As Christmas break drew near, Marika in London called again to ask Skyl whether he wanted to come back and stay for a couple of days.
There were even fewer students staying at Hogwarts this year than last, for a whole mix of reasons. For one, the whole "Heir of Slytherin" affair had plenty of parents on edge. For another, compared to the Continent and North America, the situation in Britain's wizarding world was noticeably better. People credited it to Lockhart's strong leadership—keeping Muggles and wizards from clashing head-on—so it was safe enough for students to go home.
The third reason was that parents worried their children might come into contact with unknown outsiders. Since term began, Muggles had been spotted around Hogwarts far too often—persistent ordinary people who'd followed the northbound tracks all the way to Hogsmeade.
With wizarding communities being hunted down across the world, Hogwarts's location was one of the first to be exposed.
Lockhart's biography even recorded how students rode the train to the magical school. His scenic descriptions were treated as puzzle clues by readers worldwide. And this year, the construction crews moving in—bringing obvious flows of personnel and supplies—became an even brighter signal.
Working together as a nation, people compared notes through letters, radio, telephone calls—constantly eliminating bad leads and misinformation—until they inched their way toward Hogwarts's exact address. In the end, an explorer named David Mahoy and his team confirmed the existence of the magical school. Multiple media outlets followed the story from start to finish, and it was eventually turned into a five-episode documentary called Finding Hogwarts, produced by the BBC.
On the other end of the line, Marika laughed and asked, "If you're not coming back, do you want me to come to you?" She said locals around London had organized several off-road road-trip caravans, planning to head out for the magical school using the documentary's information. Sign-ups were pouring in—the whole thing had become a massive movement.
Skyl fell silent for a moment, thinking about what to do for Christmas. Marika misunderstood and thought she'd upset him. "Hello? Are you still there? I'm kidding. Don't take it to heart." Her voice was as warm and calm as ever, though the tail end of her words carried a dry, cautious edge.
"I'm here," Skyl said, instantly catching it. "Don't blame yourself. You don't have to act like you're walking on eggshells around me."
"Skyl, I'm not afraid of you."
"Good. Then I just thought of an idea." Skyl's tone lifted. "I'm going to build a legendary tavern."
Marika had no clue what he was plotting, but she only asked, "Can I help? The bakery shuts down for Christmas, and I'm bored out of my mind."
Skyl invited her to be the bartender. He would handle restocking the bar's ingredients, and Gally would moonlight as the cook. But to run a tavern properly, they'd still need servers.
These days, Melina had also been keeping in touch, hoping Skyl would return to the Lands Between whenever he had spare time. Every time, she said only one thing: "I miss you." Little else. So Skyl decided it was time to visit the wandering girl.
When he saw Melina again, she was roaming the Weeping Peninsula alone, busy hunting down the plague-maddened wretches infected by the Frenzied Flame. In the pouring mist of light rain and mountain fog, she rode in with her hood up, leading her horse as if she were a ranger who lived in the woods. The moment she saw Skyl, that cold, severe composure simply vanished.
"Long time no see," he greeted her with a smile.
After being born anew and gaining a flesh-and-blood body, Melina looked even younger than before. Maybe the rebirth magic was imperfect. Or maybe the body she'd cast aside beneath the Erdtree had always been this age.
Skyl hadn't come alone—he'd brought Marika with him. Even though this Marika wasn't the goddess of the Lands Between, nor Melina's birth mother, their first meeting was still… unusual.
They didn't speak. They simply looked at each other in silence for a while. Skyl couldn't help suspecting some kind of mental link, or an unspoken way of communicating. They said nothing, yet it felt like they'd said everything. After that, they continued saying nothing—truly not exchanging even half a sentence.
Skyl invited Melina to help at the tavern, and she agreed without hesitation.
After that, Skyl went to invite Millicent as well. He hadn't heard from her in a long time and had no idea how she'd been doing—but finding her wouldn't be easy.
