Dumbledore's silhouette flickered beside Vaughn.
Without warning, he grabbed Vaughn's hand and soared upward, both of them "blinking" through the air — and just like that, they passed through the ceiling as if it were nothing more than a soap bubble.
A moment later, Vaughn found himself floating within a sea of gray mist, a world of fog with no visible sky or ground. Below him, a soft, distant glow shimmered faintly.
He instinctively looked down and saw, suspended in the swirling haze, the translucent form of a Klein bottle.
It hovered there, its surface reflecting the image of the training room summoned by the Room of Requirement — the very place he'd started.
Staring at it in surprise, Vaughn heard Dumbledore's calm voice:
"The object of meditation — it captures the last place you were before entering the Aether. It manifests in this space, not for any grand purpose, but simply as an anchor."
Of course, the mist wasn't real mist.
It was more like translucent, flickering shadows — hazy and intangible, yet constantly shifting — giving the illusion of fog.
"In a space like the Aether, where the very concept of direction or location dissolves, it's quite easy to get lost. Think about it — now that we've come here, how do we get back?"
"That's where anchor points come in. They serve both to orient us and to help us return to the physical world. In fact, they're the foundation of how modern alchemy can be studied safely."
"In the old days, alchemy was far more dangerous. Countless alchemists vanished into the Aether — their bodies withering away like empty husks, their minds lost forever."
By now, they were flying through the gray mist together, Dumbledore guiding Vaughn through the strange realm.
While listening intently, Vaughn tried to sense the Klein bottle — not by sight, but through the meditative techniques he'd studied.
Just like everything else in the Aether, sensing it felt... off. According to logic, the bottle should be behind them, but in his perception, it was everywhere — in front, behind, above, below. It was as if the bottle existed wherever he needed it to be.
So this is what it means for space to lose its meaning… Vaughn realized.
He now understood why Dumbledore said getting lost here was common. Flying through this endless gray realm with no reference points or direction — how could one not become lost?
Vaughn turned to ask, "Albus, what does it mean to navigate the Aether? If space doesn't exist here, and there's no such thing as direction, then is exploring just… wandering aimlessly through fog?"
He couldn't believe that was the case.
He'd read plenty of journals from former alchemists that described sights, sensations, even events — clearly, there was a method to "exploration." The beginner texts emphasized two things over and over: meditation and emotion.
Dumbledore chuckled. "My dear boy, we are wizards. Of course we use our emotions. Watch — like this..."
Vaughn immediately felt a strange ripple emanate from Dumbledore's form — like a wave passing through water.
It was faint — subtle, almost imperceptible — but something shifted.
The gray fog beneath them, previously calm and still, suddenly churned like a whirlpool stirred in a silent sea.
Then, from the depths of the mist, a flickering tree rose into view.
It was unmistakably a tree — despite the glowing layers and the transparent, shimmering outlines that wrapped around it like a veil. It had branches that stretched in all directions, lush leaves, and a thick trunk.
"You summoned that?" Vaughn asked.
"No," Dumbledore replied with a shake of his flickering head. "More accurately, the Aether responded to my thoughts. It either brought the tree to us — or transported us to the tree. Who knows which?"
Responded…
That word struck Vaughn. Even though Dumbledore rejected the idea of the Aether as a sentient being, he still used the word "respond" — suggesting that, at some level, the tree's appearance was a reaction to his thoughts.
"Much like casting a spell," Dumbledore explained. "Here, emotions and intentions are even more potent — even more... magical."
"Just now, I wanted to see a tree. So it appeared. That's what we call Aetheric navigation — directing your experience through your will."
Then he paused, and added:
"Of course, it's not unlimited. Emotion in the Aether is a finite resource. The stronger your desire and intention, the more likely you'll succeed in shaping the Aether — but the faster your emotional reserves will deplete."
Vaughn frowned. "What happens if your emotions run out?"
"No idea," Dumbledore said with a grin. "An old man like me wouldn't dare push it that far. But I imagine more than a few foolhardy alchemists tried. And since no one's ever returned to describe it… that says enough, doesn't it?"
Indeed it did.
They were probably all dead.
Vaughn thought for a moment. "When you say 'thoughts'… do you mean detailed, specific constructs? Or vague, emotion-driven impressions?"
He was trying to figure out if the Aether worked like a wish-granting machine.
Dumbledore sighed, instantly understanding where he was going.
