending to stand and head to bed, but Ferdinand’s sharp voice stopped me. “Don’t move, fool. Stay where you are,” he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. “Before we send you to rest, you’re going to explain yourself. What did you do?”

His words left no room for argument. With a trembling voice, I began to recount my idea from last night regarding omnipresence. My explanation was halting and scattered, and I wasn’t sure if I managed to make much sense. Still, I believed I had conveyed the general concept. When I finally finished, the silence that followed was oppressive.

Mother was the first to break it. Her face, normally composed and graceful, now showed cracks of raw emotion. She stepped closer, her eyes glistening with both anger and unshed tears. “Rozemyne,” she began, her voice trembling. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was? You could have seriously hurt yourself—or worse! What were you thinking, child?”

I flinched at her words, unable to meet her gaze. Her disappointment cut deeper than any of the others. “You’ve been pushing yourself far too hard,” she continued, her voice rising. “And for what? To master a power that only brings you harm? Enough, Rozemyne! I will not stand by and watch you destroy yourself for this. I forbid you to use omnipresence ever again. Do you hear me? Never again!”

Her words hit me like a blow. Shame consumed me, and I couldn’t bring myself to lift my head. “I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Ferdinand, of course, couldn’t let it rest. “Be reasonable, Lady Elvira,” he began, his tone measured but firm. “The ability may be dangerous now, but—”

“I said no, Lord Ferdinand!” Mother interrupted sharply, turning to face him with a steely glare. “This power has done nothing but harm her. I will not allow her to use it again!”

“Restricting her entirely would be shortsighted,” Ferdinand argued, his voice calm but edged with irritation. “The power is not the problem—it’s her lack of control. With proper guidance—”

“With proper guidance, you’ve already pushed her to collapse!” Mother snapped, cutting him off. Her voice cracked with emotion as she continued. “She is not one of your experiments, Lord Ferdinand. She is my daughter! Her safety comes first.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he turned his gaze back to me, his frustration evident.

Meanwhile, Mother knelt beside me, taking my trembling hands in hers. Her grip was warm and steady, but her voice softened as she spoke again. “Rozemyne, I love you. You don’t have to bear this alone. Whatever challenges we face, we will find another way—one that doesn’t involve risking your life.”

Her reassurance made my chest tighten, and I felt tears spilling over again. I could only nod, too overcome to say anything more.

The tension in the room was broken by Alexandra’s voice. “That’s enough,” she said firmly, stepping between Mother and Ferdinand. “Rozemyne needs rest, not more stress. If you want to continue this discussion, do it elsewhere.”

Mother’s hand lingered on mine for a moment longer before she reluctantly rose. Ferdinand looked like he wanted to argue but ultimately held his tongue. As Alexandra guided me toward the bed, I felt the weight of everyone’s worry pressing down on me. Exhaustion claimed me as soon as I lay down, Alexandra’s soft reassurances the last thing I heard before sleep overtook me.

It was Alexandra’s voice that woke me. “Milady, the sixth bell has just rung. Please wake up. It is important for you to eat something, at least a light dinner—especially after what happened this afternoon.”

I sat up slowly, nodding at her words. Alexandra moved to help me stand and guided me to the table. I felt much better than earlier, but my body still felt as fragile as jelly. The ache in my head had subsided, but the light in the room still bothered me, making me squint slightly.

My attendants moved quietly around the room, preparing the table and bringing in food on serving carts. The soft clinking of plates and utensils was the only sound.

Once everything was ready, I began eating, taking my time with each bite. The food was light—small portions of simple dishes that wouldn’t upset my stomach. I ate alone and in silence, my thoughts swirling as I tried to process the events of the day.

When I finished, Alexandra approached me again, her practiced hands gentle as she performed a health check.

“The high fever you had this afternoon has subsided into a mild one,” she said, her tone calm but cautious.

“Milady, I will return later with your medicine and a sleeping potion. Please, do not attempt to go into your hidden room,” Alexandra said firmly. “I suggest you go back to bed and rest.”

I nodded weakly, too drained to argue. Alexandra stood up, bowed slightly, and left the room. Once I was alone, I grabbed my diptych and climbed back into bed. Despite everything that had happened, my mind refused to rest. I had gathered a lot of information about omnipresence during this disaster, but remembering Mother’s face from earlier made me hesitate. Should I even continue thinking about this ability?

I sighed, the weight of my doubts pressing down on me. Maybe this is useless, I thought bitterly. A power bound to the gods shouldn’t be manageable for a mortal—even a demigoddess. It wasn’t like the stories where demigods wielded divine powers effortlessly, challenging the gods themselves without restraint. Reality was far crueler.

Still, giving up completely didn’t sit well with me either. Pushing aside my frustration, I opened my diptych and began to write down what I had learned from this experience.

• Clone creation: I managed to create a clone, but my connection to my original body remained. I could still feel my physical presence in the hidden room.
• Synchronization: The clone functioned only because my original body had fallen asleep. This reduced the sensory overload significantly, but it didn’t eliminate it entirely.
• Mana division: The mana in my body was evenly split between the two forms. While this ensured neither body consumed excessive energy, it also limited the amount of mana available for either to function.
• Shared sensations: Any physical sensation experienced by one body was felt in the other. When my original body fell from the chair, the pain was mirrored in the clone.

As I reviewed the list, I tapped my pen against the diptych in thought. The shared sensations were a significant drawback. If I couldn’t find a way to separate them, using this ability would always carry a risk of physical harm. The division of mana, too, posed challenges—especially if I ever attempted to create more than one clone.

I sighed again, resting my head against the headboard. What am I supposed to do with this? I couldn’t deny the potential of omnipresence, but mastering it seemed like an impossible task.

For now, all I could do was focus on what I’d learned and try to make sense of it later. Alexandra’s words echoed in my mind: Rest. That was all I was capable of right now. I closed the diptych and set it aside, leaning back against the pillows. My body was heavy, my mind cluttered with thoughts, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that giving up wasn’t an option—not yet.

I stared into nothingness, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. With all the information I had gathered, I had finally reached a conclusion. When I first thought about Schrödinger’s cat, it wasn’t such a misguided comparison after all. This ability—this strange, overwhelming power—was rooted in the very principle of superposition from quantum physics.

When using omnipresence, I exist in two places at the same time. What I initially thought was a copy of myself turned out to be completely wrong. Both bodies are my real body when the ability is active. They coexist as two simultaneous states, neither more nor less "me" than the other.

When the ability deactivates, it’s as if the quantum particle collapses into a single state. The separation ends, and I return to a singular existence, just like when the box in Schrödinger's experiment is opened and it is revealed whether the cat is alive or dead.

The realization left me both fascinated and frustrated. On one hand, it gave me a framework to understand the ability, something tangible to grasp in the middle of this chaos. On the other hand, it highlighted how completely unnatural this power was for a mortal, even for a demigoddess like me. Managing two realities simultaneously wasn’t just a matter of mana or mental focus; it was about reconciling a dual existence into one cohesive self.

But there was something more, something I hadn’t anticipated: the experience of living in two different states not only affected my body, but also my mind and emotions. During the time I am "split," there are moments when I feel like one of my bodies isn’t mine. As if part of me were disconnected, trapped in a reality I can’t directly observe. It’s as if one half of my mind is living in a parallel universe, while the other is here, in this world.

At first, I thought it was just about managing mana efficiently or controlling my mental focus. But I realized that it’s not just a matter of energy. It’s an existential dilemma. I am trying to maintain two consciousnesses, two existences, within the same mind. And it’s not something easy to do. Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever truly reconcile these two parts of me. Am I really living in two places? Or am I just seeing fragments of my existence scattered across time and space?

It’s as if my identity were divided, not just by the power, but by the same quantum principle. When I return to a single state, I feel an emptiness. It’s as if something I experienced, something I lived, has vanished, not because it’s no longer mine, but because I couldn’t observe it completely. This duality isn’t just physical. It’s affecting the way I think, the way I feel. And that’s what scares me.

I sighed and dropped the pen on the diptych. This is much more complicated than I imagined. Understanding the mechanics is one thing, but mastering it... mastering this fracture of reality and mind is something entirely different.

This realization left a heavy weight in my chest. This power might be too much for me to master, I thought bitterly. Mother’s words began to echo in my mind once again—her firm declaration that this ability had done nothing but harm me every time I had tried to use it. The memory of her anger and worry resurfaced, and for the first time, I began to think she was right to forbid me from using it ever again.

Lost in my thoughts, Monica’s voice snapped me back to reality. “Milady, it’s time to prepare for bed,” she said gently, her tone full of care.

She and Nicola worked together to guide me to the bath. Their hands were steady and practiced, making the routine comforting despite my lingering unease. Once bathed and dressed in my nightwear, I returned to my room, where Alexandra was waiting. True to her word, she had come back with a vial of medicine and a sleeping potion.

“Here you go, Milady,” Alexandra said, handing me the vials. Her calm presence was a balm to my frayed nerves.

I drank the medicine first, grimacing slightly at the taste, though it was far from the bitter concoctions Ferdinand used to give me. Then, I took the sleeping potion. Its effects were almost immediate. A drowsy haze settled over me, and my body began to feel heavy.

As I lay down in bed, the potion’s magic pulled me deeper into its embrace. My thoughts faded, my worries silenced, and soon, the darkness of sleep overtook me entirely.

Chapter Text

POV Elvira 

I was not eager to leave my daughter's side, especially after witnessing her vanish into thin air. The sight alone nearly stopped my heart. My instincts screamed at me to act, so I quickly moved to the door of Rozemyne's hidden room. Her last gesture before disappearing had been to point toward it. Pressing the fey stone embedded in the door, I called out to her, my voice trembling with urgency.

"Rozemyne, are you there?" I asked, my tone sharp with worry.

At first, there was no answer. My panic began to rise, threatening to overwhelm me, until—several agonizing minutes later—I heard her voice. It was faint, weak, and utterly exhausted, but it was hers. Relief surged through me, though it was short-lived. I begged her to open the door, but no response came. I tried again and again, yet the silence stretched on. Dread gripped my chest. What if she had lost consciousness? What if something worse had happened?

Determined not to waste another second, I turned and hurried toward the main door of her chambers, intent on summoning Lord Ferdinand. He would have the means to open it and assess her condition.

However, Rozemyne's attendants proved to be as capable as ever. Just as I reached the threshold, the door opened. To my immense relief, Lord Ferdinand stepped through, his expression as sharp and focused as ever. Behind him trailed Fran, Rozemyne's head attendant, who looked equally grave. Their presence was a balm to my frayed nerves, though my worry for my daughter remained unabated.

Lord Ferdinand, wasting not a single moment, brushed past me and headed directly to the door of Rozemyne’s hidden room. Without hesitation, he opened it and stepped inside. I hurried after him, stopping just at the threshold.

What I saw froze me in place—a scene straight out of a nightmare. Rozemyne sat on the floor, trembling uncontrollably, clutching something in her arms. A trash can? Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, mingling with blood dripping from her nose and one of her ears. Her sunken, lifeless eyes betrayed exhaustion beyond anything I had ever witnessed. It was a vision that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Lord Ferdinand muttered something under his breath, his voice too low for me to catch, before summoning his schtappe. A faint glow enveloped him as he cast a healing blessing over Rozemyne. He knelt in front of her, speaking to her with calm authority as he coaxed her to release her grip on the trash can. Slowly, her trembling hands let go.

"Close your mouth and hold your breath," he instructed firmly, before casting Waschen to cleanse her. The spell washed over her, wiping away the traces of blood and tears, though her fragile state remained painfully evident.

With practiced ease, Ferdinand scooped her up from the ground and carried her out of the hidden room. He placed her gently in a chair, careful not to jar her further.

"Everyone,Out," I commanded Rozemyne’s attendants, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. They bowed and hurried out without question, save for Alexandra, who remained by my side. She quickly approached Rozemyne to check her condition, her practiced hands working swiftly. "She has a fever" Alexandra reported grimly, "and she needs immediate rest."

But before we could allow her to retreat to her bed, there was one pressing matter: we needed to know what had happened.

“Don’t move, fool. Stay where you are,” he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. “Before we send you to rest, you’re going to explain yourself. What did you do?”

Rozemyne began to explain what had happened, though her voice was trembling, and her words came out disjointed, likely due to the shock she was still experiencing. It was difficult for her to provide a coherent account, but with patience and some prompting from Ferdinand and me, we managed to piece together most of the story.

It seemed she had conceived an idea for using the ability granted to her by Mestionara, the one that allowed her to exist in two places at once. However, her attempt had ultimately failed in a catastrophic way.

When she finished her explanation, fury burned hot within me. I wasn’t the only one—everyone in the room shared the same anger and disbelief. How could she have done something so reckless and dangerous? Did she not realize she could have killed herself? This was unacceptable. I would not allow her to use this ability ever again. According to Alexandra’s report, every time she attempted it, the results were the same: bleeding, collapse, and complete exhaustion.

What was that so-called Goddess of Wisdom thinking when she granted my daughter this power? Even if my Rozemyne had been turned into a demigoddess, she was still a mortal. This was madness, and I would not stand for it.

When I voiced aloud that I forbade Rozemyne from ever using this power again, the one who protested was none other than Lord Ferdinand. How dare he! He claimed that with proper guidance and training, she could master it. His argument was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. How could he expect her to control such a power when we didn’t even understand how it worked? In fact, this was the very first time I had even heard that the gods possessed such an ability.

This sparked an argument between me and Lord Ferdinand, our voices sharp and heated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw hesitation flicker in Rozemyne’s expression, and my heart sank. I could not let her feel torn between us, not in this moment. Casting all noble decorum aside, I dropped to my knees before her.

Taking her small, trembling hands in mine, I looked into her weary eyes and spoke from the depths of my heart. 

“Rozemyne, I love you. You don’t have to bear this alone. Whatever challenges we face, we will find another way—one that doesn’t involve risking your life.”

Alexandra’s sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough!” she scolded, her tone brooking no argument. “Both of you, stop this at once. Rozemyne needs rest, and your bickering is only making things worse. If you wish to continue this argument, take it elsewhere.”

The weight of her words settled over us, and, grudgingly, I relented. Lord Ferdinand and I exchanged a brief, tense glance before silently agreeing to adjourn the discussion.

We were walking back to Lord Ferdinand’s office to continue our argument, though, in my opinion, there was little left to discuss. Nothing he could say would make me change my mind—I would not allow Rozemyne to use that dangerous power again.

The atmosphere between us was thick with tension, the kind that seemed to press down on the very air around us. Neither of us spoke as we moved through the hallways, the silence broken only by the muffled sound of our footsteps. It wasn’t the silence of resolution, but the quiet before a storm.

When we finally reached his office, Ferdinand opened the door with sharp, deliberate movements, his frustration evident in every action. To my surprise, our esteemed Aub was already there. Sylvester was sprawled across one of the wooden benches, casually eating fruit from a bowl on the coffee table in front of him, looking more like a carefree child than the ruler of Ehrenfest.

“Finally, Ferdinand, it’s about time you showed up,” Sylvester said, lifting his head with an exaggeratedly childish tone. However, the moment his gaze landed on the two of us, his playful smirk faded into an uneasy expression. “Care to explain what has the two of you glaring daggers at each other?”

Behind the bench stood my husband, his stance firm as he stood guard over the Aub. He remained silent but glanced between us with a flicker of concern in his eyes.

Ferdinand’s frown deepened as he regarded Sylvester with disdain. “What are you doing here, Sylvester? I thought you had outgrown this childish habit of sneaking away from your responsibilities,” he said, his voice as sharp as a blade. “Just when I began to think you had finally stopped acting like a spoiled child.”

Sylvester sat up, placing the half-eaten fruit back in the bowl with deliberate slowness. “Oh, come now, Ferdinand,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “do you have to scold me the moment I open my mouth? I can’t imagine what’s gotten you into such a sour mood, but—” He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied us more closely. “Wait. This is serious, isn’t it?”

We didn’t respond to Sylvester’s question. Instead, Lord Ferdinand moved toward his desk and rang the bell resting there. Moments later, his attendants entered the room and knelt in acknowledgment.

“Prepare tea and snacks for our guest,” Ferdinand ordered curtly. The attendants rose and moved swiftly to fulfill his request. In no time, a table was set with an elegant tea service and an assortment of light refreshments.

Once everything was in place, Ferdinand dismissed the attendants. “Leave us,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do not return unless it’s an emergency.” The grey priests bowed and filed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

We all moved to the table, the tension in the room palpable. Ferdinand meticulously performed the poison test on the tea and snacks, his actions calm but precise, as was his nature.He set a sound-blocking device on the table. With a practiced motion, he activated it, ensuring our conversation would remain private.

Once we were all seated around the table, Lord Ferdinand and I began recounting the events of the day. It didn’t take long before the topic shifted, and once again, Lord Ferdinand tried to lift the prohibition I had placed on Rozemyne regarding the use of her ability to exist in two places at once. However, I stood my ground. That power must never be used again.

“Be reasonable, Elvira,” Ferdinand said, his tone sharp but controlled. “Rozemyne must use that power to fulfill all the responsibilities she has here. Don’t you see how many problems we would face if she were absent for so long? Not only would Ehrenfest be burdened with even more issues, but consider her reputation. If she doesn’t attend the Royal Academy this year with her peers, can you imagine the political repercussions we’d have to endure?”

Sylvester, who had been idly swirling his tea, raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly, his casual demeanor replaced by a watchful intensity. My husband shifted uneasily where he stood behind him, casting a concerned glance in my direction but remaining silent.

I held Ferdinand’s gaze, my voice unwavering as I replied. “Lord Ferdinand, I am fully aware of my daughter’s responsibilities. As her head scholar, I am the one managing her schedule. I helped plan this year’s objectives for her, so do not presume to tell me I don’t understand the weight she carries on her shoulders. But I refuse—absolutely refuse—to push her to the breaking point and jeopardize her health, or worse, her life.”

A sharp sound broke the tense silence as Sylvester set his teacup down with a bit more force than necessary, the porcelain clinking against the saucer. He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Just when all I wanted was to have a drink with my brother and cousin—and maybe play poker. Geez, I even finished all my work early today,” he muttered, his tone heavy with mock frustration.

He drained the rest of his tea in one swift motion and turned his attention to my husband, who was standing stiffly behind his bench, clearly trying to remain neutral. “Karstedt, bring a chair and sit. This matter concerns you as well.”

The room was suffocatingly silent, the air heavy with tension as all of us waited, breaths held, for someone to speak. Lord Ferdinand’s sharp frown softened, replaced by an expression of exhaustion as he finally exhaled and broke the oppressive stillness.

“Elvira,” he began, his tone calm but edged with weariness. “It’s not that I’m indifferent to Rozemyne’s wellbeing. Believe me, I am just as concerned as you are. Under any other circumstances, I would have forbidden her outright from using that power. I don’t trust the gods, nor do I believe in relying on divine intervention. But what other options do we have?

The duchy is in chaos, teetering on the edge of political collapse. Mestionora’s descent has only worsened the situation, and her attack on the city has inflamed tensions further. We’re barely holding things together. The story Sylvester and I concocted to explain that day’s events has bought us time, but it’s a fragile shield against the mounting pressure.

Rozemyne’s presence is essential. Imagine the uproar from the Leisegangs if their beloved ‘princess’ were to suddenly vanish. Worse yet, consider what would happen if she doesn’t appear at the Royal Academy. Her absence could shatter what little stability we have left.”

I squared my shoulders, my voice steady but laced with icy determination. “Of course I understand all of this, Lord Ferdinand. Do not think me blind to the realities of the situation. But you must understand—none of it will matter if my daughter destroys herself by overusing this power, or, gods forbid, loses her life.

What I fear most is this happening while she’s in that other world. Then what? How will we reach her? How can we save her, when Rozemyne herself is the only one who can open the portal to return? Are we truly prepared to gamble everything on the chance that she can sustain such a dangerous burden indefinitely?”

Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, it seemed as though he would argue, but instead, he looked away, rubbing a hand across his temple as though attempting to ease an unseen weight.

My husband and Lord Sylvester wore equally tired expressions, both lost in the weight of what we were supposed to do. The silence hung heavy until Lord Sylvester finally broke it, his voice low and contemplative.

“Is there any chance we could negotiate for one of the teachers to come here and tutor Rozemyne instead? Or does this other world have any magic tools or spells that could replicate the power the gods bestowed upon her?”

Lord Ferdinand shook his head firmly, his expression grim. “Mestionora’s order was very specific. Rozemyne must attend the school. She personally enrolled Rozemyne herself, leaving us no room to maneuver.”

“As for tools that might help us,” I interjected, drawing their attention, “the books I’ve read mention a magic tool in their world—something that allows them to interfere with Dregarnuhr’s weaving, even reversing its spin. But…” I hesitated, gripping the fabric of my skirt tightly, “such a tool is, in my opinion, far too dangerous. Tampering with time cannot lead to anything good.”

The room fell silent once more, the implications of my words settling over us like a heavy shroud. Ferdinand’s expression darkened further as he considered my warning, and Sylvester leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in visible frustration.

“Well, that’s just wonderful,” Sylvester muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’re relying on gods with unclear motives, dangerous tools that could break time itself, and a child who’s already stretched far too thin. Truly, a flawless strategy.”

“Be serious, Sylvester,” Ferdinand snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite. “This is no time for your flippancy.”

“I am serious,” Sylvester shot back, his voice rising with frustration. “Do you see any good options here? Because I sure don’t.”

Sylvester groaned audibly, lowering his head onto the table in defeat. With his left hand, he scratched the back of his head in irritation, his voice muffled as he muttered, “By the way, these books you keep referring to—are they the ones the goddess left along with those magic tools?”

“Yes,” I replied simply, knowing full well the conversation wouldn’t end there.

Sylvester lifted his head slightly, his brows furrowed as he pressed further. “What are they about? You haven’t explained their content or what purpose they serve.”

Ferdinand, ever composed despite the tension, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly before speaking. “It turns out that this ‘other world’ isn’t entirely foreign to Rozemyne. The school Mestionora enrolled her in appears to be the main setting of a story that is quite famous in her dream world. The books Mestionora left behind contain that story.”

Sylvester shot upright, his chair scraping against the floor as disbelief flashed across his face. “How is that even possible?!”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to speak again. “You’re telling me that Rozemyne will be living inside a story from her dream world? That everything happening there was written down beforehand?”

“Not exactly,” I interjected, drawing their attention to me. My voice was steady, but my hands gripped my skirt tightly beneath the table. “According to Mestionora, the veil between worlds isn’t perfect. There are moments when individuals with particularly sharp minds can catch glimpses through it. They often confuse these visions with dreams or attribute them to an overactive imagination, turning what they see into stories.”

Sylvester and Karstedt stared at me intently as I continued. “The goddess explained that these stories aren’t always entirely accurate. Some may reflect only a fraction of a world—perhaps one percent or even less. Others, however, might be as close as ninety-nine percent accurate.”

Sylvester’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression a mixture of shock and incredulity. “So, you’re saying that the stories from Rozemyne’s world aren’t just fiction? They’re… reflections of reality?”

I nodded, my voice calm but firm. “Yes. At least, some of them are. The details depend on the clarity of the vision and the individual interpreting it.”

“That’s a very disturbing thought,” Sylvester said, his voice low and spooked. “It means someone might be watching us and writing down our lives… like some kind of fairy tale.”

I nodded solemnly, though I could feel the weight of his words settling over the room.

Karstedt, who had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, finally spoke. “If that’s the case, there’s nothing we can do about it. Better not to dwell on it, Sylvester. Despite the implications of this revelation, I have to admit… I’m grateful.”

Sylvester turned to my husband, his astonishment clear. “Grateful? How can you say that?”

Karstedt met Sylvester’s gaze with a calm but resolute expression. “Even if the accuracy of this story can’t be trusted, it means we’re not completely blind to what Rozemyne might face in this other world. As her father, this brings me a small measure of peace. At least we have something to work with.”

“I’m not complaining, Karstedt,” Sylvester muttered, pouting slightly. “But it’s still hard to swallow the idea that maybe someone in another world is writing down our actions like some kind of story. That we’re just characters in someone else’s narrative.”

Sylvester’s words hung ominously in the air, casting a heavy silence over the room. The thought was unsettling, and we all needed a moment to digest it.

After what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable quiet, Karstedt spoke again, his tone steady but firm. “Either way, let’s not dwell on this. I think I might go insane if I think too much about it. Besides, we have more pressing concerns. We still haven’t figured out how we’re going to deal with this whole situation.”

Karstedt turned to me, his eyes filled with a quiet apology, and then continued, “In my opinion… I think it’s too soon to give up on Rozemyne mastering this new power. We must give her the chance to succeed, even if the risks are high. It’s the only way forward.”

Once again, a burning fury rose in my chest. “Were you not listening to what happened today? How our daughter ended up in such a lamentable state after she failed to use this power?”

“Yes, I listened,” Karstedt replied, his tone measured, though his words only stoked my anger further. “But… according to what you told us, this is the first time she’s managed to make this power work. I know she ended up badly, but perhaps we should try to understand what she did differently this time. It might be the key to making it work properly.”

I could hardly believe my ears. How dare he suggest putting our daughter at risk again? The anger in my chest was reaching its breaking point. I was about to snap at my husband when Lord Sylvester interjected, raising a hand to forestall my outburst.

“Elvira,” Sylvester began, his tone unusually calm, “we’re not saying Rozemyne’s well-being doesn’t matter. But we can’t ignore the possibility that she might be able to control this new power. Did she explain what she did to make it work?”

My anger flared even higher, but before I could retort, Ferdinand stepped in, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if bracing himself for the discussion. “She tried,” he said, his voice low and composed. “But due to the shock, most of her words were an unintelligible mess. The only clear detail we managed to gather was that while her projection was out performing her duties, her real body was back in her hidden room… asleep.”

Sylvester turned to me, his expression thoughtful but firm. “Let’s make a deal,” he said, meeting my gaze directly. “Ferdinand and you will question Rozemyne thoroughly—get every detail you can about what she did today. If, after hearing her explanation, you determine that this power is truly impossible for her to master, we’ll abandon the idea entirely. We’ll focus all our efforts on finding another solution.”

I hesitated, caught between my rising fury and the reasoning in his proposal. The idea of my daughter being put through such an ordeal again was unbearable, but Sylvester’s offer at least gave me some measure of control over the situation.

“And if I decide it’s too dangerous?” I asked, my voice sharp and unyielding.

Sylvester nodded solemnly. “Then we’ll leave it at that. Her well-being comes first. But if there’s even a chance this power can help her and the duchy, we owe it to everyone—Rozemyne included—to explore it fully.”

Ferdinand crossed his arms, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Sylvester. “That’s a rational approach,” he conceded reluctantly. “But we’ll need to tread carefully. One misstep could be disastrous.”

Karstedt placed a hand gently on my shoulder, his gaze earnest. “Elvira, none of us want to see Rozemyne hurt. We all want what’s best for her. But… we need to be sure we’re not dismissing this power prematurely.”

I took a deep breath, my fury slowly giving way to reluctant agreement. “Fine,” I said at last, my voice clipped. “We’ll speak to her and gather every detail. But mark my words: if I deem this power too dangerous, that’s the end of it.”

The conversation eventually circled back to the books. Sylvester asked me how many there were and if I had finished reading them all. I informed him that there were seven in total, but I had only managed to read three so far. He immediately ordered me to focus my efforts on finishing them, issuing the same directive to Lord Ferdinand. Sylvester wanted a detailed report with our impressions as soon as possible.

Afterward, he turned to Ferdinand and asked whether he had finished analyzing the magic tools Mestionora had entrusted to us.

Ferdinand reported his findings succinctly. “So far, I’ve identified the functions of three out of the five tools. One is a translation device, though it no longer has much use. Rozemyne already speaks their language fluently, and some of us have started learning it as well. The other two are communication devices: one is a miniature version of the water mirror, and the other is a magical pen. Both are designed to allow us to keep in touch with Rozemyne while she is in the other world.”

Sylvester nodded gravely, his expression unreadable, before finally declaring the meeting adjourned.

I made my way to my daughter’s room before heading home for the night. I wanted to check on her myself, to see how she was recovering. When I entered, I found Alexandra seated beside Rozemyne’s bed, monitoring her.

“How is she?” I asked softly.

“She’s much better,” Alexandra replied, standing to greet me. “She still has a fever, but it’s reduced significantly from earlier. She woke up around the sixth bell and managed to eat a light dinner. I performed an examination afterward. She’s still weak, but nowhere near the state she was in when Lord Ferdinand found her collapsed in her hidden room. Tomorrow, I’ll check on her again, but for now, I recommend she focus solely on resting and recovering.”

“Thank you, Alexandra,” I said, grateful for her care.

I approached my daughter’s bedside, watching her as she slept. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her breathing, though slightly irregular, was steady. She no longer looked to be in critical condition, much to my relief. Carefully, I reached out and patted her head, my hand lingering there as I studied her face.

I knelt beside her bed and kissed her forehead gently, whispering a silent prayer for her recovery before standing to leave.

As I walked back to my chambers, I couldn’t shake the conflict within me. I was still deeply reluctant to allow Rozemyne to use that power again. But for now, at least, I could take solace in the fact that I had a say in the matter. If it proved too dangerous for her, I would do everything in my power to stop it.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne.

My consciousness was floating in a world of darkness, adrift. Despite the searing gloom, I wasn’t afraid. On the contrary, I felt comfortable and safe. All my troubles and worries were gone, at least for now. It was just me and the darkness surrounding me. Time didn’t seem to matter, but this couldn’t go on forever. In the darkness, I began to hear the faint voice of a woman, growing louder and louder with each passing moment.

“...Roz... Myne... Lady... Lady Rozemyne,” the voice called.

I felt a soft touch on my shoulder, and that was how my mind was pulled back to reality. I opened my eyes, though my eyelids felt heavy, and it took some time for my vision to focus.

With great effort, I sat up on the bed. Nicola stood next to me—it had been her voice that woke me. With a kind smile, she greeted me.

“Good morning, my lady. You’ve been asleep for quite a while—it’s almost the third bell. Let’s prepare you so you can have breakfast.”

I nodded, and with her help, I stood up. My body felt heavy, and my legs like jelly. Nicola moved quickly to undress me, while Monica approached and informed me that my bath was ready.

I enjoyed a warm and relaxing bath. It helped me wake up completely, even though my body still felt heavy and tired. Once I was dry and dressed again, I took a seat at the table. My attendants moved quickly to bring me my breakfast. While I waited, my doctor, Alexandra, sat near me and began performing a medical check-up.

“You still have a mild fever, my lady. How are you feeling?” she asked, her tone calm but concerned.

“My body feels heavy, I have a slight headache, and I’m feeling a little dizzy,” I replied honestly.

Alexandra handed me a vial of potion, which I drank in one gulp. As I finished, she was already jotting something down in her diptych. Once she was done, she turned back to me with a serious expression.

“For now, I recommend that you take the day to rest, my lady. Your body is likely still recovering from the aftermath of what happened yesterday.”

Alexandra stood up and left, her steps quiet but purposeful. Moments later, my attendants entered the room. Monica was pushing a cart laden with covered trays, the faint aroma of fresh bread and spiced tea wafting through the air. She moved swiftly, her hands deftly arranging the table with precision and care.

The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the morning sun filtering through the embroidered curtains. Outside the slightly open window, a gentle breeze carried the fresh scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the distant chirping of birds. The lively atmosphere of spring was palpable, bringing a sense of renewal and energy to the space.

As Monica unveiled the dishes, a feast fit for a noble's breakfast was revealed. There was freshly baked bread, its crust golden and crisp, paired with an assortment of jams and honey that glistened like jewels. A small bowl of fruit, meticulously arranged, showcased slices of Ranshel, Prunbeer, and a handful of juicy rutrebe berries. A plate of fluffy scrambled eggs seasoned with herbs was set beside a serving of thinly sliced cured ham. Steam rose from a delicate porcelain teapot, filling the air with the comforting scent of teegabt and ergey.

I had a quiet yet comforting meal. Once I was done, I pondered what to do with the rest of my day. Alexandra had told me to rest, but I didn’t feel like going back to bed. Instead, I decided to fetch a book to read. Yes, there’s nothing better than a good book to relax and unwind. Fufufu.

Just as I was about to stand up, the door opened. Ferdinand, accompanied by Mother, entered my room. So much for my plan to relax and rest. Both of them wore serious expressions as they approached me, and an unmistakable tension filled the room.

I greeted them politely, doing my best to hide my surprise, and gestured for them to take a seat. Ferdinand nodded curtly, his sharp gaze scanning me as though evaluating my condition. Mother, on the other hand, hesitated for a moment before sitting, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

Once they were seated, Mother was the first to speak, her voice soft but tinged with worry.

“Rozemyne, dear, how are you?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, her brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel better, Mother. I still have a mild fever, and my body feels heavy, but Alexandra came to check on me and said I only needed to rest,” I replied with a small smile, hoping to reassure her.

“I see,” she said, though her lips pressed into a thin line, and her gaze lingered on me, as if searching for any sign I might be hiding something. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress, betraying her unease. “It’s good to hear that you’re recovering.”

After a short silence, Mother spoke again, her voice soft but heavy with intent.

“Dear, apart from checking on how you’re feeling, we also need to discuss what happened yesterday.”

My body tensed immediately at her words. Were they here to scold me again? I swear I’ve learned my lesson. After everything I discovered about the true nature of omnipresence, I fully understand the risks. I was prepared to never use that power again. I opened my mouth, ready to plead my case, but Mother spoke again before I could say a word.

“I know that yesterday I told you I forbid you from ever using that power again, but...” She hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Ferdinand. Her gaze was sharp, simmering with unspoken anger, but when she turned back to me, her expression softened. The anger gave way to something else—regret, or perhaps guilt.

“I had a discussion with Lord Ferdinand, the Aub, and your father. After a long and... spirited argument, we reached an agreement.”

Ferdinand, who had remained silent until now, leaned forward slightly, his posture commanding attention. His tone was calm but carried the weight of authority.

“We need you to tell us exactly what you did yesterday,” he said, his golden eyes fixed on me with unwavering intensity. “We must understand how you managed to activate that power and assess whether it’s possible for you to learn to master it.”

I was shocked by Ferdinand’s words. I hadn’t expected them to manage to convince Mother to reconsider her strict prohibition against me using this power. In fact, I had half-expected Ferdinand to approach me in secret, attempting to persuade me to use it behind her back—something I would have refused outright. I would never betray her trust like that.

But more importantly, I knew this power was impossible to control. If I insisted on trying to wield it, the only outcome I could foresee was my destruction, torn apart by its overwhelming force.

Mother must have sensed my unease. Her expression softened as she reached out, taking my hands gently between hers. Her touch was warm, grounding me as my swirling thoughts began to settle.

“Dear,” she began, her voice calm but heavy with emotion, “we don’t intend to force you to use it. I’m still against the idea, but we’re in a difficult position. Depending on the information you share with us—if we determine that it’s truly impossible or too dangerous for you—we won’t ask you to use this power ever again. We’ll find another solution.”

I nodded, stood up, and went to fetch my diptych along with all the notes I had taken regarding this power. When I returned, Ferdinand had already activated a wide-area sound-blocking tool, his movements precise and methodical. The faint hum of the magic tool created a strange stillness in the room, amplifying the gravity of the discussion.

I sat back down in my chair and carefully placed my notes on the table in front of Mother and Ferdinand. My hands trembled slightly as I adjusted the stack, but I clenched them into fists in my lap, trying to steady myself.

“These are all the notes I’ve made regarding this power,” I said quietly, my voice almost swallowed by the tension in the air.

Mother and Ferdinand each took a portion of the notes, their expressions contrasting starkly as they read. Mother’s brows furrowed deeper with every page, her lips pressed tightly together. She occasionally glanced at me, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and fear, as if the words on the page confirmed her worst worries. Ferdinand, by contrast, maintained his usual unreadable demeanor, though his sharp eyes darted across the pages with relentless focus.

Once they finished, Ferdinand set the notes down and tapped his temples lightly with his fingers, a gesture I recognized as his way of processing complicated information. Mother, meanwhile, placed her hands over the notes, her knuckles pale as she gripped the edges, her gaze flickering between me and Ferdinand.

“This is certainly more complex than I initially thought,” Ferdinand said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but the weight of his words pressed down on the room like a stone. “The strain it places on your body and mind is immense... Rozemyne, can you explain this ability further? What is the principle behind it? I still don’t see how this power allows you to exist in two places at once. In fact, this is the first I’ve ever heard of such a phenomenon. Even the gods are not described as having such a skill in the scriptures.”

His words caught me off guard, and I blinked in surprise. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall the gods in the bible ever being described as omnipresent. But in the myths and legends of my dream world, such abilities were common. The gods were often depicted as all-seeing, all-knowing, and omnipresent—attributes that seemed utterly foreign in this world.

“Well, omnipresence is one of the many traits attributed to gods in the religions, myths, and legends from my dream world,” I began, carefully choosing my words as I tried to organize my thoughts. My voice trembled slightly, but I pressed on. “I’ve mentioned this before, but in my dream world, there’s no such thing as magic. Even Mestionora confirmed this. As for the existence of gods, there’s no definitive proof they exist, although… either way, the rules of that world are dictated by science. The goal of science is to understand and explain how the world around us functions.”

Ferdinand’s sharp eyes stayed locked on me, his nod encouraging me to continue. Mother, on the other hand, tilted her head, her confusion evident in the furrow of her brows. “I see, dear,” she said softly, “but I fail to see how this relates to omnipresence.”

“Well,” I said, clasping my hands together to steady my nerves, “science is divided into several fields of study—chemistry, biology, physics, to name a few. Yesterday, I realized that this power of mine aligns with a principle studied in one of these disciplines.”

Both Mother and Ferdinand widened their eyes slightly. Mother’s lips parted as if to say something, but she held back. Ferdinand, however, leaned forward, his tone pressing. “Explain,” he commanded, his gaze sharper than ever.

“It has to do with a field of study called physics,” I explained, glancing briefly at my notes for reassurance. “Physics focuses on natural phenomena—the properties of matter, energy, and the forces that act upon them. In short, it tries to explain how the universe works, from the smallest particles to the largest planets and galaxies. Omnipresence seems to follow a phenomenon called superposition.”

“Superposition?” Ferdinand repeated, his brow furrowing deeply. His voice carried a rare hint of uncertainty. “What does that mean?”

I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “In simple terms,” I began, “superposition is a concept from a branch of science in my world called quantum mechanics. It studies the smallest particles that make up everything in existence. One of its strangest findings is that something can exist in multiple states at the same time… until someone observes or interacts with it. Let me give you an example—the most famous one is Schrödinger’s cat.”

“Schrö...dinger’s what?” Ferdinand interrupted, his tone sharp but tinged with curiosity.

I smiled faintly, sensing his frustration. “It’s a thought experiment,” I explained gently. “Imagine you place a zantze inside a sealed box, along with an open vial of poison. The vial is rigged to break only if a specific event occurs—something completely unpredictable. You leave the box alone for a full bell.”

“The zantze would die,” Mother interjected, her frown deepening. Her voice carried a note of disapproval, as if she found the example distasteful. “Surely it would knock over the vial at some point and poison itself.”

“Maybe,” I replied, shaking my head gently, “but there’s also a chance the vial stays intact, and the zantze survives. As long as the box stays closed, there’s no way to know for sure. The zantze is both dead and alive at the same time. It’s only when you open the box that one reality becomes true—the zantze is either alive or dead, but not both. That’s superposition.”

Mother blinked, her lips parting slightly as if to ask something but then closing again, her confusion evident. Ferdinand, on the other hand, pressed his fingers against his temple, deep in thought. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re saying this power… allows you to existe in multiple states simultaneously, much like the zantze in the box?”

“The way I picture this power is similar to my example,” I began, glancing between Mother and Ferdinand to gauge their reactions. “When this ability is activated, it’s like putting myself inside a metaphorical box. But instead of being in a state of life and death like the zantze, I’m divided into different realities.”

I paused, trying to find the right words to convey the concept. “I’m not sure if this explains it properly—it’s the best analogy I’ve come up with so far. This ‘other me’ isn’t a clone or some sort of copy. When I divide myself, both bodies are my real body. They coexist as two simultaneous states, neither more nor less ‘me’ than the other.”

Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered my words, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his temple. “So, what you’re saying is that your consciousness—your existence itself—is split evenly between these states? Both are equally you?”

“Exactly,” I said, nodding. “It’s not like one is a projection or an illusion while the other remains fully grounded. They’re both me, experiencing and interacting with the world simultaneously. But that’s where the challenge lies—maintaining coherence between these states requires an immense amount of focus and mana. Any imbalance can result in serious consequences, as you saw yesterday.”

Mother’s expression shifted to one of realization as she picked up my diptych and began to scan through my notes. “In your notes, you mentioned experiencing sensory overload,” she said, her tone growing more concerned. “And yesterday, you felt everything that your other body experienced. Does that mean… whatever happens to one of these projections is felt and reflected in both of them?”

I nodded solemnly, sensing the weight of her words.

Her face tensed further, her hands gripping the diptych tightly. “This is even worse than I initially feared. If I understand your explanation correctly, combined with what you’ve written in your notes, this power doesn’t just split your body—it divides your very essence, scattering it across two possible realities. And your mind... it’s forced to handle the impossible task of managing dual existences.” She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “By the gods, I can’t fathom how anyone, other than the gods themselves, could wield such a power.”

“I feel the same way, Mother,” I said, my voice steady but tinged with resignation. “This power is far too overwhelming for anyone to control, let alone master. I see no feasible path to tame it. You were right—this power shouldn’t be used.”

Relief washed over Mother’s face, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at my response.

I thought that was the end of it—that I wouldn’t be forced to try mastering omnipresence and that we would simply have to find another solution for me to assist Hogwarts while fulfilling my responsibilities here in Ehrenfest. Finding an alternative would be a nightmare, and any solution we came up with would undoubtedly require a hellish amount of work to implement. But even so, it would be far better than being torn apart by a power that was never meant to be wielded by mortals.

But, as expected, Ferdinand couldn’t let the matter rest.
“Yesterday, you managed to use it,” he said, his sharp gaze fixed on me. “How did you make it work?”

Mother gave Ferdinand a withering look, but he didn’t notice; his full attention was locked on me.

“What I did yesterday,” I began hesitantly, “was an attempt to reduce the sensory overload. I left one body in a quiet, isolated space with its eyes closed, hoping it would minimize the strain while allowing me to experiment and understand the ability better. But all it did was confirm that this power is impossible to use properly.” I took a deep breath and continued, “There’s another principle connected to superposition: the principle of uncertainty.

In simple terms, while I can exist in multiple states at the same time, I cannot fully perceive or control both states simultaneously. This means I’m not completely conscious of both bodies at once. I felt it yesterday. I was still somewhat aware of the body left behind, but as I focused more on the one carrying out my tasks, it felt like I was losing connection with the one in the hidden room—like fragments of memory or information slipping away.”

Ferdinand was frowning, his finger tapping the table in a rhythmic pattern as though trying to will a solution into existence. His sharp eyes were focused, likely going through every possible measure or strategy to find a way for me to wield this power. But there wasn’t one. I doubted even he could come up with a viable method.

This is a battle you cannot win, Ferdinand, I thought, a faint smile tugging at my lips. You’ve said it yourself—you never take on a fight you can’t win. And this is one of them.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally seemed to come back from his musings. His posture sagged slightly, and he looked down, an expression of frustration flickering across his face. Seeing him like that tugged at my heartstrings. I didn’t like seeing Ferdinand, who always exuded confidence and control, appear so weighed down. But even the Lord of Evil, as we liked to call him, couldn’t solve everything.

Then, to my surprise, he straightened and fixed his gaze on me. “What about the fictional stories of your dream world? Are there any where a character possesses this power or something similar?”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. This was the last thing I expected from him. He usually dismissed my descriptions of how magic was depicted in my dream world as “ridiculous fantasies.” Even Mother, seated beside him, looked astonished at his suggestion. Was this one last desperate attempt to find a solution?

Still, I could understand his reasoning. Mestionora had once mentioned that fictional stories, while not one hundred percent accurate, could sometimes reflect the realities of other worlds.

Once my initial shock passed, I began to seriously consider his question. I sifted through the stories I could remember, searching for anything that might resemble the power of omnipresence.

“There are some stories where a character can create clones of himself. Actually, the one that stands out the most to me features a character whose signature move is a technique called shadow clones . However, it’s not the same as my ability. The clones he produces are independent, though still connected to him.”

Ferdinand and Mother both frowned, their expressions twisting into something that looked almost like disgust. The reaction was so immediate and synchronized that it caught me off guard. “What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling my brows furrow.

“It’s nothing,” Mother said hastily, but her voice betrayed a hint of unease. She avoided my gaze, as if refusing to meet my eyes would make the topic disappear.

“It’s not nothing ,” I countered, turning to Ferdinand, who was tapping his fingers against the table in a deliberate rhythm. “I can tell you both reacted strongly to the mention of shadow clones . What is it?”

Ferdinand exhaled sharply, fixing me with his intense gaze. “The term… carries certain connotations within magical theory,” he admitted, though his tone was clipped. “It reminds me of something called Shadow Warriors . They were associated with… questionable practices, to say the least.”

Mother stiffened at the mention of the name, her expression tightening in a way that made it clear she wasn’t comfortable with the topic. “That’s enough, Ferdinand,” she said sharply, her tone brooking no argument.

“But—”

“No,” she interrupted firmly, her eyes darting toward me as if to emphasize that this was not a subject for discussion.

Ferdinand relented with a frustrated sigh, though his fingers continued tapping against the table. The tension in the air was palpable, and I found myself growing more curious despite the ominous implications. “What were the Shadow Warriors? Why is the term so… unsettling?”

“Rozemyne,” Mother said, her voice softer now but no less resolute, “this isn’t something you need to concern yourself with. Suffice it to say, the term shadow clones evokes memories of those practices, and neither of us wishes to dwell on it.”

Ferdinand nodded, though his frown deepened as if he were still debating whether to say more. “Let’s move on. Are there any other stories or examples you can think of?”

“Well, there are other examples,” I continued, shifting the topic. “One story features a character who’s bound to a hive mind. She’s the queen of a group of monsters, and they all share a single consciousness. Whatever her monsters see, she can also see. Then there’s another story with a skill called parallel minds . It allows the character to divide her consciousness into separate parts, but the story doesn’t explore how she uses it to control clones until much later.”

Ferdinand leaned forward, his sharp focus intensifying. “Tell me more about this parallel minds ability. How does it function?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “The character is trapped in a world that works like a… well, like a sort of game. The skill is granted to her by the goddess of that world and seems to function automatically. It divides her consciousness into smaller, independent units that can focus on different tasks simultaneously. For example, one part of her mind might control her body in battle, while another analyzes the enemy’s weaknesses. But there’s no real explanation for how it works—it’s just presented as a divine gift.”

Ferdinand’s brow furrowed as he absorbed this. He seemed intrigued, though not entirely satisfied. “Any other story?”

“Oh, right. The Kingkiller Chronicles. That story delves deeper into the concept. The main character has a skill called splitting the mind . It allows him to divide his focus into multiple streams of thought. For instance, he can carry on a conversation while simultaneously solving a complex mathematical equation. But there’s a catch—each part of his mind is still him , and if they’re not in harmony, it can lead to mental strain or conflicting decisions.”

Ferdinand’s tapping grew faster, and his expression brightened slightly, as though a faint glimmer of possibility had appeared amidst the doubt.

“This splitting the mind approach might hold some promise,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s not about creating duplicates but rather dividing attention. If we could apply a similar principle to omnipresence, perhaps it could mitigate the sensory overload.”

Mother frowned deeply at this suggestion, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Lord Ferdinand, you cannot seriously consider that a power from a fictional book from another world could be the solution. Regardless of what Mestionara told us about some fictional books offering insights into other worlds, not all of them are reliable, and they’re certainly not accurate. I will not allow you to put my daughter at risk based on this ridiculous hunch of yours.”

Ferdinand didn’t appear upset by her words. Instead, he turned to Mother with his usual calm demeanor. “Of course not. However, there’s a chance Rozemyne might learn to control this power. What I’m suggesting is for her to attempt creating her own version of splitting her mind. If she succeeds, we’ll allow her to try the ability just one more time. If it fails, I’ll concede, and we’ll abandon any further attempts at using this power.”

Mother sighed heavily, her expression still strained. After a moment of contemplation, she finally responded. “Very well, but only one try. And in the meantime, I suggest we begin planning alternatives for when this fails.”

Ferdinand nodded in agreement, his expression serious but resolute. He stood up and deactivated the sound-blocking tool, then turned to me before leaving. “Get some rest,” he said firmly.

Mother echoed his sentiment before leaving the room as well, her worry evident in her voice.

Left alone after the tense conversation, I decided to take a short nap to clear my mind and regain some energy.

Another day was crossed off my calendar. Ferdinand and Mother had come to an agreement: the single attempt at mastering omnipresence would take place only after the upcoming visit we had scheduled to Diagon Alley. Professor McGonagall was set to accompany us to help with purchasing my school supplies, and the thought of stepping into that magical marketplace filled me with a mix of excitement and apprehension. 

Wait a second… the year was 1990. Geez, I felt like I’d been sent back in time. It was the same feeling I had the first time I stepped outside and saw the city of Ehrenfest. The days following my conversation with Ferdinand and Mother, I dedicated myself to replicating the splitting minds technique. I followed the same steps the main character of The Kingkiller Chronicles used.

I created a mental space in my head— in my case, it was the living room of my house when I was still Urano. I imagined standing in the middle of the room, and in front of me was another version of myself— identical in every way. The tricky part was separating her thoughts from mine… I hoped I wouldn’t end up with an identity crisis or some kind of mental illness like multiple personalities.

Once I somehow managed to do this, I followed the exercise the mentor gave to the main character when he was first taught the technique. To be honest, I didn’t remember all of it, but one part stood out: hiding a rock in this mental space. The idea was to imagine the rock and give it to the other version of me, who would hide it. That was fun— until my other self decided to hide the rock in her pocket and make me search the whole living room, just to laugh at me at the end of the game.

But that wasn’t the only thing I did. I still had to fulfill my responsibilities as the High Bishop and as an archduke candidate. During this time, with Mother's help, we created a proposal to train the blue priests so they could assist with the temple's paperwork. Ferdinand looked annoyed when I showed him the proposal, but he couldn’t find anything to object to, so he allowed me to proceed.

I began interviewing the blue priests to select those I deemed capable. Convincing them took some effort, but once I explained the benefits they would receive, most of them eagerly accepted the opportunity.

At the same time, I started training Charlotte to take on the role of Deputy High Bishop. Between all of this, I was quite busy, and time seemed to fly. The date of our visit to the Wizarding World was drawing near.

Spring came to an end, and with the beginning of summer came another significant change in my life—my retainers finally began serving me in full. It had taken time, as Mother and Ferdinand were exceedingly strict during the interviews for new members of my retinue. Once selected, they were subjected to rigorous training to ensure they could serve me properly.

My attendants were trained under Rihyarda and Ottilie. My knights trained with Grandfather and Brother Eckhart, and they were the only ones allowed to serve me while still undergoing their training. As for my scholars, even though Grandfather’s training was described as nearly impossible, I believe they endured the harshest preparation. They were trained under the unforgiving supervision of Ferdinand, Mother, and Justus.

One week before our departure, I had another meeting, this time with Mother, Father, Sylvester, and Ferdinand. Mother and Ferdinand had finished reading the seven Harry Potter books, and we were gathered to discuss them. I had thought it would be like a book club, similar to the one Mother and I had when she read the first three books. Ah, how disappointing. Instead, Mother and Ferdinand treated it like a formal report, presenting their findings as if it were a school assignment.

After the "report," Ferdinand launched into a long list of complaints about almost everything, from wizarding culture to their governing system. Both Mother and Ferdinand had plenty to say about the Ministry of Magic, pointing out its inefficiencies and flaws.

Ferdinand mocked their manner of dress and criticized nearly every character, especially Harry. He described him as a reckless fool who threw common sense and logical thinking out the window. I flinched when he said this—it reminded me of similar things Ferdinand and Benno had said about me in the past.

At the end of the meeting, Mother and Ferdinand pulled out a list. I was confused at first, but they explained it was a blacklist of characters they disliked, deemed dangerous, or considered bad influences. Under no circumstances was I to associate with them. And, oh boy, the list was long. It included the obvious ones, like Voldemort, Crabbe, and Goyle, but also main characters generally regarded as "good people" by Harry Potter fans. To my shock, Harry, Ron, and even Dumbledore were on the list!

When I reviewed their list, I noticed that some names had marks next to them. Ferdinand and Mother explained that these individuals were in a sort of "provincial state"—to be observed and approached with caution. They suggested I could relate to them, but only with great care.

Some of the names on the list struck me as odd: Malfoy, Lupin, Snape… Wait, the Weasley twins?! Why were they on the list?

The meeting ended on an odd note, and one week later, it was time for us to return to the Wizarding World.

Chapter Text

POV Ferdinand 

Tomorrow, we must once again travel to that other world, and I find the prospect thoroughly displeasing. Last time, I managed to contain most of my dissatisfaction, largely due to Elvira's insistence. However, the strangeness and unpredictability of this world remain intolerable to me. How anyone can function in such a chaotic environment is beyond my understanding.

For instance, the headmaster of their magical institute—a position that should command respect and embody the values of discipline and wisdom—presents himself as a caricature. His absurdly long beard and garishly decorated robes are more befitting a traveling entertainer than the leader of an institution charged with cultivating the next generation of magic users. It is an affront to the dignity such a role demands.