Since they'd parted last time, Millicent had set out on a journey to find her roots. She fought her way from the southern edge of the Lands Between all the way to the north, battling terrifying enemies, outwitting vicious terrain and deadly traps, honing her swordsmanship until it bordered on the miraculous.
Skyl asked around, and from travelers and wandering merchants he learned that the red-haired swordswoman had recently gone to the Consecrated Snowfield—an extremely hidden region.
Following the snowfield's frozen river to a canyon at its source, he found Millicent there—locked in a sudden clash with the Great Wyrm Theodorix.
She wore a red wolf's pelt, her posture calm and steady. Before the magma wyrm, she was nothing more than a spark in front of a house.
From high above, Skyl witnessed a battle worthy of being carved into legend.
The Great Wyrm's charge shook the mountains, like floodwater and tidal waves crashing together. In the critical instant, Millicent unleashed an ultimate technique called Waterfowl Dance. She leapt into the air as savage sword-winds burst open like pale, iron-white blossoms—sharp, dense, and so fine they carved through rock and ice as if they weren't there. That single technique was enough to hold back an army. The Great Wyrm's scales were riddled through, its skull pierced clean through by her blade, and it died on the spot.
When the dragon fell, its molten blood thawed the river's source. With a thunderous roar, turbulent water surged forward. High-temperature steam rose into the canyon air and turned into drifting snow that fell back down.
Millicent stood atop a thick sheet of ice and let the current carry her. Hearing a jetlike roar from above, she looked up to see a small figure streaking closer, trailing four long blue contrails.
Skyl landed on the bank to wait. The massive ice slab under Millicent struck a bend in the river; she sprang onto shore and rushed to Skyl. Along the briefly thawed riverbanks, sleeping seeds fought desperately to sprout, and hardy flowers stubbornly bloomed against the biting wind, lining the water's edge.
The red-haired swordswoman—usually so serious and stern—broke into a smile of pure, heartfelt joy.
She opened her arms as if to hug Skyl, but the moment she reached him, she stopped herself. Awkwardly, she grabbed her own arm and glanced down at what she was wearing: beneath the ornate wolf pelt was a travel outfit in tatters, crudely stitched together, stained with blood that would never wash out. She looked a mess.
Millicent dearly wished she could have looked more presentable when she met Skyl again.
"Long time no see," she said, taking a deep breath—then letting it out all at once. On her gaunt face, a restrained but delighted smile bloomed. "I didn't think I'd see you here. I have to say… this feeling is wonderful. I mean it, Skyl. I've always wanted to prove to you that I've been working to become stronger. My promise won't change. I'll be your sword—fighting to protect you, until the day I die."
Skyl grew a little uncomfortable under her clear, blazing gaze. Millicent expressed her feelings the same way she wielded her blade: sharply. If you weren't ready, it could be overwhelming.
"You could've contacted me by phone," Skyl said. "Were you afraid it would interfere with your training?"
Millicent's face flushed. "I don't know how to use it. So I turned it off."
Skyl invited her to help run the tavern too. Even though she hadn't finished her journey, Millicent agreed without a second thought.
"Training was always meant so I could stay by your side," she said. "I won't get it backwards."
That made five of them as staff.
Only after everyone was in place did Skyl begin building the tavern. He spent two days discussing the exterior style and interior decor with his friends. Then, inside The Tower of Tomes, he constructed the Three-Cups Traveler's Tavern.
"We're going to turn it into a legend," Skyl declared. "This is a magic experiment. Once the tavern has enough patrons, it'll gain a mysterious aura through word of mouth. And then—if nothing goes wrong—it'll develop a thoughtform spirit born from longing. After that, I'll try to give that spirit magic, so the tavern can evolve into a magical creation."
"You're saying things we don't understand," Marika said, shaking her head with an exasperated laugh. "What makes a tavern important isn't the building itself. It's the people running it—and the people who come to drink."
Melina and Millicent, now changed into maid uniforms, both nodded along.
"…That's fair," Skyl conceded. "But the magic experiment is important too!"
"Sure, sure," they all said in unison.
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