"Unfortunately, only the vague, emotional kind. It's like magic itself. You can try to imagine all you want, but Expelliarmus will never turn your enemy into a flower."
"That's why we use the word 'navigation' — because for an alchemist, the Aether isn't a genie's lamp. It's just a tool. A way to travel in a world without time or space… or to experience the sensation of fusing with the Aether and glimpsing the universe's truths."
"But no — it's not a wishing well."
That makes sense.
Vaughn nodded in understanding, just as something began to stir beneath them.
The tree — or rather, the space around it — began to shift.
The fog, once still, churned again. From its depths emerged slimy, writhing tendrils, which slithered upward and coiled around the tree.
Then, before his eyes, the tree began to disintegrate.
Its glowing layers faded rapidly, the shimmering veil around it glitching violently, before collapsing into a thick, ooze-like substance — consumed by the tendrils.
"…What is that?" Vaughn asked.
"Ah yes," Dumbledore said calmly. "That's an Aether ray — a kind of creature that lives in the Aether. Supposedly they look like stingrays, but you rarely see their true form."
"They're quite annoying. They can sense a wizard's emotions. And whenever one tries to do something in the Aether… they come to mess it up."
A quantum lifeform…?
Vaughn's thoughts whirled as he stared at the slimy tendrils, still writhing in the mist, clearly hunting for more.
"Are they dangerous?" he asked. "Or rather… are the creatures in the Aether inherently threatening? I haven't seen anything about them in the journals."
"Most aren't dangerous. And they're not especially useful to study, either. They're essentially the same as the mental bodies of physical creatures."
"That said… don't let your guard down. Dangers here tend to come when you least expect them."
Vaughn noticed Dumbledore's tone had changed.
He turned to see the headmaster's silhouette facing something in the fog.
Following his gaze, Vaughn saw it too — a faint, golden glow seeping silently through the mist.
A warm, amber light.
So gentle… so nostalgic…
It evoked the image of an autumn sunset dipping below the horizon, casting its golden light across a quiet riverbank.
It beckoned.
Wait—!
Vaughn's instincts screamed. Something was wrong.
Just as he snapped out of it, Dumbledore's voice came sharply:
"Vaughn. Don't look at it."
But it was easier said than done. In the Aether, where space and direction meant nothing, not looking at something was nearly impossible.
Vaughn had to force his attention elsewhere.
"What is that thing?" he asked.
To his surprise, Dumbledore replied:
"I don't know."
"Vaughn… in the Aether, anything is possible. I've seen Muggle nightmares manifest as haunted castles. I've seen the mental remnants of long-dead wizards wandering like phantoms."
"This place is vast — beyond reason. No one can explain every phenomenon. And if you ask me how to stay safe here…"
Dumbledore's voice turned grave:
"My advice is simple: when you encounter something you don't understand — don't go near it. Don't get curious. Just wait. And it will pass."
Sure enough, the golden light eventually faded away, just as mysteriously as it had appeared.
Still, Vaughn couldn't shake the feeling that something about it was… wrong.
"Do things like that show up often?" he asked.
Dumbledore's flickering hands folded across his chest. "Not often. I'm guessing you asked Fred and George? They've probably never encountered anything like it."
That was a given.
If Vaughn had known in advance, he wouldn't have almost fallen into its trap.
He remembered how that light had pulled at him — not physically, but emotionally — almost hypnotically. That shouldn't have been possible, not with his Occlumency at max level.
Unless… unless it had targeted his soul.
Anything that interacted with the soul wasn't something to be taken lightly. And to encounter such a thing on his first trip into the Aether?
Vaughn didn't believe in coincidence. He glanced sideways at Dumbledore.
It was hard not to suspect that the old man had something to do with it.
But there was no evidence. And Dumbledore's face — obscured as it was in shimmering gray — showed nothing.
Vaughn chose not to press. Arguing with a one-hundred-plus-year-old schemer was a waste of energy.
If Dumbledore said "I don't know," then that meant he didn't want to say.
Still, Vaughn couldn't resist muttering, "All knowledge and technological progress begins with confronting the unknown… Just like the Hogwarts school song says: 'We'll study and learn till our brains all rot!'"
Dumbledore immediately nodded with enthusiasm, both his heads bobbing up and down. "Exactly! We must always pursue knowledge, Vaughn. Never become like this decaying old relic beside you!"
Vaughn rolled his eyes.
This guy...
(To be continued)
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