Chapter 459: Stars and Feather Quill
The only creatures in the Forest capable of producing such a Voice were the Centaurs.
And Centaurs were notoriously proud. They looked down on Wizards, and held little regard for Vampire or Werewolf—two of the Dark Creatures.
If Lucas and his companions were discovered by a group of Centaurs, they would almost certainly be killed on the charge of trespassing on sacred territory. Only a Pup Wolf like Morris might stand a chance of survival.
The Werewolf unsheathed his claws and leapt nimbly into the treetops, vanishing among the canopy.
The Vampire found it even more convenient—Thomas transformed instantly into a swarm of bats, clinging to the underside of leaves, blending seamlessly into the dark foliage.
They had barely hidden when two Centaurs arrived, their powerful bodies pushing aside the grass with deliberate care.
The ground bore the imprint of a human figure, surrounded by dried bloodstains and scabs. The air carried a strange, pungent scent—like spoiled meat, yet faintly floral, reminiscent of roses or fresh irises.
“Disgusting!” one Centaur wrinkled his nose and sneezed. “That Vampire’s missing.”
The other, a tall Centaur with deep brown hair, flicked his tail irritably. “He should’ve woken up before we arrived. The bats should’ve died.”
“Regardless,” said a Centaur with white-golden hair, crouching to examine the bloodstains calmly, “he was here. We must find him. A Vampire prowling in the Forbidden Forest is unacceptable.”
They raised their voices in a call, and soon more Centaurs arrived, racing through the undergrowth. One with a silver-gray tail and a lithe, agile frame stepped forward, commanding silence.
“Magre!”
The first arrivals bowed their heads, clearing a path.
Magre knelt, dipping a fingertip into the bloodstain. His淡蓝色 eyes grew distant, as if his gaze had locked onto something far beyond sight.
Thomas’s eyes widened. He recognized the elder—a renowned seer among the Centaurs. He couldn’t stay. With silent grace, he slipped down the tree, slipping through a gap between the leaves and vanishing into the night.
Lucas hesitated. He didn’t flee immediately.
He knew his size made movement in the woods impossible to hide from Centaur ears.
More importantly, the Centaurs were searching for an intruding Vampire. But Lucas’s family lived in the Forbidden Forest—under Dumbledore’s permission. As long as he wasn’t with the Vampire, he still had a chance.
He pressed his son into the folds of his cloak and signaled for silence.
Morris nodded frantically, eyes wide with fear.
“Departed,” Magre said after a moment, rising. “He’ll leave the Forest soon. We cannot catch him.”
“Should’ve died!” growled a black-haired Centaur.
“Calm, Bain,” Magre said, his tone even. “At least he caused no destruction.”
“He went to the Acromantula Clan,” said the white-golden-haired Centaur. “Magre, we should warn Hogwarts.”
Magre shook his head. “No need. The Acromantula were severely wounded yesterday. Over ninety percent of their kind were killed.”
Another red-haired Centaur stepped forward. “So when the Vampire arrived, they took him for the killer. Aragog nearly slaughtered him.”
“Exactly,” Magre said. “No matter what the Vampire intended, it’s already failed. No need to alarm Hogwarts.”
“Ferenz,” said Bain coldly, “you should keep your distance from humans—especially Hogwarts. I won’t let them treat us like their servants.”
The white-golden-haired Centaur was Ferenz. He frowned. “Our people live near Hogwarts. We should stand together. Besides, more Dark Forces are rising from beneath the surface. To protect our tribe, cooperation is necessary.”
“Why should we care?” Bain roared. “What do we have to do with their affairs? Our duty is to the stars. We swore an oath, Ferenz—no defiance of fate!”
“Maybe the Path of the Stars is guiding us?” Ferenz snapped. “Don’t you see? Two years ago, Jupiter tore apart a comet. The fragments are now colliding with it constantly. This is a sign—the world is changing.”
Bain glared. “That’s precisely why we must remain silent, preserve our way. Just as our ancestors did for thousands of years!”