Fortunately, the deputy headmistress appears far more competent. At the very least, I believe she has the composure and authority to restrain our resident gremlin, preventing her from causing too much havoc. Initially, I was apprehensive, given the unsettling resemblance this world bears to Rozemyne’s dream—a vision that included women in scandalously inappropriate attire. Having observed such memories, I braced myself for similar impropriety here.

To my relief, Professor McGonagall’s attire was perfectly respectable. Her robes are functional and evoke the image of a learned scholar, which is precisely what one would expect from an academic of her stature. This small semblance of order is a rare comfort in a place otherwise teetering on the edge of absurdity.

Still, my apprehension toward this other world has only grown, especially after I finished reading the seven books that chronicle its events. What displeases me most is the type of people who inhabit this world, beginning with the boy named Harry, around whom the story revolves.

I will not deny that I initially felt a measure of sympathy for the boy. The loss of his parents, the neglect he suffered at the hands of his relatives, and the harassment he endured might evoke pity in anyone. However, any such sentiment was short-lived. It vanished the moment I witnessed his reckless and foolish actions. From the very beginning, the boy has been little more than a pawn, manipulated by others, acting rashly without a moment’s thought for the consequences.

What irks me most about him is his stubbornness and his tendency to leap to conclusions without evidence. In this regard, he reminds me uncomfortably of Sylvester’s idiotic son. Yet, Harry is not the sole source of my frustration. Several other individuals from this world have managed to test my patience, contributing to the sour mood that lingers each time I think of them.

This time, our visit will not only involve acquiring Rozemyne’s school supplies but will also require a detour to the so-called Ministry of Magic. There, I am to meet yet another individual who infuriates me just as much as—if not more than—Harry and his insufferable friend, Ron: Cornelius Fudge.

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. Judging them solely based on the information provided in those books would be hypocritical of me. How many times have I admonished Rozemyne not to leap to conclusions, to gather all perspectives before forming an opinion? Yet here I am, committing the very same error. It is a sobering realization. I must remind myself that these accounts were written by some random person in Rozemyne’s dream world. Their accuracy is uncertain, and the author’s imagination likely shaped much of what was described.

That said, not all I read was unfavorable. As much as I loathe to admit it, I can understand why Mestionora implied that the knowledge from this other world could hold value for ours. The spells, for instance—there are numerous ones with untapped potential, some of which could be highly practical if adapted to our context. And it does not end there. The magical tools and potions described also present intriguing possibilities.

The scholar in me cannot ignore the opportunity to investigate these phenomena further. Chief among them is the creature Rozemyne calls the phoenix. After delving into the descriptions, I now comprehend why both Elvira and Rozemyne were so captivated upon seeing one. A bird that self-immolates at the end of its life, only to rise anew from its ashes, is a marvel worthy of detailed study. I wonder if Rozemyne could procure one for me—or, perhaps, that peculiar old man might be persuaded to part with his.

The mere thought of unraveling the mysteries of this bird, of understanding the principles behind its rebirth, stirs a restlessness within me. It is a distraction I cannot afford, but it is one I am reluctant to dismiss entirely.

Either way, it is far too soon to lose ourselves in the realm of Schlaftraum. We have far too many pressing matters to address. As the day of Rozemyne’s departure to attend the school named Hogwarts approaches, we still lack a satisfactory plan to cover for her absence. Thus far, what we have devised is less than adequate, and the more I dwell on it, the more convinced I am that it is imperative for Rozemyne to learn to wield the power granted to her by Mestionora.

I... dislike pressuring her like this. But what other choice do we have? It is the only plausible solution available to us. What frustrates me the most is my inability to provide her with proper guidance. This power operates on concepts entirely foreign to our world—concepts rooted in the dream world she claims to have come from.

I always knew that Rozemyne’s dream world was far more advanced than ours, but as I listened to her explanations of how this power functions, I came to fully grasp just how far behind we truly are. In my desperation, I proposed that she search for a solution in another story from her dream world. A desperate move, I must admit, but we have no other alternatives. Elvira made it abundantly clear that Rozemyne would be allowed only one more attempt at this.

The solution Rozemyne proposed is... unconventional, to say the least. It was inspired by several fictional stories from her dream world, particularly one called The Kingkiller Chronicles . Gods, the name of that story alone gives me pause. If such a book were to be published here, the author would undoubtedly be imprisoned and executed for treason, regardless of its content.

So far, Rozemyne has explained her attempts to replicate the ability called "splitting minds" or "parallel minds." In a mental space she creates, she forms a copy of herself—one that functions independently, with its own separate thoughts and ideas. My role, thus far, has been to monitor her progress and assess her success through a series of tests.

For instance, while she works in my office on the paperwork I assign her, I often give her an additional task meant specifically for this mental copy to handle. These tasks have varied from composing a new song to solving mathematical problems of my own design. Occasionally, Elvira adds her own challenges, such as having Rozemyne design portions of the embroidery for her cape. Her performance in these tests has been satisfactory in most cases, which reassures me that she has successfully created her own version of parallel minds.

The only remaining step is to evaluate whether this ability can integrate with her omnipresence.

I must admit, despite the appalling title of the story that inspired this endeavor, I am intrigued. I would like to hear more about The Kingkiller Chronicles, particularly the context in which the protagonist learned this ability to split his mind. I am also curious if the story mentions other peculiar powers that could prove useful. Once the current chaos subsides, I intend to explore the concept of splitting my mind as well. Undoubtedly, such an ability would have numerous practical applications in my work.

The only thing I could do now was finalize the preparations for tomorrow’s journey. I spent the rest of the day secluded in my hidden room, meticulously refining our defenses and drafting contingency plans for every plausible scenario. This other world is far too unpredictable to leave anything to chance.

By the time I finally finished brewing some magic tools and glanced out the window, I realized it was very late into the night. Yet, sleep was elusive and restless, with my thoughts endlessly circling around the tasks ahead.

I awoke to the sound of the second bell, signaling the start of a new day. At best, I had managed a single bell of sleep. Exiting my hidden room, I found my attendants waiting outside, their expressions firmly set as they presented a tray with a light breakfast.

Judging by their determined looks, skipping the meal was clearly not an option. If I dared to refuse, they would run straight to Rozemyne. That girl—why does she concern herself so much with whether I eat or sleep properly? It is a pointless indulgence, one I cannot afford. Still, her constant pestering about my well-being is even more tiresome than giving in to their demands.

With a resigned sigh, I took my seat and began eating, though my mind was already elsewhere, sorting through the steps for the day ahead.

I finished my breakfast quickly. Once the plates were cleared away by my attendants, I stood and went directly to my desk to work on the small stack of paperwork waiting for me. However, I barely managed to focus for half a bell before one of my attendants interrupted.

“High Priest, it is nearly the third bell. Shouldn’t you prepare before Lady Rozemyne arrives?”

With a sigh, I set down my pen and gave a curt nod. My attendants moved efficiently, bringing the outfit I was to wear for the day. Unlike my usual noble attire, today I would be dressed in the style of a high-ranking merchant. According to Rozemyne, the clothing of the commoners would attract less attention in this other world compared to our usual clothes. Naturally, she had ordered her exclusive boutique to procure these garments for everyone accompanying her on this journey.

It didn’t take long to change; commoner clothing was significantly simpler to put on than the elaborate layers of noble attire. Still, I felt uncomfortably exposed in these garments. The fabric, though well-tailored, lacked the sense of protection and authority my usual attire provided.

Just as the third bell rang, Rozemyne entered the room, accompanied by her mother, Elvira; her grandfather, Bonifatius; and her doctor, Alexandra. All were dressed in garments resembling those of wealthy merchants, blending into the role with varying degrees of success.

This is turning into a disaster. Originally, Karstedt was supposed to accompany us, as he had last time. However, Bonifatius had forced him to stand down, insisting that he take his place. According to Bonifatius, he needed to see this other world with his own eyes to ensure it was safe for his precious granddaughter. Furthermore, he made it abundantly clear that he intended to warn the inhabitants of this strange realm: any harm to Rozemyne would result in dire consequences.

His protective instincts were admirable, but his overbearing nature was a challenge. I did not have the patience to address this early in the day.

We exchanged greetings, but I couldn’t help but notice Rozemyne avoiding eye contact with me. Meanwhile, Elvira wore a playful smile that I found both puzzling and slightly irritating. Why? Women truly are enigmatic creatures.

Pushing aside my curiosity, I ordered the room to be cleared. Once all the gray priestesses had left and we were alone, Rozemyne moved to the center of the room. With a simple snap of her fingers, the portal to the other world opened before us.

It was Alexandra’s and Bonifatius’s first time witnessing this feat, and their expressions of awe were nearly identical. Alexandra’s gaze flickered with scientific curiosity, while Bonifatius openly gawked, his usual bravado momentarily silenced.

Just as before, we stepped through the shimmering portal and emerged into the lobby of that bizarre castle. This time, however, the space was not empty. Waiting for us were Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, their distinct appearances immediately setting them apart from anyone in our world.

I retrieved the translation tool that Mestionara had given us and activated it before the gremlins had a chance to cast a blessing of Grammaratur like last time. While Elvira, Alexandra, and I have been diligently learning the language of this world, we are far from mastering it well enough to hold a proper conversation. The device would ensure smooth communication.

As both professors approached and greeted our group, Rozemyne stepped forward with her usual grace to introduce the new additions to our delegation.

“Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, allow me to present my grandfather, Lord Bonifatius, and my personal doctor, Lady Alexandra.”

Professor McGonagall offered a polite nod, her expression as stern as ever, while Professor Dumbledore smiled warmly and addressed Alexandra directly.

“Lady Alexandra, it is a pleasure to meet you. We have been informed of your role as Miss Myne’s personal doctor during her time here.”

Rozemyne visibly stiffened at the mention of "Miss Myne," her hands clutching her skirt in what I knew was an effort to keep herself from correcting the professors. Bonifatius, however, let out a low grunt of disapproval, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore as if daring him to say the name again.

Alexandra, ever composed, allowed a brief frown to cross her features before replacing it with an icy smile. Her voice was carefully measured, her tone sharp enough to make her displeasure evident without being overtly rude.

“That is correct, Professor Dumbledore. I will accompany Lady Rozemyne as her doctor during her stay at this castle. I understand, however, that one of the conditions for my presence here is to assist your resident healer in her work. Is that correct?”

Dumbledore, either unaware of the subtle reprimand or choosing to ignore it, replied with his usual genial demeanor.

“That’s right, Lady Alexandra. Madam Pomfrey is looking forward to meeting you. She will provide a tour of the castle’s infirmary and discuss how you might best assist her during your stay.”

Meanwhile, Bonifatius leaned closer to me, his voice a low grumble. “This old man… He doesn’t even realize he’s already on thin ice, does he?”

Rozemyne, catching his comment, glanced up at her grandfather with a mix of exasperation and amusement, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Grandfather, please don’t cause a scene,” she whispered, though her words lacked the sternness they might have carried if she weren’t trying so hard to maintain decorum.

I couldn’t help but sigh internally. If this was the dynamic before we had even left the castle´s lobby, the day promised to be exhausting.

Dumbledore, with a polite tone, asked Alexandra to follow him. She turned to Rozemyne, seeking her reassurance. Rozemyne gave her a calm and confident nod, and with that, Alexandra followed the old professor out of the room. Their figures disappeared down the corridor, leaving us alone with Professor McGonagall.

From her tunic, McGonagall retrieved an old, battered teapot. Bonifatius furrowed his brow in confusion at the peculiar object, but Elvira, Rozemyne, and I exchanged knowing glances. It seemed we were to travel by that... thing.

“By the gods…” I muttered under my breath, suppressing a sigh. Of course, this world would rely on such crude methods. Still, I supposed it was preferable to being forced to use their absurd "Floo Powder" and traveling through chimneys. Not that this so-called Portkey was much better. I would have much rather traveled to their London on a highbeast—something elegant and practical, unlike this peculiar contraption.

Professor McGonagall, as if sensing our hesitation, explained that the teapot was enchanted to act as a Portkey, confirming our suspicions.

What a terrible name, I thought grimly. Truly, the naming conventions of this world are as lacking in refinement as Rozemyne’s own penchant for absurd titles.

Bonifatius leaned closer, his voice a low grumble. “So… we’re supposed to trust this broken old teapot to take us safely?”

Rozemyne covered her mouth, muffling a laugh at her grandfather’s bluntness, while Elvira gave him a chiding look.

“Lord Bonifatius, I’m sure their methods are perfectly safe,” she said diplomatically, though her tone betrayed a hint of skepticism.

McGonagall, maintaining her composure, merely gestured for us to gather around the teapot.

“On my mark,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Everyone, place a hand on the Portkey.”

Reluctantly, we did as instructed. Rozemyne’s excitement was evident in the way she eagerly placed her hand on the handle, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Bonifatius, however, grumbled under his breath about "backward  methods" and "reckless risks."

As the countdown began, I mentally prepared myself for what was sure to be an unpleasant experience.

The room began to spin violently, and it felt as though we were being propelled forward at an unimaginable speed. A nauseating pressure gripped my stomach, making it feel as if my insides were being twisted. Then, as abruptly as it began, the movement stopped. The sudden jolt nearly sent me to my knees.

Bonifatius was hunched over, his head cradled in his hands, grumbling something unintelligible. Elvira looked pale and unsteady, clutching at the nearest surface to steady herself. Rozemyne was on the floor on all fours, her face etched with discomfort.

“By the seven…” I muttered, trying to regain my composure. That was abysmal. The transportation circles we use to travel to the Royal Academy are vastly superior to this barbaric method. At least with the circles, the journey is barely felt—yes, they leave newcomers slightly dizzy, but one quickly acclimates. This, however, was something else entirely.

Once I steadied myself, I took a moment to observe our surroundings.

We had arrived in what appeared to be a large, bustling atrium. The space was cavernous, with a high, arched ceiling made of dark stone. Enchanted golden symbols glimmered faintly along its surface, moving and shifting in elegant patterns. The air was filled with the hum of magical energy, and the faint murmurs of conversations echoed from all directions.

The atrium was illuminated by glowing orbs of light that floated lazily in the air, casting a warm, golden glow. To one side, a large fountain stood at the center of the room, its water cascading gracefully into a shallow pool. The fountain was adorned with statues of robed figures holding wands, their expressions serene yet commanding.

Dozens of people in dark robes moved through the space, many of them holding parchment, scrolls, or magical devices. Some hurried past with determined expressions, while others paused to converse in hushed tones. The air smelled faintly of ink, parchment, and the metallic tang of magic.

To the far end of the atrium, massive brass doors were flanked by imposing stone gargoyles that seemed to watch our every move. The walls were lined with various doors and passageways, each labeled with engraved plaques.

Professor McGonagall gave us a moment to gather ourselves before speaking.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” she announced, her voice cutting through the haze of dizziness still clinging to us.

Rozemyne slowly stood, her face still slightly pale but her eyes already scanning the room with curious fascination. Bonifatius grumbled something about primitive methods again but straightened his back, refusing to show weakness in front of strangers. Elvira, ever composed, smoothed her dress and turned her attention to McGonagall.

“This place… it’s quite the spectacle,” Elvira said politely, though I could sense her sharp gaze taking in every detail with calculated precision.

Rozemyne, on the other hand, whispered excitedly to me, “Ferdinand, do you see those symbols on the ceiling? They’re moving!”

“Yes, Rozemyne, I see them,” I replied, though my tone was less enthusiastic. My focus was already shifting to the numerous unfamiliar faces surrounding us.

I didn’t like this place. All my senses were on high alert—it felt like a massive labyrinth where an ambush could be waiting around any corner. Bonifatius seemed to share my unease; his sharp eyes darted around, scanning every shadow and hallway as if preparing for an attack. Professor McGonagall gave us a moment to compose ourselves, then spoke with a calm yet firm tone.

“Please stay close. The Ministry of Magic can be overwhelming, especially for newcomers. It’s easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around.”

With that, she gestured for us to follow her. We moved through the halls in silence, taking in our surroundings. The corridors were polished and gleaming, with enchanted lamps casting a steady glow. Men and women passed by, dressed in peculiar clothing and carrying scrolls or magical artifacts. It was an odd mix of formality and chaos, and I found myself instinctively cataloging escape routes and potential threats.

After what felt like an eternity weaving through the maze of hallways, we stopped in front of a metal door. McGonagall pressed a small button on the wall, and after a brief pause, the door slid open to reveal a cramped, box-like space. None of us moved at first, eyeing the strange contraption with suspicion.

Rozemyne tugged gently on her mother’s sleeve, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s an elevator. It will take us to another floor.”

Elvira hesitated for a moment before nodding and stepping inside. The rest of us exchanged uncertain glances but followed suit, squeezing into the enclosed space.

Inside, another wizard was already waiting—a man who looked to be in his forties, with a slim build and thinning deep-red hair. McGonagall greeted him with a polite nod.

“Good morning, Arthur. Would you kindly press the button for the first floor?”

Arthur returned the greeting with a warm smile. “Good to see you, Professor McGonagall. Of course. Are you heading to see Fudge?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m here on Hogwarts business. This is Miss Rozemyne. She’s an exchange student who will be joining us this year. Her admission to the school is a very unique case, and the Minister wanted to speak with her before the term begins.”

Arthur turned to Rozemyne and inclined his head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rozemyne. I have children at Hogwarts myself, and I can assure you, you’ll find it a wonderful place to learn. You’re in for quite the adventure.”

Rozemyne returned his greeting with a polite smile and a soft “Thank you.” Her composure was impressive, though I noticed her fidgeting slightly with the hem of her dress. The elevator jolted softly as it began its ascent, the quiet hum of magic filling the air.

The ride was mercifully brief, and soon the doors opened to reveal yet another corridor—this one more lavishly decorated, with portraits of solemn-looking men and women lining the walls. McGonagall stepped out first, leading the way.

“This way, please. The Minister is expecting us.”

We were led to an ornate door, its dark wood adorned with intricate carvings. Professor McGonagall knocked firmly, and a grave, pompous voice responded from within.

“Come in.”

She opened the door and held it for us to enter. Behind a large, polished wooden desk stood a man of modest height with a sturdy build. His green suit stood out, as did the odd bowler hat perched atop his head. The man rose from his chair and crossed the room with a practiced smile, extending his hand in greeting.

“Welcome. My name is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.”

None of us moved to shake his hand. After a moment of awkward silence, he lowered it with a somewhat sheepish expression but quickly recovered.

With a sweeping gesture, he invited us further inside. “Please, come in. Let’s take a seat. We have a rather long discussion ahead of us.”

Taking out their version of a Schtappe, he waved it gracefully, conjuring a table and six chairs in the middle of the office. Bonifatius flinched at the sight, his hand twitching slightly as though reaching for a weapon. Elvira placed a calming hand on his arm and gave him a cold smile. The old man groaned but stayed his reaction.

We approached the table and took our seats as Fudge settled into his. “Would you care for something to drink? It’s far too early for anything strong, but perhaps a cup of tea or coffee?”

Rozemyne’s face brightened at the mention of coffee, and she responded without hesitation. “I’d love a cup of coffee—with milk, if possible.”

The rest of us exchanged curious glances. None of us knew what this "coffee" was, so we opted for tea instead. Once again, Fudge used his Schtappe to summon the requested drinks, the cups appearing neatly on the table.

As we reached for our drinks, I caught a faint whisper from Rozemyne.

“Coffee... It smells wonderful. It’s been a lifetime since I’ve had a cup... I thought I’d never have the chance to taste it again.”

Her words were almost wistful, a rare glimpse of longing. So, this coffee is a drink from her dream world. Once we return, I’ll have to ask her about it.

Fudge took a sip of his tea before fixing his gaze on Rozemyne with a mix of curiosity and caution. “You must be Myne, no?” he addressed Rozemyne with a friendly smile. Bonifatius tensed up once again upon hearing someone else call his granddaughter "Myne," but a stern look from Elvira once again made him calm down.

“Yes, thank you for the warm welcome, Mister Fudge. I am Rozemyne. This is my grandfather, Lord Bonifatius; my mother, Lady Elvira; and my mentor, Lord Ferdinand.”

Fudge once again looked conflicted but said nothing. “The pleasure is ours, Lady… Rozemyne.” He turned to face us and continued speaking, his voice regaining some of the grave tone he had used when allowing us to enter.

“You see, this case is unique, to say the least. It was quite a shock for us when the goddess—Mestionara, yes, that was her name—appeared and asked for the young lady to enroll in Hogwarts.”

“For us, it has been equally shocking, mister Fudge,” Rozemyne responded politely.

Elvira nodded in agreement. “Mestionara also appeared to us and essentially ordered Rozemyne to attend this school,” she added.

Fudge nodded slowly, taking another sip of his tea, as if buying time to gather his thoughts before responding. “The experience of meeting a real goddess was... interesting. And we are honored that she entrusted our world with Lady Rozemyne’s education. However, her request has put us in a rather difficult position. There are certain subjects we wish to address and some questions we have, particularly about the existence of other worlds.”

“Those questions will need to be addressed to Mestionara,” I replied coldly. “Before she unapologetically demanded Rozemyne to study here, we were just as unaware of the existence of other worlds as you.”

Elvira offered a reassuring smile, stepping in before the tension could escalate further. “As Lord Ferdinand said, this is all new to us as well. I’m afraid we are just as in the dark as you regarding this matter of other worlds. That being said, our primary concern is fulfilling Mestionara’s request while ensuring my daughter’s wellbeing and safety at all times.”

“I see,” Fudge said, looking rather disappointed by our response. “And yes, of course, the safety and wellbeing of the young lady is our priority as well.”

Fudge finished his tea and, with a shaky voice, began again. “Well, you see, here in the wizarding world, we have laws regarding the use of magic, especially for young wizards and witches. We expect Miss Rozemyne and you to adhere to them. For starters, wizards and witches who haven’t reached their coming of age are not allowed to use magic outside of school. Breaking this rule would result in expulsion from Hogwarts. However, Dumbledore has informed me that you have a unique way of using magic.”

I nodded, summoned my Schtappe, and cast Waschen on my hand. The water surrounded my hand for a moment, and just as it had appeared, the water vanished, leaving my hand completely dry but clean. Rozemyne, meanwhile, began to pray as a ball of light came out of her ring, the light of the blessing rained down over Fudge.

Fudge wore a puzzled expression. “I must admit, I’m no expert, but at first glance, I can see the magic you employ is different from ours. Under normal circumstances, we would cast a tracking spell on Miss Rozemyne to keep tabs on whether she ever uses magic outside the school, but I’m not sure if that spell would detect this unique kind of magic. Either way…” He turned to look at Rozemyne. “Young lady, I want you to promise not to use magic outside of school. I’m putting my trust in you.”

“Well…” Rozemyne hesitated. “I am the High Bishop back home, and my participation in several rituals requires me to employ magic. But I promise that while I’m in this world, I will only use magic at school.”

Fudge was shocked by Rozemyne’s words and remained silent. As for myself, I was displeased by the amount of information she had revealed so easily. Fudge seemed to recover from his surprise and said:

"That is certainly a big responsibility, young lady... Very well, as long as you don’t use magic outside Hogwarts while you are in our world."

Fudge cleared his throat before continuing. "The other law—or rule—we have, and this one applies to all of you, not just to the young lady, is that it is strictly prohibited to use magic in front of a muggle."

Bonifatius snapped, his voice booming through the room. "And what, in the name of the seven, is a muggle? And why can’t we use magic in front of one?"

Fudge appeared visibly nervous at Bonifatius’ forceful tone, and I suspected that the mountain of a man was intimidating the Minister of Magic. It was Professor McGonagall who answered in a calm yet stern voice.

"A muggle is how we refer to people who don’t have magic..."

Bonifatius interrupted her before she could finish. "So you’re telling me that we can’t use magic in front of commoners? It is the right of a noble to wield magic as they see fit—"

"Father-in-law," Elvira interjected, raising her voice slightly to cut him off. "This world and ours are not the same. As long as we are here, we are obligated to obey their rules. We must maintain a civil, diplomatic relationship. I’m sure they have their reasons for prohibiting the use of magic in front of these muggles.”

Bonifatius stepped back, groaning something under his breath, clearly unsatisfied. Professor McGonagall seized the opportunity to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the room.

"As Lady Elvira mentioned, the reason behind this rule is to maintain civil relationships. In the past, there were significant conflicts between the magical community and non-magical people. After a series of events, the Statute of Secrecy was established to prevent such tensions from escalating. If you’re interested in the historical details, I’m sure our Professor of History of Magic would be delighted to provide a more comprehensive explanation."

Elvira inclined her head slightly, thanking the professor with a polite smile.

"I see. Thank you for clarifying, Professor McGonagall. We will, of course, respect your customs while we are here," Elvira said, her voice calm yet firm.

Bonifatius, however, was far from content. His expression remained stormy, and it was clear he still wanted to challenge the rule.

"This is absurd," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for us to hear. "A noble should never be restricted in their use of magic, regardless of who is watching. It's a fundamental right."

I couldn’t help but agree with him, finding this statute equally nonsensical. However, Elvira’s earlier words echoed in my mind: this is not our world. I reluctantly kept my opinions to myself, choosing instead to nod in silent agreement with her diplomatic approach.

Rozemyne, ever perceptive, offered a reassuring smile to her grandfather. "Grandfather, I understand how frustrating this must seem, but mother is right. We must respect their rules while we are guests in their world. I promise to do my best to avoid causing any issues."

Bonifatius let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Fine. I will abide by these... rules, but I don’t have to like them," he said gruffly, shooting a pointed look at Fudge, who flinched slightly under his gaze.

The tension in the room eased somewhat, though it was clear Bonifatius’ temper still simmered just below the surface.

“Well, I think everything is settled,” Fudge said, attempting to regain control of the meeting. “There’s one last topic I’d like to address before I let you go to get Lady Rozemyne’s school supplies. It’s about the portal you used to come to our world… You see, very few people know the truth about this whole situation. In the Ministry, I am the only one aware, and at Hogwarts, only Dumbledore and a few professors are in the loop.

"We’ve reached a consensus that this must remain a secret. Not that anyone would believe a goddess descended into our world—it’s an event in its own category, to say the least. What I’m trying to say is that Hogwarts is not an appropriate place to open this portal. I’ve been wondering if it would be possible for you to hand over the means of creating the portal so that we can open it in a secure and secluded location.”

Bonifatius looked ready to explode once again, so I quickly intervened.

“That’s not possible,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “We understand the importance of keeping this secret; we’ve been doing the same in our world. Mestionara’s appearance is as unique for us as it is for you, Minister. But the portal isn’t opened by any kind of tool. It’s a power granted to Rozemyne by the goddess herself.”

“The goddess… gave this power to the girl?” Fudge asked, his disbelief plain.

Professor McGonagall was the next to speak, her tone thoughtful. “This is unexpected, but Dumbledore suspected as much. He thought this might be the case.” She turned to Rozemyne with a gentle expression. “Dear, can you explain how you open the portal?”

Rozemyne took a moment to think before replying. “It’s difficult to explain. I just visualize the place I want to go, and when I snap my fingers, the portal opens. I have to stay focused to keep it stable; otherwise, it might collapse. But as for the exact mechanics behind it, I’m still not entirely sure.”

“Would it be possible for you to open it somewhere other than the castle’s lobby?” the professor asked, her tone still kind and encouraging.

“I think so,” Rozemyne answered with a small nod.

“Excellent,” Fudge said with visible relief.

“And where exactly is this ‘secure and secluded location’ you mentioned, Minister?” I asked, my tone sharp enough to convey my doubt. While I understood their reasoning, I wasn’t willing to trust them entirely with Rozemyne’s well-being.

I already knew what kind of person Cornelius Fudge was thanks to the books. This meeting only confirmed that the author’s depiction of him was painfully accurate. Blind trust was out of the question.

“It would be here at the Ministry of Magic,” Fudge said. “There are sections with minimal traffic that would be perfect for Lady Rozemyne to travel discreetly from here to the train station.”

“Denied,” I replied firmly. “During this short visit, I’ve already seen the number of people wandering through this place. If your objective is to keep this matter a secret, the Ministry is not the right location for it.”

To my surprise, Professor McGonagall agreed. “I share the same opinion, Cornelius. Actually, Dumbledore and I have discussed this matter in depth, and we think we might have a solution. Do you remember the village of Upper Hogsfield?”

“Yes, of course,” Fudge answered. “It used to be a small settlement near Hogsmeade, but it was abandoned long ago. Wait a moment… Are you saying that—”

“Yes,” McGonagall interrupted. “We could repair one of the old houses in the village and hide it with enchantments. Miss Rozemyne could open the portal safely from there, and with Hogsmeade nearby, it would be convenient for her to gather her school supplies. This way, we could avoid unnecessary contact with Muggles.”

“I see…” Fudge mused. “But I’d still like her to open the portal here, at least for her first year. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Fudge and McGonagall turned to us, awaiting our response. It was Elvira who spoke first.

“I think we have an agreement,” she said. “But we would like to inspect this location as well.” She then turned to me. “Lord Ferdinand, would it be possible for you to rebuild the house using creation magic? I would feel more reassured if the house were constructed by that method.”

I understood Elvira’s reasoning. By using creation magic, we could incorporate a protective barrier around the house, similar to the one surrounding the monastery in Hasse. I nodded in agreement.

Fudge and McGonagall seemed pleased with the arrangement, and it was decided that we would visit the location during Rozemyne’s spring break.

With this, the meeting came to an end. We exchanged farewells with Fudge and turned our attention to our next destination: Diagon Alley.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

I suppress the urge to sigh in relief once the meeting with the Minister of Magic comes to an end. This trip to the wizarding world, unlike the first one, feels much more tense. I know there are quite a few cultural differences between our two worlds, and many of them have been quite shocking for my family. But, to some degree, they have shown restraint and tolerance toward the oddities of this world. I really need to thank Mestionora—and give myself a pat on the back. Mestionora for providing us with the Harry Potter books, and me for reading them.

Mother has, to some extent, enjoyed the story, but I could tell that she found several elements of the plot and world-building shocking, and in some cases, even inappropriate. Still, she has been open-minded and understands that the customs and ways of another world are different from ours. It also helps that her daughter is from another world herself. The books have been an incredible aid—at least in preparing her for what to expect.

Ferdinand read the books too, but in his case… If it weren’t for the fact that I’m going to attend Hogwarts and the books provide some insight into this world, I’m sure he would have burned them and pulled my cheeks endlessly for even showing them to him.

Although there has been some friction between us and the inhabitants of this world, it remained at a tolerable level during the first meeting. But right now, it really feels like we’re walking a tightrope. This time, we brought my grandfather and my doctor, Alexandra—and the source of my stress.

When Alexandra left with Professor Dumbledore to meet with Madam Pomfrey, I caught the cold look she gave the old professor, laced with disdain. As for my grandfather… bringing him here is the equivalent of playing with matches inside a storeroom filled with dynamite. I’ve been dreading this entire meeting with Minister Fudge, worried that he might say or do something that could set my grandfather off.

Gods, because of this, I haven’t been able to enjoy our visit to the Ministry of Magic—one of the most emblematic locations in the Harry Potter world, alongside Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and maybe the Weasleys’ house. Speaking of the Weasleys, we met Arthur Weasley on our way here!!

However, this whole experience feels surreal. I know so many of these people as if they were just characters in a book, and now I have to familiarize myself with the flesh-and-blood versions of them. It’s going to be hard to separate the characters I know from their real selves, especially considering that Mestionora revealed to us that the accuracy of the books compared to reality might range from less than one percent… to ninety-nine percent. 

So far, the best part of this meeting—if we set aside the tense atmosphere—is that I got the chance to drink coffee. Yahoo! Praise the gods and coffee, the drink of the heavens!

The first sip I took was like drinking ambrosia. I’ve missed this taste so much , and as the caffeine entered my bloodstream, I felt alive . I like tea, but in my heart, nothing can match a good cup of coffee while reading a great book. Back in my days as Urano, having at least one cup of coffee a day was a must .

With our meeting with Cornelius Fudge officially over, it was time to set off for Diagon Alley. My relief, however, was very short-lived. The moment I saw Professor McGonagall pull a small cloth bag from her tunic and ask us to approach the chimney, I felt my stomach drop.

I knew what was inside that bag—vivid green powder. Floo Powder . We were going to travel to Diagon Alley through the chimneys . And judging by the way Mother and Ferdinand stiffened beside me, they also knew exactly what Professor McGonagall was about to suggest.

The professor calmly began explaining how to use the powder when—

"YOU MUST BE JESTING!"

Grandfather's roar echoed through the room, making the professor and Fudge flinch. His face twisted in sheer outrage, his brows drawn so tightly together that they could probably crush a nut between them. His blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now wide with absolute horror .

"The only function of chimneys is to warm a room during the cold days of winter!" he bellowed " Not as some ridiculous, barbaric excuse for transportation! You expect me to throw myself into a fireplace like a sack of kindling?! Absolutely not! I will not be stepping into a chimney, and neither will my granddaughter! This is an outrage ! A complete and utter disgrace ! What kind of fool came up with such an unrefined method of travel?!"

Ferdinand nodded in agreement with my grandfather’s statement. He must have shared the same opinion about Floo Powder, and I was certain he was about to say something just as scathing. Mother, on the other hand, didn’t let her feelings show on her face, but I could read it in her eyes—she was very much against the idea.

With a polite smile, she said, “I apologize for my father-in-law’s outburst, Professor, but I’m afraid this is simply too much for us. The idea of traveling through a chimney is… quite outrageous. And, frankly, it doesn’t seem like a safe way to travel. Is there any other way we could reach our destination?”

Professor McGonagall turned to Fudge, who sighed before answering her questioning look.

“The Ministry could lend you a car,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to assign you a driver. Minerva…?”

Professor McGonagall shook her head. “I’m afraid driving is not a skill I possess, Minister.”

For a moment, I nearly blurted out that I knew how to drive and even had a driver’s license. But just as the words were about to leave my mouth, I bit my tongue.

No. That was Urano, not me.

Cars didn’t even exist back home.

My almost-blunder didn’t go unnoticed. Ferdinand turned to me with a raised eyebrow, and Mother gave me a sharp, inquisitive look.

Both Professor McGonagall and Minister Fudge were deep in thought, most likely trying to come up with a solution that wouldn’t cause another outburst from my family. I decided to make a suggestion.

“Um… Professor?”

McGonagall turned to look at me.

“We could go by highbeast. All of us have one… but if you’re worried about keeping an eye on everyone, we could all travel in mine.”

“The highbeast… That’s the little stone carriage you showed us during your last visit, correct?” she asked.

I nodded.

“I appreciate the suggestion, Rozemyne, but I’m afraid I’ll have to reject it. If Muggles were to see it on the streets, it would draw far too much attention.”

I blinked in confusion.

“Why would they see it on the streets? Highbeasts don’t roll on the ground—they fly in the sky.”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened in surprise.

“So highbeasts are the equivalent of broomsticks?”

Grandfather looked like he was about to say something—probably something very opinionated—but I quickly answered before he could.

“Yes, Professor. And don’t worry, I can modify mine so that we can all ride inside comfortably.”

“It seems a solution to our predicament has been found,” Fudge said with a nod.

With that settled, he repeated his farewell, and we left his office. Professor McGonagall guided us through the labyrinth that was the ministry of magic, and before long, we reached the lobby.

Getting out of the Ministry was just like in the books—through an old, abandoned-looking phone booth. Once outside, we found ourselves on a bustling street, filled with people in suits. There were probably office buildings nearby. I also spotted a few shops lining the sidewalk.

Professor McGonagall led us through the crowded street until we reached a narrow, dingy alleyway. It looked completely abandoned, littered with trash, and a horrible stench of rotting food filled the air.

Once we confirmed that no one was around, I was given permission to summon my highbeast. I reached for the golden cage hanging from my belt and formed Ōkami-kun .

 I had to say goodbye to Lessy because of Mother’s insistence. It wasn’t fair ! My panda bus was so cute! But Mother insisted that no noble lady would ever be caught dead riding a highbeast that resembled a grun .

I still don’t know what a grun is.

But according to Mother’s reasoning, it was the equivalent of those hideous bugs everyone hates—the ones that can even survive nuclear bombs . After that explanation, I had no way to defend Lessy any longer.

Mother suggested I make my highbeast in the shape of a shumil. Ferdinand had once suggested the same thing, but—just like last time—I had to remind them that I still had no idea what a shumil was.

So, Mother asked Wilma to draw one for me.

Shumils look like rabbits— really cute, to be honest. But after thinking about it for a long time, I ultimately said no.

I wanted my highbeast to reflect my connection to my family, so I chose a wolf , the symbol of our family crest. It took me several tries—and thanks to Mother, Father, and my two elder brothers (not to mention their harsh critiques of my aesthetic sense)—I finally managed to transform it into a cute wolf pup that was also approved by everyone around me.

I shaped my wolf bus so that it was big enough for all of us to fit inside. Ferdinand, Mother, and Grandfather took the back seats, while I asked the professor to sit in the front as my copilot , since I needed her guidance to get to Diagon Alley.

Professor McGonagall was the last to board. Before stepping inside, she took out her wand and pointed it at my highbeast. Nothing seemed to happen, but once she sat down, she explained that she had cast a spell to make it invisible—a Disillusionment Charm .

Too bad we couldn’t appreciate the effect from inside the highbeast.

I took the wheel and slowly ascended, making sure not to bump into the walls of the buildings next to us. Once we had cleared the ground, I flew in the direction the professor pointed.

“Professor… there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said.

“What is it, Rozemyne?” the professor replied. She was looking through the windshield, trying to orient herself so she could pinpoint our route.

“I was wondering how I’m supposed to buy all my school supplies. I did bring money with me, but I’m not sure if currency from our world would be accepted in the stores.”

Professor McGonagall turned to look at me, her expression thoughtful. She had probably not considered that issue before.

“You raise a good point. Fortunately, in Diagon Alley, we’ll find Gringotts , the wizarding bank. We can ask if the money you brought can be exchanged for our world’s currency. However, in case that isn’t possible, the Ministry has a fund to help students with limited resources purchase their school supplies.”

I really hoped we wouldn’t have to rely on that option. It wasn’t a matter of pride , but I would feel bad about using money meant to help students struggling financially.

Still, I knew the chances of the bank accepting money from a completely different world were slim. If there was no other choice, I would do my utmost to pay back whatever I borrowed.

It didn’t take us long to arrive.

Professor McGonagall pointed toward a small, rather deserted street, and I landed there. Once everyone was out of my highbeast, I stored it back into the golden cage hanging from my belt.

We walked a short distance until we reached a small establishment nestled between a library and a record shop. It was a pub —old and a little neglected. The sign read The Leaky Cauldron .

Too bad… the library next to it seemed far more intriguing to me. In fact, I felt like the books inside were calling to me.

Noticing where my gaze had wandered, Ferdinand placed a hand on my shoulder. With a beautiful smile, he urged me not to get distracted.

The inside of the pub was small and dimly lit, but it had a cozy atmosphere mixed with an air of mystery. As we passed the bartender, he greeted Professor McGonagall.

“Hello, Tom. Sorry I can’t stay to chat, but I’m a little busy. See you another time.”

We followed the professor to the back door of the pub.

Once outside again, we found ourselves in a small enclosed space. The only things around us were the pub behind us and a brick wall in front.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand and tapped a few bricks in a specific order. Suddenly, the wall began to shift and pull apart, revealing—

My gods.

It was amazing .

Diagon Alley.

For a moment, I felt like I had stepped into another world .

People in colorful robes bustled through the streets, chatting and hurrying from one shop to another. The stores were packed with all sorts of magical goods, their displays glittering with mystery and enchantment.

Mother and Grandfather looked around in awe, while Ferdinand seemed far more interested in the moving wall, watching it with narrowed eyes, as if analyzing its structure. A mischievous smile crept onto my lips.

I stepped closer to him and, in a playful whisper, said, “Ferdinand, don’t tell me this is your first time seeing a wall move with magic? How adorable! If you want, I can hold your hand so you don’t get scared.”

Ferdinand turned to glare at me, his piercing golden eyes full of silent warning.

Uh-oh.

I knew my cheeks were going to pay dearly for this, but it was so worth it .

Sweet, sweet revenge for the time he scolded me when I first saw the Noble Gate open with magic.

The professor asked us to follow her; our first stop: Gringotts .

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

Standing before the enormous building of white marble really made me feel small. Back home, all the mansions of the nobles were made of white stone, and the castle of Ehrenfest was far bigger than the bank. But Gringotts had a definite sort of vibe—powerful and imposing, demanding caution and respect. Perched at the highest point of Diagon Alley, it stood like the most precious jewel in a crown.

A pair of polished bronze doors reflected the sunlight, making them appear as if they were shining on their own. Next to the entrance, an equally polished plaque bore the following inscription:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there."

Those words alone made me gulp, and somehow, I felt like I was being watched. Just standing there, admiring the building, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already committing some kind of crime.

Professor McGonagall urged us to keep moving. The bronze doors swung open, revealing another set of doors beyond them—this time made of silver.

As we approached, the silver doors opened just like the bronze ones, revealing the luxurious lobby of the bank. The floor was made of polished marble, and the walls were adorned with glass chandeliers that cast a gentle yet shimmering light. White marble columns, matching the rest of the building, decorated the space, rising all the way up to the ceiling. Along the length of the lobby, tall counters—also made of marble—stood in perfect order.

A quiet atmosphere reigned inside the bank. The only sounds that could be heard were the scratching of quills against parchment, the soft clinking of metal against metal—the unmistakable sound of coins being counted.

Behind the counters stood small figures—the goblins. With their pointed ears, sharp facial features, and dark eyes, they were exactly as I had imagined from the books. But there was one feature that had always unsettled me: their long fingers, tipped with sharp, claw-like nails.

Grandfather eyed the goblins warily, his shoulders tense, as if ready to spring into action at any moment. Ferdinand, too, observed them with caution, but I could also see a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

Mother, on the other hand, regarded them briefly before her attention shifted to the architecture of the bank. Her gaze lingered on the white marble columns and the elegant glass chandeliers adorning the walls. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her give a slight nod of approval.

We started walking toward one of the counters, and in my head, I was already planning ways to earn money in this world. I had little hope that the currency from our world could be exchanged here, so I needed a way to make a profit.

Maybe I could get some of the jewelry that commoners used and see if I could sell it. Another option was selling magic tools or potions. Unlike back home, this world had a patent system, which meant I would need Ferdinand’s help to create a unique magic tool or potion. If I succeeded, not only would I be able to pay back the money I borrowed from the ministry’s fund for students with financial struggles, but I would also secure a steady source of income to buy my school supplies for the coming years.

But what kind of potion or tool would be best?

My musings were abruptly interrupted when Mother stopped me by gripping my shoulder. I had been so lost in thought that I completely forgot my surroundings—so much so that I was about to walk straight into one of the white marble columns.

Regaining my composure, we continued toward a counter in the middle of the lobby. Seated there was a goblin, completely focused on writing in a massive book—probably an accounting ledger.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward and said, “Excuse me.”

The goblin lifted his head from the book, his expression clearly annoyed at having been interrupted. His dark eyes shifted to the professor, and in a high-pitched voice, he said, “Yes? How may I be of assistance?”

I took a step forward, feeling a little nervous about speaking. If I recalled correctly, goblins were usually described as malicious and cunning.

“G-Good morning, sir…” I said hesitantly.

The goblin turned to look at me, which only made me more nervous.

“I… I come from a country called Yurgenschmidt, and this year I will be starting my first year at Hogwarts. So… I was wondering if the money from my country could be exchanged for the currency used here.”

I pulled a small purse from my pocket, opened it, and took out a silver coin. With some hesitation, I handed it over to the goblin. He took the coin from my hand with his long fingers, holding it delicately between his sharp nails. Turning it over, he examined it from every angle, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied the unfamiliar currency.

He turned his dark eyes toward me, frowning, and said in an apathetic voice, “I don’t recognize this currency, nor the name of that country.”

“Ah, yes… It’s not a very well-known place. Not many people have heard of it,” I replied quickly. I knew—it was a lousy excuse. But what else could I have said?

It seemed my money had no value here. Plan B it is, then. I sighed.

“I don’t have any references for the exchange rate between the two currencies, but I can assess the value of the coin based on the metal it is made of,” the goblin stated.

I turned to look at him, my eyes widening. For a second, I thought this could be an excellent idea—the perfect solution to my money problems. But before I could get carried away, the Benno in my head stopped me in my tracks.

"Hold your horses, fool!"

My merchant instincts, too, warned me not to rush. Sure, I now knew I could sell precious metals like gold or silver, but I shouldn’t sell my money just for the value of the metal it was made of. How much could a small silver or gold coin really be worth? Not much. In fact, I might even end up losing money. That was just bad business.

Still, knowing that the bank was willing to buy precious metals gave me another potential way to earn money in this world. At the very least, I should see how much the small silver coin I gave the goblin was worth—that would give me an idea of silver’s value here. Maybe I should also give him a small gold coin to have it appraised.

Right now, I would most likely have to rely on the Ministry's fund to cover my expenses. However, I no longer felt bad about using that option—now that I had ideas on how to repay the money I borrowed and cover my expenses during my time at Hogwarts.

I was about to ask for the small silver coin to be appraised and start inquiring about the prices of gold and silver when another goblin approached from across the room. He had a quick conversation with the goblin assisting us, speaking in a strange language I couldn’t understand. Once he finished, the newcomer turned to me and said in a rough, high-pitched voice,"Girl, would you be so kind as to tell me your full name?"

I blinked in confusion. Why was I being asked my name? Still, I answered, "My name is Rozemyne Tochter Linkberg Adotie Ehrenfest."

The goblin’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, as if assessing me. Then, with a sharp nod, he said, "Please come with me. I will be the one attending to you."

I had no idea what was going on. I turned to look at Professor McGonagall, then at Mother.

Mother, maintaining a polite but firm tone, asked, "Excuse me, sir, may I inquire why you will be attending to us? Is there an issue?"

"My name is Bogrod, and there is no issue, madam," the goblin replied, his expression unreadable. "However, there is important paperwork that the young lady must fill out."

"Paperwork?"

"Yes, paperwork," Bogrod repeated, sounding slightly annoyed. "May I know who you are and what relationship you have with Miss Linkberg?"

"I am her mother," she answered without hesitation.

The goblin gave her a scrutinizing look before turning back to me. "The business I have with you concerns a vault under your name. We need to complete the necessary documents before I can hand you the key."

My eyes widened. A vault?

"This process is confidential," Bogrod continued. "Only immediate family members may accompany you. If you wish for them to join, I will require proof of their relation to you."

I swallowed hard. This was starting to feel a little too serious. My mind raced with questions—Why do I have a vault? Who opened it? What’s inside?

I turned to Mother and Grandfather. Would they even have a way to prove we were related? Did Gringotts have a method to verify that sort of thing? 

I clenched my hands into fists, trying to steady myself.

"Understood," I said, keeping my voice calm. "What kind of proof do you require?”

But Bogrod did not answer my question. Instead, he simply said, “I will explain further later. Please follow me.”

He turned to the goblin at the counter and gestured toward the small silver coin I had handed over earlier. The goblin returned it without a word, and I quickly stored it back in my purse, offering a polite thank you. With that, our group followed Bogrod as he led us across the grand lobby toward a door in one of the corners.

Beyond the door stretched a long hallway, lined with multiple doors spaced roughly a meter apart. We stopped in front of the seventh door, where Bogrod pulled out a large ring of keys from his pocket. He sifted through them with practiced efficiency before selecting the one that fit the lock.

Once the door swung open, he turned to face us and said, “Only Miss and Mrs. Linkberg may enter. The rest of you will wait in the hall.”

Immediately, both Grandfather and Ferdinand began to protest.

“We are also her family,” Grandfather said firmly, his voice rising in volume. “We should be allowed to accompany her.”

“I agree,” Ferdinand added, his cold gaze fixed on the goblin.

Bogrod, however, remained entirely unfazed by Grandfather’s imposing presence and Ferdinand’s sharp glare. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow and asked, “In that case, what is your relationship with Miss Linkberg?”

“I am her grandfather!” Grandfather declared without hesitation.

“I am her uncle,” Ferdinand said, though I noticed his deep frown. Maybe he wasn’t entirely comfortable saying it. I still remembered how, back when I was first adopted by Sylvester, I had asked Ferdinand if I should call him uncle—only for him to get annoyed and pinch my cheeks in response.

Bogrod seemed to ponder for a moment whether to allow Grandfather and Ferdinand into the meeting room with us. However, he ultimately spoke in a firm tone that left no room for argument.

“With Mrs. Linkberg, it is enough. As the presumed mother of the young lady, she is more than sufficient to complete the paperwork regarding the vault. Please remain here in the hall—it will not take long.”

Bogrod gave them a cold, challenging look, as if daring them to speak further. Then, without another word, he turned on his heels and entered the room, gesturing for Mother and me to follow.

Mother did not look pleased. Perhaps she disliked being referred to as my presumed mother, but she remained silent and stepped inside. I followed after her, catching a glimpse from the corner of my eye of both Grandfather and Ferdinand, who still looked as if they wanted to argue. Fortunately, the door shut firmly behind me, cutting off any further protests.

The meeting room was smaller and more subdued than I had expected. The walls were lined with dark wooden panels, polished to a high shine, giving the space a somber and professional air. A large, rectangular table sat at the center of the room, made of heavy mahogany and surrounded by high-backed chairs upholstered in dark green leather. On the table, neatly arranged stacks of parchment, inkwells, and quills awaited use.

A single chandelier hung from the ceiling, smaller and less ornate than the ones in the lobby but still elegant, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink, with a subtle metallic undertone that reminded me of coins and gold vaults.

Bogrod walked to his place at the head of the table and motioned for us to sit.

"Let us begin."

Mother and I took a seat around the table.

"First, we need to verify your parentage before we can proceed with the matter regarding the vault," Bogrod stated in a firm voice. "For this, I will require a genealogical record or any official document that proves your family relationship."

I had been dreading this. We didn’t have any kind of documentation. In fact, there wasn’t a single record of us in this world… we were like ghosts. That sounded cool in theory, but definitely not in this situation.

Mother, always composed, responded without hesitation. "I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of document with us. You see, our sole purpose today is simply to buy the school supplies my daughter will need for the year."

Sensing the danger of being turned away, I quickly stepped in, calling on both my noble upbringing and merchant instincts. "Is there any other way we can prove our family relationship? Professor McGonagall could act as a witness, and I am already enrolled in Hogwarts. Perhaps the school's records could be used as proof?"

Bogrod shook his head. "I’m afraid that will not suffice. Those options may be acceptable for minor formalities, but not for matters concerning vaults."

He then stood up and walked toward the wooden panels behind him. With a swift movement of his sharp nail, he traced along the surface, and a hidden compartment seamlessly opened. Reaching inside, he retrieved something before returning to the table.

He placed a rolled parchment on the table and broke the seal at the top before spreading it out.

"This is a Lineage Parchment," he explained in a monotone voice. "It is a tool we use here at the bank to trace the family trees of witches and wizards. It is commonly used in inheritance disputes, especially in cases where the deceased did not leave a will. While it is not often used for situations like this, it holds the same legal weight as official genealogical records."

This was new. I had never heard of such a method existing in the books. Then again, the books focused more on Harry’s adventures than the internal management of the bank, so it was natural that a lot of details had been left out.

Mother tensed slightly before speaking. "What is required of us in this case?"

I could tell she hadn’t expected this turn of events. I didn’t blame her—I was just as surprised. Given our unique circumstances, the magic tool would most certainly reveal that we were not related by blood. The thought sent a pang through my chest. Over time, I had come to accept Elvira as my mother. Effa would always have a special place in my heart, but that didn’t mean I valued Elvira any less. I hated putting her in this kind of situation.

"Simply place your hands over the parchment," Bogrod instructed. Then, turning to me, he added, "Both of you."

“How does it work?” I asked, feeling my stomach sink more and more with each passing second.

Bogrod answered once again in a monotone voice, sounding slightly annoyed. “This scroll binds to the magic of the person who touches it and extracts information from their lineage as registered in the world's magic. It is an infallible method in inheritance disputes and vault authentication. Although its use is more common in cases where there are no clear wills, in exceptional circumstances like this, we can use it to verify the relationship between a client and their supposed legal guardian.”

I had no idea how the scroll would react to our case. Would it mark us as strangers to each other? The laws back home are nothing like the ones here. Elvira is my baptismal mother—in Yurgenschmidt, the people who stand as your parents in your baptism are, in the eyes of society, your legal parents. Would this parchment be able to detect that, or would it remain blank? And what would happen then?

At worst, I might not be able to claim this vault. But honestly, it wouldn't be such a great loss. I don’t even know what’s inside or why I have a vault in Gringotts in the first place. So why worry at all? I can always go back to my original plan to earn money for my school supplies.

I looked directly into Mom’s eyes. I could see she might be thinking something similar. She gave me a soft smile to calm my growing anxiety. We both gave a slight nod to each other and placed our hands on the parchment.

Bogrod placed his sharp nail on one corner of the parchment, and it began to glow with a dim light. Letters started to appear, forming a large and intricate family tree. Once the process was complete, the parchment stopped shining.

I looked at the newly written family tree with curiosity, searching for my name. I soon found it, written in scarlet-red letters: Rozemyne Tochter Linkberg Adotie Ehrenfest / Myne/… I gasped.

Urano Motosu.

Unlike my current name, my former name was written in pitch-black letters. How is this possible? How can this tool detect the name from my past life?

Several lines were connected to my name, and I started following them. Right now wasn’t the time to dwell on why "Urano" had appeared. What mattered was whether Elvira was recognized as my mother.

I followed the red line, but at the end, I found the names of my birth parents: Effa and Gunther. My siblings' names were also present. I was glad to see my birth family listed, but this wasn’t the moment to focus on that.

