A Metamorphmagus differs significantly from an Animagus. It was a rare type of magic that allowed one to change their own form, and most Metamorphmagi were born with this ability.
Animagus, on the other hand, was usually achieved through study. In the original Harry Potter story, for example, the redheaded beauty Nymphadora Tonks was a naturally born Metamorphmagus.
Yes.
Ian's good friend, Aurora, and Aurora's grandfather also possessed the ability of a Metamorphmagus. However, don't let these few examples fool you, Metamorphmagus magic is far rarer than Animagus magic. The fact that his wicked adopted senior sister could wield such power proved that her magical talent was formidable.
While Ian was piecing together these clues,
"Do you feel a sense of frustration?"
the mischievous witch Morgan asked deliberately, her smile suggesting she took delight in Ian's predicament.
"A little..."
Though he remained puzzled, Ian admitted that a wicked queen from a fairy tale could be powerful.
Keep in mind:
Given his current strength, he already ranked among the stronger legendary wizards. The only limitation was that his foundation was still shallow.
"Is my adopted senior sister also a legend?" Ian asked aloud, voicing the confusion swirling in his mind. Without an answer, he feared his thoughts would never clear.
The desire to be invincible...the invincible heart!
Why can't it just rise up?
Ian was still brooding when Morgan, having overheard him, let out a crisp laugh that echoed through the quiet room and carried an audacious quality.
It was as if no one could restrain her.
"That woman doesn't have that kind of innate talent," Morgan said, her tone tinged with condescension toward her former apprentice. Perhaps it was simply her precise insight.
"So how can her power be so immense?" Ian hesitated to ask. After all, Morgan was supposed to have perished under the Evil Energy Explosion.
Sensing Ian's confusion, Morgan glanced at her apprentice. "In truth, if she were still alive, you could kill her countless times. Her current strength in the Twilight Zone is entirely due to the story she carries within her."
This was a relatively serious answer, no longer shrouded in vagueness. Yet, Ian still couldn't fully grasp it.
"The story she carries?"
Ian had some guesses, but he couldn't be certain.
Then, in the next moment,
Morgan's fingers lightly traced through the air, and the story of the Snow Princess began to appear, confirming Ian's thoughts to some extent.
"The power of a fairy tale, huh..."
Ian pondered. He recalled the big gray wolf he had once captured.
At that moment,
Morgan gently nodded. "You could consider it a special bloodline that arises postnatally. Of course, it's not really a bloodline, but rather a vessel that embodies the essence of something."
She also seemed to have a deep understanding of fairy tales. Upon further thought, this made sense, her first encounter with Ian involved following clues related to fairy tales.
Since then,
It seemed the wicked witch had delved into these matters quite extensively.
"Fairy tale... power..." Ian felt his temples throb as if an important clue were just beneath the surface of his mind, obscured by a thin veil.
"How special is this power?"
He nearly held his breath as he asked. If he remembered correctly, Merlin had once mentioned clues related to his pursuit of fairy tales.
Morgan looked up toward the fireplace. The hall was unusually quiet, with only the crackling of the flames breaking the silence. She seemed to be carefully choosing her words.
It was as if she was weighing how much to reveal to Ian.
"How to put it...it's special to the extent that..." Her voice suddenly became ethereal, as if coming from far away. "If used properly, you could even use it to overcome fate."
Her words vibrated in the air. The flames of the fireplace halted mid-flicker, as if frozen, touching some taboo or responding to a warning from beyond. Morgan's expression held an unfathomable complexity: part admiration, part caution toward some mysterious force.
It was unclear what she was wary of.
It might not be life or a person; it could be some unseen rule.
"But the big gray wolf I captured is also a fairy tale creature. Why was it so weak?" Ian asked, certain Morgan remembered the soul he had pulled from the shadows.
"The big gray wolf?"
Morgan suddenly laughed aloud.
Her laughter caused every piece of tableware on the dining table to ring with a clear resonance.
"I said that if used properly, our old friend is also a bumbling fool," Morgan said thoughtfully.
She leaned sideways and tapped the edge of the bench. "It's like a story, different ways of telling it produce different effects. The same story can be brilliant in different ways."
To be honest,
This metaphor felt rather abstract to the young wizard.
However,
He didn't press further. He simply pondered what his enigmatic teacher was trying to express. Just then, Morgan glanced at her bookshelf. She snapped her fingers, and the flames in the fireplace leapt again, casting shifting shadows across the stone walls.
"Think carefully, my dear teacher," Morgan said, once again using a title that Ian dared not respond to. She raised her hand, and a notebook flew into it.
Ian assumed she would hand it to him directly, but instead, Morgan extended her other hand. Under Ian's astonished gaze, she grabbed a corner of her gown, said "cī lā," and tore off a crescent-shaped piece of fabric, a familiar scene Ian had witnessed more than once.
Only this time, he didn't understand her maneuver. Morgan pressed the notebook onto the gown fragment, seemingly imprinting something onto it.
"Today's assignment," she said, handing the faintly glowing fabric to Ian. Star-like specks of light drifted from the torn edge, carrying a subtle, unsettling aura.
"This... has to do with fairy tales?" Ian asked, confused, as he took the gown fragment, which still held residual warmth and felt heavier than usual.
"It's about fairy tales and the Soul Hall."
Morgan nodded softly and answered quietly.
Just as the young wizard prepared to study it immediately,
"Go back and study it slowly. Don't influence me here," Morgan said, releasing the notebook, which flew back to the bookshelf on its own.
"Uh..."
Ian felt perplexed.
Morgan sighed audibly.
"There's a reason I sealed this knowledge in another medium, Ian. Not everyone is like you. What may be sweet knowledge to you could be poison to us," Morgan said with a hint of frustration. It was as if she had once been influenced in unknown ways.
"Knowledge... poisonous?"
Such a familiar déjà vu.
Ian once again sensed the presence of something "from the past self" in the air.
(End of chapter.)
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