Success.
Sylas's face lit up with joy.
The moment his concentration wavered, the magic faltered and the leaf he had been levitating drifted gently back to the ground.
But he wasn't disappointed. Instead, he took a deep breath, steadied his mind, and focused again. The leaf rose once more, hovering steadily in the air before swaying back down when his focus slipped again.
Each time, he lasted a little longer.
Encouraged by his progress, Sylas switched to a small pebble. It was noticeably heavier than the leaf, and controlling it felt like starting from scratch. The pebble wobbled in midair, then plopped back down almost immediately.
Even so, Sylas grinned with excitement.
The more he practiced, the more he felt something stir within him. It was a subtle power, waiting to be shaped. Time slipped by unnoticed as he became immersed in the thrill of discovering real magic.
He was only interrupted when Bilbo appeared at the garden gate, a teacup in hand and eyes wide with astonishment.
"Sylas," he gasped. "Were you practicing magic?"
Sylas gave a modest nod, a bit sheepish.
Strictly speaking, what he was doing barely qualified as magic. He was simply using raw magical energy to levitate light objects. The strength behind it wasn't even comparable to what he could do with his hands.
But in Bilbo's eyes, it was a miracle.
"That's incredible!"
The Hobbit's face was aglow with childlike wonder.
"Sylas, could you show me again? Please?"
Sylas felt a warm pride bubble inside him at Bilbo's admiration.
"As you wish," he said with a small flourish.
Smiling to himself, he raised both hands. In an instant, dozens of flower petals lifted from the garden beds, swirling around them in a dazzling spiral of color and light. The petals floated and danced through the air like a choreographed performance.
Bilbo's jaw dropped. He stood frozen, wide-eyed, completely entranced by the magic display.
Over the following days, Sylas devoted himself to his practice.
He moved on from leaves and pebbles to heavier objects, slowly increasing both the weight and the duration of his spells. Eventually, he was able to levitate items weighing close to ten pounds and keep them suspended for up to half an hour.
He also began practicing multiple-object control. It wasn't like levitating a handful of petals for a quick flourish. This time, he tried to maintain several objects in the air at once, each requiring separate attention and effort.
At first, he only used non-breakable objects. But as his skill improved, teacups, plates, and even kettles floated gently through the air at Bag End.
Bilbo, though initially stunned, soon grew used to it. In fact, he became a bit spoiled. When he didn't feel like fetching something, he would simply call out, "Sylas, could you float the teapot over here, would you?"
Sylas was happy to oblige.
One morning, he paused his training.
The pantry at Bag End was running low, and Bilbo suggested they make a trip into Hobbiton to buy groceries and replenish their stores.
So the two set off together, walking the winding path that curled down the hill. The sun was shining, the breeze carried the scent of clover, and birds flitted about the hedgerows.
They passed rolling fields and tidy stone walls. Here and there, Hobbits were working in their gardens or tilling the earth with simple tools.
Whenever one of them caught sight of Sylas, a tall and unfamiliar figure among the short folk of the Shire, they paused to stare with a mix of curiosity.
There were no secrets in Hobbiton.
The news that a Human was staying at Bilbo Baggins's home had already spread throughout the entire village.
But since Bilbo had long been known as a quiet, somewhat reclusive Hobbit who didn't particularly enjoy social gatherings, no one took the liberty of visiting Bag End to inquire directly.
As Sylas and Bilbo walked past the watermill and crossed the charming double-arched stone bridge, they arrived at the heart of Hobbiton.
Unlike the rounded, hillside homes near Bag End, the buildings here showed subtle signs of Human-style architecture. Even so, they remained low and snug, perfectly suited for Hobbit life.
Near the center stood the Green Dragon Inn, the only inn in the area and a favorite gathering spot for local Hobbits. Its cheerful sign swung gently in the breeze, and the sound of music and chatter drifted from its windows.
The marketplace was lively. Stalls lined the lanes, packed with Hobbits selling produce, baked goods, handwoven fabrics, and hand-carved trinkets. Some bartered directly, exchanging goods with friendly banter.
Women haggled with cheerful determination. Children darted between legs and wagons, giggling and squealing as they played.
Sylas, towering above the crowd, drew every gaze.