Instead, I followed an emerald-green line and—there it was: Elvira Tochter Gutheil Frau Linkberg (Baptismal Mother). I sighed in relief.

Just out of curiosity, I kept examining the family tree. Sylvester was also connected to me by an emerald-green line, though it was thinner compared to the one linking me to the Linkbergs. There were also two other lines attached to my name, but they were different colors—one was pitch black, and the other was golden. I couldn't see where these two lines led, as they extended beyond the edge of the parchment.

Bogrod frowned as he examined our family tree with a critical eye. He lifted his gaze from the parchment and looked at us.

"I see. So, you are not her birth mother. Adoptive relationships are not uncommon, but this is the first time I have seen the term Baptismal Mother."

Mother calmly explained how things worked in Yurgenschmidt. Once she finished, Bogrod spoke again.

"I see. Your country certainly has rather unique laws. Very well, everything is in order."

The goblin rolled up the parchment and stored it away.

Once again, he stood up and walked toward one of the walls, swiftly tracing his sharp nails over the wooden panel. Another hidden compartment opened, and he pulled out a bundle of parchments, placing them on the table before sitting down again.

The papers in front of us were essentially a contract regarding the ownership and management of the vault. Bogrod began explaining the details. To summarize, the vault under my name was a high-security vault—and a very large one as well.

Although it was registered under my name, due to my status as a minor, Mother would be the primary account holder, meaning the vault would essentially become the Linkberg family vault.

Once he was done with his explanation, we had the task of completing the necessary paperwork so he could hand over the vault key to Mother. I began filling out the forms required of me while Mother spoke up.

"I have a question, if I may," she said.

Bogrod nodded.

"Why is there a vault in my daughter's name? This is our first time visiting this place, so I still find it rather strange."

Bogrod's eyes sharpened with suspicion as he looked at Mother. Why? I wasn't sure. Nevertheless, he answered her inquiry.

"One month ago, a young lady named Mestionora came to the bank. She was the one who opened the account in Rozemyne's name."

I froze. Mestionora?! My hand stopped moving mid-stroke, and Mother also looked taken aback. However, she quickly regained her composure and continued questioning Bogrod.

"From what I have seen today, the bank has strict policies regarding vault ownership. How did she manage to open one under my daughter's name?"

"It is true that the bank enforces firm regulations regarding vault management," Bogrod admitted, "but Mestionora was well-versed in them. She navigated the negotiations without issue. She claimed to be related to Rozemyne and provided documents that prove it. In fact, she and Rozemyne look so much alike that I was able to recognize her resemblance back in the lobby."

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Mrs. Linkberg, why are you asking? Were you not aware that Mestionora had been here?"

What?! The Goddess of Wisdom claimed to be related to me? She even presented documents? What is going on? She must have fabricated this evidence using her divine power, or perhaps she manipulated the minds of the goblins, similar to how an Imperius Curse would work.

I was speechless.

Mother, too, must have been just as shocked, but she didn't let it show on her face. Instead, she answered Bogrod with a calm smile and a friendly tone.

"Oh my, so she did not forget. When I found out she was coming to this country for work, I asked her to look into the requirements for opening a vault for Rozemyne. But to think she went out of her way and opened it herself... I would have liked it if she had informed me, but regardless, I owe her my thanks."

Wow. That’s Mother for you. She never loses her composure, and she even managed to come up with an excuse on the spot without so much as flinching. If it had been me, I'm sure I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a lie like that. Everyone around me always says I'm a terrible liar.

Bogrod seemed to have been pacified by Mother's answer. Good. She managed to put his suspicions to rest.

Still, what kind of relationship did Mestionora claim to have with me? And why did she do this? I can’t seem to understand her reasoning. I thought I would never hear from her again—that the day she asked me to attend Hogwarts would be the last time she ever came to the mortal world, whether in ours or this one.

I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the forms in front of me. I finished filling them out, and so did Mother.

“Mestionora also arranged for a private entrance,” Bogrod continued. “This is a rather rare privilege, one that we grant only to old and wealthy families. To activate it, personnel from the bank will need to visit your residence to cast the necessary spells.”

Mother seemed to be deep in thought, so I answered in her stead.

“We are in the process of moving here since I start school next week. We made this trip to buy my school supplies, and my family will return to our home country after seeing me off. Our move will be completed in spring. Once we have arranged our new home, can we schedule the bank’s visit then?”

I may not be a good liar, but I can be cunning sometimes. I am still my mother's daughter. One day, I will be as capable a lady as she is.

“There is no problem. Once you have moved into your new residence, please inform the bank,” Bogrod replied.

With that, we both finished the paperwork. Bogrod took the documents and reviewed them carefully, ensuring everything was in order. Finding nothing amiss, he placed the contract back on the table and tapped it with one of his fingers. A copy of it materialized out of thin air.

“This is your copy,” he informed us, “I advise you to store it safely.”

Mother took the bundle of papers in her hands. Meanwhile, the goblin reached into the inner pocket of his vest, pulled out a key, and handed it to her. He then asked if we wanted to see the vault.

We agreed… but wait a second—we still don’t know what’s in there. Just because we have a vault doesn’t mean our dilemma with money is resolved. The vault could be empty or contain something entirely unexpected, like another divine tool.

“Before we go, I want to ask you something,” I said. “Before you were called in, your coworker was about to evaluate the money we brought from our country since the currency exchange rate is unknown. I was wondering if you could do it instead.”

Bogrod nodded and, with a wave of his hand, made a set of scales appear. I pulled out my purse once again and handed him a variety of coins, from small copper to large gold. As I did so, I explained their value in lions, though I wasn’t sure if that information was relevant. Just in case.

The goblin placed each coin on the scales, weighing them against small bags filled with an unknown substance. The process didn’t take long. Once he was done, Bogrod made a piece of parchment appear from thin air, just like the scales, and wrote something on it before handing it to me.

Bwuh?! I couldn’t believe the values he had written down for each coin. He even listed their worth in pounds. I couldn’t take my eyes off the parchment.

I asked him why the values were so high, and he explained that the metal in each coin was far purer than what was commonly used. But that wasn’t all—he also mentioned that the coins emitted a faint but unknown energy, something he could feel just by touching them. He then asked if I was interested in exchanging them.

For the time being, I said no. First, I wanted to see what was in the vault.

With that, we exited the meeting room.

Grandfather was pacing in circles in the hall. Ferdinand was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his sleeve. His usual blank expression remained, except for his eyes, which showed clear impatience.

Standing next to them, watching us with an expression of contained curiosity, was Professor McGonagall. She had been waiting patiently while we conducted our business, but now that we were done, she adjusted her square spectacles and spoke.

“I trust everything is in order?” she asked, her sharp eyes flicking toward the key in Mother’s hands.

“Yes,” Mother replied with a polite nod. “We were just about to proceed to the vault.”

McGonagall gave a short nod, her expression unreadable, and joined us as we followed Bogrod further into the bank.

We arrived at a system of tracks where small carts were lined up. The moment I saw them, a bad feeling crept up my spine. No, no, no. These things look like amusement park rides. I hate those.

Bogrod gestured for us to get into the cart, and I hesitated. Mother, as composed as always, sat without complaint. Grandfather and Ferdinand, though visibly displeased with the mode of transport, got in as well. McGonagall pursed her lips but sat down without a word.

I gulped and climbed in last.

The moment Bogrod pulled the lever, the cart shot forward. My stomach lurched as we plunged into the depths of the bank. The wind roared in my ears, my hair whipped wildly, and I clenched my hands around the edge of the cart, my knuckles turning white.

Why?! Why does this need to be so fast?! My stomach churned as the cart twisted and turned, dipping into steep drops and sharp curves.

A particularly sharp turn made me shriek, much to my mortification. McGonagall, who was sitting beside me, arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Grandfather and Ferdinand didn’t seem fazed at all, and Mother was as serene as ever. I could hear Bogrod chuckle under his breath. Oh, he’s enjoying this, isn’t he?

The ride finally came to a stop before a massive door embedded into the rocky walls. I practically tumbled out of the cart, my legs shaking. Ugh. Never again.

McGonagall, who had exited the cart with her usual grace, gave me a sideways glance. “Are you quite alright, Miss Rozemyne?”

I straightened, trying to recover my dignity. “Y-Yes, Professor.”

Bogrod stepped forward and motioned toward the door. "Welcome to your vault."

Vault 721—that was the number assigned to our vault. We approached the massive doors, and Bogrod asked Mother for the key. She handed it to him, and he inserted it into the keyhole. He also placed his hand on the door, and with a deep, resonating sound, the locks began to release. The noise ceased, and the heavy-looking door slowly swung open.

And… by the Holy Seven.

The vault was enormous, but that wasn’t what surprised me the most. We had already knew that Mestionora had secured a large vault for us. No, what truly shocked me—though perhaps only me, since my family hadn’t reacted yet—was that the vault was filled with golden coins and countless treasures.

But even that paled in comparison to what I saw at the far end of the vault.

There, standing solemnly, was an altar—arranged exactly like the ones in the temple. A statue of the Supreme Couple and the Five Eternals stood at its center, and… no, no… were those the Divine Instruments as well?!

Gods.

My mind stopped functioning. I barely registered Mother talking to Professor McGonagall. From what little I could process, she was asking for guidance on how much money we would need. I didn't hear the answer.

Mother entered the vault and picked up some of the gold coins. I didn’t know how many. Once she was done, she stored them in her purse and exited. It was only after the door closed that I snapped back to my senses.

We returned to the cart, but the ride back wasn’t any better. By the time we reached the main building, my legs could no longer support me. My breathing was unsteady. I was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally.

With a sigh, Ferdinand carried me.

I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m ten. Well… in reality, I’m eleven—long story, don’t ask. I’ve grown to a height appropriate for my age. Okay, I’m still on the short side, but still…

…It’s no use. My health is just as bad as it was before I was submerged in Jureve.

We thanked Bogrod for assisting us and said our farewells before leaving to continue our business in Diagon Alley. I was still in Ferdinand’s arms.

Note 

This is the value of Yurgenschmidt currency tha was given to Myne by Bogrod 

Chapter Text

POV Ferdinand 

I could hardly believe the audacity of that goblin. Not only did he refuse our request to join the meeting about the vault, but he also had the nerve to slam the door in our faces. I was livid—and so was Bonifatius. His eyes burned with the desire to tear the door apart and crush that goblin’s skull in his hands. Thankfully, he restrained himself.

I leaned against the wall beside the door, my thoughts in turmoil. This whole business with the vault… It was obvious that Mestionora was behind it. The real question was why. What was that goddess planning? What was stored in that vault? Whatever the answer, one thing was certain—it was bound to be a colossal headache.

Thanks to the books, I knew what these vaults were and their purpose. In fact, they had allowed me to prepare mentally for the absurdities this world had in store. Still, knowing what to expect did nothing to lessen my headaches—nor did it reduce the aversion I felt when witnessing and experiencing them firsthand.

Bonifatius interrupted my musings by pressing a sound-blocking tool into my hand. I glanced at Professor McGonagall; she seemed deep in thought as well. Good. I did not have to concern myself with her. I was unsure if she could read lips, and Bonifatius undoubtedly had much to complain about—his comments were sure to be offensive. The last thing we needed was to create more trouble for ourselves.

"Ferdinand, I dislike everything about this." Bonifatius crossed his arms, his expression dark with frustration. "The more time we spend here, the less I like the idea of my granddaughter attending this… Hogwarts, or whatever that damned place is called. I hate the thought of her setting foot in this world. Ever since we arrived, I’ve had a gut feeling that this place is dangerous."

I sighed, rubbing my temple. I had expected Bonifatius to say something like this, and I could not blame him. The sense of unease that clung to this world was suffocating. The air was thick with a strange, foreign mana, one that did not follow the natural flow I was accustomed to. The architecture, the customs, the sheer carelessness with which magic was wielded—everything about this place felt disordered and unstable. It was as if we had stepped into a world where even the most basic principles of magic were treated as mere conveniences rather than the foundation of existence.

"I am of the same mind, Bonifatius," I admitted, my voice steady despite my own misgivings. "But we have no choice in the matter."

Bonifatius clenched his fists. "This world feels wrong—foreign, dangerous. Ferdinand, I dread the idea of Rozemyne spending even a single bell here, yet you are telling me she must remain for nearly a full year? A full year, surrounded by these reckless fools who have no understanding of the weight of magic? What about her safety? Her needs? Is she at least allowed to bring her knights?"

"No," I said, my tone clipped. "The school’s headmaster insists that the school is a very safe place, and he refused any form of external protection. The only concession we managed to secure was for Alexandra to accompany Rozemyne as her personal doctor."

Bonifatius scoffed, his face twisting with disdain. "Are you talking about that weak-looking old man who received us?"

I nodded. His scowl deepened, and he let out a growl of frustration before muttering a string of curses under his breath.

"And who was that pathetic man we met? That pompous fool in the ridiculous green robes—who does he think he is, daring to demand we hand over the power to create portals and ordering us around as if we were mere commoners? The arrogance! And this nonsense about hiding magic from commoners—what kind of madness is that? How can you and Elvira remain so calm about this?"

His anger was not unfounded. The so-called Minister of Magic's demands had been absurd, and his authority held no weight over us. The idea that he could dictate the use of our magic, let alone expect us to comply, was laughable. Yet, we had to tread carefully. This world did not operate under Yurgenschmidt’s laws, and forcing our ways upon them would only lead to unnecessary conflicts.

I exhaled slowly, pressing two fingers against my forehead as I considered my response. "Calm? Hardly. But we must approach this with caution, Bonifatius. Our priority is ensuring Rozemyne’s safety, and for now, that means playing by their rules—at least until we fully understand what we are dealing with.”

"Still, how can both of you accept all this nonsense with little to no reaction?" Bonifatius demanded, his frustration evident in the tension of his stance.

"That is because Mestionora left behind a set of books that provided us with some insight into this world," I explained calmly. "She did warn us, however, that not all the information recorded in them could be taken at face value. But so far, the details they contain have proven accurate."

"What? Why was I not informed of this?!"

"We presented a full report on the books' contents to Sylvester and Karstedt, given that the original plan was for Karstedt to accompany us." My tone carried a note of reproach—after all, Bonifatius had forced his way into this mission, disrupting our initial arrangements.

"Regardless, I should have been informed! This concerns my granddaughter’s safety. I want access to these books as soon as we return."

I sighed. "I will tell Elvira to give them to you, but be warned—these books are… not written in a conventional manner. They are a story."

"A story? What do you mean?" His brow furrowed in suspicion. "Are you telling me that the information about this world comes from some kind of folktale?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying."

Bonifatius cursed under his breath and began pacing in circles, muttering to himself. He did not speak further, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

These two visits to this world had been stressful for all of us. For me, in particular, it was disorienting. The flow of mana was different, the structures of authority unfamiliar, and the customs outright bizarre. I felt out of place, lost. And yet, we were merely guests—we would return to our world soon enough. The idea of having to live here permanently was unfathomable.

A memory surfaced, unbidden, of the time Rozemyne had told me about her struggles to adapt to our world. She had once admitted that her common sense did not align with ours, that she carried the mindset of a poor commoner, a merchant, a shrine maiden… but, most importantly, the common sense of her previous world.

At the time, I had found her complaints tedious, yet another problem for me to manage. But now, I recalled Elvira’s outburst upon learning about Rozemyne’s past-life memories. It was one thing to adjust from the beliefs of a commoner, but an entirely different matter to adapt from the beliefs of another world. She had called us idiots for failing to tell her sooner, insisting that she could have adjusted Rozemyne’s education to better help her adapt.

More than ever, I believed she had been right to call us fools.

I felt a pang of discomfort in my chest. When Rozemyne had told me about her struggles, I had failed to empathize with her words. Perhaps it was because I could not picture myself in such a situation. Still, that was no excuse—I should have made a greater effort to understand her struggles. For starters, I could have asked more about her "dream world," identified the key differences, and traced a plan to help her adjust to ours. But I had not.

I owed her an apology for my failure.

Right now, Elvira was teaching her from the ground up, molding her with the knowledge and customs she should have learned from the beginning. Perhaps I should do the same. There was still time before she had to attend the Royal Academy. If we corrected our approach now, it would ease her transition—and, more importantly, reduce the likelihood of her getting into trouble.

The door to the meeting room opened, drawing me from my thoughts. Rozemyne emerged, followed by Elvira and that creature. Professor McGonagall stepped forward and addressed them.

“I trust everything is in order?” she asked, her tone formal yet firm.

“Yes,” Elvira replied with a polite nod. “We were just about to proceed to the vault.”

Without further delay, we followed the goblin’s lead through the halls of this peculiar establishment. The corridors were narrow, lined with metal fixtures and dimly lit lanterns that cast flickering shadows against the stone walls. Unlike the elegant and refined architecture we had seen in the upper levels, the path before us grew increasingly crude, as if civilization itself had been stripped away with every step we took.

Eventually, we arrived at a platform where a series of peculiar metal carts sat upon narrow tracks. They were nothing like the carriages or highbeasts we used in our world—these contraptions were small, rigid, and wholly unimpressive. Yet the goblin gestured for us to step in, as if such a crude device were perfectly normal.

I hesitated, narrowing my eyes at the vehicle. “This is how we are to travel to the vault?”

The goblin merely gave me an impatient look, as if questioning why I was wasting time asking something so obvious.

Bonifatius grunted, eyeing the cart with deep suspicion. “I don’t like this.” He crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “I don’t like this one bit.”

“Nor do I,” I muttered. But there was little choice.

Reluctantly, we climbed in, ensuring Rozemyne was seated securely between Elvira and myself. The goblin stepped forward, pulled a lever, and without warning, the cart shot forward with a violent lurch.

The acceleration was immediate and brutal. I barely had a moment to brace myself before we were hurtling through the underground tunnels at an unnatural speed. The tracks twisted and dipped erratically, throwing us from side to side with each sharp turn. The air howled around us, and a deep rumbling echoed from the stone walls as we descended further into the depths.

A curse slipped from my lips as I clutched the edge of the cart. The experience was entirely unlike flying on a highbeast. There was no control, no stability—just reckless speed and blind momentum. It was intolerable.

Beside me, Bonifatius let out a roar—not of fear, but of rage. “What kind of madness is this?!” he bellowed, gripping the sides of the cart so tightly that I feared he might crush the metal under his hands. His face twisted in fury as another sharp turn nearly sent us crashing into one another. “If that goblin thinks this is an acceptable way to travel, I’ll wring his scrawny neck the moment we stop!”

Elvira, in contrast, appeared remarkably composed, though I did not miss the way she subtly adjusted her grip on Rozemyne’s shoulder.

Rozemyne, however, was a different matter entirely. Her face had turned an alarming shade of pale, her entire body rigid as she clung to her seat with all her strength. Her eyes were tightly shut, her breathing uneven, and I could hear the faintest whimper escaping her lips.

Another sudden drop sent her lurching forward, and this time, she let out a strangled noise that was dangerously close to a sob.

“Rozemyne?” I called, concern creeping into my voice.

“I—I hate this,” she choked out, her voice barely audible over the rush of air. “I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.”

Her trembling fingers gripped my sleeve with surprising strength. It was not often that she showed such raw distress, but it was clear that this experience was nothing short of a nightmare for her.

I exchanged a glance with Elvira, who wore an expression of deep concern.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cart screeched to a halt, jolting us roughly as we arrived at our destination. The moment we stopped moving, Bonifatius shot to his feet, shaking a fist in the direction of the goblin.

“Never again!” he declared, his voice echoing through the cavern. “I refuse to ride that death trap again!”

I took a deep breath, smoothing out my robes as I stepped onto solid ground once more. “Agreed,” I muttered, my tone clipped.

Meanwhile, Rozemyne remained seated, gripping the edge of the cart as though she were still bracing for another sudden drop. Elvira gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s over now, dear. You can let go.”

Rozemyne slowly opened her eyes, her expression one of pure misery.

“I feel sick,” she whispered.

Before us lay the entrance to the vault, its massive doors carved into the very rock of the cavern. And yet, even as I tried to recompose myself, I could not shake the lingering feeling that whatever lay beyond those doors would be far more troubling than the ride that had brought us here.

As we walked toward the vault, I could hear Professor McGonagall in the background, her tone laced with concern.

“Are you quite alright, Miss Rozemyne?”

“Yes… professor,” came the trembling response. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and I could see from the corner of my eye that she was still pale, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Clearly, the ride had unsettled her more than she wished to admit.

Once we reached the massive door of the vault, Elvira retrieved the key and handed it over to the goblin. He took it with a businesslike nod before stepping forward and inserting it into the keyhole. As he did so, he explained the security measures in place.

“For the vault to open, the key alone is not sufficient,” he stated, his gravelly voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber. “A worker of the bank must physically touch the door as well. Otherwise, an enchantment will activate—one that traps the intruder within the very metal of the door itself.”

I narrowed my eyes, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in my mind. A security measure meant to merge a thief with the door? The madness of this world knew no bounds.

With a heavy groan, the massive door shifted, the mechanisms within clanking and grinding as it slowly pulled away from the threshold. What lay beyond, however, sent a wave of cold dread washing over me.

The chamber was vast, its high ceiling vanishing into the shadows above. Stacks of gold coins, jewels, and opulent treasures filled the space from floor to ceiling, gleaming under the flickering torchlight. But all of that wealth was meaningless in comparison to what truly seized my attention.

At the far end of the room stood an all-too-familiar sight—statues of the Supreme Couple and the Eternal Five, arranged precisely as they would be in the Grand Temple. The divine instruments rested at their feet, displayed with an air of reverence that sent a chill through my spine.

I stood frozen, my breath caught in my throat.

This was not coincidence.

The presence of the gods here, in a world that should have had no connection to them, was a message.

Had they already begun to extend their influence to this place?

Would they demand Rozemyne spread their names here as well?

And what of this wealth? Was it merely an offering, or was it a silent form of pressure—an unspoken expectation for Rozemyne to yield results?

The weight of it all settled heavily on my shoulders.

This was no longer a mere diplomatic mission.

It was a game of gods. And we were being moved as their pieces.

Elvira stepped into the vault with composed efficiency, picking up a few gold coins and storing them away without hesitation. With our task complete, we began our return journey.

The trip back was no better than the first. The cart’s reckless speed and erratic movements tested my patience once again. Though I maintained my composure as expected, I made sure to shoot a warning glance at the goblin controlling the vehicle.

Upon reaching the upper level of the bank, I immediately noticed Rozemyne’s condition. She was trembling, her legs unsteady as if they might give out at any moment. Without hesitation, I scooped her up in my arms before she collapsed.

We were escorted to the bank’s exit, where Rozemyne and Elvira took a moment to politely thank the goblin for his assistance. I did not share their sentiment, and judging by the grim expression on Bonifatius’ face, neither did he.

No sooner had we stepped outside than Professor McGonagall approached, concern evident in her expression.

“Is Lady Rozemyne unwell?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

I suppressed the urge to deliver a sharp remark and instead responded with carefully measured neutrality. “She is fatigued. Prolonged exposure to such intense situations is hardly ideal for her condition.”

McGonagall studied me for a moment, as if searching for the unspoken meaning beneath my words. Finally, she gave a slow nod.

“I see. If there is anything the school can do to—”

“That will not be necessary,” I interjected smoothly. “For now, rest will suffice.”

I had no interest in hearing empty reassurances or meaningless claims of safety. And from the way Bonifatius ground his teeth, it was clear he felt the same.

With a conflicted expression, McGonagall nodded, likely noticing our irritation. Without further comment, she urged us to follow her to our next destination—a shop with glass windows displaying various garments. It was evidently a clothing store.

“This establishment is called Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions,” McGonagall explained. “We are here for Lady Rozemyne to acquire her school uniform.”

I carefully set Rozemyne down, allowing her to steady herself before she and Elvira stepped forward. Just as they were about to enter, McGonagall spoke again.

“We have already spent a considerable amount of time at Gringotts. Why not make better use of our time by splitting up? Lady Rozemyne and Lady Elvira can remain here for Madame Malkin to take measurements and tailor the uniform, while you, Lord Ferdinand, and you, Lord Bonifatius, can purchase the rest of her school supplies.”

I was about to refuse the suggestion—leaving Elvira and Rozemyne alone in an unfamiliar place without proper protection was simply out of the question. Bonifatius, judging by his expression, was of the same mind. However, Elvira agreed to the professor’s proposal. The look in her eyes made it clear—she wanted this visit to be over as soon as possible. If splitting up meant we could return home faster, she was willing to take the risk.

I sighed and relented. Both Elvira and Rozemyne carried protective charms, and Elvira was more than capable of handling any potential threat, at least long enough for us to reach her. With that in mind, I accepted the handful of golden coins Elvira handed me, and with little choice in the matter, Bonifatius and I followed Professor McGonagall.

Our first stop was a bookstore. The sight before me was... unsettling. Books were so expensive in our world that dedicated bookstores did not exist. Even with Rozemyne’s printing advancements, the number of books available in Ehrenfest could not compare to the sheer quantity within this single building. Only the memories I had glimpsed in her mind could rival such a sight.

As soon as we stepped inside, a worker approached us. Professor McGonagall explained that we needed the required materials for a first-year student at Hogwarts. The employee moved quickly, gathering all of Rozemyne’s textbooks. In hindsight, it was fortunate she hadn’t come with us—getting her out of this place would have been a battle in itself.

After paying, we moved on to the next store. It was... a cauldron shop? The professor explained that Rozemyne would need one for her potion classes. However, upon hearing her description, we determined it was unnecessary—our brewing equipment served the same purpose. The only item we purchased was a bascule.

Next, we acquired a peculiar device called a "telescope," which allowed one to see distant objects more clearly. Ingenious, certainly, but I failed to understand why Rozemyne would need such a thing.

Next, we headed to a store to purchase ingredients for Rozemyne's potion classes. I was curious about what materials they used for brewing and whether their properties would be similar to the ones we used back in our world. We made our way through the store, buying everything Rozemyne would need while I critically examined the items displayed on the shelves. Each ingredient had a label next to it, but unfortunately, I couldn't read the text.

While Rozemyne was teaching us English, we still lacked the knowledge to fully understand the language, and the translation device only worked for spoken communication. I realized with a start that Elvira would be unable to understand the owner of the clothing store either, as I had the translation device on me, and it only covered a limited range.

However, it wasn’t a huge issue—Rozemyne was with her, after all.

We moved on. The next stop before we would meet back with Elvira and Rozemyne was a store that sold travel trunks. I couldn’t see the point in visiting—it was no different from what we already had back home. But Professor McGonagall insisted that Rozemyne would need a backpack.

A backpack? For carrying her books and school supplies daily? This was unacceptable. Once again, I had to force myself not to shout in frustration. Bonifatius seemed to be holding back his complaints as well.

Inside the store, the trunks they sold weren’t ordinary. While some were typical, there were enchanted sets with expanded spaces and other peculiar functions. I was particularly intrigued by one trunk the seller mentioned, claiming it had the capacity of an entire house. I was tempted to buy one just to study the magic behind it, but our funds were insufficient.

I made a mental note to return later and purchase one for myself, along with some of the other intriguing items I had spotted in other stores.

We ended up buying both a travel trunk and a backpack with an enchantment that made them lightweight. If Rozemyne had to carry everything herself, she would certainly fail and collapse. At least with these convenient spells, she should have fewer problems.

We made our way back to the clothing store, where Elvira and Rozemyne were waiting at the front. From the look in Elvira's eyes, it was clear she was displeased. So far, she had been very tolerant and composed during this whole ordeal. What had she seen in that store that unsettled her so much?

Elvira hid her displeasure behind a polite lady's smile as she approached, walking alongside Rozemyne to meet us. We only had two more stores to visit, and then finally, we could return home.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

I couldn't help but frown when Mother agreed to Professor McGonagall’s suggestion of splitting up. It wasn’t fair. The part I was looking forward to the most was visiting the bookstore to buy my textbooks. I still remember my disappointment when I first woke up as Myne and discovered that bookstores didn’t exist back home due to the low literacy rates and the fact that books were so expensive that only wealthy commoners or nobles could afford them.

Haaah… why is paradise denied to me once again? I wanted to spend time exploring the bookstore, discovering all kinds of never-before-read treasures! I wanted to protest, but I held my tongue. I could see it in Mother’s eyes—she wanted to finish this visit as soon as possible. Maybe she’s tired, and I can’t blame her. I feel exhausted too, especially after the horrible experience of going to our vault. I don’t even know what time it is, but I’m starting to get hungry. I doubt my family will want to eat here… I sighed. For now, I’ll just give in.

Well, in hindsight, in just one week’s time, I’ll have access to the beautiful library at Hogwarts. Mwahaha! And the best part is that no one will be able to keep me away from it. For now, I’ll retreat, but I will come back stronger. Next time, the bookstore will not be denied to me.

Mother and I stood in front of Madam Malkin's shop. She pushed the door open, making the bell above ring as it swung. Inside, the store was a burst of color—robes displayed on racks alongside spools of cloth and thread. A staircase led up to a second floor, and near the entrance stood a wooden counter. Behind it was a door, most likely leading to the back of the shop. A plump woman dressed entirely in mauve emerged from behind the door. She had a kind smile on her face.

“############, ##########,” Madam Malkin said.

I blinked in confusion—I couldn’t understand her. Then, I realized the problem: Ferdinand had the translation device with him, and if I recalled correctly, it only worked within a certain range. Mother looked puzzled at first, then concerned; she must have realized what had happened as well. Madam Malkin, noticing our lack of response, seemed a bit worried.

I quickly switched to English and said, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? We’re not from this country and are still learning the language.”

Madam Malkin nodded in understanding and repeated her greeting, this time a little more slowly and emphasizing certain words.

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. I assume you’re here to buy your school uniform for Hogwarts, yes?”

I nodded at Madam Malkin’s words, then turned to Mother and translated what she had said. She also nodded in agreement.

It had been almost two months since I started teaching English to Mother, Ferdinand, Charlotte, and Alexandra. Mother and Ferdinand were fast learners, but they still didn’t have the level needed for a proper conversation. I guessed that, with her current level, Mother was able to understand most of Madam Malkin’s greeting.

I turned back to Madam Malkin and asked her for a moment before once again facing Mother. “Do you want me to cast the blessing of Grammatur like last time?”

“No, dear. If I recall correctly, minors are not allowed to use magic outside of school. At least while we are here, we should follow their rules—for appearance’s sake and to avoid bringing unnecessary conflict upon us. I will cast the blessing. Just tell me the words.”

I nodded and recited the prayer I had used last time. Mother summoned her schtappe and spoke: “O Grammatur, goddess of language, hear my prayer. Lend me your divine wisdom and grant me understanding. We, children of Geduldh, find ourselves in a foreign world—please bless our words so they may be heard and understood”

From Mother’s schtappe, a yellow ball of light emerged, rising toward the ceiling before cascading down gently over both of us like a soft rain of blessings. Once the light faded, Mother dismissed her schtappe.

“I apologize if we disturbed your store,” Mother said to Madam Malkin. “I cast a spell that will allow us to understand each other.”

“Worry not,” Madam Malkin replied with a gentle smile. “I must say, this is the first time I’ve heard of such a spell. In fact, I’ve never seen magic behave quite like this before.”

With a graceful gesture, Madam Malkin motioned toward the staircase leading to the second floor. “Now then, young lady, if you would be so kind as to come with me upstairs so I can take your measurements.”

I followed Madam Malkin up the staircase to the second floor. The space was well-lit, with large windows allowing sunlight to stream in, casting a warm glow over the neatly arranged workstations. Several mannequins stood along the walls, dressed in various styles of robes, some already completed and others in different stages of tailoring. Bolts of fabric in a wide range of colors and textures were stacked on wooden shelves, while enchanted needles and measuring tapes floated gently in the air, waiting to be used.

In the center of the room stood a raised circular platform surrounded by tall mirrors, allowing customers to see themselves from every angle. Nearby, a small cushioned stool and a side table held an assortment of sewing tools and a cup of tea, likely forgotten by a busy seamstress.

Madam Malkin gestured toward the platform with a pleasant smile. “Please stand here, dear. I’ll take your measurements in just a moment.”

I was used to this process—now even more so, since I was officially “ten”. As a noble, that was a big deal. For nobles, the most important milestones in a child’s life were at seven, when they were baptized; at ten, when they reached the age to enter the academy; and at their coming-of-age ceremony.

At the beginning of the summer, a grand celebration was organized to commemorate my tenth birthday. It was fun—my entire noble family attended, and they gave me gifts. Afterward, we enjoyed a feast with delicious food.

But the not-so-fun part came after. Since I had turned ten, my wardrobe had to be completely remade to reflect my age. For almost two weeks straight, I was turned into Mother’s personal mannequin, trying on dress after dress. It was a miracle that I only ended up with a fever once.

Madam Malkin took my measurements swiftly, showcasing her experience. She was even faster than Corinna—though it wouldn’t be fair to compare them, considering Madam Malkin used magic to speed up the process. Once she finished, she took notes of my measurements and told me to wait before heading downstairs.

I was left alone on the second floor—or so I thought.

On a platform next to me, I noticed a girl dressed in the black robes of the Hogwarts uniform. She was admiring herself in the mirror with a bored expression in her eyes. She was tall and had a slim figure. Her dark brown hair shimmered with reddish highlights as she tilted her head slightly.

“Are you going to be a Hogwarts student too?” the girl asked out of the blue.

“He—yes. My family recently moved to this country, and I will be starting my first year.”

“A simple yes would have been sufficient. I didn’t ask for your life story.”

I froze at her response. My noble training immediately took over, smoothing my expression into a perfectly practiced lady’s smile.

“Certainly. I apologize.”

“Hmm.” She examined her nails with disinterest, as if I were hardly worth her time, then brushed an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. “Just so you know,” she continued lazily, “Hogwarts is a renowned school—one of the best in the world, if not the best. It’s not a kindergarten.” Her gaze flicked over me, assessing, before a slow smirk tugged at her lips. “A pampered princess like you? You’re going to have a hard time there. Daddy won’t be around to carry you everywhere.”

Daddy? Did she mean Ferdinand? Did she see me arrive in his arms?

Hah! No way. Ferdinand as my father? If he had heard what this girl just said, she would have received the full force of his icy wrath.

But seriously, what’s wrong with this girl? Why is she attacking me out of nowhere?

Now… what should I do? Should I respond to her verbal attack? What would Mother do? Maybe give a neutral answer?

Haaah… back when I was Urano, I would have just ignored her, the same way I ignored anyone who was mean to me.

“I appreciate your concern, but I believe I can manage,” I replied in an even tone. “By the way, the person carrying me earlier was not my father—he is my mentor.”

The girl tilted her head in mock curiosity. “Your mentor , huh? There’s a saying that a teacher’s worth can be measured by the quality of their students, and from what I’ve seen so far…” She gave me a slow, deliberate once-over before smirking. “I’m not impressed. He must be mediocre at best.”

She let out a soft, mocking laugh, as if she had just told the most amusing joke in the world. “Hoo… I bet you won’t last a week at Hogwarts.”

Her words struck a nerve. Not because she insulted me —I had long since learned to ignore petty remarks—but because she had the audacity to belittle Ferdinand . My grip on my skirt tightened ever so slightly.

I inhaled deeply, letting my noble upbringing take the lead. If she wanted a battle of words, I would not lower myself to childish insults. Instead, I smiled, the same kind of perfectly measured smile that made even high-ranking nobles second-guess their words.

“There’s a proverb that says, ‘The peculiar quality of a fool is to perceive the faults of others while conveniently forgetting their own.’” My voice was calm, steady—unshaken. “And just as you didn’t ask for my life story , I certainly didn’t ask for your opinion.”

For a brief moment, the air between us felt charged, like the split second before a thunderstorm.

But nothing happened as Madam Malkin returned to the second floor. Both of us hid our hostility behind polite facades, neither willing to break the illusion of civility.

Madam Malkin approached the girl and asked, “So, young lady, how does it feel? Do the robes fit well, or do you find them uncomfortable to move in?”

“No, ma’am. Everything is perfect.”

“Good. Well, you may go and change—I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The girl nodded at Madam Malkin’s words, stepping down from the platform. She started walking toward the stairs but stopped midway. Tilting her head slightly, she glanced back at me.

“See you at school,” she said with a fake gentle voice and an equally insincere smile.

But I could hear the poison behind her words, see the fire in her eyes.

Then, without another word, she turned and left.

Haaah… I haven’t even set foot in Hogwarts yet, and I’ve already started off on the wrong foot.

Madam Malkin, apparently oblivious to the silent battle that had just taken place, smiled as she nodded to herself. “It seems you two have become friends.”

I blinked. Friends?

Before I could correct her, she pulled out her wand and, with a swift motion, summoned a roll of black and white fabric. “If you’d like, you may take a seat.” She gestured to a chair beside the platform. “It won’t take long.”

I nodded and sat down.

With another flick of her wand, the roll of fabric unfurled itself in midair. Scissors, needles, and spools of thread came to life, dancing through the air as they began tailoring what would soon be my school uniform.

The process only took a few minutes, but I was completely enchanted by it. Watching the fabric shape itself into my uniform with such precision was mesmerizing.

Madam Malkin’s voice brought me back to reality. “It’s ready. All that’s left are the final adjustments, but for that, you’ll need to try it on. Please follow me.”

We returned to the first floor. That rude girl was now dressed in her regular clothes and stood waiting in front of the wooden counter.

Mother was seated in a chair in the corner of the store, a cup of tea in her hands. She was watching the girl with a hard look.

Was she rude to Mother too?

Madam Malkin gestured toward the door behind the counter. “There’s a changing area back there.”

I nodded and made my way to the door. Before stepping through, I took one last glance at the store. Mother was no longer looking at the girl; instead, she was calmly enjoying her tea. Madam Malkin had moved to speak with her.

I closed the door behind me.

The back room had several changing stalls lined up along the walls. At the very back, another wooden door stood closed—most likely Madam Malkin’s office. I stepped into the nearest changing stall and drew the curtain shut.

I began to undress. It was surprisingly difficult—today, I was wearing the type of clothes that a wealthy merchant’s daughter would normally wear. If I had come in my noble attire, it would have been nearly impossible to take them off without help.

Even so, I managed to remove everything and change into my Hogwarts school uniform. I carefully folded my clothes and placed them on what looked like a plastic bench. Turning to the mirror in the changing stall, I checked to make sure everything was in order. Once I was satisfied that nothing was out of place, I returned to the front of the store. That rude girl was no longer in the store.

“Madam, may I leave my clothes in the changing stall?”

“No problem, dear. Now, please follow me.”

I nodded. Madam Malkin then turned to Mother and asked if she would like to join us for the final tailoring. She agreed and followed us back to the second floor.

Once again, I stood on the platform while Madam Malkin moved to make the final adjustments. She worked quickly, making the necessary modifications with ease.

After a few minutes, she stepped back and gestured for me to move around. I tested the fit, stretching my legs and arms. Everything felt fine.

Mother, however, was looking at my uniform with a critical eye. I could tell she was disappointed. Well, I already saw that coming. She was used to seeing me in noble dresses—elegant garments with intricate embroidery, wide sleeves, and delicate frills. Compared to that, my uniform must have seemed far too simple

Mother turned to Madam Malkin and asked if we could add more decorations to the design, such as embroidery. However, Madam Malkin politely declined, explaining that the school had a very strict dress code and did not allow modifications to the uniform.

With a flick of her wand, she made a catalog appear in her hands and showed it to Mother. “I do, however, offer a great variety of other clothing,” she explained. “You can choose a design from this catalog, or if you prefer, you may bring me your own design.”

At this, Mother’s eyes lit up. She immediately started asking about current fashion trends, the types of embroidery available, and which styles were the most popular.

Madam Malkin looked absolutely delighted to answer all of Mother’s questions.

As for me, I stepped down from the platform and took a seat in one of the nearby chairs, resigning myself to what was likely to be a very long conversation.

The conversation between the two of them eventually came to an end, and we returned to the first floor.

Once again, I headed to the back of the store and entered the changing stall I had used earlier. As soon as I closed the curtain, I carefully began taking off my uniform. It took almost no time—these clothes were far easier to put on and take off by oneself.

Changing back into my original outfit, however, was much harder. With considerable effort, I finally managed to finish dressing. I checked myself in the mirror to make sure everything was in order, and once I was satisfied, I exited the stall with my neatly folded uniform resting on one arm.

Madam Malkin took the clothes from me and began packing them into a bag. “By the way, I recommend buying a few spares,” she said. “It’s always good to have a change.”

Mother considered it for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Madam Malkin then returned to the second floor to tailor the extra uniforms, while Mother and I took a seat in a small waiting area in the corner of the store.

Mother handed me a sound-blocking tool. “By the way, dear, who was that girl?” Her eyes hardened. “She was very rude to you, wasn’t she?”

I nodded. But… how did Mother know?

Mmm… well, that’s not much of a mystery. Maybe she had been using enhancement magic. Though, now that I thought about it, I didn’t know Mother could use that kind of magic… so I asked her.

“I may not be as proficient as the male members of the family, but I can use it. So?”

I recounted everything that had happened. She already knew what we had talked about, having enchanted her hearing to listen in, but she wanted to hear all the details.

Once I finished, she looked displeased. “So, basically, she verbally assaulted you without provocation… In my opinion, you handled it well, daughter. I recommend that you do not engage with this girl if you see her again. There is no use in wasting your energy arguing with a foolish person like her.”

Madam Malkin didn't take much time to finish the spare uniform, her skilled hands working swiftly with the magic of her wand. Once she was done, she handed the uniform to me, and after a few polite words of thanks, Mother paid for everything. We left the store, and as we stepped out onto the busy street, Ferdinand's group joined us shortly after, their presence adding a sense of familiarity amidst the bustling crowd.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne

Ferdinand, Grandfather and Professor McGonagall came to meet us almost at the same time Mother and I were leaving Madam Malkin’s store. Grandfather was pushing a shopping trolley—where did they get that? Maybe the professor made it appear with her magic. Grandfather had a rather annoyed expression, maybe due to having to push the trolley or because he saw something he didn’t like.

I have been a little nervous regarding this visit, to be honest. Unlike the first visit, in which we only got to see the castles and only interacted with Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall, in this one, my family will be exposed to all the insanities of this world and its inhabitants. Well, insanities for us, given the differences in culture between our worlds. When I found out Grandfather was coming with us, I almost fainted. I couldn’t help but imagine Grandfather crushing the skulls of people here whenever they did or said something that displeased him.

I know Grandfather cares for me, but watching him crush the head of former Viscount Gerlach with his bare hands when he tried to kidnap me really traumatized me. I had nightmares for a long time, and I was afraid to be around Grandfather for some time. I have somehow gotten over the trauma, but I still feel a little uneasy when I am with him.

Regardless, the visit to Diagon Alley has been going well. Yes, we have had some surprises and brushes, but so far, things are going smoothly.

I won’t deny that I’m a little disappointed. If things had gone my way, we would have finished most of the shopping, and I would have spent the remaining time browsing books in the bookstore. And who knows? Maybe we would have even gone to bookstores in the Muggle world. No—something even better would have been to do a tour around libraries and bookstores across the city. Yes, just like Shuu and I did once during a school trip.

Speaking of books—did they already buy my school books? Maybe I still have a chance to visit the magic bookstore. I fixed my eyes on the shopping trolley, trying to catch a glimpse of the books, but it was hard to tell. Most of the items were wrapped up, making it impossible to see what had been purchased. The only thing I could clearly identify was a traveling trunk. But just because I don’t see the books doesn’t mean anything. There’s still hope.

Ferdinand approached me, his sharp gaze scanning me as if searching for any signs of discomfort. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m much better,” I replied quickly, knowing full well what was coming next.

As expected, he offered to carry me, but I shook my head and politely declined. “I’m fine,” I assured him, though I couldn’t help but glance away. The unpleasant encounter with that rude girl at the clothing store still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Ferdinand narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. For a moment, I thought he would insist, but after a brief pause, he relented with a sigh.

We started walking down the street toward our next stop. I did feel better—I had the chance to rest and recover a bit in Madam Malkin’s store—but my body still felt tired and heavy. To keep up with everyone, I lightly enchanted my legs to help maintain their pace.

So far, my family has been surprisingly tolerant of this world’s customs, but I can tell they are not comfortable in the slightest. There were several moments when I thought they would make a big fuss over every little thing they saw, yet, surprisingly, they have remained silent. That, at the very least, is a relief.

I was sure Mother would have a lot to say about my uniform—not just about how simple it is, but also about the skirt length, which falls just below my knees. Given my age, the proper length should be down to my shins. Now that I think about it, maybe when Mother asked Madam Malkin about the uniform’s design, she was probing to see if it could be modified.

I’ll ask Professor McGonagall later if the skirt length can be adjusted. If she says yes, I’ll order a new skirt from Corinna.

Our first stop was a store that looked like it specialized in gardening equipment. The entrance was lined with wooden shelves displaying an array of potted plants, their leaves shimmering faintly. The scent of damp earth and fresh herbs filled the air, mingling with the crisp tang of something unfamiliar—likely magical fertilizer.

Inside, we bought the tools I would need for Herbology, including a sturdy pair of dragon-hide gloves, protective glasses, and a set of enchanted shears that supposedly made pruning easier. I wasn’t particularly excited about gardening, but I supposed it was a necessary skill if I wanted to pass the subject.

Ferdinand, on the other hand, was utterly absorbed. His gaze flickered over the neatly arranged packets of seeds and trays of magical plants, his expression one of intense focus. He picked up a vial of glowing blue liquid, scrutinizing the label before turning to inspect a tray of wriggling roots that recoiled when he reached toward them. I could practically see the gears in his head turning—he was already thinking of ways to experiment with whatever he could get his hands on.

This trip had undoubtedly activated his mad scientist mode.

It was nice to see him having fun, but—ugh—I was jealous.

It wasn’t fair! Ferdinand could indulge in his intellectual curiosity, while the bookworm in me was being completely denied. At least for now.

Hope is the last thing to die, after all. The bliss of exploring a bookstore—but not just any bookstore—a magic bookstore was still within reach.

Our next stop was a store that sold stationery.

I had always found this particular detail in the Harry Potter series a bit odd. The students were still using parchment and dipping quills into inkwells when it would have been far more practical to use regular paper and ballpoint pens instead. Maybe the author did it to make the wizarding world feel more magical ,but in reality, it just made wizards seem behind Muggles in terms of efficiency and practicality.

Unless… there was a magical reason behind it?

Perhaps "parchment" was just a traditional term, and what they actually used was something closer to regular paper. Or maybe parchment made with magical materials was more compatible with enchantments than industrially produced Muggle paper. If magical ink required a special surface to maintain its properties, that could explain why wizards never transitioned to more modern alternatives.

As for inkwells, maybe they weren’t just normal containers of ink. It was possible that magical ink had special properties—resisting tampering, binding itself to certain users, or even preventing forgery. If wizards had developed ink with protective enchantments, then dipping quills into inkwells might not be a mere inconvenience, but rather a necessary step to activate the ink’s magic.

Still, Harry Potter ’s world-building had plenty of inconsistencies. Take Muggle technology, for example. The books explained that it didn’t work at Hogwarts due to the high concentration of magic in the air—or something like that—and they framed wizards as having little to no knowledge of how Muggle devices worked. But then they showed us that wizards had radios in their homes—clearly powered by magic but still adapted to function in a magical environment. So if they could do that, why not adapt other devices like telephones? Communication would be so much faster and more efficient than relying solely on letters transported by owls.

Unless there was something about magic itself that interfered unpredictably with electronics. If magic generated some sort of mystical "static" that disrupted electronic signals, then maybe only certain technologies could be adapted successfully. Radios might work because they relied on sound waves, but devices that required stable electrical currents—like computers or telephones—could become unreliable in high-magic areas.

Or… maybe the issue wasn’t technical at all. Maybe wizards simply refused to adopt Muggle technology out of sheer stubbornness.

From what I had seen so far, wizards were ridiculously resistant to change. Tradition seemed to rule every aspect of their lives, and any improvement that came from the Muggle world was probably dismissed outright. Perhaps they saw adopting Muggle inventions as a sign of weakness, as if it meant their magic wasn’t sufficient on its own. That kind of thinking was foolish, of course, but it wouldn’t be the first time an entire culture rejected innovation just to preserve their sense of superiority.

And then there was the issue of communication. The Floo Network allowed instant conversation, but it had so many drawbacks—having to kneel in an uncomfortable position, getting soot all over your clothes, and, most of all, the sheer terror of shoving your head into magical flames. How was that considered a preferable alternative to a simple phone call?

…Maybe I was just overthinking things.

I used to argue a lot about this with Shuu’s girlfriend—she was a Harry Potter fan. In fact, the only reason I even read the books in the first place was because of her. She pestered both Shuu and me to read them. Back then, I had only seen the movies, and to be honest, I wasn’t particularly interested in the books.

But now that I was here … I couldn’t help but analyze every single inconsistency in the world around me.

The stationery store turned out to be nothing like I had expected. At best, I had imagined it selling rolls of parchment, ink in different colors, and quills with unique designs. But what I found instead was a store with a huge variety of items— notebooks, pencils, crayons, paints, colored pencils —I was in awe at the sight.

It seemed this was something the books got wrong. Yes, they did have quills and inkwells, but they were also selling regular pens, fountain pens, and even mechanical pencils. 

I moved through the store, gathering supplies just like I used to in my Urano days. There was something deeply satisfying about preparing my stationery for a new academic year. I even picked out a cute pencil case with a dog design on it. To my surprise, I even found flashcards—something I used a lot to make study guides.

And then… I found planners and notepads .

My hands trembled slightly as I picked one up. My thoughts raced—how had I not considered this before? If wizards had planners, then that meant I could organize my schedule properly. No more relying on memory or a diptych with limited space—this was an opportunity to bring back some semblance of the structured academic life I had before.

This… this trip might not be so bad after all.

Now that I think about it, maybe it’s time for me to introduce more stationery back home. Binders, for example, could help organize documents more efficiently. Paper had been slowly but steadily replacing the use of wooden tablets, and binders would make handling paperwork in both the temple and the castle much easier.

I could also create my own version of a fountain pen. I would need to talk to Benno, Johann,  Heidi and Ingo about it. In my mind, I was already running calculations on how much profit I could make.

Pencils and colored pencils would also be worth considering. I wondered if it would be possible to produce them back home. I would need to research how they were made and see if there was an alternative way to manufacture them with the resources available in Ehrenfest.

I exit the store very satisfied with all I have bought. 

“There’s only one last store we must visit,” said Professor McGonagall.

And with that simple sentence, my hope died.

Nooo—my bookstore! I could feel my heart breaking.

“The only thing left for Miss Rozemyne is her magic wand,” the professor continued, “but before we proceed, there is something I would like to ask.”

“Magic wand?” Grandfather frowned.

“It is this world’s version of the Schtappe , Father-in-law,” Mother explained, a troubled look crossing her face. She was undoubtedly aware that this would trigger Grandfather.

“ WHAT!? ” Grandfather’s voice boomed across the street. “Are you telling me that they just buy their Schtappe as if it were any ordinary item? The Schtappe is the symbol of our nobility—it is a part of one’s very being! And now you’re telling me that anyone can just purchase it!?”

People turned to stare at us, startled by his outburst. Mother shot him a sharp look, silently urging him to calm down, but he did not back down.

“We will discuss this later,” she said firmly before turning back to Professor McGonagall. “Apologies, Professor. What was your question?”

“Ah, worry not, Lady Elvira,” McGonagall replied, regaining her composure. “My question was whether Miss Rozemyne needs to purchase her wand here, or if she will receive one in your… homeland. I had assumed that the wands you use were the same as ours.”

“I’m afraid they are not, Professor,” Mother responded. “As my father-in-law has said, Schtappe are a part of us, and they are the symbol of a noble. Acquiring one requires a special procedure, and it can only be obtained once in a lifetime.”

“They have attempted to replace the Schtappe in the past, but nothing could compare to a real Schtappe ” Ferdinand added. It seemed that this topic had caught his interest.

I, too, was intrigued.

The books never really gave a detailed explanation of how magic worked in this world. In several fantasy books I had read, magic users always had a source of power—though the name varied. Mana, magicka, aura, energy —each world had its own terminology, but the concept remained the same: a wellspring of power that allowed magic to be performed.

Even in our world, we had mana , produced within the mana organ of our bodies. But in this world’s case, the explanation behind magic was vague at best .

Shuu used to have an interesting theory about this. He believed that a wizard’s ability came from their genetics, that they had a special gene that granted them the trait to use magic. He compared it to the Jedi’s Midi-chlorians —the microscopic lifeforms that allowed them to sense and use the Force.

According to him, the number of Midi-chlorians a Jedi had determined their potential, and he believed the same applied to wizards in Harry Potter . That was why some people were naturally more talented than others.

At first glance, the theory made sense. Magic did seem to run in families—most wizards were born from wizarding parents. Squibs, on the other hand, could be explained as cases where the necessary genes didn’t activate properly, and muggle-borns might be the result of latent magical genes resurfacing after generations of dormancy.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I saw gaps in his theory.

If magic was purely genetic, then why did squibs exist in the first place? If both parents had the necessary genes, their children should always be magical, yet that wasn’t the case. That meant there had to be something else involved—maybe an environmental factor or even a spiritual one.

And what about talent? Some wizards were undeniably more gifted than others, but that wasn’t just because of their lineage. Hard work and study clearly played a role, or else someone like Hermione—born to Muggle parents—wouldn’t have been one of the most brilliant witches of her time. Shuu’s theory suggested that magic power was predetermined, like how a Jedi’s strength depended on their Midi-chlorian count, but there was no proof that wizards had any equivalent measurement.