He turned sharply. “Ferenz, are you really willing to drag the Centaurs into war?”
Ferenz looked around, his voice heavy. “If waiting alone brings dawn, then why did the gods grant us the ability to read the stars? We are not mere observers. We are part of this world. The Path has shown us a direction. If we do nothing, the world will leave us behind. Centaurs will become dust.”
“I’d rather be dust than be used by Wizards, driven by humans!” Bain spat, then turned and strode deeper into the Forbidden Forest.
The other Centaurs stood in silence, watching the argument. Even the red-haired leader—seemingly the chief—said nothing. Only when Bain vanished did he exhale deeply.
“Ferenz,” he said to the elder, “your concerns aren’t unfounded. But…”
He tilted his head toward the stars, staring for a long moment. “We Centaurs have our pride. Hogwarts—Wizardkind—they don’t understand respect for other races.”
His tone wasn’t as harsh as Bain’s, but it carried weight. Some Centaurs who had leaned toward Ferenz now looked away, their doubts resolved.
Ferenz frowned. “Ronan, we can’t ignore change. You saw it yourself—Hogwarts has changed more in the past two years than in the last thousand.”
Ronan sighed. “Yes. Sometimes, when I see children emerging from the Maze, I feel fear. The Wizard children are becoming warriors. But we… we stand still.”
Ferenz’s face lit up. “Exactly! So we must—”
Ronan raised a hand, cutting him off. “You’re too anxious, Ferenz. Impatience leads to mistakes. We must wait. Observe. See what the future holds.”
Ronan turned and walked away. Magre followed. One by one, the others left.
As a gray-brown Centaur passed Ferenz, he paused and said, “I like you, Ferenz. But I hate those Wizards. They dumped a dead spider in the Forest—now they’ve shoved a Fire Dragon in here too! This is our home. They’ve turned it into chaos. I hate them.”
Ferenz said nothing. He stood still, staring into the distance.
To the Wizards, the Fire Dragon’s lair was far from the Centaur territory.
But to a Centaur who loved the Forest as home, the entire wilderness was sacred. The presence of any uncontrolled danger was unbearable.
One by one, the Centaurs disappeared into the shadows.
Only Ferenz remained.
He stared at the faint glimmer of distant stars, long after the sun rose and drowned them all in light. Then, with a heavy heart, he turned and left.
Lucas slid down from the tree, frowning toward the direction the Centaurs had gone. After a moment’s thought, he pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and began writing.
Morris, watching from the cloak, asked, “Dad, you don’t like Dumbledore, do you?”
“Promises must be kept, Morris,” Lucas said, voice steady. “Besides, Dumbledore is the reason you were brought into that school, healed, and returned safely. If he weren’t there…”
He paused, the quill hovering. Then he continued.
...
When a plump Owl with fluffy feathers burst into the Headmaster’s Office, Wade was in the middle of an Alchemy lesson with Professor Mor.
Black tea was poured, sweets set out—class had officially begun.
Professor Mor waved his wand, and a flat box floated down from the bookshelf, landing with a soft thud on the table.
“Open it,” he said. “This is our tool for this term—probably for the next few months.”
Wade opened the box and gasped. “Feather Quill?”
Professor Mor smiled. “Wade, you’ve crafted many remarkable Alchemical artifacts, yet you rarely work with Feather Quills. Yet such delicate, fragile things hold deep secrets.”
He picked up a slender green quill. “This is a Self-Inking Feather Quill. As long as the inkwell has ink, it writes endlessly. Can you guess the spells used?”
Wade studied it carefully. “Linking Charm… Filling Charm… And maybe a Hovering Charm? That would make the ink flow smoothly.”
“Correct.” Professor Mor gave a light shake, and the quill disassembled into a pile of tiny parts.
“Your method—embedding multiple spells into a single object—is rare. Usually, we assign different spells to different structural parts.”