Adults tried to be subtle, casting glances from behind baskets or over mugs of ale. The children, however, had no such restraint.
Several young Hobbits gathered around him, wide-eyed with wonder. One of them, who barely reached Sylas's knee, tugged gently on his cloak.
"Are you a Human?" the little one asked, eyes round with curiosity.
Sylas smiled and knelt, gently patting the boy's head.
"Yes," he said warmly.
Bilbo, standing nearby, cleared his throat a few times. Once he had the attention of those nearby, he puffed out his chest and raised his voice with pride.
"Sylas is not just a Human," he said. "He is a Wizard."
A collective gasp followed.
"Wow!"
The young Hobbits stared in awe, their mouths hanging open.
The adults, too, were taken aback. Their curious expressions shifted to something closer to respect.
Wizards, after all, were rare and powerful in Middle-earth—mysterious figures who wandered between realms and changed the course of history.
But the children knew only excitement. They tugged at Sylas's sleeves and begged him to show them magic.
Sylas chuckled and didn't disappoint.
With a gentle tap on the tops of their heads, their hats twitched and wiggled, then suddenly lifted into the air. The hats flapped and spun like little birds, dancing above the children's heads in playful loops.
The children squealed in delight, chasing the flying hats with laughter.
Even the adult Hobbits nearby stared in amazement, murmuring to one another.
Bilbo beamed. He cleared his throat again, this time in mock seriousness.
"Ahem. Sylas, we should be going."
Sylas smiled and nodded, following the proud little Hobbit who looked as if he had just won an argument with the mayor.
Once they had finished shopping for food and household supplies, Sylas broke away to visit the only blacksmith in Hobbiton.
The blacksmith, a burly Hobbit with soot on his cheeks and a leather apron across his chest, was clearly surprised to see a tall Human step into his forge.
Still, he put down his hammer and stepped forward.
"What can I help you with, sir?" he asked politely.
Sylas looked around the shop. It was filled with farming tools—plows, hoes, shears, cleavers, and axes. Most of the goods were practical, meant for gardening or home use.
"Do you sell weapons?" Sylas asked. "Something like a longsword."
The blacksmith blinked, then shook his head.
"We don't get much call for swords around here. Hobbits don't go looking for fights, and there's no market for weapons in the Shire."
Sylas nodded, a little disappointed, but pressed on.
"What if I commissioned one? How long would it take?"
The blacksmith continued to shake his head, wiping his hands on a thick cloth as he spoke.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'd love to help, truly, but we've never forged a longsword here. No experience with that sort of work at all."
"If you're really after a proper weapon, your best bet would be Bree, east of the Shire. It's a Human town. They've got real weaponsmiths there, folks who know how to make blades that last through battle."
Sylas nodded slowly, though inwardly he sighed.
According to Bilbo, Bree was around one hundred and thirty-five miles from Hobbiton. On foot, it would take at least six or seven days to get there, if the weather held and the roads were kind.
At the moment, Sylas had no plans to head that far east.
Since swords weren't an option for now, he looked around the shop again and settled on a pair of bone cleavers hanging neatly on the far wall.
While the blacksmith didn't make weapons in the traditional sense, the craftsmanship of his tools was excellent. The bone cleavers in particular had thick, gleaming blades and strong handles wrapped in leather cord. They were sharp enough to cleave through pork or mutton bones with ease.
"These'll last you a lifetime," the blacksmith said proudly.
Sylas smiled faintly but didn't entirely believe that. Still, he could feel their weight in his hands, and the balance was surprisingly good.
He made the purchase without complaint.
As for the money... well, that came from Bilbo.
Sylas had arrived in Middle-earth with nothing to his name. No money, no food, not even spare clothes. He had been relying on Bilbo's kindness ever since he arrived, and he wasn't sure when—or even if—he'd be able to pay him back.
But the gentle Hobbit never brought it up.
Bilbo never asked for repayment, never complained, and never treated Sylas as a burden. He simply helped him as if they had known each other for years.
And so, as Sylas tucked the cleavers away and thanked the blacksmith, his heart swelled with gratitude.
He had been thrown into a strange new world with no warning, but by some great stroke of luck, the first person he met had been Bilbo Baggins.
Without him, Sylas wasn't sure how he would have survived, let alone felt this... safe.