Then there was the matter of mana . In my world, magic was fueled by the mana stored in a person’s body. Yet here, the existence of mana wasn’t even acknowledged. Did wizards here have an internal source of magical energy, like us? Or was their magic external , drawn from their environment instead? The books never explained it, and that bothered me to no end.

There was too much information missing to say for certain.

But if I was going to be stuck in this world for a while, I might as well try to figure it out myself.

Either way, magic in general is fueled by imagination. If you can imagine it, you can turn the sky and earth upside down.

Well, that’s how I see magic.

I might be wrong, and most likely, Ferdinand would give me a full lecture on how wrong I am. But so far, that way of seeing magic hasn’t failed me—at least not yet.

“So, Miss Rozemyne already has her… Schtappe ?”

“No, she will receive it this winter during her first year at the Royal Academy,” Mother replied in a flat tone.

“So how should we proceed? She will need a wand for her classes. I suggest that she buy one, and after she gets her Schtappe , she can just use it instead, no?”

Mother, Ferdinand, and Grandfather exchanged uncertain looks.

…Wait.

Will I even be able to use a wand?

Mestionora did say that the magic of this world was compatible with ours, but not necessarily the same .

 After some thinking, we agreed and started walking toward the last store—Ollivander’s.

The shop was small and unassuming, nestled between taller buildings as if it had been wedged into place. Its exterior was old but well-maintained, the wooden sign above the door reading Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. in elegant, faded lettering. The large display window was nearly empty, containing only a single wand resting on a faded purple cushion, as though it were an artifact too precious to be surrounded by anything else.

The moment I stepped inside, I was overwhelmed by the scent of aged wood and dust. The store was narrow, with towering shelves stacked haphazardly with long, thin boxes—wand boxes. They were crammed together so tightly that I wondered how anyone found anything in this organized chaos.

The air itself seemed charged with something—an invisible hum, a faint buzz at the edge of my senses. Residual mana? No… something different. It wasn’t like the presence of magic I was used to. This felt alive , as though the very walls were watching, waiting.

A long wooden counter stood near the back of the store, behind which loomed even more shelves packed with countless wands. It was clear that this was no ordinary shop.

And then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.

“Ah… a new customer,” the man said, his voice soft yet firm.

An elderly man with silvery hair and pale, misty eyes stepped forward, observing me with a scrutinizing gaze. His expression was unreadable, but there was something unnerving about the way he studied me—as if he could see beyond the surface, peeling back layers I hadn’t even known were there.

“Welcome to Ollivanders,” he continued, his tone carrying a quiet reverence. “Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. I am Garrick Ollivander.”

His eyes flickered briefly to my companions, then back to me. “And you, my dear, are in need of a wand, I presume?”

I nodded to Mr. Ollivander’s words. He gave me a soft smile before turning toward the shelves, his pale eyes scanning the countless wand boxes with deep concentration. Every so often, he glanced in my direction, as if measuring something invisible.

Eventually, he pulled out a box, carefully opening it to reveal a wooden wand inside.

“Holly wood, 23 centimeters, unicorn hair core,” he announced, holding it out for me to take.

I grasped the wand by the handle.

…Now what?

“What are you waiting for, girl? Give it a wave,” Ollivander instructed.

I hesitated but complied, giving it a small flick.

Nothing happened.

Mmm… I had been somewhat skeptical that the wand would simply absorb my mana like a feystone, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Perhaps I needed to supply mana myself?

The moment I did, I realized my mistake.

A sharp tremor ran through the wand. It began to shudder violently in my grip, its wooden frame creaking as if under immense strain. Smoke curled from the tip, and before I could even process what was happening—

Boom!

The wand exploded in my hand, sending splinters flying in every direction. I barely had time to shield my face with my other arm.

But that wasn’t what unsettled me the most.

Just before it shattered, I felt something—something that sent a shiver down my spine.

The wand had screamed .

Not in sound, but in feeling—an anguished, silent wail that resonated through my mana, sharp and pained.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding.

I was in shock.

Quickly, I checked myself for any injuries, but to my surprise, a faint yellow light shimmered around me like a protective membrane. My eyes darted to my wrist—Mestionora’s bracelet was glowing.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the yellow light vanished, and the bracelet stopped shining.

I looked behind me.

Grandfather looked furious , his entire body tense as if he were about to lunge at Mr. Ollivander. Mother’s eyes were wide with shock before she rushed to my side, followed closely by Ferdinand, both of them immediately checking me over for any signs of harm.

Once they confirmed I was unscathed, Ferdinand straightened, his cold gaze locking onto Ollivander.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice sharp as ice.

Ollivander stood frozen, his expression shifting between disbelief and alarm. He wasn’t the only one—Professor McGonagall also looked utterly stunned, her usual composure momentarily lost.

“I… I have no idea,” Ollivander said at last, his voice trembling slightly. “This… this has never happened before.”

I think “compatible” isn’t even close enough, Mestionora.

It was obvious now—mana and whatever magic they had here were completely different. And that was even more apparent considering my divine mana.

If I remembered correctly, Mestionora herself had told me that a normal Schtappe wouldn’t be able to contain my power, which was why I had been given this bracelet to help me control it. So how, exactly, did they expect a regular wand to handle it?

Honestly… gods above.

I was about to say that I didn’t need a wand when Mr. Ollivander suddenly presented me with another one.

“Fir wood, 22 centimeters, dragon heartstring core.”

I hesitated but took the wand, feeling a cold sense of dread settle in my chest.

This time, I carefully supplied a much smaller amount of mana—though that was easier said than done. I was still struggling with mana control. It felt like trying to pour water from a bucket into a thin straw—frustrating, imprecise, and prone to disaster.

But somehow, I managed to limit it even further.

The moment my mana entered the wand, it began to shiver , just like the last one. A deep crack split down the middle, lightning-like fractures racing along the wood before it abruptly burst into flames .

I barely had time to react before the fire consumed it entirely, leaving behind nothing but ashes.

My eyes remained fixed on the ashes that, just a second ago, had been a magic wand.

I couldn't help but frown and sigh.

Well, at least this one didn’t explode…

Haa… How was I supposed to attend Hogwarts if I couldn’t even perform magic? Really, Mestionora? Why on earth did you think this was going to work? Do humans and gods have completely different concepts of compatibility ? Because it was obvious now—my mana was being rejected .

Now what?

I couldn’t just keep trying more wands. The result would be the same. At this rate, I was going to earn the title of wand murderer!

…No, but seriously. What was I supposed to do?

Should I try making my own wand back home? Ferdinand did say that there had been attempts to create substitutes for the Schtappe , but none had ever matched its power. Still, if he could craft a wand—even if it wasn’t on par with a Schtappe —it might at least be enough to let me attend my classes without issue until I received mine this winter.

Or…

What if I provided the materials instead?

Maybe a high-quality feystone could be used as the core of a wand. If Schtappe were an extension of a noble’s being, then perhaps a wand needed something equally attuned to its user.

Would Mr. Ollivander be able to work with that?

“I… I don’t know what to say… This is the first time in all my years that a wand has been overwhelmed by a wizard’s power,” Mr. Ollivander murmured, his pale eyes filled with disbelief.

Then, as if suddenly struck by an idea, he straightened.

“Wait here,” he said quickly before rushing toward the back of the store.

No, wait—ugh.

I sighed, watching him disappear into the depths of the shop.

Turning to Ferdinand, I asked, “You said there were past attempts to create something similar to the Schtappe , right? Do you know if at least those allowed people to perform spells? Could you make one for me to use at Hogwarts—at least until I get mine at the Royal Academy?”

Ferdinand remained silent for a moment, his fingers tapping against his temples as he sank deep into thought. I could tell he was already calculating the feasibility of crafting a magical tool—likely considering what materials and enchantments would be required to make it functional.

As he pondered, Mr. Ollivander returned, carrying an old-looking box in his hands.

With a flick of his wand, he cleared away the layer of dust that covered it. Then, with careful, almost reverent movements, he opened the box.

“The Ollivander family has dedicated itself to the craft of magic wands for generations,” Mr. Ollivander began, his voice filled with quiet pride. “And I like to say, with confidence, that we are among the finest wandmakers in Europe. We have crafted wands for many of history’s most prominent witches and wizards, including Merlin, Godric Gryffindor, and Rowena Ravenclaw.”

His gaze fell on the contents of the box, a glimmer of excitement shining in his pale eyes.

“This wand…” he said with a knowing smile, “was made by one of my most eccentric ancestors—Francis Ollivander. To say the least, he was an adventurer, a man obsessed with traveling the world in search of rare materials for wand-making. Some of his experiments were failures, yes… but others resulted in remarkable wands.”

His fingers tightened slightly on the edges of the box, his expression turning grave.

“This wand,” he said in a hushed tone, “is made from the fang of a Fenrir .”

The air in the shop seemed to grow heavier, a subtle tension settling over us.

“A highly dangerous magical beast,” Ollivander continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “One that few have ever seen and lived to speak of.”

I felt a chill crawl down my spine.

“The Fenrir is a creature of legend,” he went on, his pale eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Named after the great wolf of Norse mythology, it is a predator beyond compare—silent, relentless, and impossibly fast. Its bite is said to curse those who survive it, leaving them forever marked by its magic. Some claim it is kin to werewolves, but I assure you… it is something far worse . A true nightmare given form.”

Ollivander’s fingers brushed over the wand reverently. “Francis Ollivander spent years acquiring this fang, tracking whispers of the beast through the frozen wastes of the north. He nearly lost his life in the process.” He paused, then let out a small chuckle devoid of humor. “And yet, even after all that, he called this wand a successful failure .”

Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed. “Nonsense,” he said, his voice sharp. “How can a failure be considered a success?”

Ollivander met his gaze, a knowing glint in his own. “Because this wand does not obey ,” he murmured. “It does not choose its wielder—it tests them. Controlling it is like trying to tame a wild beast, an untamed force of nature that bows to no one.”

His grip on the box tightened. “Francis never found a wizard strong enough to wield it. The wand has remained here, untouched, for over a century.”

His gaze shifted back to me.

“But perhaps… that is about to change.”

Mr. Ollivander turned to me, carefully lifting the wand from its box with something close to reverence.

“Twenty-four centimeters, hawthorn wood… a Fenrir’s fang as its core,” he announced, his voice hushed, as if speaking of something sacred.

I hesitated.

I didn’t want to take it.

He was actively offering me a family relic —a wand that had remained untouched for over a century. How could I face Mr. Ollivander if this one broke just like the others?

No… I will take it, but I won’t supply mana to it. Sorry, Mr. Ollivander, but this wand will still have to wait for its true owner.

With a deep breath, I reached out and grasped the wand.

The moment my fingers curled around it, I knew something was different.

Unlike the last two… this one did not wait.

It pulled at me, absorbing my mana on its own, a forceful and uncontrollable demand.

I gasped, my body tensing as I instinctively tried to cut off the flow of mana—but it was useless . The wand was savage , untamed, and it felt as though it was challenging me.

Stop it…!

But the wand did not relent.

I had no choice. If I kept resisting, the strain might shatter it just like the others. Instead, I fought back in a different way—I forced my mana to slow, supplying only the smallest trickle I could manage. It wasn’t easy. My mana control was far from perfect, and this felt like trying to rein in a wild beast with a frayed rope.

But then—

The wand stopped pulling .

A cascade of red sparks burst from its tip, illuminating the entire store in a dazzling glow. The energy hummed in the air, sharp and crackling, before finally settling.

The wand no longer fought me.

…Does this mean it’s mine?

The store fell into silence.

Professor McGonagall and Mr. Ollivander stared at me, their expressions frozen in shock. Neither of them spoke, their wide eyes fixed on the wand still crackling faintly in my grip.

Grandfather, on the other hand—

“ Bwahaha! ” His booming laughter shattered the stillness. “ That’s my granddaughter! ”

Ferdinand, meanwhile, was staring at the wand with an unsettling gleam in his eyes—the unmistakable look of a mad scientist who had just discovered a fascinating new specimen to dissect and study.

Just like Ferdinand, Mother was also watching the wand with curiosity. 

We moved to pay, but Mr. Ollivander shook his head, a tearful expression in his eyes.

“Francis was one of the best among us,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “It has always saddened me that one of his last creations would never find a true owner… I could not accept payment for this.”

I tried to insist, but he did not relent.

At the very least, I offered to pay for the wands that had broken, but once again, he refused.

I felt guilty—a guilt that only deepened when I saw the warm, almost relieved smile on his face as we prepared to leave.

I won’t use this wand for very long… Once I received my Schtappe , I would have no need for it.

Mmm… well, maybe while I’m at Hogwarts, I could use it instead of my Schtappe, no?

Maybe that would make me feel less guilty.

I could only hope.

We walked back toward The Leaky Cauldron.

On the way, I approached Professor McGonagall and handed her a sound-blocking tool. I thanked her for accompanying us and apologized for my family’s outbursts during the visit. She accepted my thanks but dismissed my apology with a small wave of her hand.

“Friction is only natural when two vastly different cultures collide,” she said matter-of-factly.

Seizing the opportunity, I brought up my dilemma with the uniform skirt. I explained that, in our world, the length of a noble girl’s skirt was adjusted according to her age.

She thought for a moment before answering.

“There’s no issue if you wish to modify the length,” she said, “but I suggest keeping it as it is. I believe you would find it more comfortable at its current length.”

I nodded at her suggestion, promising to give it some thought, before retrieving the sound-blocking tool from her hand.

Back at the Entrance to Diagon Alley

As we reached the entrance, Professor McGonagall once again pulled out the Portkey .

I paled immediately .

I was exhausted —I didn’t think I could endure another trip using that dreadful method of transportation.

Desperate for an alternative, I took a deep breath, concentrated on the castle’s lobby, and snapped my fingers. A portal shimmered into existence before me.

Turning to Professor McGonagall, I gave her a small, tired smile. “Apologies, but I’m far too close to collapsing from exhaustion.”

Without waiting for further discussion, we all stepped through the portal—returning to the castle in an instant.

Back at the Castle

The moment we arrived, Professor McGonagall sent word of our return. Soon, Alexandra came to meet us, accompanied by Professor Dumbledore and a stern-looking woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform. She appeared to be in her forties—she must be Madam Pomfrey.

Alexandra had a stiff smile, but her eyes burned with fury.

I might be too exhausted to process much right now, but even I could tell she was not happy .

Pushing that aside for now, I greeted the professors and Madam Pomfrey, thanking them for looking after Alexandra. I also thanked Professor McGonagall once more for accompanying us. My family bid their farewells as well.

Finally—finally—I snapped my fingers one last time, and we returned home.

At last, this trip was over.

Chapter Text

POV Elvira 

This exhausting trip to the other world was finally over. What I wanted most was time to rest, to gather my thoughts and properly process everything we had experienced, as well as the vast amount of information we had brought back. But alas, the day was far from over. Duty demanded that we present our report on the journey to the Aub and my husband before I could even think of unwinding.

The meeting was set in one of the parlors of the Linkberg manor. The attendants moved swiftly to prepare everything for our guests, while I barely had the energy to keep my composure. Every muscle in my body ached from the strain of the journey, and my mind felt clouded with exhaustion. As I stood there, willing myself to remain upright, Ordonnanz flew across the room and landed lightly on my arm. The white bird opened its beak, and my husband's voice emerged from it, informing me of his arrival alongside Lord Sylvester. They were already on their way to meet us at the parlor. The message repeated twice more before the bird turned back into a stone in my hand.

Shortly after, Karstedt arrived, accompanied by Lord Sylvester. I straightened my posture, suppressing the fatigue that threatened to weigh me down, and exchanged polite greetings before inviting them to take a seat. The table had already been set with cups of tea and plates of snacks, though I found the mere thought of food unappealing in my current state. Around the table sat the group that had accompanied us on the incursion into the other world—save for one. Rozemyne was absent, currently resting in her room. 

Once everyone was seated, Lord Sylvester cast a sharp glance at the attendants lingering in the room and gave a curt order. “Leave us.”

They bowed in unison before swiftly exiting, their steps barely making a sound against the polished floor. The heavy doors closed behind them with a muted thud, sealing us inside. Silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft rustling of fabric as we adjusted our seating. Each of us took hold of the sound-blocking tools provided, a necessary precaution given the sensitivity of our discussion.

Lord Sylvester leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His gaze swept across the gathered group, scanning each face before his frown deepened. “Where is Rozemyne? I was expecting to hear her report as well.”

I instinctively straightened in my seat, smoothing my hands over my lap before meeting his gaze. “She is asleep,” I answered evenly, though the mere thought of her condition made my exhaustion weigh even heavier.

“Asleep? Isn’t it too early for that? The sixth bell hasn’t even rung yet. Is she unwell?”

“The trip was utterly exhausting for her,” I explained, suppressing a sigh. “By the time we returned, she was barely conscious, swaying on her feet and struggling to even keep her eyes open. It took all of our effort just to keep her awake long enough to open her hidden room and store the items we brought back. Even eating was a challenge—she could hardly lift her spoon.”

Alexandra was the next to speak, her expression calm yet firm. “I examined her. She had a slight fever, likely from overexertion, so I gave her a mild antipyretic. Right now, she needs nothing more than rest. She should recover after a good night’s sleep.”

Sylvester let out a long sigh, his expression distant and troubled. “The latest reports I’ve received about her health are far from reassuring. Not only has she shown no signs of improvement, but she has been sleeping more and eating less.” His frown deepened as he turned directly to Alexandra. “Have there been any new findings about her condition? What about the damage to her heart and the other ailments she was being treated for? Have they worsened now that Mestionora has turned Rozemyne into a demigoddess?”

Before Alexandra could respond, my father-in-law, Lord Bonifatius, cut in with a booming voice, his alarm evident. “She’s sleeping more and eating less? Why was I not informed about this?!”

I instinctively gripped my teacup a little tighter, memories resurfacing like unwelcome ghosts. I recalled the moment Alexandra first became my daughter’s physician, the day we uncovered a horrifying truth—Rozemyne’s fragility was not solely due to the mana lumps that had once plagued her. Beneath the surface, her body bore the scars of repeated brushes with death. Her muscles were weakened, her blood vessels strained, her organs damaged, and, worst of all, her heart had suffered greatly. The Devouring had been far crueler to her than any of us had imagined.

Alexandra had been deeply disturbed when she made this discovery. Her frustration had been palpable, her voice edged with barely restrained anger as she explained our grave mistake. Using a high-quality Jureve to dissolve all of Rozemyne’s mana lumps at once had placed immense strain on her already fragile body. We should have taken a different approach—using medium-quality Jureves, treating the underlying injuries gradually, and allowing her time to recover. Instead, we had unknowingly forced her into yet another ordeal.

At Sylvester’s mention of the damage to Rozemyne’s heart and other lingering ailments, Lord Ferdinand averted his gaze. Before Alexandra took on the role of my daughter's physician, he had been the one overseeing her health. It was he who had suggested using a high-quality Jureve, a decision that clearly still weighed heavily on his conscience.

But I did not blame him. He had cared for her diligently, long before she became Rozemyne—when she was still simply Myne, a fragile girl struggling to survive in a world that was never meant for her. He had done everything within his power to keep her alive. And I was certain that, without his intervention, my daughter’s condition would have been far more dire.

“Calm down, Bonifatius,” said Lord Ferdinand, his tone firm but edged with irritation. “Her condition is not as dire as you might suspect. According to Alexandra’s tests, all the damage to her body has been healed. However, her stamina remains abysmally low—she tires far too easily and requires frequent naps just to get through the day. That is simply the reality we must accept.”

He let out a slow breath before continuing, his brows knitting together. “That being said, the fact that she is eating less is a valid concern. Not because she has lost her appetite, but because her stomach can no longer tolerate large portions. She has to eat slowly, carefully. If she eats too much or too quickly, she becomes nauseous.”

Ferdinand's fingers tapped against the table, a rare sign of his frustration slipping through. “In short, her body is still fragile, and forcing her into a normal routine will only make matters worse. We must adjust to her pace, not the other way around.”

Sylvester let out a tired sigh, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “That is certainly good to hear, but the fact remains that she has reverted to the frail state she had before her baptism—or perhaps something even worse, no? Still, I suppose it’s a small mercy that the damage to her body is gone.”

“I believe Lady Rozemyne’s current fragility is due to the divine mana she possesses,” Alexandra said thoughtfully. “There is still much we don’t know about it. Lord Ferdinand and I are investigating possible solutions to help her recover.”

A heavy silence followed her words, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on the room. Everyone here understood just how little they truly knew about the nature of divine mana—and how dangerous that ignorance could be.

Lord Sylvester exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples before speaking. “You have my thanks for looking after her, Alexandra,” he said, his voice laced with unspoken worries. His gaze, usually sharp and commanding, was clouded with something far more vulnerable. “And please, continue to do so—especially when she is in that other world.”

Alexandra met his gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment before she slowly crossed her arms over her chest. It was not just a gesture of acknowledgment, but a silent vow. “You have my word, Aub Ehrenfest,” her posture seemed to say. No further words were needed—her resolve was clear. She would watch over Rozemyne, no matter what.

I, too, felt a sense of relief at Alexandra’s words. Knowing that she would continue to look after Rozemyne eased some of my fears—if only a little.

“Now, present your reports on this latest incursion into the other world,” Lord Sylvester ordered.

I was the first to speak, recounting the details of our journey. I began with our arrival, stepping through the portal into the school’s lobby, where Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had been waiting for us. After a brief exchange of greetings, Alexandra left with Professor Dumbledore to meet the doctor she would be working alongside.

Meanwhile, the rest of us traveled to what they call the Ministry of Magic, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. To do so, we were forced to use that hideous magic tool they call a Portkey. At the mere mention of that dreadful contraption, both Lord Ferdinand and  Lord Bonifatius, frowned deeply—my father-in-law even muttered a curse under his breath.

I continued, describing the Ministry of Magic and sharing my impressions of it, explaining how we had been led to an office to meet with none other than the Minister of Magic himself.

At that point, my husband interrupted me. “So you met Cornelius Fudge?” His expression darkened. None who had read the books—or even those who had merely heard a summary—had a good opinion of the man. “Is he as you described him, Elvira?”

I let out a quiet sigh before replying. “Given how the meeting unfolded, I am inclined to say the book was quite accurate in portraying his personality.”

Karstedt rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So, will he be a problem?”

“It is too soon to say, but for Rozemyne’s sake, let’s hope he proves to be better than the books suggest. Either way, we must remain vigilant—not only with Fudge but with everyone around us.”

Before I could continue, my father-in-law let out a disgruntled huff. “By the way, no one has explained to me who this fool is,” Lord Bonifatius interjected, his irritation evident. “I understand that we must be cautious in this foreign world, but why exactly would this ‘Fudge’ be a problem? From what I saw, he’s just a pompous fool.”

“Well, Father,” Karstedt was the one to answer, though his tone held a hint of hesitation. “It’s a little hard to explain, but Fudge is somewhat like the Aub.” He turned to me, seeking confirmation.

I nodded, deciding to elaborate. “The Minister of Magic is, in essence, the highest-ranking political figure in this country’s magical government. He oversees the administration of magical law, international relations, and internal affairs. In theory, his role is similar to that of an Aub, as he is responsible for maintaining order and protecting his people. However, unlike an Aub, he is not born into his position but elected by his peers. This means his authority is not absolute—his decisions are often influenced by public opinion, political allies, and even external forces.

The books describe Fudge as someone who prioritizes maintaining his position over making the right decisions—more concerned with appearances and keeping the public content than with actual governance. That kind of leader can be dangerous, especially if he refuses to acknowledge threats until it is too late.”

Bonifatius frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, he holds power but is weak-willed and easily manipulated? That’s worse than being a pompous fool.”

“Precisely,” Ferdinand added, his voice heavy with thought. “And that is why we must tread carefully.”

Bonifatius’s frown deepened, and after a brief silence, he asked, “By the way, what do you mean that he is elected by his peers? And if his role is like that of an Aub, then what about the Zent?”

I took a slow sip of my tea, choosing my words carefully before answering. “To explain that, I should clarify that nobility does not exist in their world. They have a different form of government called democracy, where the leader is chosen by a vote from the citizens. The person elected only serves for a limited period of time, and as far as I know, there is no position equivalent to the Zent.”

Bonifatius blinked, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You mean to tell me that commoners choose their ruler?” His expression darkened as he crossed his arms. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster. How can they expect the uneducated masses to make such a decision? No lineage to ensure the leader’s legitimacy and no Zent to unite them all?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No wonder their world is such a mess.”

Karstedt sighed, rubbing his temples. “Father, please don’t start.”

“No, no, I must insist,” Bonifatius continued, his frustration evident. “What stops a fool or a weakling from taking control? How do they ensure that only the strong and capable rise to power?”

Ever since I began approaching Rozemyne’s education from a new angle, I had been speaking with her about her dream world. At first, it was a shock—her descriptions painted a society so vastly different from our own that it was difficult to comprehend. However, now that I had seen the wizarding world firsthand, I realized that it shared far more similarities with her dream world than ours ever could. Unlike Rozemyne’s previous world, where magic did not exist at all, this world at least acknowledged its presence, even if it played a different role.

With that in mind, I believed I could provide my father-in-law with an answer to his question—though whether he would accept it was another matter entirely.

“They have laws and systems in place to prevent corruption and abuse of power,” I explained. “Though, from what I have read, these measures are not always effective. The people believe that by allowing different individuals to take leadership over time, they can avoid stagnation and tyranny.”

Bonifatius grumbled something under his breath, clearly unimpressed. “Hmph. A world where power is given and taken like a game… I cannot see that ending well.”

Ferdinand let out a tired sigh. “That only proves how vastly different our worlds are, Bonifatius. For instance, before the Grutrissheit went missing and the border gates were opened, Yurgenschmidt had, at most, contact with six different countries. In this other world, there are about 195 different nations, with a total population of nearly five billion people. Five billion. Can you even begin to comprehend how insane that number is? And to make matters worse, there are around 7,000 different languages spoken across their world.”

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing.

“Wizards are not even the ones with numerical superiority. The ones who outnumber them are the non-magic users they call ‘Muggles.’ Do you remember the massive city we flew over on our way to Diagon Alley? That city was built entirely by Muggles.”

Bonifatius scoffed, his brows furrowed deeply. “You cannot be serious, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand’s gaze remained unwavering. “I could not be more serious. At best, magic users have gathered in small villages or hidden themselves among the Muggles. Even magic itself does not hold the same role in their society as it does in ours. While we channel our mana to enrich our land and sustain the foundation of our world, their magic is used more like a tool—merely a convenience to make daily life easier.”

He paused for a moment before adding, “Think of it this way: in our world, magic is like the beating heart of Yurgenschmidt, the very force that allows us to exist. Without it, our society would collapse. But in their world, magic is no more essential than a particularly useful farming implement. It is not the foundation of their civilization—it is merely an advantage, one that only a small fraction of their population possesses.”

Bonifatius clenched his jaw, his expression darkening further. The very idea that magic could be reduced to something as insignificant as a plow or a loom was almost insulting.

Ferdinand’s words hung heavily in the air, casting a tense silence over the room. My father-in-law was speechless, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he struggled to process what he had just heard. Alexandra, on the other hand, was staring at Lord Ferdinand in open disbelief, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. 

Even Lord Sylvester and Karstedt wore conflicted expressions. Despite the fact that we had discussed this topic before, it was still something they found difficult to truly accept. And despite Lord Ferdinand’s composed, almost emotionless tone, I could tell from the weight of his words that he too was struggling to fully come to terms with it.

Understanding how this foreign world functioned was one thing, but truly internalizing its reality was another matter entirely. And, by extension, this also meant coming to terms with the nature of Rozemyne’s dream world—something that even Ferdinand, with all his intellect, seemed to find difficult to fully grasp.

In an attempt to change the mood in the room, I continued recounting the events of our meeting, detailing our conversation with the Minister of Magic.

“Was it wise to reveal that Rozemyne is the one capable of opening the portal between worlds?” Karstedt asked, his concern evident.

Ferdinand exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Both Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall witnessed Rozemyne opening the portal. Professor McGonagall even admitted that they had already suspected it. It is highly unlikely that they have not already reported this to Fudge.”

Sylvester clenched his fists, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t like this in the slightest. Them asking us to hand over control of the portal’s power is already suspicious, but what’s worse is their request for Rozemyne to open it inside the Ministry of Magic. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re walking straight into a trap.”

Karstedt and Bonifatius both nodded in agreement, their expressions grim.

“At the very least,” Sylvester continued, his voice heavy with reluctance, “you managed to negotiate that this would be the only year she opens the portal inside the Ministry.”

“Yes, they essentially offered us land to establish an estate for Rozemyne there. And since they made no mention of restricting our ability to protect the location ourselves, we can place the most powerful magic circles at our disposal. This way, we can ensure that Rozemyne travels safely between worlds.”

“The problem will be this year,” Karstedt interjected. “I will accompany my daughter.”

“Me too. I won’t let my granddaughter go alone,” Lord Bonifatius declared with a deadly serious tone.

“I will go as well,” added Ferdinand, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a dark smile, he continued, “And I will make sure Rozemyne has a wide variety of protective charms.”

I crossed my arms and shot Ferdinand a pointed look. “Lord Ferdinand, need I remind you that the matter of Rozemyne’s protective charms was already thoroughly debated? The professors were wary of allowing her to use magical items without knowing their exact functions—especially anything they deemed a potential risk to other students. In the end, a compromise was reached: she would be allowed to wear protective charms, but only those verified to be safe and free of dangerous spells.”

Lord Ferdinand´s gaze turned cold and razor-sharp. “I am well aware,” he said, his fingers drumming against the table with calculated precision. “But you fail to consider one thing, Elvira. Just as we do not fully understand the intricacies of their magic, they are utterly ignorant of ours. Their notion of what is ‘safe’ is laughably naive, based on their own limited understanding rather than on the true measure of power.”

He leaned forward slightly, his presence suffocating, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “If they believe I will leave Rozemyne at their mercy without ensuring her absolute protection, they are fools. I can weave safeguards that will render her untouchable, all without violating their precious conditions. No one will die—at least, not immediately—but those who dare to lay a hand on her will pray for death. A magic circle that turns their own strength against them, leaving them crumpled and broken. A barrier that repels attacks with such force it shatters bones. A charm that drowns the senses in agony so overwhelming, their very minds will betray them. I will ensure that anyone who so much as thinks of harming her learns the true meaning of regret.”

His expression darkened further, his golden eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “And if that is still not enough, she has the bracelet Mestionora gave her. I do not trust that goddess, but if there is one thing I know for certain, it is that no wizard in that world—no matter how powerful—could ever hope to overcome the divine protection she has bestowed.”

Oh my! I barely managed to stifle a delighted giggle, covering my mouth with one hand to hide the wide smile spreading across my lips. Inspiration had struck me like a bolt of divine revelation—another romance story was begging to be written!

With practiced ease, I pulled out my diptych and began furiously scribbling down Lord Ferdinand’s words, along with some notes for the story. The tension, the devotion hidden beneath layers of exasperation—it was simply too perfect!

Truly, the interactions between my daughter and Lord Ferdinand were a wellspring of inspiration, one that never ran dry. At this rate, I would have enough material to fill an entire library!

Around me, the reactions to Lord Ferdinand’s words were quite diverse. Lord Bonifatius was nodding in approval—alongside Alexandra, of all people. Well, that was unexpected. My husband, on the other hand, had an exasperated look in his eyes, while Lord Sylvester was staring at Lord Ferdinand as if he had just sprouted a second head.

But jokes aside, as my daughter’s head scholar, I had been at the forefront of witnessing the unique—some might say baffling—relationship between these two. I had seen my daughter scold Lord Ferdinand for neglecting his meals and sleep, only for him to grow exasperated with her antics in return. Despite their constant bickering, I couldn’t help but see the beginnings of something akin to the dance of Bluanfah.

I believe the turning point in their relationship came after that heated argument they had a season after Rozemyne woke up from her Jureve. Lord Ferdinand had not slept or eaten properly—if at all—for nearly two full weeks.

"Why must you always be such a thorn in my side?! Can’t you see how much work I have?!" Ferdinand snapped, his voice laced with exhaustion and frustration.

Rozemyne crossed her arms, her expression unyielding. "The work will still be there tomorrow, but you won’t if you keep pushing yourself like this! You reek of potions, your eyes are sunken, and the bags under them are so dark you look like you’ve been cursed! Your attendants told me you’ve been surviving on nothing but nutritional potions and that you’ve barely slept a bell in the past two weeks! This is beyond reckless, Ferdinand—it's self-destruction! "

Ferdinand clenched his jaw, his usual composure cracking. "And who are you to lecture me on health?! You’re the weakest person I know! The one who collapses at the slightest strain! Do not act as if you—"

"I am your family !" Rozemyne’s voice rose, cutting through his objections like a blade. " That is who I am! And I am telling you this because I care about you, because I am worried about you!" Her hands balled into fists at her sides, trembling. "Why must you always shoulder everything alone?! Why do you refuse to let others help you?!"

For a brief moment, silence filled the room, heavy with unspoken emotions.

Do you truly consider me as your family?" Lord Ferdinand asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Of course, you are my family," Rozemyne replied without hesitation. "You’ve looked after me since before I was even baptized. You are my teacher, my doctor, and whenever I felt sad, you were the one who always cheered me up. What else could you be if not my family?"

Silence hung between them for a moment, but something in Ferdinand’s expression softened ever so slightly.

After that conversation, Lord Ferdinand began treating Rozemyne with noticeably more warmth. And, I must admit, he had also become a little too overprotective of her—something that, at times, worried me.

Once I finished scribbling my notes in my diptych, I refocused on the meeting. Lord Ferdinand had taken over, recounting our journey to Diagon Alley, describing the place in detail. What followed was our visit to the establishment they called Gringotts.

"Rozemyne had a vault there? How is that even possible?" Karstedt demanded, his brows furrowing in disbelief.

"It was Mestionora’s doing," I explained, my voice steady despite the absurdity of the situation. "She opened the vault in Rozemyne’s name."

A heavy silence followed, but we did not linger on the matter. Lord Ferdinand resumed his account, describing our descent into the vault and its contents.

Lord Sylvester, who had been listening with a tense expression, suddenly leaned forward, his lips twitching into an incredulous grin. "You had to ride what to get down there?" His amusement only grew as Ferdinand recounted the wild, stomach-churning descent into the vault.

Moving on, I detailed the various shops we visited, particularly the unpleasant encounter Rozemyne had in the clothing store. Alexandra’s face darkened instantly, her lips pressing into a thin line, while my father-in-law let out a disgruntled huff, his annoyance palpable.

Then came our visit to the wand shop.

"So… anyone can just go and buy a Schtappe?" Aub Ehrenfest’s voice was sharp, his displeasure evident.

"A magic wand," Lord Ferdinand corrected, his tone measured but firm. "But yes—anyone can simply walk into the shop and purchase one, no restrictions, no background checks. They even let children pick their own wands."

Sylvester’s expression soured at that, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind, the sheer recklessness of this foreign system unsettling him.

The recounting concluded with our return to Hogwarts and Rozemyne opening the portal back home.

Alexandra took her turn to report on her stay at Hogwarts after our departure. She spoke of her first meeting with Madam Pomfrey, the head healer of the castle, detailing how she had been shown her quarters and the resources available to her.

“At first, Madam Pomfrey and I got along well,” Alexandra said, her tone even. “She is a competent woman who takes her duties seriously and is clearly dedicated to the students’ well-being. However…” She paused, pressing her lips into a thin line, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup in her hands.

I tilted my head, sensing her frustration. “However?”

Her expression darkened. “The students at Hogwarts are shockingly reckless with magic. Unlike the Royal Academy, where strict rules and proper supervision are in place, the children in that castle seem to wield magic with complete disregard for their own safety. Burns from misfired spells, poisoning from improperly brewed potions, bones vanishing due to carelessly applied healing magic…” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head.

Karstedt frowned deeply. “That sounds… irresponsible.”

“That is an understatement,” Alexandra muttered. “But what truly infuriated me was the way their headmaster reacted. When Madam Pomfrey mentioned how often students end up in the infirmary due to their own negligence, he laughed . He dismissed it as part of their ‘learning experience.’”

Lord Bonifatius let out a sharp scoff, his hands balling into fists. “That old fool thinks near-death experiences are educational ?”

Sylvester, who had remained quiet until now, pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh. “Wonderful. Just what we needed—an influential leader who treats life-threatening accidents like amusing anecdotes.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, my mind already racing. If even their headmaster was this lax, then how much could we truly trust their system to protect Rozemyne?

Alexandra’s gaze was sharp as she took a sip of her tea. “I will not allow Lady Rozemyne to be exposed to such negligence. If any student dares to put her in danger with their irresponsibility, I will make sure they regret ever picking up a wand.”

Her tone was as cold and unyielding as the winter winds of Ehrenfest, and I could not help but agree with her sentiment.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

I could feel the fine, almost silky texture of the gold dust slipping between my fingers as the feystones crumbled. This was the third bag I had reduced to dust, yet my mana was still surging wildly, untamed. It was as if the effort had barely made a dent—it had taken almost nothing from me.

I stopped pacing, my steps uneven and restless, and dropped onto my chaise longue. My hands were trembling, my chest felt tight. I needed to calm down. I forced myself to start the breathing exercises I had learned from Zen meditation, but my thoughts kept racing, looping over and over.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

Little by little, I focused on the rhythm, trying to drown out the pulsing energy inside me. My heart pounded against my ribs, but slowly—so slowly—it began to settle. The storm of mana raging within me dulled to a simmer, but I knew it was still there, lurking beneath the surface.

Once I managed to regain control of myself, I lay down. This was my favorite spot inside my hidden room—the cozy sofa where I could read at my leisure or simply lie down and think.

Tomorrow, I would have to depart for Hogwarts. The whole idea of attending the famous school of magic and witchcraft still felt surreal. I could hardly believe I was about to become a student at one of the most renowned schools in literature. I was both excited and anxious.

Excited because, for instance, the Hogwarts library would finally be within my grasp—all those unread treasures just waiting for me. The mere thought sent a wave of thrill coursing through my body. But on the other hand, I felt nervous. Anxious.

I had so many responsibilities in Ehrenfest, and this was the worst possible time for me to leave. The past year and a half had been difficult, and only recently had some semblance of stability returned to the duchy. A pang of guilt settled in my chest—leaving felt like I was abandoning Mother, Ferdinand, Charlotte, and Sylvester to their fate.

But that wasn’t the only reason for my unease.

Hogwarts, despite all the characters in the books claiming it was a safe place, was not safe at all. If the events of the books truly came to pass, I might find myself entangled in some very serious problems.

That thought alone had been enough to keep me on edge. The whole week leading up to my departure had been stressful—maybe that was an understatement. Hellish might be a more appropriate term.

The day after our trip to Diagon Alley, it was finally time to test whether our plan for me to use omnipresence would work. For almost two months, I had been trying to develop my own version of a skill known as Splitting Minds or Parallel Minds. As if that wasn’t crazy enough, the idea itself had come from the fantasy books and light novels I used to read back in my days as Urano.

Everything was based on the processes I could recall from those books. Ferdinand and Mother each designed their own training regimens, believing they would help me achieve this. Essentially, the entire endeavor had been built on spontaneous ideas with no solid foundation behind them.

And yet, somehow, I had managed to create a working version of the skill.

Monitored by Mother, Alexandra, and Ferdinand, I used omnipresence once again. It was a success—at least, in the sense that I didn’t collapse from sensory overload or the strain of maintaining multiple existences at once. However, the experience was deeply unsettling. A sharp, prickling sensation spread through the back of my head, like countless needles pressing into my skull, and an eerie awareness gnawed at me—as if someone were constantly standing behind me, breathing down my neck.

From my solo attempts to use omnipresence, I had discovered that this power operated under the principle of superposition. However, I was still unsure how it would truly affect me once I managed to use it successfully.

I already knew from that catastrophic attempt that my mana was split equally between my two bodies. But that was where the division ended. Unlike mana, my stamina was not separate for each form. Rather than functioning as two independent bodies, it was as if I existed in two places at once—everything I experienced in one was perfectly mirrored in the other.

If one of me ate, the other felt satiated. If one of me slept, the other also felt rested. But the same rule applied to exhaustion and pain—if one of me grew tired, so did the other. There was no way to divide the burden. Fatigue didn’t just accumulate; it reflected itself completely.

And yet, the strangest part wasn’t just the way my body reacted. It was my mind. The very act of existing in two places at once was reshaping how I perceived the world, distorting the boundaries of my consciousness in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

This was bizarre—seeing myself from the outside, always aware in the back of my mind where my other self was and what she was doing. But the real shock wasn’t just the dual perspective. It was the shift in my mental space.

When I had been training to split my mind, I had created a mental space resembling the living room of my house back on Earth. It was nostalgic, comforting, and—most importantly—a place that put me at ease, which was ideal given the magnitude of what I was attempting. But the moment I activated omnipresence, that space vanished.

I found myself floating in nothingness alongside my other self. Then, from the void, my mental space reshaped itself… into a sci-fi control station.

I understood that my mind needed some sort of framework to manage controlling both bodies at once, but why did it have to be a futuristic spaceship? This had to be Shuu’s fault—all those sci-fi series, movies, anime, and video games she used to watch must have ingrained themselves into my subconscious.

The room was split into two distinct control stations, each designed differently. I recognized them both—one from an anime series and the other from a video game—though I couldn’t quite recall their names.

Later, I tried to change my mental space into something I actually liked, but it was pointless. No matter how hard I tried, my mind refused to work with anything else.

So now, I was stuck with this spacecraft nonsense.

Well, if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. This mental image seemed to work, so I had no choice but to accept it.

Either way, Mother, Alexandra, and Ferdinand conducted an initial assessment of my use of omnipresence. I shared my observations—the sensations I experienced, the strange shifts in perception, and the lingering discomfort. With all the information we had gathered, we began preparing for what came next.

Most of it had to be built from scratch—or so it seemed. In reality, we had spent the last few months planning around the possibility that I wouldn’t be able to use omnipresence. Much of the groundwork was already done.

What we didn’t have, however, was a solid plan in case I succeeded. Not because they doubted me—oh no, they absolutely believed I could pull off the impossible. The problem was that we had been flying blind. Without knowing exactly what omnipresence would do to me, making a proper plan had been like trying to write a book without knowing the plot, characters, or even the genre.

At best, we had a collection of vague ideas, wild guesses, and the magical equivalent of "We’ll figure it out when we get there."

Now that it had worked, we finally had a clearer picture. After a strategy meeting with all my guardians, we combined elements from both contingency plans—the one for my failure and the half-baked ideas for my success—into a new, cohesive approach.

And this was where the rest of my week turned into a living hell.

Too few people knew the full story about me attending a school in another world. But if we wanted to pull this off successfully, we needed more support—specifically, from my retainers. Some of them already knew parts of the story, as we had carefully fed them information while preparing for the contingency plan in case I failed. We had kept everything as secret as possible, but even so, many people around us had sensed that something was off.

My retainers who were still in the dark were the first to notice that something was happening behind the scenes. They tried to hide it, but all of them looked uneasy, constantly on edge, as if expecting a surprise attack at any moment.

In the Noble’s Quarter, rumors started spreading like wildfire—each one more ridiculous than the last. Some were fantastical, but others were downright nasty, forcing us to act quickly to silence them. Unsurprisingly, most of these rumors revolved around Sylvester. He still wasn’t exactly the darling of the Leisegang faction, and after the purges from the previous year, his public image had hit rock bottom. He had been working hard to regain at least a fraction of the duchy’s trust, but the road to winning over their hearts was long and treacherous.

Meanwhile, in the temple, my gray attendants were also on edge—even Fran and Zahm, despite having been present when Mestionora appeared in Ferdinand’s office. Their concerns, however, stemmed mainly from the visible decline in my health.

But the worst of it came from my family and Benno, who had also noticed that something was wrong.

That last one had been unavoidable. I had ordered clothes that were more suited to a wealthy commoner than to a noble—not just for myself, but for my noble family and Alexandra as well. Naturally, Benno picked up on it immediately. He sent me a letter and, despite all the flowery words he used, I could feel the thunder rumbling behind his words. The gist of it? He was asking if I was about to go on another rampage. I had no idea what he thought I was planning, but his letter reeked of frustration and something akin to a desperate plea not to give him a heart attack.

Then came the letter from my family. Apparently, Gil had reported to Lutz about my deteriorating health, and Lutz, in turn, had told my family.

Their letters were filled with concern and anxiety, especially the one Dad wrote, which was brimming with heated worry. Honestly, I had no idea how to respond to them all. Thankfully, Mother stepped in and helped me draft an appropriate reply—one that, at the very least, managed to ease their fears somewhat.

We gathered everyone who needed to be informed about my journey to another world, as well as those who needed an update on the plan, in a meeting room at the temple. Present were Sylvester, Ferdinand, my noble family, Justus, Charlotte, all the adult members of my entourage, as well as Evelina and Vanessa—Charlotte's lead scholar and attendant, respectively.

Before anything else, we had everyone sign a magical confidentiality contract. Once the contract was consumed by golden flames, Sylvester took the lead in explaining Mestionora’s order—that I was to attend a school in another world.

The reaction was exactly what I expected. Those hearing this for the first time stared at Sylvester in disbelief, as if he had completely lost his mind. Well, almost everyone—Justus, of course, was the exception. His eyes were practically glowing, and when I saw him, I couldn't shake the image of a dog salivating over a delicious treat right in front of him.

He had known Ferdinand and I were hiding something, and now he finally had confirmation. It had taken Ferdinand using his name stone to stop Justus from prying any further before, and judging by his expression now, I had no doubt he was going to nag both of us with endless questions.

Since no one seemed to believe us, we presented our evidence—the acceptance letter from Hogwarts, some of the items we had bought in Diagon Alley, and, for good measure, I even demonstrated my omnipresence. That was the final blow. Every single one of them froze—some with their mouths hanging open, others blinking rapidly as they tried (and failed) to articulate words. Given the sheer magnitude of the revelation, their temporary system crash was understandable.

Once they finally recovered, we moved on to explaining the plan. The main point was simple: we needed their support—both for me and for my doppelgänger. We detailed the limitations of my power and why it was crucial for them to take on more responsibilities in my absence. Everything was going relatively well... until my retainers asked who would be accompanying me to Hogwarts.

When they found out I was only allowed to bring Alexandra as my doctor, that was when things exploded.

Rihyarda, utterly scandalized, shot to her feet and exclaimed, "And who will take care of Lady Rozemyne’s needs? What are you thinking, Lord Sylvester?! And you, boy Ferdinand! Don’t you see how inappropriate it is for a young lady to walk around without an attendant?"

I had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Ferdinand had told me something very similar when I first became an apprentice shrine maiden.

My knights complained about my safety, while my scholars were more concerned about who would help me gather information on the people around me to navigate the social landscape safely. All of them were openly opposed to me going.

We tried to reason with them—I tried to explain that the wizarding world was different from ours, that the rules and customs weren’t the same. But instead of calming them down, I somehow ended up throwing even more fuel onto the fire.

In the end, it was Ferdinand who shut down their protests. “We don’t have a choice,” he declared. “This is an order from the Goddess of Wisdom herself.” Then, with a dramatic flair, he added, “Or have you already forgotten that she nearly crushed the city when we refused her?”

Ferdinand, you big liar—that was because you were rude to her!

Of course, I kept that thought to myself. Instead, I silently prayed to Mestionora, begging for her forgiveness on his behalf.

But—credit where credit is due—his words worked. Everyone looked troubled, and in the end, they had no choice but to accept and agree to help us.

"My lady, it’s time to go to bed. Please come out of your hidden room."

Ottilie’s voice pulled me back to the present, breaking through the swirl of thoughts still lingering in my mind. With a sigh, I stood up and stepped out of my hidden room, letting my attendants guide me through my nightly routine.

Noticing my restlessness, they offered me a sleeping potion. The effects took hold quickly, and before I knew it, I was drifting off into the realm of Schlaftraum.

-

I was woken by a soft pat on my shoulder and Ottilie’s gentle voice. "My lady, the second bell has just rung. It’s time to wake up."

Lazily, I opened my eyes, my eyelids still heavy. Five more minutes, please… But I knew there was no point in complaining. With a sigh, I stretched my arms and took a deep breath, the crisp morning air filling my lungs and clearing the last remnants of sleep from my mind.

Reluctantly, I left the warmth of my bed. My attendants were already bustling about my room, preparing everything for the day. Rihyarda guided me to the changing room, where my nightwear was removed, and then led me to the bathroom for a warm bath. The hot water cascading over my face helped me wake up fully.

Once I was dried off and returned to the changing room, Ottilie was already waiting. As planned, I activated omnipresence. Rihyarda began dressing one of me in my usual noble attire, while Ottilie helped the other into my Hogwarts uniform.

When they finished, both took a step back to admire their work. Rihyarda, however, was frowning deeply, her disapproval written all over her face.

"Lady Rozemyne, these clothes are unfit for a lady of your standing. And furthermore, my lady, you are now ten years old—that skirt length is completely unacceptable."

Well… I should have expected that.

"Rihyarda, this is the required uniform. I have no choice."

As for the skirt length… I had completely forgotten to tell my mother that Professor McGonagall had said I could adjust it. So, I quickly informed Rihyarda, who immediately decided to relay the matter to Mother.

The me that was dress normally left the room follow by Ottilie she will go on like is any other day, before she left she say goodbye to me a wish me a good school term, that was odd.

I remained with Rihyarda as she approached me carrying a box. Inside were all the amulets Ferdinand had brewed for me—at least a dozen of them.

One by one, Rihyarda fastened them onto me while carefully explaining how to wear them myself once I was at Hogwarts. I listened attentively, committing her instructions to memory.

The last item, however, took my breath away.

It was a beautiful hairpin. The flower adorning it was unmistakably Tulli’s work, delicate and masterfully crafted. But what made it truly mesmerizing were the tiny, shimmering feystones embedded in its petals. Unlike the usual wooden hairpins I owned, this one was made of metal, its intricate engravings and ornamentation elevating it into a true work of art.

I had expected to have to defend my school supplies from Ferdinand’s prying hands—especially my magic wand. But in an unexpected turn of events, he didn’t even try to take them. Instead, he practically locked himself in his workshop to personally make all my protective charms.

It was a titanic effort to force him out just to eat and sleep. Haah… Why can’t he take better care of himself? I really don’t like seeing him with those panda eyes and reeking of potions.

Once Rihyarda was done, we returned to my room. It was empty—my other self was already in the temple having breakfast. I knew this because I could taste the ghostly remnants of food on my tongue

Moments later, a bell rang at my door. Rihyarda moved to open it, and my family entered, followed closely by Ferdinand and Sylvester.

All of them looked tense and worried.

Just seeing their expressions made my own anxiety spike.

Alexandra wasn’t with them, though. I had sent her to Hogwarts a day in advance so she would have time to prepare her living quarters at the castle. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that things might not go smoothly for her.

Unlike me, Alexandra was a born noble—she was used to having attendants to take care of her needs. I wasn’t sure if she would be able to adjust.

Mother approached me and gently took my hands between hers, her grip warm and firm.

"Dear, you’re about to embark on a journey like no other." Her voice was soft, but there was a weight to her words. "Please, take care of yourself… and try to stay out of trouble."

I could see the worry in her eyes, the way she was trying to hold back her emotions for my sake.

"I will, Mother. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine." I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "I’ll send regular reports, just like I promised."

Cornelius was next. He stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder with a rare seriousness.

"Take care, Rozemyne. And if anything happens, don’t hesitate to call for us."

"I will," I assured him.

Then came Sylvester.

He didn’t say anything at first—just looked at me, his expression unusually solemn. And then, to my utter shock, he knelt down in front of me, bringing us to eye level. Before I could react, he pulled me into a tight embrace.

"Please… don’t get into trouble. Stay safe."

I froze.

Sylvester had never hugged me before. Not once. The warmth of his arms, the way his voice wavered ever so slightly—it was so unlike him that I barely knew how to react. For a brief moment, the usual carefree lord of Ehrenfest was gone, replaced by someone who genuinely feared for me.

My throat tightened.

Clumsily, I patted his back, trying to reassure him despite my own heart hammering in my chest.

"I… I’ll be fine."

It was the best I could manage.

Sylvester let me go and stood up. With everyone having already given their farewells, I knew it was time.

Taking a deep breath, I snapped my fingers, and the portal shimmered into existence before us, swirling with mana.

Grandfather was the first to step through, followed closely by Father. Then, after a brief pause, Ferdinand stepped forward as well, his usual unreadable expression in place.

I turned back one last time, my gaze sweeping over the people who had been by my side all this time. Their faces were filled with worry, affection, and quiet determination.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and gave them my brightest smile, even if it wavered slightly.

"I’ll be fine, so don’t worry too much. Take care of yourselves while I’m gone… and try not to cause too much trouble without me, alright?"

I tried to sound lighthearted, but my voice still trembled at the end.

Raising a hand, I waved at them, lingering for just a moment longer.

"I’ll see you all again soon."

Then, gripping the handle of my trolley, I pushed my traveling trunk forward and stepped into the portal, feeling the familiar pull of magic as the world around me shifted.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

The journey through the portal felt as it always did—a fleeting sensation of the world dissolving and reforming in an instant. The brief disorientation made my head spin, but the dizziness faded almost as quickly as it came. When my vision cleared, I found myself standing in Cornelius Fudge’s office.

The room was lavishly decorated, its dark wooden paneling and ornate golden accents illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lamps. Heavy velvet curtains framed a large window, though the view outside was obscured by the lingering traces of magic from our arrival.

