When the opera ended and the crowd began to thin out, a voice spoke beside him.
"That was a nice ending, wasn't it?"
Vison turned in surprise, only now noticing the old man sitting in the previously empty seat beside him. He must've been too engrossed in the performance to realize someone had joined him.
"Indeed, Mr..." Vison replied casually, trailing off as he turned to get a better look.
His gaze landed on an elderly man with snow-white hair and deep, time-worn wrinkles. Despite his aged appearance, the man's eyes gleamed with startling vitality—brilliant and clear, nothing like those of someone on the brink of death. A name suddenly rose in Vison's mind.
Nicolas Flamel.
The legendary Alchemist. Creator of the Philosopher's Stone.
While Vison sat stunned, Nicolas gave him a gentle smile.
"Did you enjoy the opera tonight? It's rare to see young wizards alone at the opera. They usually prefer more... magical entertainment."
Perhaps it was because he rarely encountered fellow wizards in places like this that Nicolas initiated the conversation.
Vison quickly composed himself. "My German isn't very good. I didn't understand all the lyrics, but I think the music alone is moving enough."
The wrinkles at the corners of Nicolas's eyes softened. He seemed pleased.
"Ah, yes. It's good to see someone so young begin to appreciate such refined art. It's worth coming all this way to see, isn't it?"
Vison chuckled softly. "Actually, the performance wasn't why I came to Paris."
Nicolas raised a curious brow. "Then your timing was excellent. The Magic Flute isn't regularly scheduled here."
"I came to find you, Mr. Nicolas Flamel," Vison said, sincerity in his voice. He figured there was no point hiding the truth from someone hundreds of years old.
The old man's brows lifted slightly, visibly surprised to hear his name spoken aloud. He had been the one to start the conversation, and yet the boy's words made it seem like their meeting was anything but accidental.
"Well then," Nicolas said thoughtfully, "are you a Seer? How did you find me?"
Vison shook his head. "No, not a Seer. It was Felix Felicis. I didn't foresee this—I just borrowed some luck."
"Luck?" Nicolas chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Luck alone won't bring someone to a complete stranger, child."
By now, the opera house was nearly empty. A ticket inspector approached down the aisle, his tone tinged with practiced fatigue.
"Gentlemen, the performance has ended."
Nicolas slowly stood up. As he did, Vison noticed the inspector's eyes glaze over slightly, as if under the effects of a Confundus Charm.
"Of course, we'll leave now," Nicolas replied with a kindly smile, giving Vison a wink.
Outside, the two found a bench under a dim streetlamp and sat down.
"Did you cast a spell on him?" Vison asked, unable to resist.
"Maybe," Nicolas said playfully, giving a shrug and another wink. "I suppose you're like me and didn't buy a ticket."
"You're right," Vison admitted, then brought the conversation back on track. "There's one more thing—I recognized you, Mr. Flamel."
"Many people do," Nicolas replied evenly. "Too many, in fact. And many try to find me. Very few actually succeed."
"I'm honored to be one of the few," Vison said with a respectful nod.
Nicolas's expression turned more serious. "Then tell me—why did you seek me out? The Philosopher's Stone? The Elixir of Life? Or perhaps... Alchemy?"
Although Vison was curious about those things, they weren't his reason for coming. He slowly shook his head.
"It's about something more recent—about my family. A girl, unconscious. They told me they met you, and that you spoke for a while."
Nicolas tilted his head slightly, then his eyes lit with recognition. "Ah... that child. Forgive an old man's memory—it takes a moment to recall. Ariana, was that her name?"
Vison's heart lifted with relief. His parents really had encountered Nicolas Flamel.
"Yes, that's my sister," he confirmed. "I came to ask you some questions about her."
Hearing that, Nicolas softened again. "Of course, child. I remember her well—a lovely girl. Your parents were kind too. They saw me coughing and gave me a bottle of cough medicine."
Vison leaned forward slightly, hesitant but determined. "About her condition... you said her soul was torn? Is that true?"
Nicolas sighed. "I don't know for certain. But I can say this—part of your sister's soul is missing. About three centuries ago, I met a wizard who had been hit by the Cruciatus Curse. He didn't go insane, like most do. He simply fell into a coma, just like your sister."
Vison was struck by the thought—living so long, Flamel must have seen countless things others never could.
"Did he ever wake up?" he asked quickly.
Nicolas slowly shook his head. "No. The soul... is taboo in wizardry. Once it's involved, everything becomes complicated. A missing piece must be replaced—but that's far beyond what ordinary magic can achieve."
Replace a missing soul?
Vison immediately thought of the leaf from the Tree of Wisdom. That ancient tree had said it contained pure soul energy. Could it be used to heal Ariana?
"I understand," he said, nodding with a solemn expression. "Thank you, Mr. Flamel."
"You're welcome." Nicolas smiled again. "That's all I can offer, I'm afraid. I know nothing more about the specifics."
Vison looked up; the sky had turned fully dark.
"I should be going, Mr. Flamel."
"Goodbye, then." Nicolas lifted a hand in farewell, smiling kindly. "Also, don't tell anyone where I am. I prefer a peaceful retirement."
With a final nod, Vison turned and walked away. It wasn't until then that he realized—he hadn't told his mother he'd gone out.
Judging by the time, it was probably just getting dark in New York.
If he hurried, he could still make it home for dinner.
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