Wade examined each piece: the nib, the shaft, the junctions, and a tiny wooden ball at the top. Each bore a different spell, yet they worked together with surprising harmony.
Then, using materials pre-prepared by Professor Mor, Wade crafted an identical quill—only a few minutes passed.
Professor Mor nodded in approval. “The shaft and feather can be broken down further. If needed, we could add extra spell carriers—like this Anti-Cheating Feather Quill.”
He revealed the second quill. Ordinary in appearance, yet to Wade, it glowed with hidden brilliance.
“See? Anti-Interference, Testing, Recording, and Restriction Spells—designed to prevent students from cheating during exams.”
“I know you’ve used one before,” Professor Mor added, “but now, using the Alchemist’s eye, take another look.”
“Yes.” Wade took the quill, testing, observing, learning.
He had used this very quill in his final exams two years prior. But in the exam hall, he’d never dared disassemble it for study.
Professor Mor watched as Wade replicated the quill in under fifteen minutes—nearly identical.
A smile spread across his face, deepening the wrinkles around his mouth.
Wade, too, smiled—but not with satisfaction. It was a knowing, mischievous grin.
Professor Mor narrowed his eyes slightly, still smiling. “Wade, I didn’t assign this to give you an advantage in cheating.”
“Oh, no,” Wade said, setting down his copy. “I just suddenly realized… with Communication Peas now in use, the old Feather Quills aren’t as effective. So this year, they’ll probably ban Communication Peas at exams—and add a Detection Charm at the entrance.”
“True enough,” Professor Mor said, stroking his chin. “I’ll pass that suggestion to Dumbledore.”
Wade smiled, imagining the scene: some student, smugly believing they’d mastered a new loophole, only to be caught red-handed at the door.
“Now, the third…” Professor Mor picked up the final quill—a pure black one, its feathers slightly decayed, giving off a sinister aura.
“Try it,” he said, handing it over.
Wade took it, drew it lightly across paper. A sharp pain shot up his arm. He winced. The paper now bore a deep red line.
He pulled back his sleeve—his arm had a thin cut, blood welling slowly. But before he could react, the wound sealed itself, as if nothing had happened.
“It’s cursed,” Professor Mor said. “An ancient magic. Books written with it use the writer’s blood as ink—and cause intense pain. A common Dark Artifact.”
He took the quill back, placed it in the box.
“Truly dangerous things are rarely obvious. The worst beasts wear beautiful disguises. They lure you willingly into the abyss.”
“I’ve heard of a Wish-Realizing Feather Quill—one that turns words into reality. But the cost? The writer’s fortune. Terrifying… and deeply tempting.”
“Just a legend,” Professor Mor said. “Today, we’ll study this—”
He held up the last quill: sky-blue, the longest of all, its tip uniquely shaped.
“This is a Quick-Write Feather Quill. It automatically records letters and edits them according to the owner’s thoughts. Journalists and writers love it.”
He placed it in Wade’s palm. “The auto-writing spell is simple. But the way it connects to Wizard thought? That’s the key point of today’s lesson.”
“It’s not like feeding thoughts into a Magic Puppet—once and done. This one draws from your current thoughts, continuously influencing the quill.”
“Don’t underestimate it,” Professor Mor warned. “A few wizards have mastered this art. They’ve made animals understand their thoughts. They’ve made others act against their will—believing it was their own choice.”
Wade’s brow twitched. “Like the Imperius Curse?”
“No,” Professor Mor said. “The Imperius Curse is nothing. This is like mythological tales—gods or demons luring humans, manipulating them. Some legends say certain magical artifacts can influence the thoughts of everyone on Earth.”
“…That sounds terrifying,” Wade murmured. “How do you protect yourself?”
“Just a story, Wade,” Professor Mor chuckled. “If such magic could affect billions, what would the price be? I can’t even imagine.”
He smiled. “But once you learn the spell, you’ll know how to resist it. Now—start with the Feather Quill.”
(End of Chapter)
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