Father, Grandfather, and Ferdinand had already positioned themselves around me in a tight, protective formation. Their expressions were sharp, their gazes sweeping over the room with unrelenting scrutiny. Not even the faintest shadow escaped their notice. Their posture—rigid, poised—spoke of readiness, as if they expected danger to lunge at us from any direction.

Cornelius Fudge himself was seated behind his desk, his expression frozen somewhere between surprise and alarm—almost as if he had seen a ghost. No, that was a poor comparison. Ghosts actually existed here, after all. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that he looked as though a wild animal had stormed into his office.

He took a brief moment to collect himself, placing a hand over his chest before exclaiming in an overly dramatic tone, “By Merlin’s beard, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” He tugged at his sleeve, then glanced down at the watch on his wrist.

"Hmm… you’ve arrived quite early. It’s only eight o’clock—the train to Hogwarts doesn’t leave until eleven."

With that, Fudge stood up, circling his desk before approaching us. His voice took on a cheerful, almost too-eager tone. “But never mind that! Good grief, where are my manners? Good morning, and welcome!”

None of us answered him. Fudge shifted uneasily at the silence, his eyes flickering between us. I noticed that Grandfather looked puzzled, while Father and Ferdinand turned their expectant gazes toward me.

Oh. Right. Alexandra had the translation tool with her.

I quickly pushed my trolley aside and stepped forward. “Good morning, Mister Fudge.” Then, turning to my guardians, I translated his words for them.

Grandfather frowned deeply. “Who is this Merlin, and why should we care about his beard?”

Father stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I believe it’s some kind of expression, Father, like…” He trailed off, beginning to explain, but I had already turned my attention to Ferdinand.

"Should I cast the Blessing of Grammatur?" I asked in a hushed tone.

Ferdinand barely spared me a glance before replying, “Do nothing unnecessary. I will handle it.”

Without hesitation, he summoned his Schtappe and began chanting the prayer. Meanwhile, I turned back to Fudge and started explaining what Ferdinand was doing.

Shortly after the yellow lights of the blessing started to rain upon all of us.

"That sounds like a very useful spell," Fudge said, admiring the glow of the blessing. "As Minister of Magic, I often have to deal with people from other countries. I’m ashamed to admit it, but languages are not my strong suit. Would it be possible for you to teach me that spell?"

I hesitated. This wasn’t exactly a spell—it was a prayer. And I wasn’t sure if Grammatur would grant her favor to Fudge.

"Well… the thing is, it’s not really a spell. It’s a prayer to the Goddess of Language, asking for her help in communication. I’m not sure she would bestow her blessing upon someone from another world."

Fudge placed a hand on his forehead, his eyes widening. "A prayer? So you’re telling me you just ask your gods for help… and they actually answer?!

"Yes," I answered shyly.

"I see… forget I asked."

He pulled out his wand—a movement that made my companions tense even further. Their postures stiffened, eyes narrowing as if expecting an attack at any moment. Seemingly oblivious to the rising tension, Fudge gave his wand a practiced flick. In an instant, a small coffee table with five chairs materialized before us. Atop it rested a silver tea set, complete with a steaming teapot, delicate porcelain cups, and a plate of biscuits.

"Please, take a seat," he offered, gesturing toward the chairs with a slightly forced smile.

Once we were all seated, I fully assumed my role as a noble lady, maintaining a calm voice and a soft smile.

"You are already acquainted with Lord Ferdinand and my grandfather, Lord Bonifatius, from our last visit, are you not?"

Fudge nodded.

I turned slightly, gesturing toward my father. "Allow me to introduce my father, Lord Karstedt."

Fudge shifted his attention to Father and gave a small, polite bow. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Karstedt… My name is Cornelius Fudge, and I am the Minister of Magic."

Father returned the gesture with brief but courteous words.

"I apologize if our arrival caused you any trouble. It seems that time is measured differently between our two worlds."

"As I mentioned before, it is not an issue. However, ever since your previous visit, I have been contemplating the differences between our two worlds. Now, you inform me that even the measurement of time itself varies between them. If you would permit me, I would like to ask a few questions. To begin with—how is time measured in your world?"

Ever since I woke up as Myne, I never really had any issues with time. I simply followed the way people measured it in Yurgenschmidt—it was something that had always been there, and I had never given it much thought. So how should I explain this?

"Well, time is marked by the sound of the temple bells. The first bell signals when most people in the lower city and the attendants wake up and begin preparing for the day. From there, the bells continue to ring at intervals until the seventh bell, which marks the time to sleep."

Fudge scratched his head, frowning. "That sounds rather ambiguous, to be honest. So, do you have any other way to measure time? Don’t you use a more precise system?"

"No, I’m afraid not."

"Then, how do you measure time here?" Father inquired thoughtfully, while Grandfather leaned back in his seat, looking decidedly uninterested.

In response, Minister Fudge pulled up his sleeve, inspected the watch strapped to his wrist, then removed it and placed it at the center of the table.

"This," he began, tapping the face of the device, "is called a watch. Here, time is divided into hours. A full day consists of twenty-four hours, and each hour is further divided into sixty minutes. A minute, in turn, is divided into sixty seconds."

Ferdinand, Grandfather, and Father all leaned forward slightly, their gazes fixed on the watch. Their reactions, however, were notably different. Ferdinand examined it with analytical precision, likely assessing its efficiency and potential applications. Father observed it with quiet curiosity, as though evaluating its practicality. Grandfather, on the other hand, merely scoffed.

"Intriguing," Ferdinand mused. "What is the basis of this system? Why are hours and minutes divided into sixty? Why that number specifically and not something simpler, like ten or a hundred?"

Minister Fudge hesitated, looking somewhat troubled. "Well, this system has been in use for centuries, but as for its exact origins, I’m afraid that is something I do not know."

Ferdinand’s expression darkened slightly, his disappointment evident.

I frowned, searching my memories for an explanation. After a brief moment of recollection, I spoke.

"If I had to guess, I would say it’s because sixty is a highly versatile number for division. It can be evenly split in half, thirds, quarters, fifths, and even sixths without resulting in cumbersome fractions. If you were to use ten or a hundred as a base, certain divisions would become much more impractical. For instance, dividing an hour into three equal parts using a base-ten system would result in 33.333… a repeating decimal, which is far less convenient."

Ferdinand nodded slightly, his disappointment shifting into contemplation. “Hmm. A system designed for efficiency rather than simplicity.”

Grandfather crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “Sounds unnecessarily complicated if you ask me.”

Ferdinand leaned back, tapping a thoughtful finger against his arm. “It is curious that something so fundamental to daily life is used without a clear understanding of its origins.”

Fudge stiffened, his smile faltering for the briefest moment. For an instant, he no longer looked like the Minister of Magic but rather a man uncomfortably aware that he had been caught in his own ignorance. His eyes darted around as if searching for a way out, but finding none, he let out a nervous chuckle and made an exaggerated gesture, shaking off the tension.

“Ah, well! Not everyone can know everything, right?” he said, tugging at his sleeve with forced nonchalance. Then, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm that felt just a little too eager, he continued, “What I can say for certain is that Miss Rozemyne is incredibly intelligent… I can already see quite clearly which house will suit her best! By the way, how are you feeling about attending Hogwarts? Excited?

To his question, I gave a measured yet polite response—I was thrilled to attend Hogwarts and eager for the knowledge I would gain, yet also somewhat apprehensive about living in a world so vastly different from my own. Fudge’s expression shifted to one of understanding, and he offered a few words of encouragement.

The conversation soon drifted back to the differences between our worlds. Father, Grandfather, and Ferdinand steered their questions toward this world’s culture and customs, though their true focus lay on the structure and inner workings of the Ministry of Magic. Fudge answered with enthusiasm, speaking freely and at length, as if eager to reassert his authority after his earlier stumble regarding timekeeping. Was he trying to compensate for his lack of knowledge?

I remained silent, watching in quiet astonishment at how willingly he divulged information. Every lesson ingrained in me as a noble screamed at his carelessness. Did he not realize the weight of what he was saying? Even if he considered us allies, even if he saw no harm in sharing, his lack of restraint was shocking. And yet, I merely observed, suppressing the urge to intervene, as my guardians deftly guided the discussion.

In return, Fudge inquired about our world, but unlike him, the responses he received were carefully measured—each answer crafted to sound informative while revealing nothing of true substance. It was an artful display of diplomacy, the kind of maneuvering nobles were trained for since childhood. To an outsider, it might have seemed like an open exchange of knowledge, but in reality, only one side was truly baring its secrets.

At some point, the conversation shifted toward inquiries about the portal we used to travel between worlds.

“I must admit,” Fudge began, adjusting his sleeves, “despite the fright it gave me to see a portal materialize in the middle of my office, I have to say it is quite a unique phenomenon… Although, given that it connects entirely different worlds, I was expecting something more —perhaps something grander, more spectacular.”

Ferdinand, of course, didn’t even blink. His voice remained as measured as ever as he replied, “The portal serves its purpose. I see no need for unnecessary embellishments. If anything, its simplicity is an advantage—it attracts far less attention when activated.”

Fudge’s expression faltered for just a second before he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, of course, you are quite right,” he said, before leaning slightly forward with renewed interest. “I was wondering, though—do you know how it operates?”

“The ability to create the portal is a gift bestowed upon us by the Goddess of wisdom” I replied smoothly. “It is as new to us as it is to you, and we have not yet had the opportunity to study it in depth.”

Fudge didn’t seem entirely satisfied with my answer, but before he could press further, I took a sip of my tea and redirected the conversation elsewhere.

Fudge tried several times to steer the conversation back to the portal, but each time, we skillfully redirected the topic. Eventually, the meeting came to an end when a knock sounded at the office door.

Without rising from his seat, Fudge called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and a woman entered. She appeared to be in her fifties, with neatly styled black hair and a composed air. She wasn't particularly tall, but she carried herself with quiet authority.

Upon noticing us, she hesitated.

“Excuse me, Minister. I wasn’t aware you had company.”

“Don’t worry, Maricela,” Fudge replied with a reassuring smile. “I’m sure my guests don’t mind.”

I inclined my head politely in agreement, but I could see that Father, Grandfather, and Ferdinand were all frowning. Their expressions had sharpened the moment she stepped into the room.

Fudge, oblivious to the change in mood, turned to the woman and asked casually,

“What’s the matter, Maricela?”

“Well…” Maricela hesitated. She had clearly noticed the displeasure radiating from my guardians, but chose to carry on nonetheless. “Kingsley sent me to ask when the people you requested him to escort are expected to arrive. It’s almost time.”

Fudge lifted his arm to check his watch, only to realize it was still resting on the table. He hastily picked it up and slipped it back onto his wrist.

“Great Scott, look at the time,” he exclaimed, then turned back to Maricela. “Tell Shacklebolt to come to my office. The people he’s meant to escort are already here… In fact, they arrived quite early,” he added in a lower voice, more to himself than to her.

Maricela gave a slight nod and quickly left the office, closing the door behind her. A couple of minutes later, a firm knock echoed from the door.

“Come in,” said Fudge, finishing the last of his tea.

The door opened, and a tall, dark-skinned man strode in. He wore impeccably ironed dark robes and carried an air of professional calm that sharply contrasted with the minister’s earlier unease.

The man approached us as Fudge stood and positioned himself beside him.

“Please, allow me to introduce Kingsley Shacklebolt. He will accompany you to King’s Cross, where Miss Rozemyne will board the train to Hogwarts.”

“I am at your service,” said Kingsley, his voice polite and steady, with a friendly undertone.

We rose from our seats and greeted him in turn, each of us introducing ourselves with courtesy.

“It is time to depart. Please, follow me,” Kingsley said with a respectful nod.

We turned to face Minister Fudge one last time, offered our farewells with restrained politeness, and then followed Kingsley out of the office.

The Ministry of Magic was still a strange and confusing place. We walked through long, polished corridors lined with enchanted windows that showed weather patterns I suspected weren’t entirely real. Wizards in deep conversation passed us by, some casting curious glances in our direction but not daring to ask questions. The halls were a mixture of ancient stone and modern enchantments, with the occasional portrait whispering behind our backs or peering at us with barely veiled interest.

We took a lift that rattled slightly as it descended, the metal gates clanking shut behind us. The magical lift didn't run on gears, but instead with a soft, glowing enchantment that pulsed gently beneath our feet. I could see the names of the departments lighting up as we passed each floor.

Finally, we reached a side entrance guarded by a discreet but formidable-looking witch. She nodded to Kingsley, who gave her a small signal, and the heavy wooden doors opened into a narrow, dimly lit alley.

The contrast between the grandeur of the Ministry and the mundane alleyway outside was striking. A nondescript car was parked there, its design blending seamlessly into the Muggle world. It looked ordinary.

Kingsley approached the trunk and opened it with a casual flick of his wand. “Please, allow me,” he said, helping me place my belongings inside with surprising gentleness.

Once everything was properly secured, Kingsley opened the car door for me with a courteous gesture. I slid into the seat, and my guardians followed with composed silence, though I could sense their discomfort. They had been adapting admirably, but now, faced with the foreignness of this world in its most mundane form—a vehicle—they seemed far more alert than before.

The interior of the car was surprisingly comfortable. Smooth leather seats, slightly enchanted to cushion each movement, and softly glowing runes etched subtly into the doors told me this vehicle had been modified with magic, despite its outwardly Muggle appearance. Once we were all inside, the engine started with a quiet hum, and we began to move.

As the car pulled out of the alley and into the broader streets of London, I pressed my face lightly against the window, watching the city pass us by in a blur of unfamiliar sights. Towering buildings made of steel and glass, flashing signs, endless streams of people and vehicles—it was a world teeming with motion and sound, chaotic and alive in a way Ehrenfest never was.

My guardians remained quiet, their eyes scanning everything. Grandfather's expression was tight, disapproving; Father's gaze was neutral but calculating; and Ferdinand, as always, observed it all with a kind of intellectual detachment, though I could see the occasional twitch of his brow.

Eventually, we turned onto a quieter street, and Kingsley spoke over his shoulder.

“We're almost there.”

When the car stopped, he stepped out first and opened the door for me again. I emerged and looked up—before us rose the broad brick façade of King's Cross Station.

The building was massive, much larger than any public structure I had ever seen, with high arched windows and an enormous clock perched above the main entrance. People bustled in and out, dragging trunks and bags, some rushing, others meandering, lost in conversation. The air smelled faintly of metal and steam, and the constant murmur of voices mixed with the sharp screech of train brakes and the occasional announcement over a loudspeaker.

It felt overwhelming—so many people, so much noise, so much movement.

Kingsley, sensing my hesitation, offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is just ahead. You’ll be safely through in no time.”

I nodded slowly, steeling myself.

We had arrived.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne

I was standing in front of the column that held the sign for platforms 9 and 10. Kingsley had already explained what we needed to do to reach Platform 9¾. It was just like in the books.

Even so, I hesitated. Charging toward a solid column—even knowing it was magical—felt deeply unnatural. Every instinct in my body screamed against running headfirst into what looked like a guaranteed collision.

My guardians weren’t doing much better. Their expressions were uneasy, and like me, they hadn’t made a single move toward the barrier.

Kingsley, calm as ever, spoke in a soothing voice.

“Don’t worry. The most important thing is to walk straight at it with a steady pace. No hesitating.”

He stepped beside me and placed his hands on the trolley I was pushing, laden with all my things.

“I’ll go through the barrier with you. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

I took a deep breath, trying to summon courage from somewhere. I turned to him and, with a confidence I absolutely did not feel, said,

“I’m ready.”

He nodded, and together we charged toward the column. As it drew closer, I couldn’t help it—my eyes shut tight and my entire body tensed, bracing for an impact that never came.

Instead, I heard Kingsley’s voice, calm and just a little amused.

“We’re through. You did it.”

I opened my eyes slowly.

My breath caught in my throat. I had made it.

The noise hit me first—laughter, chatter, the shrill calls of owls and the deep rumble of a steam engine. The air smelled faintly of metal and soot, tinged with something sweet, like melted chocolate. The platform was alive with motion. Witches and wizards bustled around in robes of every color, some waving goodbye, others shouting last-minute advice.

A magnificent scarlet train waited beside the platform, its polished sides gleaming under the enchanted ceiling that mimicked the sky above. Billows of steam curled around the wheels and drifted across the cobblestones.

Children my age and older were everywhere—loading trunks, hugging their families, chatting excitedly. Some had cats peeking out from carriers. Others held owl cages or clutched wands nervously.

I turned to see if my guardians had come through as well. Just in time, I caught sight of Grandfather stepping out of the barrier, followed closely by Ferdinand and Father.

The three of them moved to stand beside me, their eyes fixed on the scene before us with a touch of awe. It was the first time during this entire visit that they had let their guard down—even slightly.

Ferdinand, ever the scholar, immediately turned back to examine the wall he had just passed through, clearly more intrigued by the magical barrier itself than anything else. Father was scanning the crowd with quiet intensity, his gaze moving from one robed figure to another, taking in every detail.

Grandfather, on the other hand, was staring straight at the train. His expression was sharp, focused—a hunter who had just laid eyes on a rare and powerful creature.

I wasn’t sure why, but the sight reminded me of Inosuke trying to challenge the Infinity Train. The thought both amused and horrified me.

Please don’t shout about slaying this mighty feybeast, I silently begged. I would never recover from the embarrassment.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and the engine released another puff of steam, making some nearby first-years flinch. Kingsley gave me a reassuring nod.

“It’s time. You should get on before it leaves.”

I looked up at the train, its doors wide open and waiting. My heart thudded in my chest—not with fear, exactly, but with something far more dangerous: excitement.

I turned to my guardians. “I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I can.”

Father knelt in front of me and gave me a big, warm hug.

“Goodbye, daughter. Take care and, most importantly, stay out of trouble.”

“Wait a second, Karstedt!” Grandfather suddenly shouted. “Aren’t we going with her? That’s why we came—to make sure she got there safely!”

“This is as far as we’re allowed to go, Bonifatius,” Ferdinand said with visible restraint, though his expression betrayed his own displeasure.

Still, he approached me and began what promised to be a long, detailed lecture filled with warnings, reminders, and subtle threats of what would happen if I did anything remotely reckless.

To spare myself the full length of it, I cut him off gently with a smile, even as I felt a lump forming in my throat.

“Of course. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what worries me. But… goodbye. Stay safe.”

Grandfather was the last to say goodbye. He didn’t look happy about it—his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. I could tell it bothered him deeply not to be able to come with me.

Once the farewells were said, we all turned to Kingsley. We thanked him for accompanying us and for all his help. He responded with a kind, steady voice, the same calm that had guided us through the barrier.

Then, using my mental connection with my other self, I asked her to quietly open a portal. A discreet shimmer appeared on the wall just behind us—barely noticeable, blending seamlessly with the stone.

One by one, my guardians stepped through it, each casting me a last, worried glance before disappearing.

Kingsley didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he made no comment.

Kingsley himself left too, leaving me alone. I turned and approached the train. The steps were high, and my arms wobbled slightly under the weight of my robes and nerves, but I managed to climb aboard.

Inside, the corridor was narrow and filled with movement—students dragging trunks, laughing, shouting greetings. The scent of sweets and parchment filled the air, mixing with the hum of excitement.

I made my way slowly down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, careful not to stare too openly at anyone. Their clothes, their accents, their laughter—it was all so unfamiliar. And yet, a part of me buzzed with recognition, as though I’d known this world before.

Eventually, I found an empty compartment near the end of the train. After stowing my things beneath the seats, I sat down, letting out a slow breath.

Now, all that remained was to wait for departure. Outside my compartment, muffled voices drifted through the door, and I could see figures moving up and down the corridor. Students were laughing, chatting, and dragging trunks—there was life all around me.

But soon enough, the novelty began to fade, and a deep sense of boredom crept in. With a sigh, I opened my trunk and pulled out one of the textbooks I had packed: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander.

The first time I had laid eyes on that book back at home, I could hardly contain my joy. A surge of mana had flooded from my ring, bathing my hidden room in warm, yellow light.

Now, seated once again in the compartment, I opened the book to the page where I had last left off. The moment my eyes met the text, the world around me faded away. There was only me… and the ocean of letters before me.

I finished the book in no time at all. It was so good—the descriptions of magical creatures, their habits, the detail in every page, and the magnificent illustrations. I was smiling without realizing it when a sudden jolt reminded me that the train had started moving.

Outside the window, the landscape rolled past in a blur of green and gray. I sighed, pressing my forehead lightly to the cool glass. It was then that I heard voices—two girls chatting very close to me.

Turning my head, I nearly jumped. I hadn’t noticed when they came in. There were two girls sitting on the opposite bench, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and slight awkwardness.

One of them, a girl with long dark hair and a soft, nervous smile, raised her hand slightly in greeting.

“Um, hi. We tried to ask if it was okay to share the compartment, but you didn’t answer... so we just came in. Sorry.”

I blinked, then quickly shook my head. “No, no, it’s fine. I should be the one to apologize. I was so absorbed in my book I didn’t notice anything.”

The girl relaxed a little. “I’m Cho. And this is Marietta,” she said, gesturing to her companion—a girl with short curls and a sharper gaze.

Marietta gave me a polite nod, but didn’t smile. “You were really into that book,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “What were you reading?”

I held up the book. “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them… it’s wonderful. The writing is so clear, and the illustrations make the creatures feel alive.”

Cho tilted her head. “Really? I’ve only skimmed through it. I didn’t know it was that good.”

I smiled shyly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Well… not everyone enjoys reading the same way. I’ve never had a pet, not even a cat. The closest I got was a cactus.”

Marietta raised an eyebrow. “A cactus?”

I nodded. “Yes. They’re very… quiet.”

There was a short silence. Then Cho laughed softly, and even Marietta looked slightly amused.

Cho leaned forward, her curiosity sparking. “So, where are you from? Your accent is… a little unusual.”

I hesitated for a moment, then replied carefully, “Far from here. It is not a very well know country”

Marietta exchanged a glance with Cho but didn’t push further.

An awkward silence spread between us—none of us quite knew what else to say. Eventually, Cho and Marietta returned to chatting with each other, their voices low and casual. I took the opportunity to fetch another book from my trunk and continued reading, letting their conversation fade into the background.

It was the gradual slowing of the train that pulled me back to reality. A voice echoed down the corridor, loud enough to carry through all the compartments.

“We’ll be arriving soon! Please make sure your things are packed and ready!”

“We should change,” Cho said to Marietta, already reaching for her uniform.

“Yes! I’m nervous,” Marietta admitted. “Some friends told me there’s a sort of test to place us in our houses. I wonder what it’ll be?”

They began speculating excitedly while changing into their uniforms. I simply marked the page in my book, carefully closed it, and stored it back in my trunk. Their chatter didn’t bother me, but I had no intention of joining in unless asked—I preferred to listen.

Soon, the train came to a full stop. The same voice from earlier called out once more:

“First-year students, please leave your luggage on the train. It will be taken to the castle by the school staff. Kindly disembark and follow the instructions given by Hagrid.”

Cho and Marietta, already changed, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. I followed them. The hallway was quickly filling with movement—compartment doors opening, students emerging with excited or nervous expressions. Following the flow, I disembarked with the others.

Outside, the sky was darkening into twilight. We stood on a stone platform nestled beside a dense forest. A deep, booming voice echoed through the air:

“First-year students! This way! Make a line and follow me!”

I turned toward the voice and spotted a towering figure at the far end of the platform—broad and solid like a walking mountain. He held a lantern that swung slightly in his massive hand, casting flickering light.

“First-years, this way! Come on now, make a line!” he repeated.

I followed the flow of students and found myself forming a line in front of the enormous man. Once everyone had gathered, he lifted a hand in signal and turned around, beginning to walk with heavy, steady steps. We followed, our footsteps crunching on the path beneath us.

The road quickly turned muddy and uneven, winding downhill until it opened up into a dock area. Dozens of boats bobbed gently on the surface of a black lake that reflected the stars.

“Three to a boat !” the giant man—Hagrid, I assumed—called out.

I moved awkwardly through the crowd and clambered into one of the boats already occupied by a boy and a girl. I gave them a quick, polite nod in greeting and sat down quietly, bracing myself for the ride.

Once everyone was seated in a boat, they began to move on their own, gliding silently across the still surface of the lake. The sun had long since set, and the moon now hung high in the sky, surrounded by a sea of stars. The dark water mirrored the heavens so perfectly, it felt as though we were sailing through the void of space itself.

A cool breeze stirred my hair, and the silhouettes of distant clouds drifted across the face of the moon. It was a breathtaking sight—beautiful in a way that only magic could be.

And yet… something felt off.

It was silly, really. I realized what was missing: the music. The iconic theme from the Harry Potter movies, especially Hedwig’s Theme, had become so deeply associated with the world that I half-expected to hear it playing. Without it, the scene felt strangely incomplete.

So, I began to hum the melody softly to myself. It wasn’t the same, of course, but it helped.

As the boat continued its silent journey across the lake, I found myself wondering why first-years were brought to the castle this way. Was it symbolic? Perhaps it was meant to mark the beginning of a great journey—like crossing a threshold into the unknown. Or maybe it was a tradition tracing back to the time of the Founders, a reenactment of their own arrival at the cliff where Hogwarts now stood.

Whatever the reason, it was unforgettable.

We reached the dock beneath the towering castle, and carefully disembarked from the boats. Hagrid stood at the front of the group, holding up his lantern and gesturing for us to follow.

“Mind yer step, now. The stones can be slippery,” he warned in his deep, rumbling voice.

We climbed a set of stone steps carved into the cliffside, winding our way upward until we arrived before the enormous wooden doors of the castle. They creaked open before us with a weighty groan, revealing a vast, torch-lit entrance hall with ceilings so high they disappeared into shadow. The floor was polished stone, gleaming in the soft, golden light.

We were led across the echoing hall to another set of doors, in front of which stood a Professor McGonagall with sharp eyes and a strict posture. She wore emerald-green robes and a stern expression. Despite that, there was something reassuring in her presence—like a well-organized librarian who expected the best of you.

“Good evening,” she said crisply. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

All chatter died immediately.

“In a few moments, you will enter the Great Hall,” she continued. “There, you will take part in the Sorting Ceremony. Your house will be your home and family while you are here. The four houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.”

Her explanation was brief, but somehow it carried great weight.

The doors behind her opened wide with a dramatic sweep, revealing the majestic heart of the castle.

The Great Hall was even more magnificent than I had imagined.

Floating candles lit the space in a warm glow, suspended in the air as if gravity held no power over them. Above us, the enchanted ceiling reflected the night sky—stars twinkling gently in the dark blue canvas overhead. Four long tables stretched the length of the hall, where the older students were already seated, chatting and laughing. Their house colors and crests adorned their robes proudly.

We walked nervously down the center aisle, every eye in the hall following our movements. At the far end of the room stood a raised platform. On it, there was a simple, backless wooden stool—and resting atop it was a tattered, old wizard’s hat.

Just as I was wondering when the ceremony was going to start, the hat stirred—then, it began to sing.

I may be old, with stitches torn,
But don’t mistake me for forlorn.
For deep within this humble brim,
Lies wit and courage, sharp and grim.

Brave hearts belong in Gryffindor,
Where daring deeds are legend’s core.
If clever thoughts are what you prize,
To Ravenclaw, where wisdom flies.

Loyal souls and hearts that care,
Find Hufflepuff both just and fair.
And cunning minds with plans so sly,
Will feel at home in Slytherin’s eye.

So place me gently on your head,
I'll see the path that lies ahead.
No need to fear, no cause to fret,
For I’ve not made a bad choice yet.

The Sorting Hat fell silent, the last note of its song echoing through the Great Hall. A few students clapped politely, though most simply waited, tense and expectant. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, standing beside the stool with a long roll of parchment in her hands.

“I will call each of you by name. Please step forward when I do,” she announced in a clear, firm voice.

The first student she called was a girl named Melia Antiqua. She approached the stool nervously, sat down, and Professor McGonagall placed the old, patched hat on her head. Almost instantly, the hat shouted, “Hufflepuff!” Cheers erupted from the table with yellow and black banners. Melia grinned in relief and hurried over to join her new housemates.

The sorting continued steadily. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly anxious about where I’d be placed. I didn’t really care all that much. Well… I suppose I’d rather not end up in Slytherin.

If I remember correctly, their common room is in the dungeons and looks out into the depths of the lake. It must be terribly dim—hardly the kind of lighting suitable for reading comfortably. And the dark, gloomy atmosphere? Definitely not to my taste.

Names were called one after another.

“Bell, Katie. Gryffindor!”

And so it went on… until the name “Dee, Beatrice” was announced.

A tall girl with reddish-brown hair stepped forward with confident strides. There was something familiar about her... I squinted, trying to place her face. Then it hit me—she was the rude girl from Madam Malkin’s shop!

The Sorting Hat took its time with her. It sat on her head for several moments before finally declaring, “Gryffindor!”

Wait… what? That girl didn’t strike me as the type to be brave or chivalrous at all! She was smug and arrogant! Hat, I think you’ve made another mistake. And I say “another” because I still can’t believe Peter Pettigrew was ever sorted into Gryffindor. That cowardly rat!

Little by little, the number of students around me began to dwindle, until eventually, it was my turn.

“Linkberg, Rozemyne,” Professor McGonagall announced.

I walked toward the front and sat on the stool. The professor placed the hat on my head, and it was so large that it slipped over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. Then, a voice echoed in my ears—soft, old, and brimming with curiosity.

“Interesting... quite interesting. You are, without a doubt, a most unusual one. A long, tangled story follows you—one that few would believe if told.”

“I see a deep love of knowledge... or rather, books. But not driven by mere curiosity—no. For you, books are the crystallization of human thought and memory, precious beyond gold or fame. Your admiration for them is... intense.”

“Yet you are not only a scholar. I see bravery—a willingness to rise, to stand firm, to protect what you love at all costs. You would face an enemy head-on, even if the odds were grim, especially if they threatened what you hold dear.”

“Loyalty, perseverance... yes, you work tirelessly for those you care about, and once someone earns your trust, it is steadfast. But you are also ambitious, aren’t you? You carry dreams that stretch beyond reach—and if they are beyond you, you will simply find a way to reach higher.”

“And yes... greed. You do not easily let go of what you call your own, whether it be people or knowledge or purpose. You gather, you claim, and you defend.”

Ok, I get the part about my love for books, but the other stuff the Hat was saying felt… strange. I’m nothing special. Just a girl who loves to read. The way it described me made it feel like it was talking about someone else entirely.

“Indeed, it is quite difficult…” the Hat mused aloud.

Then another voice echoed in my mind—one I recognized instantly.

“ Haaah… This is what happens when you leave important choices to ridiculous objects like hats, ” said the exasperated, ethereal voice of Mestionora. “ It is obvious where she belongs. Are you blind? She is on a sacred quest for knowledge. She is my most precious disciple—but more importantly, she is my daughter. ”

My breath caught in my throat.

“ The daughter of the goddess of wisdom, Mestionora. Clearly, she belongs in the house that values knowledge above all else—Ravenclaw.

What was happening? Daughter?! What? I thought I wouldn’t hear from Mestionora again, but now she was here, claiming to be my mother.

“ Your Holiness ?” I asked in my mind, startled.

“ Not now, dear ,” she replied. “ Mommy is having a very important conversation with this piece of cloth. Also, I’m trying to drill some common sense into it. ”

Maybe in any other scenario those words would’ve made me laugh, but right now they only added fuel to the anxiety blooming in my chest. And as if things weren’t already bad enough, a second voice began to speak—this time male and incredibly energetic.

“Hold your horses, little Mesti! I know you're the goddess of wisdom and all, but I don't think this old hat is that blind. He said my new niece is a brave one, someone who will rise to strike down her enemies! She’s a child of summer, born under my protection. It’s obvious she belongs in the house of the brave—Gryffindor! With their guidance, she’ll become the brightest star of magnificent deeds!”

“Don’t interfere, uncle. She’s my daughter. I know what’s best for her, ” Mestionora snapped.

“Don’t be like that, Mestionora, ” a third voice chimed in—this one gentle and warm, belonging to a woman. “ She’s part of our family now, and we’re also invested in her wellbeing. But I’m afraid you’re mistaken. She belongs to the house of the loyal. She has a huge heart that accepts all, just like me. She clearly belongs in Hufflepuff.”

“ Mother… not you too!! ” Mestionora cried.

The three gods started arguing among themselves inside my head, each passionately defending their choice—until a fourth voice joined in.

This one was male, but cold. So cold that I felt the warmth of my body being drained away…

“Do you mind if I join this little debate?”

The argument between the gods came to a sudden halt. I could feel them turning their attention to the newcomer, their wariness thick and cold like fog. There was tension, and—yes—hostility.

“What are you doing here?”

Mestionora and Leidenschaft spoke at the same time, their voices sharp with anger.

My mana stirred restlessly. A fire that wasn’t mine flickered to life in my chest, pulsing with outrage.

“Well, hello to you too, dear daughter. Brother-in-law,” 

Ewigeliebe’s voice oozed sarcasm, every word slow and mocking.

“As for the reason I’m here—why, I came to meet my new granddaughter. Am I not allowed?”

I could feel Mestionora’s fury rising. She was about to answer, but Ewigeliebe was faster.

“By the way, you’re all wrong.”

His voice turned colder, if that was even possible.

 “Didn’t any of you listen to this pathetic pile of stitched rags you call a Sorting Hat?”

I flinched.

“She’s ambitious. She’s greedy. She’ll take what she considers hers and wrap it in ice so it never slips away. Really, she’s already taken a lot from me.”

He chuckled.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Geduldh, my dear. She does have some of your qualities—like you said—but let’s not pretend. She’s far more like me.

“She is nothing like you! Don’t you dare compare her to the likes of you!”

Mestionora’s scream echoed like thunder inside my head. The fury rising in my chest intensified, and my mana began to rampage wildly. I was doing everything I could to keep it in check, fighting to not lose control.

“Ahh, you wound me, daughter.”

Ewigeliebe replied with a voice full of mockery and false hurt.

“Don’t be so jealous, my dear. You resemble me quite a bit yourself, you just like to pretend otherwise—hiding behind your little mask of wisdom. And if you really think I’m wrong, well… this whole charade with little Myne attending this school is proof enough.”

Mestionora’s fury blazed even stronger. Meanwhile, I was losing the battle against the storm building inside me. My body hurt with the effort of keeping my mana under control, but I didn’t back down.

“But I know how stubborn you can be, dear,”

 Ewigeliebe went on, as if this was all just a casual conversation

“And I know a lost battle when I see one. Have it your way... Time will prove me right—about you, and about little Myne.”

And with that, he was gone.

One by one, the others followed. Mestionora was the last to leave. But before she vanished, her voice rang one final time, sharp and deadly:

“Hat. If you know what’s good for you, place her in Ravenclaw. Otherwise, I’ll vaporize you so thoroughly that not even a single atom remains. Do I make myself clear?”

"Such voices... so many divine egos meddling in the affairs of a humble hat."

 The Sorting Hat let out a low chuckle, as if reveling in the chaos.

 "I don’t usually take threats lightly, nor do I heed the advice of those who shout the loudest."

A pause.

 "But let me make one thing clear: this decision is not made because you demand it, goddess of wisdom… I make it because I, too, see what she can become."

Then, with a strong and resolute voice that echoed throughout the Great Hall:

"RAVENCLAW!"

Just for me, it added in a softer tone, almost pitying:

 "By the way, little one... you have my sympathy."

The Hall erupted in applause and cheers. No one else seemed to have noticed what had just happened. I removed the hat, placed it back on the stool, and walked toward my new house’s table. I wore a lady’s smile on my face, trying to hide the trembling in my hands. I took my seat, and the next student was called forward.

Eventually, the ceremony ended. Dumbledore stood up to welcome both new and returning students. After saying something ridiculous about a meatloaf, he announced the start of the banquet—and food appeared before us.

I didn’t eat much. I wasn’t hungry. In fact, I hadn’t felt hunger all day. My other self back home had eaten properly, so I was fine.

Now that the madness of the Sorting Ceremony was over, I noticed something else: there had been no mention of Harry Potter. I’d already suspected it after checking the date on the calendar Dumbledore gave me, but seeing Cho on the train and witnessing this year’s Sorting confirmed it—I was one year ahead of his arrival.

The banquet ended, and we were led to our dormitories. Good. The last thing I wanted was to keep dealing with reality.  Maybe the realm of Schlaftraum would be a little less chaotic.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

"Princess... Princess..."

I shifted under my covers, pulling the blankets over my head in an attempt to block out the voice that was speaking.

"Princess, it's second bell. Time to wake up."

The voice sounded firmer now, accompanied by a gentle pat on my shoulder. I wanted to sleep just a little longer—please, Rihyarda...

Wait a moment. Rihyarda? Wasn't I in Hogwarts? I arrived just yesterday! Was it all a dream?

Bracing myself, I hugged the stuffed shumil in my arms even tighter, pushed the blankets aside, and slowly opened my eyes.

My vision was blurry, but even through the unfocused haze I could see an overlapping image: my bed in the Linkberg mansion and the bed in Ravenclaw's dormitory. Rihyarda was there, waiting for me to wake up, but she didn’t look solid. Not quite like the ghosts at Hogwarts—she looked even less corporeal.

I rubbed my eyes with the sleeve of my nightclothes. Rihyarda was gone. I was alone in the Ravenclaw dormitory bed.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. I felt lost, and there was a slight ache in my head. Then, out of nowhere, the memories of what happened yesterday during the Sorting Ceremony assaulted me, making the headache even worse. The gods had been talking in my mind, arguing over which house I should be sent to—Mestionora even outright called me her daughter.

Haaaaa… what’s wrong with the gods!?

I wanted to scream with all my might, but I refrained, since I wasn’t alone in the room and my roommates were probably still asleep. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

How am I supposed to report this? I was more in favor of saying nothing and keeping it to myself, but with how unpredictable the gods had proven to be, it might be for the best if my guardians knew. I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. Since I didn’t get in touch with Mother last night, I would have to speak to her today—no excuses.

But… what do I even say?

Hey, Mom. I’m having a great first day at school. By the way, last night during the Sorting Ceremony, the gods had a huge argument about which house I should go to, and Mestionora casually claimed to be my mother.

Haaa… damn.

I let out a long sigh. There wasn’t much use in complaining about it, so I focused on regaining control over myself. Drawing on all my noble training, I concealed the turmoil of emotions behind a perfectly crafted lady’s mask. Once I felt more composed, I sat up in bed and pulled apart the curtains of the canopy.

The room was mostly dark—the thick drapes over the windows allowed only a few rays of light to pass through.

As my eyes adjusted, I took in the unfamiliar surroundings once more. The Ravenclaw girls’ dormitory was circular, with five tall canopy beds spaced evenly around the room. Each bed was framed in dark wood, draped with soft blue curtains embroidered with silver stars.

There was a tall arched window between two of the beds, its glass frosted with the morning chill. Beneath it sat a wide desk with ink bottles, parchment, and a flickering enchanted lamp that must have been left on overnight.

A round blue carpet covered the center of the room, its design patterned with eagles and winding constellations. Books and trunks were tucked neatly—or not so neatly—at the foot of each bed.

The curtains of my roommates’ beds were still closed—apparently, I was the first to wake up. I could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of the girl in the bed beside mine.

Not wanting to disturb anyone, I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could and tiptoed toward the door of the dormitory. Carefully, so as not to make any noise, I slipped out and closed it gently behind me.

Descending the spiral staircase that wound down the Ravenclaw tower, I soon reached the base, where a wooden door stood carved with the silhouette of a witch. I opened it and stepped into a surprisingly spacious bathroom.

The room was divided into two clear sections, separated by a long row of elegant sinks with polished silver faucets. To one side were the toilets—each tucked away behind individual doors for privacy. On the other side, past the line of sinks, were several bathing areas, each containing a large porcelain tub. Tall wooden screens stood between them, offering enough privacy for a comfortable soak.

The stone floor was warm beneath my feet, and soft lights hovered near the ceiling, casting a gentle glow across the white-and-blue tiles. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something minty, and the sound of distant water flowing created a calming background hum.

I approached one of the bathtubs, its porcelain surface gleaming under the soft enchanted lights. Inside the bathing space, neatly enclosed by a tall wooden screen, there was also a small cabinet fixed to the wall, divided into several compartments.

In the first compartment, I found several bottles of shampoo and soap bars alongside a variety of sponges—some coarse, others as soft as fluff. I picked up one and pressed it gently between my fingers, curious about its texture.

Next, I moved toward the bottles of shampoo, opening them one by one and smelling the scents. The one I liked the most had a fresh citrus aroma, so I took it. Then I picked a soap with a soft scent of honey. Satisfied, I closed the compartment.

In the next compartment, I discovered neatly folded towels, still warm as if they had just come from the laundry. In the last one, there were soft bathrobes, each embroidered with a small silver eagle—the emblem of Ravenclaw.

Last night, the house prefects had given us a quick orientation about the tower, the common room, the dormitories, and of course, the bathroom. To be honest, I hadn’t paid much attention—my mind had started to shut down after the whole mess at the Sorting Ceremony. The only thing I could think about was getting into bed and forgetting everything.  

What I did remember, though, was that the bathrooms were enchanted to always be stocked with essentials. Even the water refreshed itself after use, and subtle cleaning charms kept everything in perfect order. They’d also been quite firm about the rules: no flooding the floors, no experimenting with potions in the tubs, and absolutely no enchanted soap fights.

I closed the compartments and placed the soap and shampoo on top of the cabinet, next to a large wicker basket. Since it was empty, I assumed its purpose was for us to place our clothes while bathing, as I didn’t see any other space for that.

 With that in mind, I closed the wooden screen behind me and began to undress, folding my clothes neatly before placing them in the basket. Then I walked over to the tub and turned the faucet. A stream of hot water flowed smoothly, filling the bathtub.

While I waited, I returned to the cabinet and retrieved the bottle of shampoo and the soap I had chosen.  The warm scent of steam and sweet herbs began to fill the enclosed space. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, letting the familiarity of it wrap around me like a protective cloak.

Everything felt surreal. My surroundings were foreign, the magic different, the air itself tinged with something unfamiliar. Yet this quiet space—this moment alone—was grounding. I could almost pretend, just for a few minutes, that I was safe. That things were normal. That I wasn’t being pulled along by the whims of the gods, tossed about like a leaf in a storm I never chose to enter.

Once the tub was full, I turned off the faucet and carefully dipped a toe in to test the temperature. The water was pleasantly warm. I stepped in slowly, letting the heat ease its way into my body.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I sank into the water. Back in Ehrenfest, it was usually my attendants who handled my baths, every step taken carefully. But this... this was a welcome change. It reminded me of my days as Urano—simple, quiet moments where I could take my time and enjoy the warmth without anyone fussing over me.

As the heat soaked into my skin, I felt the tightness in my chest slowly begin to ease. For now, I could lower the mask. I could just be a girl in a bath, not a daughter of gods, not a noble, not even Rozemyne. Just... me.

I began to clean my hair with the shampoo, massaging my scalp gently. The citrus scent floated into the air—bright and comforting. My eyes fluttered closed as I worked the lather through each strand, allowing myself to enjoy the moment. After rinsing the foam away with warm water, I picked up the soft sponge and began to wash the rest of my body with the honey-scented soap.

Once I was done, I lay back in the bathtub, letting the warmth seep into my bones. The shampoo and soap were both of a much higher quality than what we usually had at home. Mmm... The Rinsham, unfortunately, couldn't be improved; enhancing it would require different processes and ingredients—something beyond my reach. The soap, however, was a different matter. I knew how to craft better-quality soap, even with the limited resources of Ehrenfest. Of course, it would take some experimentation, but it was entirely possible.

I should talk to Charlotte about this, I mused. It would be a good learning experience—to show her how to develop a product from scratch.

As the first signs of overheating began to creep across my skin, I decided it was time to get out. With a flick of the lever, the tub began to drain—an enchanted mechanism, undoubtedly—and I stepped out, wrapping myself in one of the warm, fluffy towels. I dried my hair as best I could, then slipped into one of the soft bathrobes. The fabric was thick and comforting, with Ravenclaw’s silver eagle embroidered just below the collar in delicate threadwork.

I gathered my folded clothes from the basket and made my way back to the dormitory. Inside, Cho and Marietta were already sitting up in their beds, stretching and yawning. The girl in the bed beside mine had begun to stir as well.

“Good morning,” I greeted softly, offering them a nod.

Cho and Marietta returned it with sleepy, clumsy gestures, still shaking off the last traces of sleep.

I moved toward the closet and pulled out my uniform, laying it neatly on the bed. After drying off, I got dressed, slipping into each piece of my uniform with practiced ease. Once I was fully dressed and had adjusted the collar and sleeves, I folded the towel with care and placed it, along with my used clothes, in the laundry basket near the door.

Then I knelt down in front of the trunk resting at the foot of my bed and opened it. Nestled safely inside was my stuffed shumil. I took a moment to hold it gently, my fingers brushing over the soft, dark green fur. It still carried the faint scent of  Mother’s favorite Rinsham. She had given it to me the day before my departure, and it had been such a lovely surprise. I hadn’t expected to sleep well last night, but the shumil had brought me comfort. Even now, I felt a small warmth in my chest just looking at it.

With care, I tucked it back into the trunk and retrieved the protective charms Ferdinand had entrusted to me. One by one, I put them on. The last piece was the hair ornament.

I combed my hair into the same style I used to wear back when I was still Myne, then glanced at my reflection in the mirror by the wall to judge my work. Once I was satisfied, I began preparing my backpack, using the schedule we had been given by the prefects last night as a guide.

In the schedule were listed all the subjects mentioned in the Harry Potter books, and a few others that weren’t—such as Magic Theory, Basic Arithmancy, Magical Ethics, Geography, Literature, and… P.E. I couldn’t help but frown. Back in my Urano days, that had been the subject I disliked the most. Just the thought of running laps again made my stomach turn. I also noticed that some of the subjects had a mark next to them, but I wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a hint of movement. The girl in the bed next to mine pulled back her curtains, yawning and scratching her head. I greeted her softly with a quiet, “Good morning,” and she responded with a grumpy growl that made me blink in mild amusement.

I returned to preparing my backpack, slipping my highbeast stone and wand into the inner pockets of my robe once everything else was ready. Then, I moved toward the door and climbed the spiral staircase leading to the Ravenclaw common room.

Last night, I had been far too tired to notice anything besides my bed. But now—well-rested and far more alert—I finally took the time to look around.

The moment I stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat.

The common room was a circular chamber, spacious and elegant, with high arched windows offering a breathtaking view of the sky still painted in the soft hues of early morning. The ceiling shimmered faintly, enchanted to reflect the constellations—as if one were standing beneath the open night sky. Soft light filtered through sheer blue and silver curtains, casting a tranquil glow over the room.

At the center stood a magnificent fireplace—currently unlit—its mantle carved with delicate runes and crowned with a bust of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Her eyes, made of enchanted crystal, seemed to follow me with quiet intellect and silent expectation.

The room was draped in Ravenclaw’s signature colors: rich midnight blue and gleaming silver. The furniture was elegant yet welcoming—high-backed chairs, velvet sofas embroidered with stars and crescents, and cozy armchairs tucked near low tables. Small writing desks stood neatly in corners, some already topped with parchment and quills, waiting for thought and inspiration.

Scattered between the furniture were brass telescopes pointed toward the windows, celestial charts rolled open, and delicate models of the planets suspended from the ceiling, slowly rotating as if floating in space.

But what truly stole my attention—what made my heart skip a beat—was the enormous bookshelf stretching from floor to ceiling along the far wall. It was packed to the brim with books of every shape, size, and color. Leather-bound tomes, delicate scrolls in gilded cases, even a few glittering crystal volumes shimmered among the shelves. I could practically hear them whispering to me.

More unread beauties. More knowledge. More stories.

My arms curled instinctively around myself, a soft, eager grin tugging at my lips.

Perhaps… perhaps Ravenclaw really was the perfect place for me.

I turned toward a clock hanging on the far wall and felt my heart sink—7:50 a.m.

“By the Seven…” I whispered, panic prickling at the back of my neck. My first class started at eight—and it was Transfiguration!

I bolted across the common room, weaving between sofas and study tables, my shoes barely touching the carpeted floor. As I pushed open the arched door leading out of the Ravenclaw Tower, I froze.

I didn’t know where the Transfiguration classroom was.

"Um—excuse me?" I called out, glancing at the nearest wall of portraits.

A tall painting beside the doorway rustled to life. A wizard with silver spectacles and a moon-patterned robe peered down at me from a velvet chair.

“Lost already, are we?” he said, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“Yes! I’m trying to get to Transfiguration—it’s my first class!”

He chuckled, stroking his long beard. “Ah, Professor McGonagall’s classroom. Very well. Go down the spiral staircase, turn left at the eagle statue, then straight through the portrait of the napping centaur. At the third hallway, take the moving staircase down to the first floor. It's the classroom with the stained-glass windows and the carved griffin above the door. You can’t miss it."

“Thank you!” I blurted and dashed down the stairs.

“Mind the trick step!” he called after me, just as my foot sank halfway into one.

“Too late,” I groaned, yanking my foot free.

The castle corridors were a blur of shifting staircases, talking portraits, and curious suits of armor, but somehow—between enchanted landmarks and frantic glances at my timetable—I managed to reach the right door just as Professor McGonagall was stepping inside.

Heart pounding, I slipped in behind her, hoping not to draw attention.

The classroom was spacious and orderly, with tall windows that flooded the room with pale morning light. Sunlight filtered through stained glass in soft hues of gold and blue, casting gentle patterns on the stone floor. High shelves lined the back wall, filled with neatly arranged objects: teacups, beetles preserved in jars, small wooden animals, and even a row of matchsticks—each one waiting to be turned into something else.

At the front stood a large blackboard, spotless and framed in dark oak, and nearby was a heavy desk polished to a shine. The students’ desks were arranged in tidy rows, each with a simple wooden chair, all facing forward like soldiers standing at attention.

There were already about twenty students in the room—a mix of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. I hurried in and slipped into one of the last remaining seats, still breathless from my dash across the castle, my heart beating like a drum in my chest.

A few minutes later, the door opened again and four more girls stumbled in, equally breathless. My roommates—Cho, Marietta, and the other two whose names I still hadn’t quite managed to memorize. One had smooth, straight black hair that fell past her shoulders and warm brown skin—she moved quietly, almost shyly, keeping her eyes down as she took her seat. The other had a mess of unruly chestnut hair, freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, and a slightly wild look in her eyes.

A bell rang through the room, clear and sharp. Professor McGonagall, who had been seated at her desk only moments earlier, stood with practiced grace and addressed the class with a commanding voice.

“Let us begin,” she said, stepping forward and sweeping the room with her gaze. “Transfiguration is, without a doubt, one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic you will study at Hogwarts. It is not a game,” she continued, each word crisp and deliberate. “It requires your full attention. But more importantly, it demands discipline.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her tone sharpened. “If I catch anyone treating this subject lightly, they will be dismissed from my class without a second thought. No excuses. You have been warned.”

Just as she finished speaking, a sharp, searing pain shot through the front of my body. I gasped, the sound escaping me before I could stop it. My hands trembled as I frantically searched the inner pocket of my robe for one of my stamina potions—only to find nothing. I must have left them behind in the dormitory.

“Miss Linkberg , is there a problem?” Professor McGonagall’s voice was severe, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.

“I—I’m not feeling well,” I murmured, my vision beginning to blur. My other self in Ehrenfest had already collapsed… and it seemed I was about to follow.

“Miss Underwood, please accompany Miss Linkberg  to the hospital wing,” the professor instructed briskly.

“Apologies, Professor,” I managed to say, my voice faint and unsteady, “but I don’t think I can walk that far. May I call for Alexandra?”

Without waiting for a response, I began to pray.

“Ordoschnelli, divine messenger of the gods, please hear my plea. Heilschmerz has forsaken me—deliver my message to her disciple, that I might regain her blessing.”

The fey stone on my ring glowed softly, then brightened. A small sphere of light emerged, hovering before me. It shimmered, taking the shape of a white bird—like an ordonnanz, though far more radiant.

“Alexandra, this is Rozemyne,” I whispered . “I don’t feel well. I’m about to faint. Please come find me—I’m in Professor McGonagall’s class. Ask the portraits how to get here…”

That was all I managed before the world tilted, and darkness swallowed me whole.

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

I opened my eyes and found myself plopped onto a giant chair, so big my feet didn’t even reach the ground. In front of me was a weird control panel packed with buttons, and a red light was flashing like crazy, both on the panel and on a big screen above it.

Uh-oh. I was back in my mental space.

I turned my head —and there was my other self, staring at me with a tired face that made my stomach drop.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice coming out weak and squeaky.

She sighed —a long, heavy sigh like she had just aged ten years— and waved her hand to summon a chair next to me. She sat down with a plop and opened her mouth to explain, but I already had a terrible, awful feeling.

"I don’t know, you tell me " she said, slouching . "I was playing the harspiel with Rosina, and then my heart started beating super hard. I couldn’t breathe right, my legs hurt, and everything started spinning. I managed to put the harspiel on the floor but... yeah. Blackout. Pretty sure Rosina couldn’t catch me ‘cause we smacked into the ground."

Hearing that, I slapped my forehead with my hand so hard it echoed, and then slumped forward miserably.

"This is all my fault!" I wailed. "I was so worried about being late for class that I ran all the way from the Ravenclaw Tower! I didn’t even think about how weak we are! I'm the worst!"

"Well, the first class was with Professor McGonagall, so I can see why we'd feel that kind of stress," my other self said with a shrug.

"But I fainted in front of the professor and the entire class! Haaaah, what a disaster..." I groaned, sliding down my chair like a puddle. "And when they find out why I fainted... Gods, I can already hear it!"

