Chapter 294: Eye Contact
“Ding-dong—”
The familiar chime rang once more. The elevator door slid open silently.
A flood of light poured in from outside. Wade instinctively squinted, then took in the sight before him: a grand, opulent hall.
Long, deep crimson curtains hung from the ceiling, draping down like blood-stained waterfalls. Walls were lined with portraits of all sizes—some ancient, some oddly animated—while strange magical creature statues occasionally yawned, blinked, or wagged their tails, mimicking real animals with eerie precision.
Shelves and bookcases lined the room, brimming with magical artifacts: crystal orbs of water, enchanted spyglasses, teapots that hummed with residual magic. Inside a transparent glass jar, a ribbon floated and spun slowly, as if caught in an invisible current.
Along a long table, desserts and beverages were laid out for guests to take freely—many of them unfamiliar to Wade, some even glowing faintly with inner light.
Yet the hall was sparsely populated. Perhaps two or three dozen people in total, about a third of whom were students like Wade, brought by elder wizards or professors. But among them, he was the only one so young.
Wade knew—without doubt—these people were all The Alchemists.
To the untrained eye, they might seem unremarkable. But when gathered together, their presence radiated an unmistakable aura. Not like ordinary wizards, nor like Muggles. They carried the quiet intensity of both mystics and scientists—scholars of hidden truths, lost knowledge, and ancient forces. Even amid the crowd, they seemed detached, absorbed in their own inner worlds.
Compared to them, Professor Mor seemed almost shockingly down-to-earth.
As soon as the two stepped through the door, someone from within approached them.
“You’re here too, Mor,” said a broad-shouldered wizard with brown hair.
“Orlando,” Professor Mor replied. “Gul claimed he found ancient notes left by a forgotten wizard. Naturally, I had to come.”
“I’m here for the mirror,” the man said. “The one said to communicate with the dead. Aside from the legendary Resurrection Stone, I’ve never seen a magical artifact that could breach the barrier between life and death.”
“Sounds like a myth,” Mor said with a smirk.
“I know… but what if it’s real? Gul wouldn’t be making this up just for fun, would he?”
Orlando’s gaze shifted to Wade.
“Mor… this child is—”
Wade bowed slightly.
“My student, Wade Gray,” Professor Mor said, clearing his throat casually. “You’ve probably heard of him.”
“Of course—of course!” Orlando’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t expect… he’s actually—so young! This is astonishing!”
He reached out with a solemn hand. “Welcome, young Mr. Gray.”
“Good evening, Mr. Orlando. I’ve read many of your essays,” Wade replied respectfully.
Orlando’s expression pleased Professor Mor. He suppressed a smile, his lips barely twitching.
“Yes, third year only,” Mor said proudly. “But he’s already invented the Book of Friends and the Magic Puppet Pet. Oh, and that new Streaming Mirror everyone’s talking about.”
“I know,” Orlando mused, studying Wade. “I bought them all.”
Then, suddenly, he said, “You know, young Wade… have you ever considered attending Beauxbatons? We’ve got the most beautiful girls in all of France. And Nicolas Flamel himself is on our board of governors.”
Professor Mor’s face darkened.
“Hey, Orlando! You’re forgetting I’m still here, aren’t you?”
“Come on,” Orlando shrugged. “You’re not exactly swamped with classes at Hogwarts. You could join us. And if you’re tired of Mor’s teaching style, I’d be happy to teach you a different kind of alchemy.”
“Thank you,” Wade said, amused. “Hogwarts suits me just fine. No plans to transfer.”
“Still,” Orlando said, pulling out a Book of Friends, “if you ever change your mind—reach out. Even just to visit. No obligation.”
Wade accepted it without hesitation.
The chime rang again. Another Alchemist entered. As the elevator door slid shut, Wade caught a glimpse of the girl who had greeted them in the Great Hall—she was inside.
He blinked in surprise.
Earlier, when he and Professor Mor had arrived, she had only pressed the button and waited outside. She hadn’t followed them up.
Now, as the door closed, she lifted her eyes—just as Wade looked up.
Their gazes met.
This time, there was no shyness. No flicker of hesitation. Only stillness. A deep, quiet stillness.
“Professor,” Wade murmured. “When you attended past exhibitions, was it always here?”
“Hmm? No, not at all,” Professor Mor said. “Gul likes to pick random places he finds interesting. Sometimes on a cruise ship, sometimes in an amusement park. Once, even in a cemetery.”
“Then… the girl upstairs—have you seen her before?”
“No. Probably just one of Gul’s employees,” Mor said. “He likes hiring Muggle-borns or wizards with low magical potential to serve.”
Wade reached absently to the pouch at his waist. He said nothing more.
Then, suddenly, a soft tinkling began—like raindrops hitting stone.
Next, every statue in the hall erupted in golden sparks. They rained onto the floor, igniting a roaring fire. From the flames stepped a wizard in a crimson robe, leaning on a staff.
“Just a Frost Fire Charm,” Professor Mor scoffed. “Gul still loves making a scene.”
The red-robed wizard spread his arms wide.
“Welcome! Welcome, all of you, to my exhibition! Today’s display features my carefully selected relics—ancient, powerful magical artifacts. If anyone wishes to study or collect them, feel free to contact me after the show!”
“Enough talk,” a bald, elderly wizard snapped. “Get on with it.”
The other Alchemists nodded in agreement.
“…Fine,” Gul muttered. He dropped his manuscript—easily over six feet long—and slammed his staff into the ground.
Thud.
An invisible wave rippled outward. The floor seemed to tremble.
Seven stone platforms rose from the ground, each holding a single magical artifact, sealed behind a transparent magical barrier.
The guests moved toward the ones that caught their interest.
Wade wandered among them.
There was an old teapot with strange, ancient patterns. A wooden carving of a mirror. A worn notebook. A stone tablet etched with forgotten script. A sword without a sheath. A golden necklace. And a crown of thorns, woven with blackened vines.
Wade’s expression grew still—pale, almost unnerved.
He activated his second sight.
He expected to see intricate magical runes, fragmented and mysterious wards, the lingering echo of ancient magic, the weight of centuries trapped in these objects.
But there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
To his eyes, the artifacts looked dull. Lifeless. Empty.
No magic. No history. No mystery.
Just ordinary things.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