In my mind, a terrible scene unfolded:

First came Alexandra, arms crossed and glaring. "You cannot neglect your health like this! Do you have any idea how fragile you are?!"

Behind her was Professor McGonagall, frowning deeply. "Such reckless behavior, Miss Rozemyne, is entirely unacceptable."

Then came Mother pinching the bridge of her nose in pure exasperation. "We negotiated for you to use the highbeast precisely to avoid this kind of situation! What were you thinking, running around like that?!"

And looming behind them all was Ferdinand, looking down at me like I was the biggest disappointment to ever exist, not even bothering to speak.

I shivered. "I'm doomed! Even across worlds, even with oceans between us —I'm still doomed to be scolded!"

"Well, look at the bright side," my other self said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Bright side? I don't think there's a bright side in this whole mess!!!" I wailed, covering my face dramatically.

"That's where you're wrong," she said, tapping my forehead with a little smirk. "You ran all the way from the Ravenclaw Tower to the classroom. Two months ago, even thinking about jogging would’ve put us straight to bed. That's real progress, isn't it?"

I peeked between my fingers, blinking.

"I... guess you're right..." I admitted, slumping back in my chair. "But still... I can't call it a progress when we ended up fainting."

My other self frowned at my response. "You shouldn't dismiss our progress like that. It's very good news! It means we're actually getting healthier."

"I'm not dismissing it..." I muttered, pouting.

"Look," she said, leaning closer, "if you're this worried about being scolded, I have a suggestion."

She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously. "Why not tell Mother and Ferdinand about the argument the gods had in our mind? And the fact that Mestinora called us her daughter?"

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Do I look like I have a death wish?! That would just be pouring more gasoline on the fire!"

She wagged her finger from side to side and said, in the tone of someone explaining something very obvious:

"Yes, they'd be mad... but not at you." She grinned like a co-conspirator. "You could deflect all their anger onto the gods."

I widened my eyes. Was I always like this...? But... she wasn't wrong.

"I'll give it some thought," I mumbled, crossing my arms. "If they start lecturing me too much... I'll do it."

The red light on the control panel finally stopped blinking. The screen in front of me flickered to life.

"It looks like our time is up," my other self said, standing up and dusting her outfit. "We're getting pulled back into the real world. Good luck with Professor McGonagall and Alexandra, Myne Prime."

Her tone was way too smug for my taste.

"Why are you talking like this isn't your problem too?! We're the same person!" I said, half yelling.

"Yes, yes, I know," she said, waving a hand dismissively. Then, with the most annoying grin on her face, she added,

"But I'm the version that didn't cause any trouble."

She gave me a mocking little bow and walked away, humming happily as if she hadn’t just left me to my doom.

My mouth was open in shock for what just happened. Was I being abandoned... by myself?! No way!!! I decided to turn my attention back to my control station. I would have a serious talk with her—myself?—a self-reflection moment? Geez... I'm losing my mind.

Little by little, I started to open my eyes. The white, soft light illuminated the room. I was all sweaty and sticky, my head hurt like someone had kicked it very hard, and my body felt hot.  I was lying in one of the several beds in the nursery, apparently the only one here right now.

Instinctively, I looked around in search of a bell to call someone, but there was no bell!
There was only a night table next to my bed, with a pitcher of water.I sat up, took the pitcher and served myself a glass of water — thankfully, there was a glass there too — and drank it all in one go. My throat was dry as a bone.

"Hello?" I said out loud, hoping Alexandra was around.

I heard a door opening somewhere, and moments later Alexandra was standing next to my bed.

"Lady Rozemyne, thank the gods you're finally awake, " said Alexandra.
She was wearing her usual polite mask, but I could see it — she was worried about me.

" Please, my lady, lay down and rest. When I brought you here, you were running a very high fever. The fever only broke recently ," she said, adjusting the blanket over me.

" Can I ask you to use cleaning magic on me...? I'm all sweaty and my clothes feel sticky, " I mumbled, feeling gross.

"Yes, of course." Alexandra made her schtappe appear in her hand and, after asking me to hold my breath, cast the spell. Water wrapped around me for a second, and when it disappeared, I was clean and dry again. Now that I didn’t feel so disgusting, I lay back down on the bed with a relieved sigh.

"Lady Rozemyne," Alexandra said after a moment, "may I ask what happened? Last night when I checked on you, you were fine. A little tired, yes, but there were no signs you would collapse like that."

I could have lied. I could have said that I suddenly started feeling sick.  But... I couldn't bring myself to lie. Not to Alexandra.

With a trembling voice, I started to explain why I lost consciousness.

Just like I had feared, Alexandra's amethyst eyes narrowed, fixing me with a stare so intense that it froze my blood. She didn't raise her voice. She spoke softly, almost kindly — but that just made it worse.It was the kind of voice that said "I'm so disappointed in you" without even needing to use those words.

"I would like to remind you, Lady Rozemyne, " Alexandra began, her tone perfectly calm, "that we agreed you would use your highbeast whenever you needed to move through the castle."

Her words felt like invisible needles piercing into me. I shrank a little under the blanket.

"You were not supposed to push your body this way. Not after all the effort your family and I have made to prepare the accommodations for you. Not after the endless discussions with the professors."

She took a breath, long and slow, and continued, her voice soft like velvet... and just as cold.

"I understand you wanted to be on time. But disregarding your condition, ignoring the precautions we agreed upon... that is reckless, my lady. Extremely reckless."

I bit my lip hard, my eyes starting to sting.

"You are not just any student, " Alexandra said, her gaze sharp like a blade. "You carry responsibilities to your family, to your retainers, and to those who depend on you. You cannot afford to be careless with your health."

The more she spoke, the more I wanted to dig a hole in the mattress and hide there forever.

"I—I’m sorry," I stammered, squeezing the blanket between my fingers.  "I didn’t mean to make everyone worry... I just— I didn’t want to be late... it’s the first week and I thought..."

My excuses sounded so weak even to my own ears. Alexandra closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself.

"I know you didn’t intend to, " she said at last, her voice a little softer, "but intentions are not enough, Lady Rozemyne. Not when your life is at risk."

For a second, Alexandra’s mask cracked, and I caught a glimpse of her raw emotion.
She looked deeply troubled, and it showed in her voice too, trembling slightly despite her best efforts to remain calm.

"I have been very worried about what would become of you in this place, my lady.. ." she said, her amethyst eyes clouded. "Lady Elvira shared with me everything she knew about this world, but in the few days I have lived here, I have realized that the information she gave me barely scratches the surface of how bizarre and different this world truly is."

She paused for a moment, looking around the infirmary as if the walls themselves could not be trusted.

"This whole castle is a mess," she continued, frustration leaking into her tone . "There are those translucent people they call ghosts, the stairs move on their own, and that poltergeist—" she pressed her lips into a thin line, "—I am quite certain it is an incarnation of Chaocipher."

I swallowed hard.  Even Alexandra was scared...?

"But what’s worse," she said, her voice dropping lower, "is the people. They don’t behave like nobles... not even like commoners. Their common sense is so strange, so alien."

She leaned in closer, her gaze heavy.

"So, I beg you, my lady," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "do not make it harder than it already is to keep you safe."

I could not have felt worse...
After listening to Alexandra like that, I felt my eyes start to tear up, and I said, trying to convey all the regret I felt:

"I’m sorry, Alexandra... not just for my careless actions, but for everything.  For forcing you to come here with me... I’m really sorry... I’ll be more careful from now on, of course! But also... if there’s anything I can do for you—anything at all to make your stay here less unpleasant—please tell me. I can’t bear the idea of making you suffer because of me..."

Before I realized it, tears had started to spill from my eyes.
Alexandra pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiped them away, offering me a warm smile.

"You didn’t force me, my lady," she said softly. " I came here willingly. I could not bear the thought of you coming to this strange place all alone..." She placed a hand over mine, steady and reassuring.

"This situation isn’t something you caused, my lady. You were swept into it by forces beyond your control."

Alexandra’s words made me feel warm inside and eased some of my fears.

"If something troubles you, Alexandra, please tell me. I’ll do my best to find a solution," I said earnestly.

"I appreciate your concern, my lady, and I will keep those words close to my heart," she answered with a kind smile. "But please, first and foremost, focus on taking care of yourself."

She walked toward a closet at the other end of the room and returned with a bundle of clothes in her hands. After closing the curtains around my bed, Alexandra gently helped me change into a soft pajama.

"You’ll stay here until tomorrow morning, my lady," she said as she tucked me in.

"I want to make sure you’re fully recovered. Now, please rest. If you need anything, just ring this."

She pulled a small bell from her pocket and placed it on the night table beside me.

"And if you’ll excuse me," she added with a slight bow, "I need to report to Lady Elvira that you are safe.

She was terribly worried... especially after the 'other you' in Ehrenfest also collapsed

That statement made me feel guilty once again for worrying Mother, and Alexandra left to write to her.

While I was lying down, a dark satisfaction started to crawl in my chest. My other self back in Ehrenfest was the one getting scolded by Ferdinand and Mother. She tried to defend herself using the same argument she told me in our mental space — that she was the "version" that didn’t cause any trouble — but Ferdinand immediately crushed her excuse, saying:

"Regardless of which version you claim to be, your existence is tied across all realities. Your body, your mana, and your soul are one. When one falters, all falter. When one causes trouble, all are responsible. There is no 'other you' to blame, Rozemyne. Only you, and your failure to protect yourself.

Hearing that even second-hand made me curl under the covers and groan loudly.

Ugh, there was no escape! No matter which version of me it was, it was still me!

Although it was reassuring to know that we are perceived as a single individual and that Mother and Ferdinand would treat us the same, I could see it clearly — my other self was secretly pleased.

Sure, she pouted and whined about how "unfair" it was that she got scolded alone, but deep down she was happy — being treated like a different person would have hurt far more than a lecture ever could.

Still, this discovery came with a nasty little side effect:

From now on, even if only one of us messed up, both of us would be dragged into the scolding.Shared lectures, shared doom. I sighed heavily... Honestly, even though she was the one getting the verbal beating, I felt every blow like it was aimed at me too.

After the scolding was over, she quickly tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, bringing up the "good news" — how we had managed to run all the way from the Ravenclaw tower to the classroom without collapsing.  She practically declared it a heroic feat, insisting it wasn’t just a little jog but a full-blown life-or-death marathon across enemy territory.

To my surprise, that actually seemed to catch Ferdinand’s attention, and Mother’s stern face softened into something thoughtful. Score one for desperate distraction tactics.

For a horrifying moment, I felt her consider using The Forbidden Topic — the whole mess with the gods at the Sorting Ceremony. I was ready to slam my head against a wall. Had she learned nothing?!

"I told you," I muttered inside our mind space, "playing that card would be tempting fate way too much."

Thankfully, she listened to reason for once. Revealing that kind of chaos now would have been like throwing a barrel of fueled oil onto a wildfire. No, better to save that catastrophe for another time…

After being scolded by Alexandra, Mother, and Ferdinand, I started to feel sleepy. I took another glass of water — I was still hot; the fever hadn’t completely gone yet. Lying back down on my soft bed in the nursery, I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion take over.

I was awakened by the constant chirping of an animal — pooey, pooey, pooey! Annoyed, I opened my eyes, only to find a small golden shumil sitting on my pillow, chirping incessantly. The moment it noticed me looking, it stopped chirping and began to dissolve, leaving behind... a letter.

I must be dreaming… I sat up and rubbed my eyes with my sleeve.  No — I was still in the nursery. The light coming from the window was a soft orange; the sun had already started to set. I pinched the back of my hand to test if this was a dream, but the pulsing pain that followed told me it wasn’t.

A cold sweat broke over me as I stared at the letter, lying innocently where the shumil had been. With trembling hands, I picked it up and opened it.

I took a deep breath before starting to read. It was a letter from Mestionora.

As my eyes raced over the words, I felt my stomach twist into a tight knot. By the time I reached the end, my head was spinning. I wanted to throw up. I felt like I was going to faint again.

Panicking, I closed my eyes and threw myself into my mental space, storming from my control station to the one occupied by my other self. I tried calling her — but she didn’t pay me any mind. Through her screen, I could see she was completely absorbed in reading a book on her bed, utterly unaware of my growing panic. Frustrated, I grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her violently.

I managed to break her focus; she turned to look at me with an annoyed expression on her face — but I didn’t have time for this.

“Move! I need to talk to Ferdinand!” Without waiting, I pulled her by the arm to make her stand and sit aside.

“What’s going on?” she asked, frowning.

“No time! Check our memories — you’ll understand.”

A moment later, I found myself lying on my bed at the temple, the book my other self had been reading now resting on my lap. I took a brief moment to recollect myself — not only because of the panic still gripping me, but because changing places with my other self was extremely disorienting.

Setting the book down carefully, I reached for the bell on my night table and rang it.
Fran was the one who came to see me.

“Fran, please call Ferdinand. I need to speak with him immediately.”

“Are you feeling unwell, Lady Rozemyne?” Fran asked, his voice filled with concern.

“I need to tell him something urgent. Please call him right away.” Fran must have sensed the seriousness in my voice because he immediately knelt and left the room without further questions.

I quickly called Monica to help me change into something more proper to receive Ferdinand.

By the time Ferdinand entered my room, I was seated at the table with an untouched cup of tea in front of me. He looked visibly annoyed at being summoned so suddenly.

I paid no mind to his mood and ordered the room to be cleared and requested the use of a sound-blocking magic tool. Once we were alone, I began.

“I am the Rozemyne who was at Hogwarts,” I said, meeting his eyes seriously. Then, I quickly explained how I had swapped places with my other self.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Ferdinand said, sounding intrigued.

“Neither did I. This is the first time I do this... but that’s not important right now. I came because there’s something urgent I need to tell you.”

And so, I began to recount what had happened during the Sorting Ceremony.

Ferdinand’s expression darkened as I spoke. I had never seen such coldness in his eyes. The elegant smile he wore did nothing to soften the weight of his stare—if anything, it made the atmosphere more suffocating. My body tensed instinctively, as though bracing for impact.

“Why did you not report this, Rozemyne?”
His voice was low and sharp, stripped of any warmth. A chill ran down my spine.

“I… I was too stunned to even comprehend what had happened,” I stammered. “And it was already late when we returned to our rooms. I didn’t want to cause panic… I wasn’t going to stay silent, I swear. I planned to tell Mother today, but I fainted, and everyone was already furious with me. I didn’t want to add more to it…”

“Enough,” Ferdinand said curtly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your reasons do not matter. What I need to know now is why you’re informing me only at this moment.”

“Mestionora sent me a letter just before I came here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then let me see it.”

Before I could speak again, my other self had already acted. She took control in Hogwarts and made the letter appear on the table before Ferdinand.

He read in silence. With each line, his expression grew darker. His hand tightened around the parchment to the point I feared he might tear it in two. When he reached the end, he stood wordlessly. There was no outrage, no lecture—just a terrifying, focused calm.

Without a single word, he turned and left the room. His face was grim, and under his breath, I heard him curse softly.

I remained seated, staring at the door he had walked through, unsure of what to think or feel.

After a moment, I allowed myself to fall back into the mental space and switched again with Myne Two, returning to Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Pov Ferdinand 

My dearest Myne,

First of all, I owe you an apology. It took me far too long to understand something important: when I made you a demigoddess, I didn’t just grant you divine mana—I made you my daughter.

Let me be clear. When I made you a demigoddess, I did more than grant you divine mana—I reshaped your body entirely. In doing so, you became my first mortal child. Well… “mortal” may not be entirely accurate, since you resemble a divine being more than a human now. But you understand what I mean.

I’m sorry it took me so long to realize this. But worry not—I have no intention of being a neglectful mother. There are many things I must teach you, and for that, you must continue your studies. What you learn at Hogwarts and in the Holy Land will help prepare you for what’s to come.

As for when we’ll begin... that’s still uncertain. The Supreme Couple didn’t take kindly to our interference with that hat. We’ve been placed under a divine reprimand—a sort of time-out. Still, I do not regret ensuring you were placed where you belong. You are a child of wisdom, and Hogwarts’ house of Ravenclaw suits you better than any other.

What I do regret is how I went about it. A good mother must recognize when her actions cause harm, even if her intentions were just. 

But I won’t lie to you, nor will I pretend I’ve done everything right. That’s not the kind of mother I wish to be. I will do better—from now on.

Don’t worry, my sweet girl. Your great-grandparents won’t stay upset for long. I’ll persuade them to allow me to visit—it is, after all, for the sake of their great-granddaughter.

I love you. I’ll be in touch soon.

P.S.

When we meet again, please call me Mom or Mesti. It would make me very happy.

With each sentence I read from that damned letter, I felt my rage rise—steadily, violently. Never before had I been so angry.

I could feel the veins in my head pulsing, my mana beginning to rampage, wild and unfocused. It clawed beneath my skin, eager to be released. I could barely conceal the storm behind my usual noble mask.

My hands were gripping the letter so tightly that the paper creaked and crumpled, threatening to tear apart between my fingers.

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. I had to get out. If I stayed any longer, I would lose control—and the last thing I wanted was to crush Rozemyne with my mana by accident.

"That stupid, thoughtless goddess," I spat under my breath, each word thick with venom.

I stormed to my chambers and went straight to the hidden room. The moment the door shut behind me, I unleashed everything. My mana burst forth in violent waves, and I dumped it into the high-quality feystones I had stored for emergencies. One after another, they turned to gold dust in my hands.

Only once the last stone shattered did the pressure in my chest begin to ease. My mana settled. My anger, only slightly. I couldn't remember the last time I had lost control like this. I tossed the letter onto my desk and dropped heavily into my chair. Even the sight of that cursed paper made my blood boil again.

How dare she call herself Rozemyne’s mother? After everything she’s done—after the unbearable burden she placed upon her?

I could still remember it vividly. The screams. The raw, agonized screams that tore from Rozemyne’s throat as Mestionora reshaped her under the guise of granting her a blessing. Her mana had surged out of control, her skin bubbling as if it were boiling from within. And me, standing there—helpless—watching my ward suffer. Watching her ascend the stairway, one footstep away from death.

Just the memory of it still drags me into a pit of despair.

And now—now this goddess dares to write to her. Smiling. Claiming love. Asking to be called “Mom.”

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.

If that had not been enough, there was the catastrophic aftermath of Rozemyne’s reckless attempt to master the power that had been forced upon her.

I found her collapsed on the floor of her hidden room, clutching a trash bin like her life depended on it. The stench of bile hung in the air, vomit stained her clothes and face, and there was blood—trickling from her nose and one ear. Her eyes, wide and glassy, were bathed in tears.

The sight struck me with horrifying familiarity.

It dragged me back to a memory I had long buried.

The first times Veronica poisoned my food, shortly after I began living in the castle—I had crawled into my own hidden room, body trembling, vision spinning. The nausea, the violent retching, the helplessness… It was all there again. Different circumstances, yes. But the same feeling.

The same violation.

The same lonely, silent pain.

And now she was reliving it—my ward, my burdened, fragile Rozemyne.

It was unbearable.

In the months that followed, I found myself checking on her more often—personally verifying her health, much to Alexandra’s irritation as her assigned doctor. But I could not rest easy unless I saw for myself that she was well.

I began taking on more of her responsibilities, reducing her workload whenever possible. At the slightest sign of fatigue or illness, I ordered her to rest. Sylvester was the first to accuse me of becoming overprotective, and Karstedt soon followed. Though in his case, he also revealed that Elvira had grown no better—if anything, she had become even more fiercely protective of Rozemyne than I had.

And when I accompanied her to that school—Hogwarts—every instinct in my body screamed at me not to let her go alone.

That night, when she failed to contact Elvira as expected, I could not suppress my growing unease. It was only thanks to one of her other selves—one of the omnipresent manifestations —that we learned she was safe. “She was tired,” the oher Rozemyne said. “She just needed rest.”

At the time, I accepted it.

But now I know that wasn’t the full story.

And I cannot help the anger that wells up—quiet, precise, and cold—that she didn’t tell us immediately about the gods interfering with her.

All in all, I could feel the anger rising in me again as I thought over today’s events.

First, there was the collapse of the Rozemyne who had stayed in Ehrenfest during her music lesson. Then came Alexandra’s report that the version of her in Hogwarts had also fainted. It put us all on edge.

And yet, when we finally learned the reason for her collapse, it was hard not to feel utterly exasperated by her antics. The fact that she even had the gall to try and blame it all on the Rozemyne at Hogwarts only added fuel to the fire.

“I’m the version that didn’t cause trouble,” she said.

I bit back my frustration, but in the end, I could not let it go unaddressed.

“Regardless of which version you claim to be, your existence is tied across all realities. Your body, your mana, and your soul are one. When one falters, all falter. When one causes trouble, all are responsible. There is no ‘other you’ to blame, Rozemyne. Only you—and your failure to protect yourself.”

Maybe Elvira and I were a little harsher than we usually would be... Are we making the same mistakes again? Trying to guide Rozemyne by scolding her, by pressing her into molds that were never meant to fit?

It felt like a step backward. A sharp, painful reminder that progress isn't always linear—and that fear often makes us regress.

I sighed, the sound heavy in the silence of my hidden room.

I must not forget—especially not I—that her instincts, her logic, her common sense... none of it was shaped here. This world, with its rigid structures and unspoken expectations, is not the one she calls home. Not truly. Yurgenschmidt is more alien to her than the world she once knew—a world without magic, yes, but far closer in thought and structure to Hogwarts than to Ehrenfest. She was born there. Raised there. Lived freely there.

And yet, despite knowing this, we continue to treat her as if she should adapt effortlessly. As if her mind and soul were forged in our world, not another.

And now, instead of offering her rest, clarity, and support, she receives a letter—from that annoying goddess.

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temple.

Now I must deal with Mestionora and whatever madness she intends next. The gods, in their whimsy and madness, are proving to be even more erratic than I’d feared. We are ruled by rampaging gremlins. Divine, radiant, reckless gremlins.

I had been planning to confront that maddening shrub during the Interduchy Tournament—to demand answers about this whole absurd business of Rozemyne studying in another world. But now… now I couldn’t afford to wait.

That letter left me with a sinking feeling, especially the line: “There are many things I must teach you, and for that, you must continue your studies. What you learn at Hogwarts and in the Holy Land will help prepare you for what’s to come.”

Prepare her for what?

What does Mestionora mean by that? Is she planning to burden Rozemyne with even more of her divine whims? Has she not done enough?

The letter also claimed that she and the others who interfered during the Sorting Ceremony were being punished by the Supreme Couple—cut off from Rozemyne for now. A small mercy… but for how long?

It would be ideal if that punishment lasted years. Decades. Centuries. Far into the future where Rozemyne would no longer be theirs to manipulate. But knowing how things have unfolded so far, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mestionora appeared before her again tomorrow.

I took the letter from my desk and sent an ordonnanz to Sylvester, requesting an urgent audience. After leaving my hidden room, I instructed my attendants to me change me into my noble attire.

At the castle, I walked straight to his office. The scholars had already been dismiss  from the room. Inside, Sylvester sat slouched behind his desk, the picture of exhaustion. Karstedt stood behind him, arms crossed and eyebrows slightly raised—as if already bracing for impact.

“Please tell me you’re just here to yell about one of Rozemyne’s regular outbursts,” Sylvester said, not even lifting his head. “It’s almost time for dinner. I’d like to eat without my stomach tying itself in knots.”

Wordlessly, I placed a sound-blocking tool on his desk, followed by a small vial of stomach medicine. Sylvester stared at the vial, then slowly looked up at me. “You brought medicine. That’s not good sign.”

“It isn’t.”

Once Sylvester had the sound-blocking tool in hand, I began recounting the events that had brought me here. I explained how the gods had interfered with Rozemyne on her very first night at that school—how the Rozemyne in the other world had switched places with the one here in Ehrenfest, just to deliver a letter from Mestionora. I then placed the letter on the desk in front of him.

Sylvester took it with trembling hands, his expression tightening with each passing moment. He read it once. Then again. A third time. His eyes scanned the lines as if hoping they would change upon repetition. When they didn’t, he reached for the vial of stomach medicine I’d brought and downed it in one swift motion.

Then he slammed his hand against the desk.

“What is wrong with the gods?! Why are they acting like rampaging gremlins?!” he barked, practically growling the words. “And what is this madness about Rozemyne being Mestionora’s daughter now? Are they just rewriting fate on a whim like it’s some kind of game?!”

“A game... That’s a very accurate way to put it, Sylvester,” I replied, my voice low, clipped, and cold enough to freeze a room. “First, there was the absurdity of her attending a school in another world—a world pulled straight from a fictional book from her past life. And now this: the gods claiming her as one of their own. Mestionora dares to speak of love, dares to ask Rozemyne to call her mother, as though affection can excuse manipulation. They’re treating her like a plaything. ”

Sylvester’s fist slammed against the desk, his chair scraping loudly as he pushed himself up. His expression was thunderous.

“No. No, this is too far. We may not be able to fight the gods directly, but we will do something. I won’t sit back and watch my daughter be twisted and used like some damn  puppet!”

He pointed furiously at the letter. “And what’s this about Mestionora reshaping her body?! What has she done to her, Ferdinand? What kind of sick game  is she playing ?”

I took a breath, barely keeping my composure. “Whatever it is, I intend to find out. And rest assured—I will not allow this to continue unchecked. That’s why I’m asking you to let me go to the Royal Academy. I might find answers there.”

Sylvester blinked, clearly not expecting that.

“The Royal Academy...? Ferdinand, do you even realize what you're asking? I can’t send you there outside the school term. And even if I could, I would still need the Zent’s permission. Any unauthorized incursion could be seen as an attempt to invade the Sovereignty!”

“I know,” I said sharply. “I’m well aware of the risks. But the longer we wait, the more danger Rozemyne may face. Mestionora has already interfered multiple occasions —we don’t know when she’ll strike again. We can’t afford complacency. I need you to trust me.”

Sylvester let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his temples before meeting my eyes.

“I do trust you, Ferdinand. More than anyone. If you say this is necessary, I’ll believe you. But... I want to know what exactly you plan to do once you're there.”

I hesitated. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Sylvester’s expression darkened, his voice steady but unyielding.

“If this involves the gods in any way, I need to know. Not because I doubt you—but because they’re unpredictable. If something happens to you, if you vanish without a trace... I need to know where to look. What to prepare for.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off, his voice  cracking slightly with restrained emotion.

“Have you already forgotten what Mestionora did? She crushed the entire city just to have her way.  Tell me, Ferdinand—tell me I’m not going to lose my brother.”

I had never seen Sylvester this serious before. One glance at his expression told me that no excuse or evasion would sway him. He was past the point of tolerating half-truths—or so he thought. I exhaled slowly, then offered him a carefully measured version of events.

“During my fifth year at the Royal Academy, I became interested in the so-called Twenty Mysteries. I pursued them as a matter of academic inquiry. In the course of that research, I discovered a place known as the Garden of Beginnings. It is there that the former god Erwaermen currently resides.”

Sylvester’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait—are you saying you're planning to interrogate a god?!”

“Former god,” I corrected, my tone clipped. “But yes.”

He sprang to his feet. “How can you say that so casually, Ferdinand?! And where in the Royal Academy is this Garden of Beginnings supposed to be?!”

I crossed my arms, restraining a sigh. “Believe me, facing that self-important tree is the last thing I want. As for its location... even if I were inclined to share it, I couldn’t. Access is restricted. Certain conditions must be met.”

Sylvester groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Haah... You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” He dropped back into his chair with the air of a man who had lost a battle he hadn't agreed to fight. “Fine. I’ll submit a formal request. I’ll say you’re consulting with Hirschur on a research matter. I’ll also notify Benjamin to have the dorms reopened for you.”

I gave a curt nod in acknowledgment, but didn’t move. For a moment, I remained still, my gaze unfocused.

Then, quietly—perhaps more to myself than to him—I said,

“I wouldn’t do this without reason. I know the risks. But Rozemyne… she’s already shouldering more than she should. And now the gods intend to pull her deeper still. If there’s a way to shield her, even a little, then I have to try. She is... family. My family.”

Sylvester’s expression shifted—less stern now, touched by something gentler.

“Then go, Ferdinand,” he said. “But come back. That’s an order.”

Sylvester returned the sound-blocking tool to me with a muttered grumble, then turned to face Karstedt.

“Karstedt, would you be so kind as to fetch the bottle of whisky from that cabinet? My mind can no longer endure the absurdities of reality.”

Karstedt raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea. I’ll explain later... And we’d best inform Elvira as well—if we delay, she’ll have our heads.”

Karstedt and I exchanged a glance, then nodded, both of us wearing equally grim expressions.

The following day, we informed Elvira and Karstedt about the gods’ interference with Rozemyne. Karstedt nearly fainted from the shock, gripping the edge of a chair to stay upright. Elvira, on the other hand, went completely still. The murderous look in her eyes pierced through the perfect lady's mask  she always wore. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, cold, and venomous—each word dripping with fury as she expressed her deep displeasure at Mestionora’s claim to Rozemyne. "To call her daughter... as if she had the right."

Five days later, Sylvester’s formal request for me to visit the Royal Academy was approved. I departed that very same day at the sixth bell

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

The infirmary was in total darkness when I woke up. The entire room was still and silent, save for a faint orange light flickering weakly nearby. I lay on my back, watching the light dance across the ceiling in soft, trembling patterns.

Despite having slept most of the previous day, I felt exhausted—both physically and mentally. My night had been restless, filled with unease and half-formed dreams. I had only managed to fall back asleep thanks to the blessing of Schlaftraum that Alexandra bestowed upon me, granting me a few precious hours of dreamless rest.

Tears began to slip down my cheeks.

Why did Ferdinand react like that?

After reading the letter Mestionora sent me, his expression changed—sharply, frighteningly. I had never seen that look on his face before. Then, without saying a single word, he stood up and left the room.

He left me.

That alone was enough to make my chest ache.

Was he… running away from me? Could he no longer bear to be in the same room?

The letter said that, in addition to gifting me with divine mana, Mestionora reshaped my entire body. What does that mean? Have I become some sort of monster? What if the transformation isn’t finished yet, and I’m going to become something completely inhuman?

Is that why Ferdinand ran? Because he no longer sees me as a person, but as some kind of unnatural being?

Will he abandon me?

And what about my family? Will they react the same way? Have I lost them too? Have I lost my home—my place to belong?

The despair I was feeling quickly turned into anger—toward Mestionora… and toward everything.

Why did she have to interfere in my life like this?!

I didn’t ask for any of this! And yet she still had the gall to claim she intended to be a mother to me. That she would guide me. That she wanted me to call her Mom —after literally turning my entire life upside down…

Why?

Is there even a reason for me to keep pretending everything is fine? To keep playing along with this charade?

I hate this situation. I hate this place.

I couldn’t care less about studying magic at Hogwarts. I don’t care about wands, or houses, or classes. The only thing I want—the one thing I truly want—is to go home. I want all of this to be just some bizarre, impossible dream.

…Haaaah.

It’s funny, though. When I first woke up as Myne, if someone had offered me a chance to return to Earth, I would have taken it without a second thought.

Maybe this isn’t the version of Earth I once knew, but… in some strange way, I’ve felt more comfortable here than I ever did in Yurgenschmidt. When I crossed into this world, I was excited . Hogwarts had a library—an enormous one! The thought of having access not only to magical bookstores but also to muggle ones… it felt like a dream come true.

And the food—just the possibility of eating Japanese food again made me happy. Part of me even hoped I’d find a way to visit Japan someday. That greedy, nostalgic part of me clung to that tiny hope.

But despite all of that…

I feel more alone and lost than ever before.

No matter which world I’m in, I never seem to belong . I keep getting torn away from one life into another, over and over—always starting again, always pretending I’m fine. Earth, Yurgenschmidt, here…

How many times do I have to lose everything?

And how many more versions of myself will I have to become, just to survive?

Out of nowhere, I was pulled into my mental space.

Everything around me shifted in an instant—the weight of my body disappeared, the cold air, the flickering infirmary lights—all of it faded, and I was there… sitting in that familiar inner room that only existed within me.

“Myne Prime… that’s enough.”

The voice came gently, but firmly. Myne Two was standing in front of me, her expression unusually serious. Before I could react, she pulled me from my chair and wrapped her arms around me.

A hug.

Warm. Steady. Real in a way nothing else felt right now.

“Please stop,” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling with concern. “Don’t let your own thoughts drag you deeper into despair. The most painful battles are always the ones we fight inside ourselves… and I know this one hurts. But you can’t keep sinking like this. You have to breathe. You have to come back.”

Her arms around me were comforting, steadying—but the chaos inside me didn’t vanish. The ache in my chest remained. The hollow, gnawing fear. The anger, the confusion. All of it was still there.

“I… I can’t,” I sobbed, clinging to her like a drowning child. “How am I supposed to keep my head above water when everything around me is falling apart? When everything I thought was safe is breaking into pieces and crushing me?”

My voice cracked. I could barely breathe through the tears.

She patted my head gently, and that simple touch broke whatever fragile wall I had left. I started crying—really crying. Ugly, raw sobs that I couldn’t stop, not even if I wanted to.

I cried until there were no more tears left to give. Until my throat ached and my chest burned.

“There, there,” she murmured softly, rocking me slightly. “It’s going to be okay… Everything’s going to be fine.”

“How can you say that?” I croaked, my voice rough and trembling. “Didn’t you see how Ferdinand—he just left . He looked so angry… and then he just ran away without a word. Like I was—like I was something he couldn’t even look at.”

“I saw it,” Myne Two said gently. “Just like I see you now, drowning in a glass of water.”

Her calm voice lit a spark of anger in my chest.

“Are you saying I’m overreacting ?! That this is all in my head?!”

“In a way… yes,” she said, not backing down. “I don’t believe Ferdinand, or anyone in our family, would abandon us so easily. He was furious, that much is true—but not at you , Myne. He was angry at the gods. At Mestionora, specifically. For what she did to us…”

I opened my mouth to argue, but her eyes were steady, firm.

“Think about it. Do you really believe the people who raised us, who protected us through everything, would suddenly cast us aside just because the gods changed our form? Do you think Ferdinand—who’s stood by you through so much—would leave you now?”

My hands trembled.

“I… I don’t know anymore…”

“I do,” she said. “I don’t think our family will reject us. Honestly, I think they’re more likely to raise their hands against the gods themselves before turning their backs on us.”

Myne Two let out a long, tired sigh.

“I can tell my words haven’t convinced you… but Myne Prime, this isn’t the first time we’ve faced something like this. And every single time, we’ve feared the worst.”

She stepped back just enough to look me in the eyes, her expression calm but serious.

“Remember when we first started making plant paper, and Lutz began to suspect we weren’t the original Myne? We panicked. We had nightmares. We even considered surrendering to the Devouring to avoid being found out.”

I looked down, the memory still sharp.

“But then he confronted us—and after we explained the truth, he still accepted us. As his Myne . Just as we were.”

Her voice softened.

“And if that’s not enough proof for you, I’ve got two more recent examples. When both Mother and Charlotte learned not just about our origins as a commoner, but about our memories as Urano… they still accepted us. They didn’t turn away.”

She smiled gently. “I’m 99.9% sure it won’t be any different this time.”

A quiet laugh escaped my throat, the first in what felt like days. “Only 99.9%? What about the remaining 0.1%?”

She laughed too, the sound light and genuine.

“Hey, I’m not a goddess of prophecy—I leave that kind of overconfidence to the actual gods. But 99.9% is still pretty solid. I mean, those are toothpaste commercial numbers.”

I blinked, then let out a surprised giggle. “So you're saying our odds of not being emotionally destroyed are dentist-approved?”

“Exactly! Four out of five imaginary dentists agree: our family still loves us.”

“But seriously… where is all this confidence and strength coming from? We’re supposed to be the same person, and yet… I don’t feel it. I just feel small and weak.”

“That’s because I’m you,” she replied, brushing a bit of hair from my face. ““I can see parts of ourselves that even you can't reach—hidden corners of who we are that you’ve buried without noticing. This strength and confidence? They’re yours—ours. If we hadn’t been strong all along, we never would’ve survived everything we’ve been through.”

My eyes widened at her words. A warm feeling bloomed in my chest, quieting the storm inside me. Some of the tightness in my throat began to ease.

“Looks like Alexandra is calling you back,” she said, pointing to the control station. “Time to return. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. And hey, if you're still nervous, I can always go face Ferdinand and the rest of the family for you.”

I let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob, and pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you.”

Then the world around me faded, and I returned to myself.

“Lady Rozemyne? Are you all right?” Alexandra’s voice pulled me fully back. “ You were staring blankly into space.”

“ I’m fine,” I said softly . “Just… thinking.”

She gave me a skeptical look and began performing a quick medical check-up. “Well, your fever’s gone. Physically, you’re fine.”

I gave a small smile. “ Mentally… getting there. ”

“I’m… not sure what you mean by that, my lady, ” Alexandra said, trying to smile despite the confusion in her eyes. “Should I be worried?”

I shook my head slowly. “ Pay no mind. Just a thoughtless comment… By the way, what time is it?”

Alexandra didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. “ I’m not sure, my lady. When I arrived, they gave me this device.”

 She pulled out what looked like a pocket watch. “ They said it was to measure time, but I don’t understand what these arrows and strange symbols mean.”

She handed it to me. It was 6:15 a.m. Another thing to add to the growing list of things I’ll have to teach Alexandra.

“I see. May I borrow it? I could ask someone to teach me how to read it… or would you rather ask Madam Pomfrey?”

“You can have it, my lady. I’d rather have you explain it than anyone from this place.”

Another thing for the list indeed. I’ll have to find a way to help Alexandra feel less wary of the people here—not just for her comfort, but to avoid misunderstandings in the future. What could I do to make her feel safer in this world?

“Do you think I can go back to my room? I’d like to prepare for today.”

Alexandra looked conflicted. “ To be honest, I would have liked for you to rest one more day,” she said, frowning. “But you do seem much better… Very well. But please, don’t overexert yourself. And more importantly—no running, and remember to use your highbeast.”

I averted my gaze in shame at her last comment and mumbled another apology. Alexandra didn’t say anything, just let out a soft sigh as she helped me change out of the hospital pajamas and into my school uniform. While she adjusted the sleeves and fastened the buttons, I hesitantly asked:

“How’s your schedule looking? I’d like to continue teaching you English. Is there a time or place where we could resume your lessons?”

To my surprise, Alexandra smiled instead of turning me down. She seemed to seriously consider it.

“So far, I don’t have much to do, ” she said, her hands busy straightening my collar. “Technically, I’m acting as Madam Pomfrey’s support as a healer, but the magic and potions of this world are so different from ours that she has no idea how to make use of me. So for now… you remain my only patient.”

She looked oddly relieved as she said it.

“Are you okay with that? Don’t you get bored?”

“A bit ” she admitted, her expression stiffening slightly. “ I don’t feel comfortable attending to these people… but don’t worry, my lady. I’m keeping myself occupied. Do you remember the idea you proposed? About opening a clinic in the lower city and in the noble quarters?”

I nodded.

“I’m currently working on a formal proposal for that.”

That gave me a great idea—no, a brilliant one. A way not only to thank Alexandra for coming with me to Hogwarts, but also to help her develop some tolerance for this world. More than ever, it was important for her to learn how to read English. I could gift her several medical books—not just from the magical world, but also from the mundane, muggle side. That way, her proposal for the clinic could improve and , just maybe, she would start engaging more with the people of this world through her research. Especially Madam Pomfrey.

And why stop there?

I could slip in a few other books—romances, history, maybe even some novels. She would never become a local, of course, but through reading, she might come to a mutual understanding with the inhabitants of this world.

Books, once again, had proven themselves to be the solution to all of my problems.

Praise be to Erwachlehren and Anhaltung! A small blessing shot from my ring without warning.

Alexandra sighed in exasperation.

"In that case, why don’t we resume your English lessons on Earthday? I believe they call it Sunday here," I suggested with a small smile. " I’ll prepare some learning materials to make it easier for you. And maybe… if you’d like, I could add a few books you might enjoy.

Alexandra accepted. Once she finished helping me dress up, I was about to say farewell, but she insisted on accompanying me back to the Ravenclaw common room. At the entrance of the infirmary, I summoned my highbeast, and together we made our way  toward the tower.

Once we arrived in front of the common room door, Alexandra seemed to remember something before turning back toward the infirmary.

“By the way, my lady, please be very mindful regarding the use of rejuvenating potions. Given the nature of your power—being in two places at once—Lord Ferdinand and I are concerned that it would be dangerously easy for you to reach a toxic dose without realizing it. We're currently working on a dosage plan to mitigate the risk, but in the meantime, please… be careful.”

She gave a brief bow and left. I turned to face the door.

The bronze eagle knocker came to life, stretching its wings with a soft metallic creak before speaking in a deep, echoing voice:

“I can hold countless worlds but weigh nothing at all.
I can be filled and emptied, yet I am never seen.
What am I?”

I blinked. My mind, still foggy from everything, needed a moment.  Countless worlds… weigh nothing… filled and emptied?

“Is it... a book?” I tried.

“A book has weight and form, ” the eagle replied, calm and unyielding. “ Try again.”

I frowned and crossed my arms. I have the feeling I'm going to end up hating this door. It's a good thing I don't have my grandfather's strength—otherwise, once my patience runs out, I fear I might smash it to pieces.

Holds worlds… never seen. Filled and emptied…

Was it… knowledge? No, that didn’t quite fit either. I tapped my foot, biting my lip. Then it clicked—not an object, but a space. Something more abstract.

“My mind?” I said slowly, uncertain.

“Indeed,” the eagle replied, satisfied. “Enter, seeker of wisdom.”

The door swung open, revealing the familiar quiet of the Ravenclaw common room.

I made my way toward the dormitory, pushing the door open quietly in case my roommates were still sleeping. The room was dim, curtains drawn, and the soft sound of even breathing told me the others were still deep in sleep. I placed my backpack at the foot of my bed and moved silently toward the bathroom to take a shower.

I returned to the room not long after. The bath had helped—I felt less tired, refreshed even. My roommates were awake this time and were beginning to get ready for the day. As soon as I entered, they all turned to look at me. Cho was the first to approach.

“You’re back! How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’m much better now, thank you for asking,” I replied with a small smile.

“It’s good to hear,” she said, clearly relieved. “After you fainted in the middle of class, everyone panicked. Even Professor McGonagall looked genuinely worried. And the nurse who came for you... she gave all of us this terrifying glare. I don’t think I’ve ever been so intimidated by a healer before.”

I went pale at her words, shame creeping up my spine.

“I’m so sorry… It was all my fault,” I said, lowering my gaze. “I’m… a rather sickly person, and when I realized I was running late, I dashed off to class without thinking about my health. It was reckless of me.”

Cho shook her head gently.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. No one blamed you—we were just worried. Honestly, we didn’t expect you to get up so soon after something like that.”

Cho had just finished reassuring me when Marietta spoke up, arms crossed, her tone sharper than I expected.

“Next time, try not to collapse in the middle of class. Some of us would prefer not to have a heart attack that early in the morning.”

Her words stung, and I turned toward her, guilt flaring again.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just—my health isn’t very stable and I wasn’t thinking clearly…”

Marietta let out a huff. “I get that. But maybe next time, think before you sprint across the castle. You scared half the class out of their wits—and that nurse looked ready to hex us all.”

Cho frowned.  “Marietta, come on. She didn’t do it on purpose.”

Marietta looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but didn’t say anything else. The silence hung heavy in the room for a moment.

I swallowed and gave a quiet, “I’ll be more careful.”

Cho looked relieved and was about to go back to her bed, but before she did, I called her.

Um… Cho? Can I ask you a favor?” I said softly, almost embarrassed.

Cho tilted her head and gave me a kind smile. “Of course.”

“Could I borrow your notes from yesterday’s classes? I… kind of missed everything.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll get them for you,” she said, then went over to her trunk.

When she handed me the notes, I thanked her and returned to my bed to finish getting ready. I was just tying my shoes when another one of my roommates approached. She was a little taller than me, with freckles scattered across her cheeks and a head full of curly brown hair. Her eyes sparkled with an intensity that immediately made my stomach twist.

They reminded me far too much of Hartmut.

That alone made me tense up.

“Hi. I’m glad you’re okay,” she said in a quiet but eager voice, stepping closer than I liked.

Her bright eyes scanned my face, almost as if trying to read me like a book.

“If you don’t mind…” she continued, voice lower now, “I was wondering if you could tell me more about the spell you cast before you collapsed yesterday.”

Without waiting for me to answer, she started talking again—fast and high-pitched, her words tumbling over each other like a rushing river.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before! I mean, I’ve read about wizards who can cast without wands, but this —this was something else entirely! You used a ring ! A ring ! That’s fascinating!”

She leaned in, eyes gleaming, and pointed at my left hand.

“Is the ring made from some kind of special material? Is the secret in the stone or the whole structure? Is it alchemical? Enchanted? Maybe it channels magic directly? Oh! Is it bonded to your magical core?”

Before I could even blink, she jumped to the next topic.

“And that spell —it was so long! Way too long to be a regular incantation. And the way it sounded—it wasn’t English, or Latin, or anything I’ve heard. Was it a whole other language? What were you saying? Was it ancient? Invented? Did your parents teach you? Or—wait—was it spontaneous? Did you just create it in the moment? That would be amazing !”

As she spoke, the freckled girl kept inching closer and closer, practically vibrating with excitement. I half expected her to start salivating .

“Enough!”

A sharp voice sliced through the air. The girl froze mid-ramble, her head jerking from side to side like a startled animal.

The girl who slept in the bed next to mine stepped forward. Her arms were crossed, her expression cold and unamused.

“She just got out of the infirmary. Try using some common sense and leave her alone. You’re clearly overwhelming her.”

The freckled girl's eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean to…”

She quickly backed off, flustered, and began apologizing to me. I accepted with a small nod and turned toward the girl who had stepped in.

“I didn’t do it for you ,” she said flatly, already turning away. “I just didn’t want to start my day listening to someone babble like a lunatic.”

As she walked off, I barely caught the bitter mutter under her breath:

“Magic ruined everything… and they all act like we’re lucky to be here.

Apparently, the freckled girl heard Lara’s bitter remark too, because she turned to look at her with the kind of expression one gives after being deeply insulted.

Once she recovered, she turned back to me with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry… I just really love magic, and sometimes I get a little carried away. If you don’t mind, would you still be willing to answer my questions?”

“As long as you don’t give me that wild look like I’m some kind of lab rat, I’d be happy to,” I said with a small giggle.

The girl laughed too. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” She extended her hand, and I shook it.

“By the way, I don’t think I introduced myself—my name’s Anastasia Zarkovitch, but everyone just calls me Anya.”

“Nice to meet you, Anya. I’m Rozemyne Linkberg… but my family and friends call me Myne.”

Anya, now a bit calmer, let me finish getting ready for the day. I swapped out the books I would need and, this time, I made sure not to forget my rejuvenation potion and a couple of stamina potions—just in case.

Once we stepped out of the dormitory, Anya and I made our way toward the Great Hall for breakfast. On the way, I had a short internal debate with myself over whether or not I should summon my wolfbus. After considering what happened yesterday, I decided to go ahead and summon my highbeast. The last thing I needed was to end up in the infirmary again.

The moment the highbeast appeared, Anya’s eyes lit up and she started sparkling again, clearly about to launch into another barrage of questions. I quickly raised a finger.

“Remember the deal,” I said. “You can ask me all your questions later— after breakfast.”

Anya pouted slightly but nodded. “Fine… but I’m keeping track!”

Chapter Text

POV Rozemyne 

Ever since I became a noble, my highbeast has been an essential tool in my daily life. I use it not only to travel around the duchy to fulfill my duties as High Bishop—and, more importantly, to expand the printing industry—but even just to move around the castle and the Linkberg estate due to my poor health.

Well, that used to be the case. Ever since Alexandra became my doctor, my health has been improving, and I haven’t needed to rely on it as much.

…Ah, wait. Thanks to Mestionora, I’m back to square one.

Ugh

Lessy—now Ōkami-kun —has, quite literally, been my legs. In a way, he's like a friend who's always there for me. When I was too weak to stand, when I couldn’t walk for more than a few steps without collapsing, he carried me without question. Whether it was flying across the duchy or just getting from one room to another in the castle, he was always there.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when my previous highbeast’s feystone turned into golden dust. One moment he was there… and the next, gone—undone by the changes Mestionora made to my mana.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

The grief hit harder than I expected. It wasn’t just a tool disappearing—it felt like I’d lost someone who had been with me through everything, quietly supporting me without complaint.

So when I was granted a new highbeast, I felt a rush of happiness—like seeing someone dear to me after a very long time.

That said, I’m not particularly eager to use Ōkami-kun here. In fact, I planned to use him as little as possible—and only when absolutely necessary.

The reason? To avoid drawing too much attention.

Before I left, both Mother and Ferdinand were very clear: I had to hide the fact that I’m from another world. We even spent an entire evening crafting a detailed cover story to explain my background in case anyone asked about my home. I was also explicitly told not to use magic from our world here—at least not without a very good reason.

And I didn’t even last a single day before I messed it up.

During my first class at Hogwarts, I collapsed. But before that, I instinctively used my magic to call Alexandra for help. I was scared, in pain, and not thinking clearly… but still. That was the first and very immediate breach of our agreement.

Using Ōkami-kun , on the other hand, had been negotiated in advance. My parents secured special permission from Headmaster Dumbledore, so I was technically allowed to ride him on school grounds. Still, I knew the moment I started using my highbeast, I’d be bombarded with questions: Where did I get it? What material was it made of?

All questions I wasn’t supposed to answer honestly.

So when I spotted Anya circling Ōkami-kun on my way to the Great Hall, I knew I was in trouble. Her expression was sharp and inquisitive—exactly the kind of look Ferdinand gets when he’s about to dissect someone’s excuses. At some point, she even pulled out a notebook and started jotting things down while muttering to herself.

I sighed.

Everyone says I’m a terrible liar, and honestly? They're right. Can you blame me? A good liar is basically a good storyteller, but one who also needs an excellent memory to keep their lies straight. And mine is… well, not great.

Maybe I should start blending in some half-truths. I hate how nobles use euphemisms for everything, but I have to admit—they’re surprisingly useful when you want to give vague answers without technically lying. And they’re perfect for creating enough confusion to fall back on plausible deniability if necessary.

Not that I can actually use those euphemisms—they rely on the names of the gods, and I’d just end up sounding even more like a weirdo...

Please, Anya, stop taking notes! You're making me feel so uncomfortable.

But of course, Anya couldn’t hear my internal cries. And to make matters worse, on our way to the Great Hall, several students stared at me in shock. A few even started to approach, clearly wanting to ask questions.

Before I could say a single word, Anya jumped in and abruptly drove them away, snapping that she had asked me first.

She was like a territorial predator—sharp-eyed, intense, and absolutely unwilling to share her catch. I wasn’t a person to her anymore; I was a curiosity she had claimed, and heaven help anyone who tried to take me away

I was starting to get a headache thanks to Anya’s relentless behavior.

Was there any chance I could escape before being subjected to what I knew would be an intense and exhausting interrogation? I began to silently draft an escape plan while we approached the doors to the Great Hall.

As soon as we reached them, I dismounted from my wolf bus, turned it back into feystone, and tucked it into my pocket.

The interior of the Great Hall was just as it had been during the Sorting Ceremony. Four long tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, one for each House. Above us floated the enchanted ceiling, mimicking the cloudy morning sky outside.

The banners hanging from the walls had changed, now bearing the green and silver of Slytherin, along with their serpent crest—probably because they had won the House Cup last year.

With Anya practically glued to my side, I made my way to the Ravenclaw table. She was visibly impatient, her notebook already open, quill at the ready.

On the table were enormous platters filled with food. There were fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, thick sausages, toast stacked like miniature towers, bowls of fruit and cereal, and glass jars of jam and golden honey. Several pitchers held what looked like orange juice, another seemed to be tea, and—

Praises be to the gods.

A coffee pot. Full to the brim. The scent alone nearly brought tears to my eyes.

I took my seat and quickly filled a plate. I wasn’t planning to eat too much—my other self in Ehrenfest would be waking up soon, and I didn’t want her to feel full from my side and miss out on enjoying her own breakfast.

So I chose a few light items: a slice of toast spread generously with jam, some slices of fruit, and of course, a steaming cup of coffee. I added milk and two spoons of sugar, gave it a gentle stir, then took a cautious sip.

...Perfect. Truly glorious. A divine gift in liquid form.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anya serving herself as well. Unlike me, she went for a proper portion of food—scrambled eggs with bacon, then reached for a croissant. She sliced it open with a knife and filled it with ham, a slice of cheese, and a generous amount of mayonnaise. She also poured herself a glass of juice and grabbed some fruit from the bowls on the table.

Then, she started eating. Fast.

'Eat slowly. It's not good to rush like that—you could choke,' I warned gently.

Anya, of course, ignored me completely and kept devouring her food at high speed.

I sighed and turned back to focus on my own breakfast

I took a bite of my toast, the jam sweet and slightly tangy against the warm crunch of the bread. It wasn't rose jam, but it was still pleasant enough. I followed it with a few pieces of fruit—grapes, a slice of apple, and something orange that tasted like a cross between a sweet carrot and a tart peach.

Everything here was subtly different from Ehrenfest, and though I missed familiar flavors, I didn’t mind the change. I could appreciate this world's food, even if the bread wasn’t as soft as the one Ella made for me.

I nibbled at my breakfast slowly, pacing myself with practiced care. Eating too quickly never sat well with my body, and besides, I enjoyed the quiet moments like this—when the world didn’t demand too much of me and I could simply sit, eat, and think.

After finishing my toast and fruit, I reached for my cup and took a careful sip. The coffee was still warm, sweetened just enough, and blended perfectly with milk. I closed my eyes briefly, savoring it.

This was peace. This was manageable. I could do this.

I took one last sip from my cup, letting the lingering taste of coffee warm me from the inside out.

Just as I finished my cup of coffee and placed it gently on the table, a familiarly annoying voice sounded behind me.

“Well, well… if it isn’t the little pampered princess herself.”

Ah, perfect. Just when my breakfast had ended on such a pleasant note.

I turned to face the newcomer, and of course—it was that rude girl from the clothing shop. What was her name again? Beata? Bettina? I had it right on the tip of my tongue…
Beatrice. Yes, that was it. Beatrice.

“Well, good morning to you too,” I said with a calm smile. “You know, it’s good manners to greet someone before launching into petty remarks.”

“I reserve my good manners for people who actually matter,” Beatrice said with a smug smile curling on her lips.

“By the way, little princess—didn’t you tell me when we met that you could manage just fine at Hogwarts? Not even a single day passed before the little mommy’s girl fainted…”

“Hey!” Anya stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. Her eyes flashed with anger. “She wasn’t feeling well yesterday. Mocking someone for being sick? That’s low”

Beatrice gave an exaggerated blink, feigning innocence. “Oh dear, how precious. The little princess has a bodyguard now?” Her smirk deepened as she leaned slightly closer. “Tell me, do you growl and bite, or just bark?”

I sighed and looked at her with flat eyes. “Are you done? I’d really like to enjoy another cup of coffee and chat with my friend now.”

Beatrice scoffed. “Believe me, I’m not here because I want to be.” She crossed her arms and added, “Professor McGonagall asked me—personally—to tell you that she wants to speak with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, the gall of that woman… I’m not a house-elf to be sent running errands, but here I am.”

She gave a theatrical bow and turned away, muttering something under her breath as she walked off.

I turned my gaze toward the staff table. Professor McGonagall was speaking with the professor seated next to her, but her conversation ended quickly. She scanned the Great Hall, and the moment her eyes landed on me, she gestured for me to come over.

“Sorry, Anya… I’ll be back,” I said quietly.

I stood up and made my way to where the professor was seated. My heart pounded anxiously in my chest—I hadn’t expected to face her so soon. I definitely wasn’t ready for the scolding that was surely coming after yesterday.

“Good morning, Professor,” I greeted her, my voice hesitant.

“Good morning, Miss Linkberg. It’s good to see you looking well.”

“Thank you, Professor... and I’m sorry for what happened yesterday.”

She gave a long sigh. “Let me tell you this—throughout my many years of teaching, I’ve seen students do their fair share of reckless, foolish things. But none of them have ever scared me quite like you did. I think I lost a few years of my life yesterday.”

“I’m deeply sorry, Professor,” I said, bowing my head. Guilt weighed heavily on me.

“It’s not my intention to scold you,” she said with another sigh. “Still, it was quite the shock, seeing you burst into my classroom like that. From your earlier visit, it was clear how delicate your health was. In hindsight, I suppose part of the blame falls on me for not acting more carefully. Running like that—was that what made you collapse?”

“…Yes,” I admitted softly.

“You need to take better care of yourself—not just for your own sake, but for your family’s as well. I can tell how much they worry about you. In fact, your mother sent me a rather… passionate letter.”

"I'll be more careful," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

The professor nodded, but her expression remained stern.

"Is that all, Professor?" I asked, hoping—perhaps in vain—that I might be dismissed.

"No. I want you to come to my office at the end of the day. If I recall correctly, your last class finishes at 4 p.m."

I tried to remember today’s schedule, frowning a little. Then I shook my head. "No, Professor, I believe I still have one more class after that."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. With a swift motion of her wand, a piece of parchment appeared in her hand.

"No, Miss Linkberg. That class is an elective. It doesn’t begin until next week. Didn’t the prefect explain this to you?"

I averted my eyes. "...I think I got distracted."

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone sharp but not unkind.

"Miss Linkberg, I understand that everything must feel overwhelming right now—new country, new school, new routines—but you need to pay attention. If you continue to get ‘distracted,’ you’ll miss important details, and in this castle, that can be dangerous. I expect better from you."

"Sorry… may I inquire why you wish to speak with me in your office?"

“There are a few important matters I need to settle with you,” she replied, her tone giving no room for negotiation.

I was allowed to leave after that. Once I stepped away, I pulled out the pocket watch I had borrowed from Alexandra. It was almost time for our first class—which, to my dismay, was a double session of Potions.

Anya and I left the Great Hall together. This time, I didn’t summon my highbeast. The hallway was flooded with students heading to class, and my wolf bus would’ve just gotten in the way.

The Potions classroom wasn’t far from the Great Hall, just like it had been described in the books. We had to descend into the dungeons, where the air grew colder and damper with every step. Outside the classroom, a handful of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students were already gathered, waiting.

Anya looked… disappointed. Her eyes were downcast, and she wore the expression of an abandoned kitten—clearly upset that I hadn’t upheld my end of the deal to answer her questions. Guilt prickled in my chest.

“If you want,” I offered quietly, “we can use this time to go over a few of your questions.”

Anya’s face lit up instantly. She didn’t waste a single moment—she pulled out her notebook and pen with the same enthusiasm she had shown when examining my highbeast.

“Okay, okay!” she said, practically bouncing in place. “First question: your ring. Is it made from a special material? And where did you get it?”

I considered the best way to answer without revealing too much. “The ring is made from a magical stone that’s quite common where I’m from. As for where I got it… my parents gave it to me when I turned seven.”

“And where did your parents get it?” Anya pressed on, her eyes practically glowing with curiosity.

“My mother made it,” I answered. “In my family, it’s sort of a tradition to give a ring to a child when they turn seven. It marks the transition from infancy to proper childhood.”

At that, Anya’s eyes sparkled even more. “So you know how to make rings? And besides the tradition, does it have another purpose? Why can you use magic with it?”

“For the time being, I don’t know how to make one myself. I’ll be taught when I’m older,” I said truthfully, then raised my fingers and made an X in front of my mouth. “But even if I knew, I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you. It’s a family secret, and I’m not allowed to share it with others.”

“As for the other uses of the ring,” I added, “it helps children get used to using magic. But the training we receive is very basic and only done under our parents’ supervision.”

Anya’s expression fell slightly at the mention of a secret she couldn’t pry open, but to her credit, she didn’t argue. Instead, she just scribbled something rapidly in her notebook, muttering under her breath.

“Fascinating…”

"And what sort of things do your parents teach you? That spell you used yesterday—was it something they taught you?" Anya’s excitement reignited, and just like in the morning, she began leaning in way too close, a wild gleam in her eyes.

"Well..."

What can I even say?! All the magic I cast involves praying to the gods—it’s deeply tied to my nature as someone from another world.

Come on, Myne, think! My brain kicked into overdrive, trying to find a way to divert this particular question.

"Like I told you, it’s very basic... just some simple domestic spells. For example, one that cleans really well. It's not something particularly special," I said, trying to sound casual. "And regarding the spell I cast yesterday... to be fair, I can’t really remember it clearly. The last thing I recall is asking for help."

Anya raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied. “Then what about that weird language you used?”

I clapped my hands and forced a smile. "Ah, that was probably just me slipping into my native language. It happens sometimes when I’m under stress. My parents decided to send me here to study, so I’m still adjusting."

A cold sweat slid down my back. Hopefully, that would be enough to stop her barrage of questions… at least for now.

Anya didn’t seem convinced by my answer. She was giving me an analytical look, eyes narrowed as if trying to read through me. She opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could speak, the students around us began to move. The heavy wooden door to the classroom had just creaked open, and a quiet murmur spread as everyone filed in.

Saved by the bell, I thought with a silent sigh of relief.

 The air was damp and carried the scent of earth and something faintly metallic. Stone walls surrounded us, their surfaces dark and worn by time. Shelves lined the sides of the room, packed with all manner of curious ingredients: pickled roots, powdered minerals, and herbs tied in bundles to dry. The lighting was dim, with only a few lanterns casting a yellowish glow, giving the space a rather ominous feel.

The center of the classroom was filled with rows of long, heavy wooden tables, each with enough space for several students to share a cauldron and supplies. Iron sinks were fixed to the walls, and a small blackboard stood at the front of the room, still blank. It was colder than the rest of the castle; I could feel the chill settling into my skin.

We took our seats, and just as the last whispers faded, a door at the front of the classroom opened soundlessly.

Professor Snape entered like a shadow. He wore long black robes that billowed slightly as he walked, his expression unreadable and his presence commanding immediate silence. He reached the front desk and stood there for a moment, simply watching us. The silence grew heavier by the second.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class” he began, his voice low and deliberate, slicing through the quiet like a blade. “No silly incantations or theatrical gestures.”

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over us, eyes sharp and cold.

“I do not expect many of you to truly appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few…” —his eyes flickered, lingering on a few students, then briefly on me— “who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”

A murmur passed through the classroom.

“Potions,” he continued, “are not merely mixtures. They are transformations. Every ingredient carries meaning. Every motion matters. There is no room for mediocrity.”

The professor walked toward his desk and picked up a piece of parchment. He began to scan the page with his dark eyes, and slowly, a nasty smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping down the rows of students until it stopped on me.

“Linkberg. The anomaly among us.”

I immediately sat up straighter. The sound of his voice and the way he was looking at me made my skin crawl.

“Yes, Professor?” I replied, keeping my tone polite.

Snape took a few measured steps forward.

“Tell me, what is the most essential element in the preparation of a potion?”

I took a breath, trying to recall what I knew about the subject.

“The most important thing is to take into consideration the attributes of each ingredient and its—”

“Wrong!” Snape snapped.

“The correct answer is discipline. Discipline in measuring. Discipline in timing. And discipline in obedience to the recipe. All other variables are worthless if one lacks the ability to follow instructions.”

A murmur rippled among the students. Snape’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him seemed to cool. I bit the inside of my cheek and lowered my eyes.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you may prove it with your cauldron, not with words.”

The professor, with a wave of his wand, made a block of text appear on the blackboard. He began the lesson with a brief introduction to the principles of potion brewing, then moved on to explain a potion designed to enhance concentration, called Focus Draught.

After finishing the explanation, he wrote down the list of ingredients and the brewing procedure, then instructed us to begin preparing the potion with the remaining time in class.

I copied the procedure carefully into my notebook and started the assignment.

All right... let’s see. This isn’t all that different from the brewing I’ve done with Ferdinand.

Fill the cauldron with 500 ml of water. Light the fire and bring the water to a boil for three minutes. Once it starts steaming, add the verbena leaves and let them infuse for five minutes.

While I waited, I moved on to the next step: chopping the valerian root into evenly sized pieces.

Where 's my knife? Ah, here.

The roots looked quite rough—dense and fibrous. Fortunately, it was a mana knife. I began feeding it mana, feeling the familiar tingle as the blade awakened.

I curled my fingers around the root, mimicking the shape of a cat’s paw.

I pressed the knife to cut the roots— It sliced through them like butter. But not just the roots.

The blade kept going, cutting cleanly through the chopping board... and into the table beneath it.

Out of reflex, I let go of the knife. My eyes widened as I stared at it, now lodged deep in the wood of the table.

But I barely used any mana. This has never happened to me before.I glanced around quickly. A few students nearby had noticed. Anya’s eyes were wide in surprise, flicking between me and the knife. The boy sharing our table was frozen in place, his hands mid-motion. From somewhere behind me, I heard a whisper, then a quiet laugh.

I reached for the hilt, intending to pull it free—

But the moment my fingers brushed the handle, a cold, poisonous voice spoke from behind me.

“Miss Linkberg.”

Snape was standing right beside me, his eyes fixed on the knife.

“I don’t recall slicing the table into pieces being part of the instructions,” he said, his voice laced with venomous sarcasm.

Before I could react, he slapped my hand away from the hilt and pulled the blade out himself with a sharp motion.

“Perhaps next time, you’ll consider cutting the ingredients—and not the classroom furniture.”

I opened my mouth to apologize, but he raised a hand to silence me.

With a flick of his wand, the table repaired itself, the gouged wood smoothing over as if it had never been damaged.

I could feel the heat rising to my face. I was deeply embarrassed by what had happened.

Professor Snape was still looking at my knife with a deep frown etched across his face. “How on earth was it possible to cut through the sturdy wood of the table…?” he muttered, mostly to himself. “At first glance, it looks like any ordinary knife…”

He pointed his wand at it and murmured something under his breath. Nothing happened.

His frown deepened. There was now a flicker of confusion in his expression. He stared at the knife for a moment longer, expression unreadable, before placing it back on my table without another word.

I could still feel every pair of eyes lingering on me.

“Five points from Ravenclaw,” he said curtly, turning away. “And if you ever damage school property again, you’ll be grounded for the rest of the semester.”

Snape swept away to continue his rounds through the classroom.

I turned to look at the boy beside me.

“…Can I borrow your knife?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t move at first, but my words seemed to snap him out of his trance. He nodded awkwardly and handed it over, still staring at the table.

I wasn’t going to risk cutting through another desk. I’d have to ask my other self to fetch me a normal knife later.

Once again, I attempted to chop the valerian roots. I was right—they were tough. Too tough, actually. I had to enchant my hand just to get enough strength to slice through them.

Once done, I added them to my cauldron slowly and carefully.

Then I reached for my magic pen and began drawing the time cutting magic circles in the air.

Only when I was done did I realize what I had just done—I had used magic. Openly. Visibly.

I glanced around.  Professor Snape was across the room, scolding another student, and everyone else was too focused on their own cauldrons to notice.

I let out a long, quiet sigh, hoping to shake off the lingering weight of embarrassment.

Carefully, I picked up the mixing stick and began to stir the potion counterclockwise. My mana flowed steadily through it, and I made sure to keep the rhythm smooth and even. Mix until the potion turns pink. That part went quickly—the liquid shifted color almost instantly.

I blinked. Was it supposed to react that fast? No time to dwell on it.

Next: dust of moonstone, “in the shape of rain.” What does that even mean? Was it a metaphor? A riddle? Some sort of poetic instruction?  …I really didn’t want to raise my hand and ask. Not after everything.

So I just went with the obvious answer. I lifted a pinch of the silvery dust and sprinkled it gently over the cauldron, letting it fall like rain over the surface. There. That counts, right?

The mixture shimmered faintly. Encouraged, I resumed stirring—slow, even circles.
Mix until it turns green. It did, once again, faster than I expected.

I moved to the next step: adding forest mint, drop by careful drop. The moment each droplet touched the potion, it fizzed softly and sent up tiny curls of pale steam. I couldn’t help but smile a little. It reminded me of the first time I brewed with Ferdinand—how strict he was about controlling mana flow. Focus. You’re not in the temple now.

Finally, I placed the frosted flower petal on top of the liquid and stirred exactly three times counterclockwise, just like the instructions said.

Then I stopped. Let the potion rest for two minutes.

I pulled out my pocket watch, watching the seconds tick by in silence.

...

Why is it still blue?

The final result was supposed to be a deep, royal purple. Mine was definitely blue. Not just “a little off”— entirely wrong.

“…Blue?”

The voice, smooth and venomous, cut through my thoughts like a blade. 

I flinched.

Snape was standing right behind me. Again.

He looked down at my cauldron, his expression unreadable—except for the unmistakable narrowing of his eyes.

“Miss Linkberg,” he said, in that perfectly calm tone that made every word sound like an accusation. “Would you be so kind as to explain how, exactly, this ”—he motioned with one long finger to the shimmering blue liquid—“was meant to become a Focus Draught?”

I straightened my back. “I followed the instructions, Professor.”

“Did you?” he asked softly, almost too softly. “Because I was under the impression the final color should resemble amethyst, not a second-rate mouthwash.”

A few students nearby snorted. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to look at them.

Snape leaned in slightly, inspecting the potion with narrowed eyes. “And what, exactly, is that ?” he asked, pointing at the magic circle still hovering faintly above the cauldron.

“A... time-cutting magic circle,” I replied, my voice trembling.

“I see,” he said coldly. “Did I not make myself clear when I said I do not tolerate foolish wand-waving in this classroom? Are you deaf, or simply too dense to comprehend my words? Potions require discipline , not flashy spells and reckless improvisation.”

Someone laughed—an outright, sharp laugh. It was a girl. Beatrice.

Snape’s eyes snapped in her direction, turning even colder.

“Silence, Dee. Your potion is no better than this failed attempt.”

He raised his wand and pointed it at the floating magic circle.

“ Finite incantatem. ”

Nothing happened.

The circle remained, glowing faintly, pulsing in time with the potion. Snape’s expression darkened.

Why was it still there? The potion was finished. I wasn’t even supplying mana anymore.

Then, suddenly, the surface of the potion shimmered—the deep blue flashed into gold, brilliant and radiant. The magic circle flickered once and vanished.

Snape stared at the potion as it flashed from blue to gold. The magic circle blinked out of existence. He didn’t move.

His lip curled.  “Well. That’s certainly... unconventional.”

He leaned in slightly, eyeing the golden surface with clear distaste. “Second day of term, and already you’re reinventing potion-making. How very ambitious.”

His voice dropped to a cold whisper. “I don’t know what standards they set wherever you claim to come from, Miss Linkberg, but in this classroom, we do not conjure magical theatrics over a cauldron.”

He waved his wand and summoned a vial, drawing a careful sample of the potion. “This… performance will be evaluated. Thoroughly.”

He turned his back on me, already tucking the vial away. “Ten points from Ravenclaw. Clean your cauldron. You may leave.”

I didn’t even remember how I managed to clean everything so quickly. My hands moved on their own—scrubbing, storing, packing—until suddenly I was storming out of the classroom. I only came back to my senses when I realized I was no longer inside the castle.

I had summoned my highbeast and flown far enough to find myself in what looked like a quiet garden. I dismounted shakily and returned the highbeast to its magic stone form, slipping it back into my pocket. Then I collapsed onto a stone bench, my whole body trembling, heart racing. I wanted to cry—no, I needed to cry.

I took several deep, shaky breaths, but the tears had already started falling. I pulled out a handkerchief to dry them. My limbs were sore, and a crushing wave of exhaustion swept over me. I uncorked a vial of stamina potion and held it in my hand, but I didn’t drink it yet. I was having a full-blown panic attack.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing—but that only made it worse.

Images began to flash behind my eyelids. I was back in Ehrenfest. Father, Mother, and Ferdinand were standing before my other self, confronting her with the contents of Mestionora’s letter. The fear from that memory came rushing back, mixing with the panic already twisting in my chest. I felt sick. I wanted to throw up.

I braced myself, expecting to relive every harsh word. But instead… in a turn of events I had not anticipated, Mother stood up, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around my other self. Her expression was fierce with anger—but not at me . At Mestionora .

Father and Ferdinand joined her in her anger against the goddess. My other self, still wrapped in Mother’s arms, began to cry. She clung tightly to her, her voice cracking as she poured out all the fears and doubts I had felt that same morning. Mother gently rubbed her back and whispered soothing words, quieting every ache in our heart.

A wave of relief washed over me. Warmth bloomed in my chest.

Despite all her calm, brave words earlier today, Myne Two had been just as scared as I was. She’d only been pretending to be stronger. That realization made me feel a little guilty for falling apart, for believing all the cruel things my mind told me.

The vision began to fade. But before it vanished completely, Myne Two looked directly at me.

“I told you… they still love us.”

I opened my eyes, breathing easier. My heart felt lighter, and for the first time since this morning, I didn’t worry so much about what might happen during my time at Hogwarts. Honestly, what had truly weighed on me wasn’t the school or the classes—it was the fear of how my family would react to Mestionora’s letter. But now, that storm of anxiety had finally quieted.

I uncorked the vial and drank the stamina potion in one go. The tiredness started to vanish. I remained on the bench a few more moments, enjoying the garden's calm.

Then, I stood and made my way back toward the castle. It was almost time for my next class.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Basic Arithmancy was next, and it turned out to be little more than first-year secondary school math. After that came Magic Theory—and to my surprise, it was taught by none other than Professor Dumbledore.

After Magic Theory, we had a full hour for lunch. I wasn’t particularly hungry—Myne Two had already eaten, so I felt no need. I almost drifted toward the library, the thought of its towering shelves and hidden wonders tugging at my heart like a lullaby I couldn’t quite hear. But I sighed and changed course. Duty first. If I copied Cho’s notes now, I would be free later... free to lose myself in that sacred place, among unread stories and the gentle rustle of parchment waiting to be known.

It didn’t take me long to finish copying the notes—much faster than I’d expected. Once I was done, I searched for a cozy spot in the common room where the light fell just right, warming the pages like a silent invitation. I reached for one of the books tucked in the upper-left corner of the bookshelf—one I hadn’t yet touched—and allowed myself to sink into the comforting embrace of printed words. Each page opened a new door, and I wandered gladly through them, forgetting, for a blissful while, that I was anywhere at all.

I was so engrossed in reading that I nearly missed the bell marking the end of our break. With a start, I tucked the book away to finish later and rushed out, summoning my highbeast to carry me to the next class. I barely made it on time.

Magical History was next... and I must confess, Professor Binns is perhaps the most excruciatingly boring teacher I’ve ever encountered—not even in my Urano days did I meet a professor so gifted at lulling students to sleep. I drifted off more than once, and I wasn’t alone—the girl beside me nodded off as well, her head slowly leaning against her stack of books.

Our final class was Magical Ethics. By then, I was so thoroughly drained that I barely registered anything the teacher said. My notes from that class were... minimal, at best.

By the time the final bell rang, my legs felt like lead and my mind like porridge—warm, sluggish, and on the verge of collapse. I gathered my things with slow, clumsy hands, aching for a soft bed and a few uninterrupted hours with my books.

But just as I was about to return to the common room and call it a day, I remembered: Professor McGonagall had asked to see me once my classes were over.

I straightened my robes, trying to gather the scattered pieces of composure still clinging to me after the whirlwind of the day. My body was starting to shut down, and more than once I’d nearly fallen asleep at the wheel of my wolfbus. Still, I somehow managed to reach Professor McGonagall’s office without running over another student or crashing into a staircase.

I dismissed my highbeast at the door and knocked softly, my hand lingering on the wood for a moment longer than necessary.

“Enter,” came her calm, firm voice from within.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Her office was elegant in a strict, old-fashioned way. Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged books, some of which looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades. A tartan armchair sat beside the fireplace, and several portraits of stern-looking witches and wizards watched me with curious eyes. The scent of parchment and peppermint tea lingered faintly in the air. Everything felt orderly, contained—very much like the woman herself.

The professor herself was seated behind her desk, which already had a tea set prepared and two small plates of sweets. She offered me a faint but welcoming smile.

“Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,” I said politely.

“Good afternoon, Miss Rozemyne. Please, have a seat.”

I moved to sit in the chair in front of her desk and reached for the teacup that had already been poured. I didn’t drink right away—I waited. Poisoning during meals might be rare in this world, but waiting for someone else to test the food first had become second nature to me, especially in a setting that so closely resembled a tea party.

I wasn’t sure if the professor remembered the improvised etiquette lesson I had given her the day we met, but she took a sip of her tea and sampled a sweet without comment. Only then did I bring the cup to my lips and nibble on one of the cookies.

“Before we discuss anything further, let’s go straight to the purpose of this meeting,” Professor McGonagall began, her tone measured. “But first, I would like to ask—how has your day been so far? Are you starting to adapt to Hogwarts?”

I offered her a polite, practiced smile—the kind used for diplomacy more than warmth. “So far, my second day at school has been a pleasant experience. I must confess I’m a little tired, but the classes have been interesting and enjoyable. As for adapting… it might be too soon to say, but so far, nothing I can’t manage.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a nod, her expression softening just a little. “If you ever have questions, concerns, or simply feel the need to talk to someone, my door is always open. You can approach me anytime.”

“Thank you, Professor. Actually… there is something.” I hesitated for just a moment, then met her eyes. “Who exactly knows about my situation? I ask because… Professor Snape said something during class that left me feeling uneasy.”

Her lips thinned slightly, but she didn’t seem surprised. “Aside from myself and the headmaster, the only professors informed are those who serve as Heads of House. That would be Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and—yes—Professor Snape.”

I lifted the cup of tea to my lips, using it to hide the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth. “I see,” I said softly, then added, “Actually, I remembered something else I wanted to ask.”

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, her expression politely patient. “Yes, Miss Rozemyne?”

“ Could you explain the elective subjects to me?” I unfolded the parchment and pointed to the section in question.

“Ah, yes,” she replied with a small sigh, her tone mildly exasperated but not unkind. “Those are optional subjects—courses you may choose to take in addition to your core curriculum. You have until the end of this week to decide and officially enroll. To do so, you must speak with the Deputy Headmistress... which, in this case, is me.”

She glanced down at the schedule, then looked back at me. “Given your particular background, I would strongly recommend enrolling in both Geography and Literature. These subjects will appear again in more advanced years, and it’s best to have a solid foundation.”

I nodded thoughtfully as I sipped my tea again.

“As for Physical Education,” she continued, “that subject is somewhat special. While it remains optional in the long term, all first-year students are required to attend the initial classes, as they include broomstick flying instruction.”

“I see... Mm, to be honest, I find it rather odd that Geography and Literature are considered electives in the first year, given how important they are.”

“Since most—if not all—students from magical families are educated at home, either by their parents or personal tutors, much of what we teach in those classes is a repetition of what they’ve already learned,” McGonagall explained. “That said, a fair number still choose to take them to keep their knowledge fresh.”

“I see...” I nodded, though inwardly I still found it strange.

“By the way,” she added, pouring herself another cup of tea, “this week also marks the beginning of club enrollment.”

“Clubs?” I tilted my head slightly.

“They’re student organizations that revolve around a specific activity—music, for instance, or Quidditch,” she said with a faint smile. “A full list of active clubs has been posted on each House’s bulletin board. Enrollment is handled by the Head of House. If any catch your interest, you should speak with Professor Flitwick.”

“Thank you, Professor. I’ll think about it,” I replied politely.

Though truthfully, unless there was a book club, I doubted I’d join any. I wasn’t about to sacrifice precious reading time for sports or social gatherings.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, let’s move on to the reason I called you here,” Professor McGonagall said, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. “I wanted to examine the protective charms your family insisted you wear while at school. I need to ensure none of them pose a risk to other students.”

She stood, motioning for me to do the same, and pulled out a slender, metallic rod. It resembled the kind of device used in airports to detect metal—something I had seen in documentaries back in my Urano days. Carefully, she passed the rod over my body, sweeping it from head to toe. I stood still, trying not to tense.

Nothing happened. The detector gave no signal, no flicker, no sound.

“You may sit,” she said at last, her frown deepening as she set the device aside.

“This comes as a surprise,” she muttered, half to herself. “Given how concerned your guardians were about your safety, I expected you’d be covered in defensive charms… but the detector didn’t react to anything.”

My eyes widened slightly. I am wearing protective charms. Quite a few, actually—all carefully crafted and applied by Ferdinand himself. If the detector didn’t pick them up, it only meant one thing: his magic was beyond this school’s detection thresholds.

His voice echoed in my mind, calm and firm: “Do not speak of them unless absolutely necessary. The staff’s inability to detect them is not your responsibility—and it gives you an advantage, should anyone try to harm you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, torn. I trusted Ferdinand’s judgment. Still… if something were to happen—if someone got hurt because of these hidden spells—I wouldn’t be able to bear it. And if I wanted to keep a good relationship with Professor McGonagall, I couldn’t afford to start this year wrapped in secrets.

“Actually, Professor… I’m currently wearing several protective charms,” I said, lowering my gaze briefly. “Right now.”

Without waiting for a response, I began removing them one by one. A thin, laced necklace, a silver brooch hidden beneath my collar, two delicate anklets concealed under my socks, a golden bracelet on the opposite wrist of Mestionora’s artifact, and finally, my hair stick—each item carefully crafted and precisely placed by Ferdinand himself. As I laid them gently on Professor McGonagall’s desk, her eyes narrowed incrementally with each new addition, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to guarded astonishment.

“And… I also have this,” I added, raising my wrist. A fine bracelet, almost thread-like but humming with divine magic, shimmered in the light. “But this one… I can’t take it off. It was given to me by Mestionora.”

McGonagall’s expression shifted the moment the goddess’s name was spoken. Her gaze snapped toward the bracelet, her back straightening, tone subtly more guarded.

“I see,” she said, her voice calm, but edged with the gravity of someone who understood the implication. “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Rozemyne.”

She didn’t reach for the bracelet.

“I’ll need to run a few scans on the other items,” she continued, gesturing to the ones now resting on her desk, “to ensure none of them interfere with Hogwarts’s wards. As for the bracelet…” A pause. “I will consult with the Headmaster.”

The professor conjured a wooden box and carefully stored all my protective charms inside. Then she stepped away from the desk and retrieved something from one of the drawers of her office—a book? For a moment, I thought she might be about to gift it to me. Yahoo, you’re quickly becoming my favorite teacher, I mused, almost smiling.

“There’s something else,” she said, holding the book with both hands. “You’re already familiar with the concept of Muggles, correct?”

I nodded.

“You see, there are cases in which a magical child is born to Muggle parents. When that happens, they’re allowed to attend Hogwarts.” She paused, her voice growing more careful, measured.

I nodded again, though I wasn’t entirely sure where this was going. Is she worried I’ll react poorly? Like Grandfather did when he learn of the  term? The thought stung a little, but I said nothing. She doesn’t know me. Her caution is understandable.

“Since they’re exposed to magic for the first time, many of these students struggle to adapt. We usually give them this,” she said, gently placing the book on the desk between us. “It’s meant to help them get used to magical society.”

She hesitated before continuing, as if weighing her words. “We know you come from a world with magic, and based on a few comments your family made during their visit, we gathered that only nobles of your world are allowed—or able—to use it. I hope this doesn’t offend you, Miss Rozemyne. But after some discussion, Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this as well.”

I offered a soft smile. “Worry not, Professor. I take no offense—and thank you for your thoughtfulness. May I ask what this book contains?”

Professor McGonagall seemed to relax at my words. “It’s a journal. Inside, you’ll find basic information about the wizarding world—topics like the structure of the Ministry of Magic, important laws every witch and wizard should know, interesting parts of the castle students often find useful or curious, and of course, potential dangers you may encounter here.” She rested her hand gently on the cover. “The remaining pages are blank. You’re encouraged to use them as a sort of diary, if you wish.”

She hesitated for a moment, then added, “On Saturdays, Professor Charity Burbage holds informal gatherings for Muggle-born students. They can ask whatever they like about our world, or share pages from their diaries if they choose—it’s a way to help them integrate more easily. You’re welcome to attend as well, Miss Rozemyne, if you ever feel the need.”

This was a huge surprise. In the books, they almost entirely overlooked Muggle-born students, and the way the story was told made it seem like they adapted effortlessly to the school and their new lives.

"Thank you, Professor. I’ll give it some thought... Professor, would it be possible for me to bring Alexandra with me? I think she might benefit from it as well."

To my relief, the professor not only allowed it but actively encouraged it.

With that, our meeting came to an end. It wasn’t that late—barely five o’clock—but I was already struggling to stay awake. It wasn’t just the exhaustion from my day, but from hers as well.

After speaking with Father, Mother, and Ferdinand, they decided to test her claim that our health had improved. She was promptly evaluated by performing several physical exercises. Then came a meeting with Plantin, followed by a string of tea parties—some hosted by Sylvester’s new first wife, and others by important members of our faction.

I returned to my room and collapsed onto the bed, intending to take only a short nap... I will become stronger. I won’t allow myself to be defeated by mere tiredness. I will read all the books in the library.

But for now... I had to admit defeat.

I was awakened some time later by Alexandra, who had come to check on me. I took the chance to return the watch I’d borrowed from her and explained how to read it properly. Afterward, I contacted Mother using the magical mirror given to me by Mestionara.

Then, I fell asleep once more... and didn’t wake again until the next day.

Chapter Text

POV Ferdinand 

The golden and dark lights of the teleportation circle faded. At first glance, the room appeared unchanged. The only difference was that, instead of my brother and Karstedt, who had seen me off, it was now Benjamin, the newly appointed supervisor of the dormitories, standing before me.

He approached to greet us, observing the proper noble formalities. Once the obligatory courtesies were exchanged, we proceeded to a nearby waiting room while Justus went ahead to prepare my chambers. As always, Eckhart remained behind me, standing guard with silent vigilance.

Benjamin’s attendants served us tea and refreshments. Following protocol, Benjamin himself took the first bite of the pastries and the first sip of tea, ensuring they were safe for consumption. Only then did we indulge in the customary small talk while waiting for Justus to complete his preparations.

As I exchanged the usual pleasantries, my thoughts inevitably drifted to the events of the past years.

In the aftermath of Wilfried's transfer to Ahrensbach, Sylvester had descended into a state of barely contained rage, desperate to assign blame for his son’s deficient education. His frustration led him directly to the White Tower, where he confronted his mother in person. According to Karstedt, the confrontation rapidly escalated—so much so that Karstedt had been forced to intervene to prevent Sylvester from killing Veronica on the spot.

Nevertheless, Sylvester proceeded to invoke the memory-viewing circles, compelling himself to witness the full extent of Veronica’s schemes and malice.

The revelations left him appalled. The shock was so profound that he fell ill shortly afterward. What followed was a systematic purge, aimed at eliminating the remnants of Veronica’s faction. Sylvester even went so far as to destroy Veronica’s medal, stripping her of her schtappe.

The entire ordeal was an utter disaster. Sylvester’s rage blinded him to any rational thought as he embarked on a full-scale vendetta with the sole objective of eradicating what remained of Veronica’s faction.

During our investigation, we recovered the stash of namestones Veronica had hidden away, along with ample evidence of her numerous misdeeds. We had everything necessary to ensure that only the truly guilty would face punishment. However, Sylvester was determined to discard the entirety of his mother’s faction without a second thought.

Karstedt and I were forced to argue with him repeatedly, striving to temper his wrath and prevent him from executing countless nobles indiscriminately.

Later, Rozemyne intervened and negotiated with Sylvester to spare the children of the implicated families. Under normal circumstances, I would have scolded her for such softness. However, with the mana shortage still weighing heavily upon Ehrenfest, we could not afford to execute too many nobles. Even I found myself supporting her position during that discussion.

In the end, we lost at least a quarter of the entire noble population. Sylvester’s outburst had far-reaching consequences. The surviving members of Veronica’s faction were terrified. The Leisegangs themselves were divided—while the elder generation celebrated the downfall of Veronica’s influence, the younger generation feared that Sylvester had become a tyrant, a sentiment shared by many within the neutral faction. Support for the archducal family had reached its lowest point.

The only reason any support remained was thanks to Rozemyne. The Leisegangs backed her due to their blood ties, while the remnants of Veronica’s faction supported her after she intervened to spare the children. Even some among the neutral faction were moved by her actions.

However, the situation remains precarious. Many are still fearful and paranoid, convinced that Sylvester might one day turn against Rozemyne as well.

It has been a hellish situation—one that has yet to fully stabilize. It required tremendous effort from Elvira, Karstedt, Bonifatius, and myself to calm matters even slightly. And even greater effort was needed as we searched for a suitable woman to become Sylvester’s new bride.

At present, everyone is working diligently to rebuild trust in the archducal family. Rozemyne and Charlotte have been socializing together to publicly demonstrate their good relationship, while Sylvester has begun taking steps to mend ties and rebuild his support base. One of his first moves was to reconnect with Ehrenfest nobles who had relocated to the Sovereignty, starting with Hirschur.

Sylvester personally thanked her for her past efforts as dormitory supervisor and offered his deepest apologies—an act not entirely proper for an Aub, yet, given the circumstances, the correct course of action.

The conversation that followed led to Hirschur formally stepping down from her role as dormitory supervisor. She explained that she had never truly been suited for the position and had only accepted it because no one else was willing to take the responsibility at the time. However, she agreed to continue teaching at the Royal Academy and to pursue her research on Ehrenfest’s behalf. Sylvester also restored the funds and salary that had been stripped from her by Veronica, who had punished her for supporting me during my years at the Academy.

In truth, it saddened me to see her step down. When Sylvester inquired whether she knew of anyone suitable to take her place, she offered to inquire within her network. Yet, it was not an easy endeavor—most of those she approached were reluctant to believe her when she assured them that the political winds had shifted.

It took considerable time before a candidate was found. During the last Interduchy Tournament, she introduced us to Benjamin, a former Ehrenfest noble with ties to the neutral faction. Hirschur personally oversaw his training, taught him the responsibilities of the position, and carefully prepared him to assume the role.

As this would be Benjamin’s first winter in the position, Sylvester used it as a convenient pretext to obtain permission—since his initial excuse had been rather poorly thought out—for my return to the Royal Academy. Officially, I am here to observe Benjamin’s progress in his training and assess how well he is managing his new responsibilities.

I sighed internally. Sylvester has always possessed a remarkable talent for crafting pretexts and excuses. While not inherently a negative skill, he often employed it to avoid work or to obtain whatever it was that he desired. Although he no longer indulges in such behavior as frequently as in the past, it remains a source of frustration—especially now that Rozemyne has inherited this particular tendency from him.

Justus returned shortly thereafter, and I ordered Benjamin to deliver his report. As expected, everything was proceeding on schedule and without major issues. We were already well-informed of most developments through the regular reports we receive on the dormitories. His briefing was little more than a formality. However, he did present some additional fragments of intelligence—minor, at first glance—concerning the Sovereignty and the upper duchies. The most notable update involved the archduke candidate of Klassenberg, who would be commencing her final year this winter.

The matter was anything but minor.

Lady Eglantine is a former princess—the daughter of the late Third Prince. Her entire family had been poisoned, and she alone survived, spared only because she was still an unbaptized child at the time. She was taken in by her grandfather, the former Aub of Klassenberg, who has since invested all his efforts into orchestrating her return to the royal family. It is said that whichever prince marries her will all but secure his position as the next Zent.

A bitter anger stirred within me. This is not how the Zent is meant to be chosen. The royal family’s highest priority must be the recovery of the Grutrissheit. Wasting time and resources on political matchmaking—chasing after a former princess to bolster one’s claim—is nothing short of disgraceful. It is painfully obvious that Klassenberg is scheming to expand its political influence even further. Yet such power is utterly meaningless if the foundational artifact—the Book of Mestionora—remains lost. Without the Grutrissheit, all their maneuvering amounts to nothing but a hollow farce.

We will need to make preparations and establish plans for Rozemyne. As an archduke candidate from a middle duchy, it is highly unlikely that she would have any occasion to interact directly with Lady Eglantine. However, one can never be too cautious—especially when dealing with someone as unpredictable as Rozemyne.

That said, I was somewhat grateful that it had been quite some time since any significant information regarding the Sovereignty or the upper duchies had reached Ehrenfest.

With the report concluded, I retired to my chambers. I had been granted permission to remain for three days in order to evaluate the new supervisor and assess the overall condition of our dormitories. There was no time to waste.

I handed both Eckhart and Justus sound-blocking tools using their name stones I ordered them to cover for my absence. Before either could ask where I was going, I preemptively commanded them not to inquire further.

I waited until nightfall had fully cloaked the sky before making my move. Discreetly, I slipped out of the dormitory, using the hidden routes I had memorized during my years as a student. Every step was taken with utmost caution, ensuring I avoided detection.

Before long, I was outside, flying high above the Academy grounds. Against the darkness, it was easy to spot the faint glow of the otherwise invisible magic circle suspended above the Academy. I flew directly to its center, retrieved a feystone infused with my mana, and let it fall into the circle. Instantly, a pillar of light shot upward into the sky. Without delay, I followed, flying into the beam.

A blinding light enveloped me, and when my vision cleared, I found myself flying above a marble ivory plaza. At its center stood a tree, seemingly carved from the same pristine material.

I landed my highbeast, dismounted, and promptly stored it back into the small cage attached to my belt. As I began walking toward the tree, I froze. Someone had appeared—someone who had not been there mere moments ago.

Seated at an elegantly prepared tea table was a young woman, seemingly just shy of her coming-of-age. Her midnight-blue hair shimmered like it had been blessed by the God of Darkness, while her golden eyes gleamed like a waxy moon, kissed by the Goddess of Light. The table was already set: a steaming teapot, a plate of perfectly arranged sweets, and an empty chair—clearly intended for me.

Rage stirred deep in my chest at the mere sight of that accursed goddess. The fact that—for reasons I could not fathom—she bore an unsettling resemblance to a grown-up version of Rozemyne only made my blood boil further.

“I must say,” she began, lifting her teacup to her lips with an infuriatingly serene smile, “for someone reputed to be so very clever, your choice of entrance leaves much to be desired.”

She set her cup down gracefully, her eyes glinting with barely concealed amusement as I approached the table and took my seat in silence.

“I fail to see the logic of entering through the ceiling when there is, quite plainly, a door you might have used—like any normal person. But then again..." She let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Perhaps I expect too much from one who insists on skulking about like a thief in his own temple.”

“What are you doing here?!” barely containing my rage 

“I figured you would come sooner or later to antagonize my uncle Erwaermen" she said, her voice smooth as ever. "I would rather spare him the waste of energy arguing with you.”

A faint, melancholic smile curled upon her lips.

“And in any case, there would be no point in seeking him out. He is unaware of what occurs in either the realm of the gods or the mortal world. Lately, he has fallen into a very deep slumber.”

“So you graciously chose to speak with me instead. How thoughtful.”

I allowed my gaze to linger on her with deliberate calm.

“Tell me, though — was your punishment lifted already? I seem to recall something about a most undignified display during Rozemyne’s sorting ceremony. the gods caught picking their nose... quite the spectacle, I imagine.

Mestionora did not react in the slightest. With absolute confidence, she stated:

“I merely ensured that my daughter was placed in the correct house. After all, what better house for the daughter of the Goddess of Wisdom than the one which values wisdom above all else?”

She paused briefly, her voice turning almost indifferent as she continued:

“And Quinta, if it makes you feel any better, no—my punishment has not yet been lifted.”

She raised her hand, allowing me to see the silver bracelet fastened around her wrist.

“Mother and Uncle Leidenschaft have been confined to their respective mansions, while I have been banned from mine. Grandmother knows full well that locking me inside my library is hardly a punishment. Instead, she added... this.”

She gestured casually toward the bracelet.

“It suppresses a considerable portion of my power and prevents me from leaving the realm of the gods.”

“and still you are here and how dare you call yourself Rozemyne´s mother after what you did to her”

She looked at me as though speaking to a fool.

“The Garden of Beginnings, while located in the mortal world, is still considered part of the realm of the gods. I am not breaking any rules. And as for why I call myself Myne’s mother — it is because I am her mother. She is my first mortal daughter.”

She let out a soft sigh.

“It seems you are rather invested in making your petty little remarks, Quinta. Frankly, that will get us nowhere.”

She turned her head slightly. “Verfuhremeer, may I request your assistance—”

Nothing happened.

Mestionora clicked her tongue, visibly annoyed.  “Oh, right. I forgot — they are forbidden from aiding me as part of my punishment. Well, it doesn't matter.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Let us move straight to the point. What is it you want?”

I pulled the letter from my pocket and slammed it onto the table.

“What did you do to Rozemyne?!” My voice rose, my anger barely contained. “What did you mean when you said that her studies in that other world will help her with what is to come? Are you intent on burdening her even further? Was it not enough to force her into catering to your whims by sending her to that absurd school of magic? Must you demand even more of her?!”

“I already suspected she had shown you the letter I sent her...” Mestionora frowned, her expression darkening.“I will speak to her about this. Letters between a mother and her daughter are sacred and should not be shared—especially with untrustworthy people.” Her golden eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers as they fixed on me.

“As if I would ever allow you near her again!” I snapped.

“You have no right to forbid me from seeing my daughter,” she replied coldly, her voice edged with divine authority.

“She is not your daughter!” I retorted, my voice rising. “You nearly killed her when you turned her into a demigoddess! And if that weren’t enough, you crushed an entire city to force us into compliance. Do you even realize the chaos you unleashed? We are still struggling to contain the damage you left behind!”

She scoffed.  “Do you truly believe I would risk her life? That I would have turned her into a demigoddess without being certain she could survive the process? Unlike you , I actually care about her. That incident was your fault — were you not the one pointing your schtappe at me?”

Her words struck a nerve — but accusing me of not caring for Rozemyne was the last straw.

“She is my ward, my student— but most of all, she is my family !“ I shouted.

“Don’t make me laugh.” Mestionora’s voice dripped with disdain. “You, and everyone around her, see her as nothing more than a tool . I am very familiar with my daughter’s history — if anything, I should be the one furious with you .”

Her eyes began to change color, swirling ominously as her mana swelled, crashing down on me like a wave of crushing pressure.

“From the moment you met her, you’ve treated her as a tool — something to exploit for your own interests, never as the miracle she truly is. Tell me, is it not true? You tore her from her parents, you paraded yourself as her savior, and you built your little schemes around her. Is that not the truth, Quinta? ”

“If you’re talking about the attempted kidnapping,” I replied, my voice sharp, “the ones behind that attack were others — not us. She had to become a noble for her own safety.”

“Oh, so you’re going to play dumb now, hm?” Mestionora sneered, her voice cold and cutting. “Everything about that incident played out like a carefully written script. Don’t insult my intelligence, Quinta. I know perfectly well it was orchestrated—either by you, or by your brother.”

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto mine like a predator ready to strike.

“Or are you going to tell me it was mere coincidence that your brother handed Myne an adoption contract disguised as a necklace weeks before the attack? That the ever-meticulous, ever-brilliant Ferdinand—known far and wide as the Lord of Evil, the master strategist— accidentally allowed a rat to slip past his notice? No...”

Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, venomous and accusing.

“It was an incident you hoped would happen.”

I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to steady my breathing beneath the crushing weight of her accusations.

“Carefully written script?” I repeated coldly, allowing my gaze to harden. “If you wish to call foresight and preparation a crime, then so be it.”

I leaned slightly forward, my tone low and measured, slicing through the tension like a blade.

“Yes, my brother prepared an adoption contract in case such a tragedy might occur — precisely because we were aware of the growing threats around her. We did not orchestrate the attack, but we were not blind to the dangers that surrounded her every single day. I had seen enough to know that sooner or later, someone would strike.”

My voice sharpened.

“And when that inevitable moment arrived, we ensured that she had a means of survival. A future. A chance to live.”

I allowed a brief pause, letting my words sink in.

“You speak as though I should be ashamed of protecting her. Tell me, Mestionora—would you have preferred that we leave her to die? That we simply trusted in fate while the vultures closed in?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“I will not apologize for saving her life, even if you choose to twist my actions into something vile.”

Mestionora’s gaze grew even colder, and the crushing weight of her mana intensified. My back strained as I struggled to remain upright beneath the oppressive pressure.

“So that is what you tell yourself to justify your treatment of Myne...” Her voice was like ice. “That everything was for her benefit, for her protection.”

I fixed my gaze on her, my anger boiling beneath my calm words.

“You gods know nothing of human reasoning. Spare me your self-righteous judgment and keep your mouth shut about matters you cannot possibly comprehend.”

I could feel the taste of blood in my mouth as I coughed, the metallic tang filling my throat.

“My knowledge may be limited when it comes to what you call human reasoning...” Mestionora said, her voice calm but merciless, “but even I can recognize heresy against Wiegenmilch when I see it. Tell me—how else would you call working her to the bone? You claim you care for her, yet you delayed her treatment under the guise of the ‘greater good.’ Was it not another attempted kidnapping that finally forced you to restore her under Wiegenmilch’s protection?”

I clenched my teeth, swallowing down the blood.

“Like I told you before—don’t speak of what you don’t fully understand. The situation was dire . It was necessary, due to the threats that loomed in the shadows.” I forced my voice to remain steady despite the crushing pressure. “Though I admit my failure—my failure to trust Elvira sooner... and my failure to recognize Florencia’s negligence.”

A sardonic laughter escaped the goddess’s mouth. “So, you’re still trying to justify your actions, are you? Then hear me out: how do you justify permanently dyeing her in your color?”

I stood up abruptly, my schtappe in hand, my mana surging wildly and spilling out uncontrollably.

“Are you accusing me of something inappropriate towards her?!” My voice thundered as my grip tightened. I could feel my nails digging into my palm, sharp pain blooming as they pierced my skin. “I would never treat her as a flower to pluck. I would never summon winter with a girl still in her summer!”

Mestionora’s smile turned mocking, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

“Oh? So you truly don’t know, do you?” Her voice dripped with venomous sarcasm. “So much for the self-proclaimed genius…”

She leaned forward slightly, her words slow and deliberate, as though speaking to a particularly stupid child.

“Let me enlighten you, Quinta: those you call devourers are born without color. They are frightfully easy to dye. And to make matters worse—Myne carries my father’s mark due to her repeated brushes with death. You do know what happens to living beings when they die, don’t you? Or shall I spell it out for you?”

She stopped crushing me. Instead, she simply stared, watching me with expectant eyes.

Devourers have no color and are easy to dye... Rozemyne was marked by Ewigeliebe due to her repeated brushes with death…

What does that mean?

Is she referring to the mana clumps that once plagued her body? When an animal or a person dies, their mana returns to their mana organ and hardens—that’s how feystones are created…

Wait a moment...

My anger lost all momentum. My face drained of color, my legs grew weak, and my schtappe vanished from my hand. I collapsed into the chair behind me.

“Are you saying...” my voice trembled as the words forced their way out, “that when I saw her memories ... I dyed the clumps that plague her body... as one would dye a raw feystone? And because devourers have no inherent color... I permanently dyed her with mine...?”

“See you can do it when you make the effort. good job Quinta” she said with sarcasm.

I felt sick. I didn’t know… but ignorance was no excuse. What have I done...?

“In all honesty,” Mestionora continued coldly, “I wanted to strangle you when I first found out. You are extremely lucky that, when I turned her into a demigoddess, I was able to cleanse the stain from her mana.” She exhaled slowly, her tone shifting ever so slightly. “At first, my intention was simply to know her better. Getting to know one's daughter is what any good mother should do. But as I watched her story unfold, I also saw how twisted your mortal world has become... No wonder the Garden is collapsing.”

Her words dragged me out of my self-loathing.

What do you mean?”

“What else but the Garden turning into white sand?” she replied sharply. “The foundation is nearly depleted. It may withstand at most ten years, perhaps less. No one has come to claim my book—except for you—in over seven generations.”

Her golden eyes narrowed, voice dripping with venom.

“And you... the first one who dared to appear after so long... chose to turn away and run. You were offered my wisdom, and you rejected it.”

The foundation is nearly depleted… She said that Erwaermen has been in a deep slumber… If even he lacks the strength to remain active, then the state of the foundation truly is dire.

But no one has come to claim her wisdom in over 400 years… The Grutrissheit was only lost recently—after the civil war. Then what does this imply about the royal family...?

“Normally, the path to wisdom is one that must be taken willingly,” she said, her tone turning solemn. “The path must be difficult. Knowledge that is not earned through hardship is worthless. But the situation is truly desperate, and we were forced to place Myne upon an incredibly difficult path.”

She paused briefly, as if choosing her next words carefully.

“She is our last hope. She truly is a miracle. Ever since she was born, the weave has regained a faint trace of its color. Her mere existence gives us a chance—slim, but a chance nonetheless—to save the Garden. To save Erwaermen.”

My eyes widened. “Are you trying to turn her into the Zent?!” I demanded.  “If that’s the case, then give me the rest of my book. I will dye the foundation myself!”

“I cannot give you the rest of the book,” she answered firmly. “And you are wrong. I have no intention of forcing her to become the Zent if that is not what she desires. My goal is to save the Garden. The fact that the foundation is drying out and that no one has come to claim my book is but a symptom—not the true cause. To save the Garden, we must address the real problem.”

“The real problem?! You say you can’t give me the rest of the book?! The foundation is just a symptom?!”

Mestionora sighed, as if growing tired of my short-sightedness.

“The decay of the weave has been unfolding for a long time now. Only recently did Wentuchte bring the matter fully to our attention. You see, when we gaze upon the weave, we can sometimes glimpse possible futures. I am not as skilled in that art as Wentuchte, but even with my limited vision, I see only ruin. The Garden will fall. Even if someone rises as Zent, it always ends the same—everything turning into white sand.”

Her expression grew grave.

“There is only one future where the Garden survives. Only one. But the odds of it are so infinitesimal that one might say it barely exists at all. And in that future… everything depends on Myne.”

“That everything depends on her… then why send her to the other world?” I asked, struggling to make sense of her logic.

“Isn’t it obvious? To increase her chances of success.” Mestionora’s tone was calm but unwavering. “At first, I believed her impact came solely from the knowledge she carried from her former world. But after learning of her life, I realized how blind and foolish I was. It is not only her knowledge—it is her entire being. Her perception of life, her values, her unyielding heart. All of it combined is what makes such a difference.”

She paused briefly, then continued.

“At first, I merely wished for her to gather more wisdom to share with others. But the truth became clearer with time.”

“If you realize that… then why keep sending her there? Why not give me the book, so we can solve the most pressing matter?”

“Because you would solve matters your way—through the mind of a noble.” Her golden eyes sharpened, her voice now laced with scorn. “Through Myne’s memories, I have seen how distorted the Garden’s truth has become under mortal hands. You mortals have twisted every one of our teachings.”

She clicked her tongue with bitter contempt.

“Even you have broken our taboos, Ferdinand. You are the High Priest of Ehrenfest’s temple, are you not? Tell me: where in the scriptures does it say that nobles should exist? That they have the right to rule over everything like tyrants? That they may do as they please with those of lesser mana, killing and exploiting them without punishment or remorse? You murder, scheme, and curse even your own kin for personal gain.

Did she just say that noble society as a whole is a farce...?
As I thought about her words, I found myself unable to refute her. She was right. Nowhere in the scriptures was there any mention that noble society should even exist.
Was she implying that this entire disaster is our fault? That the system we created has strayed so far from the path laid for us that we have committed taboos without even realizing it?

Mestionora calmly poured herself another cup of tea and took a slow sip, as if this entire conversation was little more than idle afternoon chatter to her.

“As for your earlier question,” she continued, “I cannot give you the rest of the book. I no longer possess it. At present, your incomplete copy is the only portion that remains under our domain. That was part of the price we had to pay for Myne to study in the other world.”

“Are you a fool?! Why would you surrender the Grutrissheit?!”

“I did not surrender it," she replied coolly. "I merely lent it to the goddess of that world. She requested an exchange of knowledge… and a favor on our behalf. That favor may involve Myne in the future.”

I froze. “So now she is under the gaze of a goddess from another world?!”

Mestionora's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “We have set clear limits. She will not demand too much of Myne, I assure you. And in truth, it was worth it. Since Myne left for that world, her chances of succeeding have increased greatly. She will not only bring new wisdom... but she will change this decaying world. She will make it less selfish... and perhaps, even kinder.”

My throat tightened. I struggled to find words, but none came. My mind was spinning, torn between fury, panic, and dread.

"You... you gambled her future..." I finally whispered, my voice hoarse. "You placed her under the influence of another goddess — in another world — for the sake of your so-called 'chance'?"

Mestionora tilted her head slightly, observing me with detached amusement, like a teacher watching a student struggle with a simple concept.

"Gambled?" she repeated, as though tasting the word. "No, Quinta. You misunderstand me, as always. I gave her an opportunity. One you and this entire world never could have given her."

A warm smile spread through her face. "If I had let things run their course, she would have been nothing more than a sacrificial pawn, and this world would have come to an end. I gave her a chance to shine, to be unrestrained, to become the magnificent person she truly is — without any of you continuing to chain her, so that she may become our savior. And I will be by her side, guiding her."

The next part she muttered to herself, barely audible: "I still need to convince Grandmother to let me see her. Right now, her body is not much different from that of a newborn… well, it’s only natural. I rebuilt it from scratch. But it will grow stronger within a year. She will need my knowledge to control her divine mana to its fullest."

Her words struck me like a cold blade. I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles turned white. My breath grew heavier, my fury rising once more.

"She is not a toy. She is not an experiment. If any harm comes to her, I swear—I will make every last one of you pay for it." My voice trembled, not with fear, but with barely contained fury. The sheer weight of my mana threatened to overflow, yet I held it back by sheer force of will.

Mestionora merely looked down at me with cold indifference, as if I were little more than a child throwing a tantrum. "Whatever you say," she murmured with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Now leave. I have tolerated your presence long enough. Before you go, pray to Dregarnuhr. Time flows differently here, as you are well aware. I would prefer to avoid hearing more of your complaints later."

 A cruel, mocking smile curled her lips."Oh, and Ferdinand—next time, use the door."

My teeth clenched so tightly it was painful, but I said nothing. Words were useless here. I spun around and stormed out, seething with rage. As instructed, I prayed to Dregarnuhr before returning. When I arrived back at the dormitory, barely a bell had passed since my departure—as if nothing had happened.

But everything had changed.

Without wasting a moment, I made my way back to Ehrenfest, the fury burning inside me like a wildfire that refused to be extinguished. My encounter with the goddess had left me filled not with answers, but with greater dread—and an unshakable determination.

From that night forward, I began crafting contingency plans—layer upon layer of countermeasures, ready to be deployed at the slightest hint of divine interference.

I will not stand by.  I will not allow those cursed gods to toy with Rozemyne’s life ever again.

Chapter Text

POV Lara 

I was staring at the blank page, the tip of the pen pressed against it with a force that threatened to pierce through. I’ve tried—several times now—to start writing in this stupid diary, and every single time, a deep anger boils in my chest. But unlike the previous attempts, where I just stared before angrily slamming the cover shut and tossing it into the trunk...

This time, I actually managed to write something:

Journal of Lara Jane Underwood

It’s been a month since I arrived at this accursed school-castle. I don’t give a damn what people call this place. The only thing I know for certain is how much I hate being here. How much I despise this so-called magical world.

And I’m still waiting for this to turn out to be a very vivid dream. Or maybe a prank for some hidden-camera show.

The reason I’m even daring to write now—after so many failed attempts—is because of how horrible today has been.

First, this morning, while I was on my way to class, Peeves—or Pekes, whatever, who cares—was juggling bottles of ink and dropped one right on me.

Then, in Potions, some idiot flooded the entire classroom with water. The water rushed into my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, and my body floated helplessly. I was sure I was going to drown. But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the water vanished, and I dropped painfully onto my back. The sensation of drowning lingered, even though I wasn’t wet. And somehow, the ink splattered all over my face was gone too.

It was extremely satisfying to watch Professor Snape give detention to the moron who caused it. I recognized the fool—she’s one of the girls I share a dorm with. Lucky me.

And finally—because of course the day wasn’t over yet—I was eaten by a frog statue. Yes. You read that right.

During the class change, I passed by some stone frog statue, and it opened its mouth and swallowed me. Literally tossed me into another part of the castle. When I tried to touch the statue again, nothing happened. I was stuck in some damp, dark corridor for an entire hour before I found my way back.

When I started writing, I couldn’t stop.

All the anger, anxiety, and stress I’ve been carrying since I got here—no, since I was told I’d be attending this school—it all burst out like an overflowing dam. I started listing every complaint I had, no matter how trivial, about this place.

By the end, I had filled at least ten pages. It was a complete mess. At first, the handwriting looked like mine. But the further you read, the more it spirals into something barely legible. I must’ve pressed the pen so hard, the pages are wrinkled and dented.Mom always said pouring your emotions into writing could be liberating.  Maybe. Right now, I just feel empty. Calmer, yes—but definitely empty.

I closed the journal and shoved it back into the trunk. I was alone in the room, and for that, I was genuinely grateful. A moment of peace, away from all the weirdness of this world.

I lay down and pulled the canopy curtains shut around my bed. There was still some time before lights out. Most of the other students were probably in the Great Hall, eating dinner.

But after the kind of day I had, food didn’t sound appealing. Neither did pretending I could tolerate people tonight.

While I was staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but think about how my life had been flipped upside down in just a matter of months.

It all started with a letter.

I remember that day so clearly, it still stings. The thing is—I was expecting a letter. I just wasn’t expecting that one.

I was waiting for a response from Grimblethorpe Institute. That school meant a lot to me. Not just because my dad went there when he was my age, though that was part of it. I’d grown up hearing about its halls, its traditions, its library—he used to joke that it smelled like old books and ambition.

But I didn’t want it just because of him.I wanted it because it felt like the right place for me. It had a strong academic program, especially in science. It was structured, logical, grounded. And maybe most importantly—my two best friends were applying there too.

I studied like crazy for the entrance exam. Gave up weekends, skipped birthdays, made plans. That school was supposed to be my next step.

But apparently, someone else had a different plan for me.

More than all the effort I put into passing the entrance exam being for nothing, what hurt the most was not being able to attend school with my friends.

I don’t have many of them—friends, I mean. I find it hard to connect with people. My brother once told me—half-joking, half-serious—that my personality is “a bit edgy” and that the look in my eyes can be unnerving . He’s not entirely wrong.

And having unusual parents doesn’t help.

Both of them are professors at the University of Cambridge. My dad teaches history, and my mom teaches literature. They’re like water and oil—my dad is the logical, analytical type, and my mom’s more of a dreamer.Somehow, they work well together.

They also happen to share a rather strange hobby: scary stories.

Years ago, as a fun side project, they started writing a series of books called Unreal Estates —yes, that’s actually what they went with. Apparently, it’s a pun. Ghosts and property. Ha. Ha. They were aiming for something vaguely like Ghostbusters , but more academic.

The books focus on allegedly haunted places, but instead of ridiculous ghost theories, they explore the real history behind them. My dad’s chapters are filled with precise historical context, while my mom’s cover the legends and local folklore.

What started as a side project quickly turned into something bigger. They published the books, and somehow, they became popular—so popular, in fact, that a TV network approached them to turn it into a show.

Last summer, I traveled with them to film the first season: we started in Scotland, then went to Paris, and finished in New Orleans.

It was exhausting.

And now, thanks to that, I’m known as The Ghost Girl . Even though the books never actually mention ghosts.

Either way, that day the results of my exam arrived—and I passed. I was accepted!

I was so thrilled I could barely contain it. The happiness felt like it might burst out of my chest. I’d worked so hard for that letter. And I finally had it in my hands.

But then, mixed in with the rest of the mail, my mom noticed another envelope.

That was the first time we saw that letter—the one from this place. It was thick, with a wax seal and old-fashioned handwriting. It had a lot of flowery, convoluted explanations, but the message boiled down to this:

Apparently, I’m a witch. I’d been accepted into a hidden magical school. And in five days, a professor would be visiting our home to give us “further guidance.”

We all laughed.

Honestly, we were convinced it was a prank from my older brother. He’s that kind of person—the kind who once mailed us a fake acceptance letter to clown school just to see my dad’s face . He has a very specific sense of humor. The kind that makes you question whether he’s brilliant or just deeply sleep-deprived.

He was finishing a semester abroad in the U.S., and we assumed this letter was his dramatic way of announcing he was coming back. We even had a full theory.

My mom was certain he’d show up wearing a wizard robe and a fake beard. My dad said he was probably hiding a fog machine in the garage. I was already rehearsing the deadpan look I’d give him when he burst through the door yelling “Behold! I return from the land of sorcery!”

It was… very in character for him.

The day of the supposed visit, we were all eager to see which of our theories would turn out to be right. Around midday, the doorbell rang.

We rushed to the door, trying very hard to keep a straight face. My mom was the one who opened it, fully expecting to find my brother in a ridiculous costume, probably with glitter.

Instead, standing there was a woman—definitely not Lester—who looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. She was a little taller than my mom, dressed in a flowing purple robe with a matching pointy hat. Yes. A pointy hat. Curly brown hair peeked out from underneath it.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a bright, professional smile. “My name is Charity Burbage. I’m the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. You must be Mrs. Underwood, no?”

My mom blinked. Twice.

“Um… yes?” she said, clearly trying to process what was happening. “Who are you again? Did my son hire you as part of a prank?

“Sorry, but I’m not acquainted with your son,” the woman replied politely, though her expression showed clear confusion. She continued, “Did you not receive a letter five days ago? Your daughter has been accepted into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m here to provide further information regarding her enrollment.”

“Yes, we did receive that letter, but…” my mom began, still visibly stunned.

The woman gave a sympathetic smile, the kind you give someone about to have their worldview gently shattered.“You thought it was a prank. Or something along those lines, I imagine. Don’t worry—it happens all the time. May I come in?”

At that point, my dad stepped forward, his posture polite but firm. “I’m afraid I have to say no,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “Please understand—inviting a stranger into our home, especially one making such extraordinary claims, is not something I can allow without clearer context.”

Charity didn’t seem offended by my dad’s response. In fact, she nodded, as if she had expected it.

“I completely understand,” she said gently, her voice composed and pleasant. “You’re right to be cautious—most parents are, and frankly, I’d be concerned if you weren’t. What I’m about to explain does sound impossible.”

She reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a small object—what looked like a silver coin. She held it up between two fingers.

“May I show you a brief demonstration? Nothing dramatic or invasive. Just enough to clarify that this isn’t a prank, and that I truly am who I claim to be.”

With her other hand, she pulled out what looked like a polished wooden stick— a wand, I guess.

She gave it a small, fluid wave and muttered something under her breath. The silver coin in her fingers shimmered, twisted, and then—suddenly—it transformed into a fluffy puppy.

“Or are you more of a cat person?” she asked with a slight smile.

Another flick of the wand—this time more playful—and the puppy shifted shape again, smoothly becoming a sleek tabby cat. The cat immediately leapt from Charity’s arms and darted past my parents into the house.

“Hey! Come back here!” she called out, raising her wand once more. With a sharp gesture, the cat stopped mid-run and floated gently back into her hands.

“It’s bad manners to enter a house you haven’t been invited into,” she scolded the cat, her tone mock-stern.

There was a long, heavy silence.

My dad’s mouth was slightly open, like he was about to say something—but his brain hadn’t caught up yet. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then rubbed his eyes like maybe the problem wasn’t what he’d seen, but the mechanism he’d used to see it.

“I… That was a coin,” he said at last, pointing stiffly at the fluffy creature now curled up contentedly in Charity’s arms. “It was most definitely a coin. I saw it. I know I did.”

“You did,” Charity replied, perfectly calm. “It was a very good coin, too. Minted in 1873.”

My dad didn’t answer. He just stared at the cat for a few more seconds, then turned to my mom and said, in the most serious voice imaginable:

“We may need tea.”

My mom, on the other hand, was already crouching slightly, trying to coax the animal closer with wide eyes and a delighted smile.

“Well, this is absolutely fascinating ,” she breathed. “I mean, it’s completely irrational, obviously, but also deeply charming .” She looked up at Charity like a student meeting her favorite author. “I have so many questions.”

Of course she did.

My parents stepped aside and invited the professor into the house. My mom rushed toward the kitchen to prepare some tea and snacks, while my dad and I led the professor into the living room.

Charity took a seat, her eyes shining with visible curiosity as she looked around at the objects in the room—like a child seeing a museum for the first time. My dad had a distant look on his face, still not quite believing what he’d witnessed. He kept glancing sideways at the cat still nestled in the professor’s arms, and eventually rested his head in his hands—something he usually did when he had a headache.

I, on the other hand, was watching the professor with a stern, suspicious glare. I still didn’t believe this whole nonsense about magic and me being a witch. There had to be a logical explanation for what we’d just seen. There had to be .
For goodness’ sake, turning a coin into a living creature? That’s not just improbable—it breaks the laws of conservation of matter.

I didn’t take my eyes off the woman. Just in case she tried something.

My mom soon returned to the living room with a tray carrying a teapot and cups for everyone. She set it gently on the coffee table, then disappeared again—only to return moments later with two more plates: one with mini smoked salmon sandwiches with cream cheese (for my dad and me, who are partial to savory things), and another with a selection of biscuits—for herself and the professor.

Once everyone was seated around the table, the professor began her explanation.

She talked about the wizarding world, about Hogwarts, and about me —apparently being a witch. According to her, there exists an entire hidden magical society operating parallel to the world we know.

None of it made any sense to me.

My mom, however, was hanging on every word, her eyes sparkling with wonder. From time to time, she would interrupt to ask a question—usually with the kind of excitement she reserved for obscure folklore or new novels.

My dad, on the other hand, remained completely silent. He listened to everything, arms crossed, brow furrowed, his fingers tapping slowly on his cup.

When the professor finally finished, he set the cup down and spoke in a low, measured voice:

“This isn’t possible.”

He looked straight at her.

“There are, of course, countless references to magic and sorcery throughout history,” he said, his tone carefully measured. “But every one of them— every single one —has, upon serious examination, proven to be either superstition, misinterpretation, or outright fabrication. These are not accounts of actual phenomena, but rather reflections of the limits of knowledge in pre-scientific societies. To suggest otherwise would require not only extraordinary evidence, but the complete reevaluation of centuries of verified historical understanding.”

The professor looked thoughtful, as if carefully considering my dad’s words and how best to respond. She picked up her teacup, took a sip, and then a small smile returned to her face.

“I was informed that you're a historian and a professor at a Muggle university, is that correct, Mr. Underwood?”

My dad gave a small nod.

“I must admit,” she continued, “history was never my strongest subject. In fact, it was the one I struggled with the most as a student. But even with my limited grasp of it, I understand that history is a difficult field. It demands scholars to reconstruct past events from scattered evidence—fragments of records written in languages that have been dead for centuries. And if you’re unlucky, you might be left with little more than a scrap of parchment that may or may not contain anything useful at all.”

She paused, tapping a finger gently on the teacup.
“In that sense, historians are not unlike... what do Muggles call them? The people who look for clues to solve a mystery...”

“A detective,” I said quietly.

“Yes, that’s it—a detective,” she said with a grateful nod. “Thank you, dear.”

She picked up a biscuit from the tray and took a bite before continuing.

“Let me offer you an example. I believe Nicholas Flamel exists in Muggle history as well, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” my father replied, folding his arms. “Born around 1330 in Pontoise, France. He was, by all accounts, a modest scribe and bookseller. There are stories suggesting he studied alchemical texts, but the historical record is vague and scattered. Over time, legends grew around him—he was said to be an alchemist, some even claimed he discovered the philosopher’s stone. But most of that, frankly, is nonsense—myth layered on myth. The mystery isn’t because he was a wizard; it’s because the sources are incomplete.”

The professor frowned slightly. “Hmm... perhaps Flamel was a poor example. Then what about John Dee?”

Once again, my dad nodded, this time with more certainty.

“Dr. John Dee was a prominent English mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I during the 16th century. Born in London in 1527, he studied at Cambridge and later traveled throughout Europe, engaging with many of the leading scientific and philosophical minds of the time.

Dee’s interests were vast and eclectic. He contributed to advancements in navigation and mathematics and was among the early advocates for applying mathematical principles to the natural sciences. His expertise earned him a position as a scientific advisor to the Crown.”

He paused, then added with a slight smirk,

“It’s also said that he worked as a spy for the Queen. Some of his intelligence reports were allegedly signed with the number ‘007’—a fact that, according to some, inspired Ian Fleming when he created James Bond.”

The professor smiled. “He was also known to be an alchemist and a magician—in fact, he was a wizard. He wrote many of the foundational laws of transmutation that we still use today. He was actually a disciple of Flamel.”

My father frowned. “But Flamel died before Dee... Are you saying the myths about the Philosopher’s Stone are true ?”

The professor nodded calmly. “Yes. He is still alive. He and his wife currently reside in Paris.”

From that point on, the conversation kept going. Somehow, she managed to convince my dad—my mom, of course, had already been onboard ever since she turned the coin into a cat.

The sound of footsteps and voices brought me back to the present.

I heard the door open, and from the tone and cadence of the voices, I knew exactly who it was—Chatbox One and Chatbox Two. I hadn’t bothered to learn my roommates’ names, so that’s what I called them.

Soon after came the magic freak… There was only one missing now.

The Sleeping Beauty.

I sighed and pulled open the curtains of my bed. I needed to change—there was no way I was going to sleep still wearing this ridiculous uniform.
Once I was ready, the door opened again, but it wasn’t Sleeping Beauty.

It was her . The woman who came to check on her every night.

Her blue-green hair and amethyst eyes always struck me as strange. She didn’t look like she belonged in a school—more like someone from a fantasy novel who took a wrong turn into reality.

Her eyes were sharp as she scanned the room. When she didn’t see Sleeping Beauty, she sighed and pulled something from her pocket—later I learned it was some kind of magical compass. Unlike regular ones, this one always pointed to Sleeping Beauty’s location.

Normally, I’d say she must have strict parents, but no. The twist is, she’s failed to return to the dorm so many times, they had to invent magical tracking for her. Apparently, she once got locked in the library reading and didn’t even notice it was night.

What kind of fool doesn’t realize the room is pitch black and that literally everyone else is gone ?

Honestly, that compass is a necessity. If that knucklehead keeps causing this kind of trouble, I feel bad for her parents.

The woman was just about to leave, an exasperated look in her eyes, when the Magic Freak approached her and tugged at her sleeve.

“Myne’s not in the library,” she said. “She told me to let you know she might be a little late… she was punished by Professor Snape.”

The woman slipped the compass back into her pocket and, this time, pulled out what looked like a brooch. It shimmered faintly as it caught the light. Without saying a word, she touched it, and then asked the Freak to repeat the message. Once she did, the brooch glowed softly.

The woman’s expression darkened.
She asked why Myne had been punished, and as the Freak began to recount the events, I swear I saw the woman’s eyes change color—just for a second. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but it gave me chills.

Sleeping Beauty finally arrived.

Her hair and eyes were strange too—midnight blue and honey gold. Her face was flushed, and the moment the woman saw her, she rushed over to check on her. From the way she placed a hand on her forehead and muttered something under her breath, it was obvious she had a fever.

Not that it was my problem.

I pulled my curtains shut again and lay down, waiting for the whole scene on the other side of the room to be over so I could finally go to sleep.

Finally, the weekend. A whole day with at least a chance for some peace.

I woke up late—around ten o’clock. The room seemed to be empty, thankfully. I got changed and headed to the Great Hall. I filled a few plates with food and brought them back to the dorm.

It’s not that I can’t eat with other people— Actually, no. Who am I kidding? I hate eating surrounded by all these magical freaks. But that’s not the only reason.

Today is mail day. Which means a storm of owls flying through the Great Hall.

It’s disgusting. Birds are dirty—even magical ones. They’re full of bacteria, parasites, and who knows what else hiding in their feathers. The idea of sitting at a table where an owl has landed makes me physically ill.

No, thank you. I’ll eat alone, with my dignity and my immune system intact.

I had just returned to the dorm with my food, but apparently it wasn’t as empty as I’d first thought.
Sleeping Beauty was still in bed, and the green-haired woman was there checking on her.
Neither of them paid me any attention.

Fine by me.

I walked to my desk, set the plates down, and sat to eat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman still tending to her— murmuring something, then handing her what looked like medicine. At that point, I lost interest and focused on my meal.

By the time I was finished, Sleeping Beauty had moved to her desk and was quietly eating something of her own. The woman stood nearby, watching her like a hawk.

Wait… when did she leave to get the food?

I hadn’t seen her leave the room.

Once the girl finished eating, the woman started lecturing her—or at least it sounded like a lecture. It was hard to tell. They were speaking in a language I didn’t recognize.

Once the woman guided her back to bed and kept talking to her for a while, she finally left.

As soon as her footsteps faded down the hall, Sleeping Beauty practically leapt out of bed, rushed to her trunk, and started pulling out books, sheets of parchment, and all sorts of writing supplies, dumping them onto her desk.

“I think it would be best for you to rest, but… that’s just my opinion.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

She turned to look at me, her honey-gold eyes wide with surprise… and then she smiled.

“Yes, I know. Alexandra told me the same thing. But I’ve already missed Monday and Tuesday’s classes, and Professor Snape gave me a punishment essay—one meter long—on the properties of Dictamnus . I don’t have time to rest.”

I sighed.
Sure, I had homework too, but I still thought taking care of yourself was the priority.

Then she started walking toward the door.

“What are you doing, you fool?” I snapped, rushing to grab her by the shoulders.

“I need a book for the assignment,” she said, blinking at me like I was the one being unreasonable.

“From the look on your face, it’s obvious you still have a fever! And you're still in your pajamas!”

“I’m not going to the library. I saw a book on potions and plants in the common room shelves.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” I growled, glaring at her. “Where exactly is it? I’ll get it.”

She hesitated, then told me.  Without another word, I turned and headed toward the common room.

I was back in no time, two books tucked under my arm, and dropped them onto her desk.

She thanked me with a goofy smile on her face and immediately started working.

Wait a second… Is that...?

For a moment, I thought I saw the guide—the one Professor Burbage gave me during her visit to my house. That ridiculous little field book with the overly cheerful cover and painfully optimistic tone.The one that also doubles as a journal.

And yet… there it was.  Sitting right on Sleeping Beauty’s desk.

Chapter Text

POV Sylvester 

The god of darkness had long since begun its journey across the sky when I slipped out of the castle. Years of dodging my work had turned me into something of an expert at sneaking around—not that I’m bragging. Karstedt followed right behind me, every step sure and steady. He didn’t even look surprised; after everything he’s been through with me over the years, he was more prepared for my little “adventures” than I was.

Once outside, we both formed our highbeasts and took off toward Ferdinand’s estate. A moonless night—perfect for staying out of sight.

In some ways, it almost felt nostalgic—sneaking out like this—but there was no way I could enjoy it with how anxious I felt. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all the previous night. The whole mess with the gods, Rozemyne going off to study at a school from another world—a place that was supposed to be nothing more than a setting from her dreams—and, as if that wasn’t enough, there was Mestionar’s letter. Oh, and let’s not forget my brother casually mentioning that he knew a place where he could talk to a god. Well, a former god—but still, that’s a divine being!

And that, of course, is why we were heading to Ferdinand’s estate in the middle of the night. Ferdinand had said it would take some time for him to get answers from the former god, but not even a full day had passed before he returned. On one hand, I was relieved that he’d made it back safely and in one piece. On the other, I was even more anxious—because if he’d failed to get any information, we were stuck, and if he had gotten information… well, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it was.

Ferdinand’s mansion wasn’t far from the castle, so we arrived in no time. We landed in front of the main entrance, where one of Ferdinand’s lay attendants was already waiting for us. I think his name was Lasfam. Honestly, all of Ferdinand’s attendants have that same air of seriousness and competence—such a stiff, boring bunch. Just like their master.

The attendant greeted us and quickly led us inside the estate, straight to a parlor that had already been prepared. Ferdinand was waiting for us there. A table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room, and on it was a wide-area sound-blocking tool.

We took our seats. Ferdinand’s attendant served each of us a cup of tea. Ferdinand, of course, took the first sip, and I soon followed—though I couldn’t help but wish for something a bit stronger than tea.

One chair remained empty. We were still missing someone, and none of us dared to start without her. Not unless we wanted to face her wrath, anyway.

Earlier that morning, I’d been informed that Ferdinand had returned and wanted to deliver a report on the Royal Academy. The cover story was that he had gone to check on Benjamin, to see how he was handling his new role as dormitory supervisor and whether the dorm needed anything for the coming winter term.

The report Ferdinand gave us was mostly information we already knew, plus a few extra details—especially about a certain matter involving an archduke candidate from Klassenberg and the princes. It had been ages since we’d gotten any real news about the Sovereignty or the upper duchies.

Ferdinand, in his usual roundabout way, said we needed to make plans to keep Rozemyne far away from trouble when she starts at the Royal Academy this winter. Personally, I thought he was exaggerating—until I remembered just how unpredictable Rozemyne can be. And as if that wasn’t enough, this year had already been chaotic enough, starting with her reviving some ancient ritual during the Spring Prayer in Haldenzel.

The ritual had literally summoned spring. Haldenzel was used to long winters and a very short spring—although, really, it would be more accurate to say they had a very short summer. Now that I think about it, maybe that whole incident had been foreshadowing what would happen just a couple of weeks later.

As I was mulling over that thought, the door opened. Ferdinand’s attendant guided in the last participant of our secret meeting—Elvira.

She took her seat, and Lasfam refreshed our cups of tea before serving one to Elvira. Ferdinand then ordered him to leave and not return until called for. Once the attendant was gone, Ferdinand activated the magic tool on the table.

“You’re late, Elvira,” I said, my voice harsher than I’d intended—probably thanks to my rising anxiety.

“My apologies,” she replied calmly, “but I was talking to Rozemyne through the One-Hand water mirror.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for that? She should already be in bed, no?” Karstedt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Apparently, today she has a night class—something related to studying the stars.”

I couldn’t help but frown. Studying the stars? That place really was strange. Even stranger, they had classes every single day for months on end. I’d always thought the Royal Academy was bad enough, but compared to that? No way. I’d have gone insane sitting through boring lectures all day, every day.

We didn’t dwell on the topic any longer; instead, we all turned our eyes to Ferdinand. There was a very dark look in his eyes now.

Karstedt and Elvira had no idea that he’d gone to meet a former god living somewhere in the Royal Academy. All they knew was that he had a way to get information about the gods there. So, he started by giving them the same explanation he’d given me.

Both Elvira and Karstedt stared at Ferdinand in shock. Elvira was the first to recover, simply nodding as if meeting a former god was no different from going to a tea party with friends. Maybe she’d just gone numb to all this insanity. To her, this was probably just another straw on an already-overloaded pile of earth-shattering news.

Karstedt recovered soon after, though his expression said it all—he’d given up trying to make sense of this mess and had decided to just roll with it.

“So, what did you learn from Erwaermen?” I asked, leaning forward slightly. I wasn’t the only one—Elvira also had that same look of expectation in her eyes, mixed with both anxiety and fear.

“I did not speak with the pushy tree,” Ferdinand replied, his frown deepening even further. “Waiting for me in the Garden of Beginnings was none other than Mestionora.”

At those words, the atmosphere in the room grew heavy. We were all wearing the same grim expression as Ferdinand.

After a short silence—one that felt like it lasted several bells—Ferdinand began recounting his conversation with the goddess of wisdom.

The more he spoke, the more I felt my stomach sink. A pounding headache began to form, worse than any I’d ever had before. By the time he finished, my head was resting on the table, one hand clutching my stomach and the other tugging at my hair.

I was struggling to breathe. My heartbeat was so loud I could hear it echoing in my ears, and my vision had started to blur.

I felt something placed in front of me. Stopping my frantic tugging at my hair, I reached for it—it was a vial of my stomach medicine. I downed it in one go, then shoved a hand into the feystone bag at my belt. Mana drained from my body, slowly stabilizing me. A fragile sense of control began to return, though my head still throbbed and the veins in my temples pulsed painfully.

At first, I’d thought this whole business of Mestionora descending in the temple and basically forcing Rozemyne to attend a school in another world was just some kind of teenage fantasy—born from her insatiable lust for knowledge. That alone would have been bad enough.

But no. The truth was far, far worse.

Apparently, the entire country is on the brink of destruction. For some reason, the foundation of the country is running dry of mana. Wasn’t it the royal family’s job to supply it? And if this was connected to the missing Grutrissheit, wouldn’t it make a whole lot more sense for Mestionora to, I don’t know, descend in front of the royals and demand they fix it?! Just saying.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around how sending Rozemyne to study in another world was supposed to save the country. And to make matters worse, Mestionora had actually handed over the Grutrissheit to that other world’s goddess as payment for Rozemyne’s attendance. Oh, and let’s not forget—she might still ask Rozemyne for something in return.

Karstedt and Elvira were both pale. Elvira had one hand buried in her own bag of feystones, her eyes empty and unfocused. Karstedt looked like he might pass out at any moment.

“Either that goddess sees something that isn’t obvious to us… or—and this is just my personal opinion—she’s completely lost it,” I said, my voice trembling.

Elvira responded to my outburst, her voice uneasy and her eyes filled with fear. “I’m more inclined toward… the latter, Lord Sylvester.” She gripped her empty teacup—maybe trying to steady her trembling hands, though it was painfully obvious that it wasn’t working.

“I fail to see how turning my daughter into a demigoddess and then sending her to another world will prevent the country’s downfall… Why didn’t the gods just appear to the royal family and order them to fix this themselves?”

Karstedt nodded in support of Elvira’s words. “Even I can see that would’ve been the best possible solution. Sure, it would have unleashed chaos—but even that seems better than whatever this situation is.” He slammed his hand on the table for emphasis.

Ferdinand was tapping his temple with his fingers. “According to Mestionora, the country’s foundation running out of mana is merely a symptom. She believes that by sending Rozemyne to study in that world, she is addressing the true root of the problem.”

“The country turning into white sand is just a symptom?!” I asked, pouring as much sarcasm into my voice as I could manage. “So according to her, what’s the real problem, then?”

"for what i could gather from her words us, or to be more precisely noble society"

“WHAT?!” we all shouted in unison. Ferdinand’s eyes were hard as he continued.

“According to Mestionora—and I’m quoting her here—the decay of the weave has been happening for a very long time. She said that the Garden will fall even if a Zent with her book rises, and that the only possible future in which this doesn’t happen depends on Rozemyne.”

Ferdinand then listed all of the goddess’s complaints about us—focusing mainly on how humans had tarnished every teaching she left in the Bible. In short, she described us as ignorant, bloodthirsty barbarians.

Silence fell over the room once again as I mulled over Ferdinand’s words.

My first impulse was to scream in outrage, but the anger quickly drained out of me. Instead, my thoughts wandered—back to the day of Rozemyne’s adoption.

If she hadn’t signed that black charm with her own blood, she would have died… or worse, been taken by a noble from another duchy. That particular noble had even entered the city illegally.

Other examples of nobles behaving exactly as Mestionora had described flashed through my mind—and not just toward commoners, but toward fellow nobles as well.

Judging by the expressions on Karstedt’s and Elvira’s faces, they were probably having thoughts similar to mine.

Elvira shook her head. “Regardless of whether Mestionora is right or not, she has no right to burden my daughter like—”

“She’s the magical solution to all the problems,” I finished for her, a hollow feeling forming in my stomach the moment I said it.

Karstedt averted his gaze, and a somber look appeared in Ferdinand’s eyes.

That statement felt like a punch to the face, because I had  thought of Rozemyne that way at some point.

“Lord Ferdinand, did you learn anything new about what Mestionora did to my daughter?” Elvira interrupted my dark thoughts.

For some reason, Ferdinand didn’t meet Elvira’s eyes. Just for a second, I caught something—guilt, maybe even disgust—flickering across his face. It was so brief that, if I hadn’t been paying close attention, I would have missed it entirely. I couldn’t help but wonder why, as Ferdinand finally answered Elvira’s question.

“She mostly repeated what she wrote in her letter,” he said calmly. “However, she did mutter that Rozemyne’s body is akin to that of a newborn—that’s why her health is so poor. But she will grow healthier with time"

“I would like to say that it’s a relief to hear that… but knowing those words came from Mestionora is anything but reassuring. In fact, it makes me feel uneasy,” Elvira replied, sadness in her eyes.

“I don’t trust her either,” Ferdinand added. “Especially since her definition of healthy might differ greatly from ours.”

A very cold look appeared in Ferdinand’s eyes. “Especially when she mentioned that she would need to instruct Rozemyne regarding her new form.”

At those words, Elvira’s eyes turned murderous.

“Worry not—I will not let the gods keep playing with Rozemyne. Not ours, and not the goddess of that other world,” Ferdinand said, his voice filled with steely determination.

At those words, Elvira’s eyes began to shine. She brought a hand to her mouth, probably to hide a wide smile. Karstedt and I sighed—we knew that look all too well. She was definitely going to use this as material for her romance novels.

But her expression didn’t last. It quickly turned somber.

“I truly appreciate your words, Lord Ferdinand. To be honest, ever since I read that letter, Chaocipher has been planting some rather awful thoughts in my mind. What if the reason Mestionora turned my daughter into a demigoddess wasn’t to assist her, but rather to keep track of her? What if the bracelet she gave her isn’t so different from the ring use by those under a submission  contracts—a tool to force my daughter into obedience?”

With that somber final statement, the meeting came to an end. There was still much to discuss, but none of us were in the right mental state to continue the conversation.

Over the next couple of days, we met again at Ferdinand’s estate during the night to continue our talks.

The first topic was whether or not to tell Rozemyne. It became a long debate, but Elvira ultimately won.

“We cannot keep this a secret from her,” she said firmly. “She is at the very center of the storm. Yes, the truth will shock her—but it would be far more dangerous for her not to know. The gods have proven far too unpredictable for us to guess their next move. And we know nothing about this other world’s goddess—when or how she might try to approach Rozemyne.”

It was decided that we would tell Rozemyne after the Harvest Festival. By then, she would have expended a great deal of mana, making it easier to contain her if she were to lose control.

We also discussed Ehrenfest’s future. It was obvious that our duchy would be at the center of attention whether we liked it or not.

This, so far, was the hardest matter to resolve. At most, we agreed we should bring Cassandra into the loop—but deciding how much to tell her, and how to do so, felt impossible to me. I knew it was necessary, but I barely knew her, and I was afraid of how she might react.

I also had a private talk with Ferdinand. Normally, I’m not that sharp when it comes to reading what my brother is thinking, but I had the feeling he hadn’t told us everything.

It took a huge amount of effort, but I managed to get him to confess—and boy, I had never been more grateful that I’d excluded Elvira and Karstedt from this conversation. Otherwise, my brother would certainly have faced a very painful death.

Apparently, Devouring commoners are very easy to dye—and their mana clumps act in a way not too different from a feystone. Ferdinand had permanently dyed Rozemyne with his mana when he read her mind.

I buried my head in my hands as he told me this. Ferdinand’s face was deathly pale, twisted with self-disgust.

I did my best to cheer him up, trying to convince him that it wasn’t his fault—he hadn’t known these facts about the Devouring. And besides, Mestionora had already undone it—the only good thing to come out of this entire mess.

I wasn’t sure if I’d managed to cheer him up—it was always hard to tell with that blank expression of his.

Three weeks had passed since Rozemyne left. I was watching Cassandra work, still wondering how to tell her everything, when one of my scholars brought me a letter.

“Lady Rozemyne has sent a letter. She’s requesting to meet with you, Aub—if possible, before she has to attend the Harvest Festival.”

Instead of agreeing to a formal meeting, I decided to send her an invitation to have lunch. It had been far too long since we’d had a one-on-one meeting outside of official duties, and it would be good to see how she was doing—not as Aub, but as her adoptive father.

Chapter Text

POV Dumbledore

An old professor of mine used to say that people fear what they cannot understand. A very wise fellow—or at least he thought so. Personally, I never much cared for that saying. When I stumble across something new, I don’t feel fear in the slightest. Quite the opposite! My first impulse is to poke it, prod it, and perhaps even invite it to tea, provided it isn’t too explosive.

Now, I am told—rather insistently, I might add—that I am considered one of the most powerful wizards of our age. Nonsense, of course. I am simply an old man with a fondness for sherbet lemons and a regrettable habit of losing socks. Still… names do carry weight. Mine has been known to open doors, stop arguments, and—on one unfortunate occasion—persuade a goblin to sing. One must be careful with such things, though. Reputation is a trickier creature than most people realise.

And speaking of inviting mysteries to tea, I have one such guest sitting right before me. I must confess—despite my earlier remarks on fearing the unknown—that this particular mystery does indeed frighten me, and to a rather uncomfortable depth. In past occasions, when confronted with the incomprehensible, I have always relied on wit and intellect to see me through. Yet here, neither wit nor intellect avail me.

Not even my name, my so-called achievements, nor my book of amusing anecdotes could be of any use. For the person before me most likely sees me as no more significant than a lowly worm.

Regardless, I offered a kind smile as I lifted the teacup and took the first sip, followed by a bite of the apple crumble with its golden, crunchy surface. A simple gesture, meant to show my guest that neither food nor drink was poisoned. Such precautions are seldom practiced nowadays, but for the person before me, this is a matter of basic etiquette. Best, I thought, to follow their customs rather than cause unnecessary offense.

The person before me was the new healer who had recently begun working at the castle as Madam Pomfrey’s assistant—though in truth, she came from another world entirely. She was here mainly to look after young Miss Rozemyne, who likewise had crossed into ours. Alexandra, as she was called, wore a soft smile that contrasted sharply with the keen eyes that dissected me as though I were some curious specimen. She lifted the cup of tea, sipped delicately, and set it down again with hardly a sound—as though even the faintest clink of porcelain would have been improper.

“I hope the tea and the apple crumble are to your liking,” I said, my voice deliberately warm and friendly.

“Yes,” she replied, “I must say the fruit dessert is very much to my taste, and the tea chosen to accompany it enhances the flavor beautifully. I was quite surprised, however—the fruit in this dessert bears a remarkable resemblance to one from my homeland.”

I was eager to learn more, but I refrained. Despite her calm voice, her guard was clearly raised. It would not do to press her about the world she came from. Instead, I nodded and replied lightly, “It is good to hear that. Green tea mixed with apple does make for a perfect pairing.” I took another bite of the crumble before continuing. “I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised to receive your request for this meeting… a most welcome surprise, in fact. I have been eager to speak with you and hear, in your own words, how you’ve been adjusting to life at Hogwarts.”

Her soft smile did not falter as she recounted her first week: how strange and unlike her homeland the castle seemed, how she still felt somewhat distant from Madam Pomfrey, though she hoped in time they would build a relationship of cooperation and mutual learning.

Although the smile never left her face, I noticed the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips as she spoke, and her eyes—sharp and unwavering—betrayed what her expression so carefully concealed. She hid it well, but to me it was as clear as day: there was apprehension beneath her composure. In my life I have spoken with ministers, politicians, and influential figures from every corner of the wizarding world. Alexandra, I must say, was no less skilled than any of them in concealing her true thoughts.

I simply listened, offering only the occasional nod or small comment.

“It is good to hear you are adjusting,” I said at last. “Do remember, my door is always open should you need anything. By the way, how is Tilly? I trust you have found her assistance helpful?”

Tilly, of course, is the house-elf I assigned to serve as Alexandra’s attendant. We know precious little about the world from which she and Rozemyne hail. From our earliest conversations we were told that Rozemyne, her family, and her close associates belong to their world’s nobility. Yet how that society is structured, or how significant their standing truly is, remains a mystery. Since their very goddess took personal interest in ensuring the girl’s attendance at Hogwarts, one might naturally assume they are people of considerable importance. But assumptions without evidence are a dangerous habit, and I am not inclined to indulge in them.

During their visit to Diagon Alley to acquire Rozemyne’s school supplies, Professor McGonagall managed to glean a little more. It seems that magic in their world is restricted to nobles alone, while commoners are not unlike our own Muggles. From a statement Lord Bonifatius made during that same visit to the Ministry, we further suspect that their society is governed through the power of magic. McGonagall attempted to press discreetly for more information, and though what she obtained was fragmentary, it is nonetheless valuable.

“She is doing well. She has been a great help to me,” Alexandra said, though her expression was somewhat conflicted. “I must admit, however, that I find her… unusual. It is the first time I have encountered a fey beast capable of speech—let alone one employed as a servant.”

“Fey beast?” I repeated, keeping my tone calm and even, though a ripple of concern stirred within me. “Is this how you refer to magical creatures?”

In truth, I had long debated whether assigning her a house-elf had been wise. I feared they might be mistreated—or worse, misunderstood. Yet, as the elves serve Hogwarts loyally, placing one at her side seemed the most practical way to both assist her and quietly keep watch… and perhaps, in time, glean some fragment of information.

“Ah, yes. Creatures that possess mana are referred to as fey beasts. The same applies to plants infused with mana—feyplants,” she explained.

“I see. Most enlightening,” I replied. Yet from her tone, I could not discern whether she felt disgust toward Tilly or not. The elves who interacted with her had assured me she had not mistreated them, and Tilly herself reported much the same. Still, it is notoriously difficult to draw honest testimony from a house-elf regarding the witch or wizard they serve.

As servants of Hogwarts, the elves will not reveal the secrets of its inhabitants—especially not when the matter involves a member of staff. Even so, the doubt gnawed at me. I was beginning to suspect that assigning her a house-elf might have been a very poor idea indeed.

Alexandra asked me to refresh the tea, which I took as a sign she wished for another cup. The kettle was empty, so I conjured a fresh one with steaming tea and served her cup before filling my own.

Once again, her eyes were sharp as they fixed on me. The smile she wore did not reach them, and—perhaps it was only my imagination—but my office seemed to grow colder, despite the fact that outside the sun was shining warmly, a rare occurrence for autumn.

“Now, Professor,” she began, her smile tightening, “the reason I requested this meeting is to present a formal complaint.”

At her words, the temperature seemed to drop even further.

“Complaint? Is something wrong?” I asked, sifting quickly through the reports I had received, trying to think what might have caused conflict or disturbance. The first possibility was that Peeves had troubled her. Another was Lady Rozemyne’s collapse on her first day—I had seen how sensitive those around her were when it came to the girl’s well-being.

“Is this about Lady Rozemyne? About her collapsing during her first day?”

“My lady’s health has always been delicate,” Alexandra replied evenly, though the corners of her smile tightened. “She often neglects it herself, so that incident was of her own making. However, you are not wrong, Professor—it does concern Rozemyne.”

I noticed, with some unease, that Alexandra had dropped the girl’s title. She rarely referred to her without it.

“When we first met, I informed you that besides being here as her physician, I also serve as her guardian. Did I not?”

I gave a slow nod.

“Good. Then I pray you explain to me why Professor McGonagall met with my niece—without my presence—to discuss her protective charms?”

“Lady Alexandra we discuss this with her parents during they first meeting, that while Lady Rozemyne have permission to have protective charms with her, we were going to inspect them we can not afford to have magic spell that can cause harm to other students”

“I am aware of that agreement—my sister informed me of it,” Alexandra said, her voice smooth though her gaze was sharp. “But I still cannot understand why I was excluded from that meeting. Her safety is my utmost priority, and while I understand you wish to assure that her protective charms meet your standards, as matters stand, she is currently unprotected.”

“Hogwarts is a safe place,” I replied calmly. “The school has myself and the other professors. There is no danger for her in—”

“I beg your forgiveness, Lord Albus,” she cut in, her polite tone carrying a steel edge, “but I do not share your opinion. During my very first visit to this place, Madam Pomfrey regaled me with the sorts of cases that regularly find their way to her ward. Most of them, if I recall correctly, were the result of reckless actions by your students.” Her smile deepened, though it did not touch her eyes. “Do you remember? You were there with us—you even joked that such mishaps are simply part of student life. So you see, after hearing all those anecdotes, I can hardly think of this place as ‘safe.’”

This was obviously an argument I was doomed to lose, so there was only one possible answer.

“Yes, you are right. We should have informed you first so you could be part of the meeting. I apologize.”  I lowered my eyes to convey my repentance.

“I expect you will keep that in mind in the future, Lord Albus. I do not intend to go back on what has already been agreed, but the fact remains: the protections around  Rozemyne have been diminished. Therefore, I wish to discuss possible solutions while you continue your research on her charms.”

“But from what Professor McGonagall has told me,” I replied, seizing upon a point of reassurance, “she is not unprotected. She has the bracelet given to her by your goddess of wisdom.”

At this remark, Alexandra frowned. “The truth, Professor, is that we do not trust Mestionora. This entire matter of my niece coming here to study was as much a surprise to us as it was to you. Her descent into the mortal world came without warning, and it has brought with it a host of problems for us back home. That bracelet, while we have tried to investigate it, remains a mystery to us as well.”

This statement came as no surprise to me. If I recalled correctly, during our first encounter Rozemyne’s family had already explained how Mestionora had forced their agreement for her to study here. And from my own interactions with them—as well as Professor McGonagall’s reports—one thing was certain: they were exceedingly cautious. Cautious to the point where some might call them paranoid.

Given our own experience with the goddess, I could hardly blame them. To be wary of any item bestowed by her was only natural. With that in mind, I offered Alexandra an empathetic response before asking what solution she might suggest.

Alexandra’s proposal was to allow Lady Rozemyne to bring her guard knight at her side while our investigation of her protective charms continued. I had to refuse. I could not allow yet another unknown element to be introduced into the castle. Thus far, we had managed to keep the truth of Alexandra and Rozemyne’s origin a secret, and it would be impossible to justify what would essentially be a student arriving with armed bodyguards. Nor did I know how such individuals might react to the castle itself—or what might trigger them into action.

In the end, I agreed to return half of Rozemyne’s protective charms, a compromise of sorts. As the meeting drew to a close, Alexandra remarked with a trace of irony, “Perhaps we could have saved ourselves much time if you had simply asked me what my lady’s charms do. I would have answered honestly.”

I smiled at her words. “Just as you cannot trust us when we say this castle is safe, we, in turn, cannot be certain that her protective spells pose no danger to our students and staff.”

Alexandra gave me an amused smile of her own before taking her leave.

Once Alexandra had departed, the air in my office seemed to lighten again. I allowed myself a long breath before turning back to the ever-present duties of the school. Reports had been piling on my desk—disciplinary notes from Filch, Professor Sprout’s request for additional greenhouse space, and the never-ending complaints about Peeves. Compared to the conversation I had just endured, these matters felt almost mundane… and yet they were no less part of my responsibilities.

*

My routine and responsibilities as headmaster remained the same as every year, and with all my years in this position I have grown rather skilled at managing the school and the problems that arise — most of them little more than the mischief of students. In particular, there are two very energetic young men from Gryffindor whose ingenuity has tested every rule we put in place, and who seem determined to explore the limits of my patience as much as the boundaries of school discipline.

But with the arrival of our otherworldly residents, I have had to raise my guard. I instructed the professors who are in the know regarding Miss Rozemyne and Alexandra’s origins to keep an eye on them and report everything.

I, too, made some adjustments. With Professor Vaziri’s departure last year, instead of hiring a new teacher I chose to take his class myself, to see how the girl fares with my own eyes.

It did not take long before the first problems arose. I had been on edge, expecting that the greatest challenge would come from cultural clashes. Since the girl is a noble, I thought she might try to use the authority she held in her own world to make unreasonable demands — finer accommodations, extravagant meals, or perhaps even lashing out at students and professors. But no, she has remained the same polite and composed girl she was in the presence of her parents.

In fact, she seems to have adapted to the school environment better than her aunt. Poppy has reported that her new colleague operates under an entirely different sense of common sense, which has made her somewhat difficult to work with. She tells me it is hard to find anything meaningful for Alexandra to assist with, and that so far the only task she has taken on fully is serving as Rozemyne’s personal doctor.

No, the problem with Miss Linkberg is different: it is her magic. Mestionara had mentioned that the magic of their world and ours are compatible, yet what we have witnessed so far shows that the differences are staggering. For starters, I myself cannot fathom this other type of magic. Yes, wizards across our world have their own methods, but in essence, magic is the same everywhere. Hers, however, seems to defy the very foundations of magical theory. It is fascinating, yes, but also frustrating—not least because we are unable to fulfill our role as teachers. We do not even know where to begin, for these differences are beyond our current understanding.

The first complaint came from Professor Snape. He described what had occurred during her first Potions class: she somehow cut through the chopping block and the table as if they were butter. But that was not all. She cast a spell upon the potion—according to her, a magic circle that shortened its preparation time. Severus was unable to explain further, having missed the moment she cast it. The potion she brewed turned out vastly different from what anyone would expect. After testing it, he admitted that its effects were far stronger than even the most complex version of that recipe.

Soon, complaints from Severus regarding Rozemyne became a regular occurrence. Each potion she brewed diverged from the expected outcome. Some had more potent effects, some produced entirely different results—some intriguing and beneficial, others catastrophic and, I admit, rather frightening.

“I personally oversaw the preparation of this one, Dumbledore,” Severus said, his voice sharp, deadpan, and carrying a barely restrained irritation. He pressed his lips into a thin line and let a finger tap rhythmically against the edge of the table. “I instructed her step by step. I only lost sight of her briefly—and still…” His dark eyes, narrowing slightly, betrayed a mixture of incredulity and begrudging admiration.

I suggested he ask her about how potions are brewed in her world. Perhaps by understanding her methods, he might discern why the resulting potions behave in such unpredictable ways.

Severus was not the only one to deliver troubling reports. When Madam Hooch conducted her first flying lesson, the broomstick reacted violently the moment Rozemyne tried to summon it. Instead of rising obediently to her hand, it shot toward her like a spear. One of her protective charms activated instantly, shielding her but shattering the broom into splinters. The lesson had to be halted on the spot. Madam Hooch was understandably alarmed—not only by the broom’s erratic behavior, but also by the sheer force of the girl’s ward.

Flitwick and I were forced to intervene, offering what explanations we could and eventually calming Hooch, though unease lingered. On the second attempt at the class, the results were no better. According to the professor, the broom behaved like a wild horse, resisting Rozemyne’s control until it pitched her from a dangerous height. Madam Hooch barely managed to save her in time. Yet when the broom was later examined for defects, it proved to be in perfect condition.

Rozemyne herself proposed an alternative: instead of a broom, she asked to be evaluated using her highbeast. With a calm determination, she demonstrated it before Madam Hooch, who could not hide her intrigue at the sight. Yet the lesson required her to ride a broom.

“So as long as it has the shape of a broom, it counts, does it not?” the girl asked. Then, she  simply transformed her highbeast for it to take on the appearance of a broomstick. She mounted it and flew with ease, leaving little room for objection. After a brief debate, we were left with no choice but to accept her reasoning.

Still, this incident revealed a pattern we soon learned to expect. In practical lessons, the girl vexed us with results as unpredictable as they were dangerous. She struggled to reproduce spells correctly, often with disastrous consequences. Yet in theoretical classes she excelled. The essays I have received from her are exceptionally well-written—so much so that it is difficult to believe they were composed by an eleven-year-old.

This girl truly is a mystery. Not only for being from another world, but also for the peculiar inconsistency between her brilliance in theory and her poor performance in practical lessons. After some thought, I have deduced that much of the problem lies with her wand.

One of the few things we are certain about the wizards of her world is that their wands differ greatly from ours—both in nature and in the way they are obtained. From what little her family mentioned during their first visits, their wands are not purchased in shops, but rather bestowed through what sounded like a special process, perhaps even a ritual. The way they spoke of it carried an almost reverent weight, as though the bond between wizard and wand were far more sacred than what we are accustomed to.

According to her family, Rozemyne is expected to receive her true wand this coming winter, and with it I hope her performance will finally align with her potential. No—what I find more puzzling is not her struggles with magic, but rather the opposite: how effortlessly she seems to adapt to this world. She does not resemble someone lost or struggling to adjust; instead, she carries herself as though she had been raised here, as if Hogwarts were as familiar to her as her own home. This is all the more striking when one compares her to Alexandra, who visibly grapples with our customs and ways of life.

What continues to gnaw at me, however, is a comment the goddess made when she first appeared in my office to request Rozemyne’s enrollment. She said the girl had been born in Japan . Those words have echoed in my mind ever since. No matter how I try to reason them out, they defy all logic.

Ha! I cannot remember the last time I felt quite so lost—what a delightful change of pace. It brings me back to my youth, when every riddle seemed a grand adventure rather than a problem to be solved. And I daresay, being baffled suits me well. It makes me sharper, livelier… perhaps even a touch younger, though my knees might disagree. Still, any student who can make an old wizard feel young again is surely worth the trouble.”