Chapter 478: The Infinite Corridor
Wade paused, and a strange sensation washed over him.
Before him stood several Home companions—Mihal, Broomstick, Cloak, and the Rubik's Magic Puppet. Except for Mihal, none of them had faces. The Magic Puppet, though, could extend a pair of eyes, though nothing else. Yet now, Wade could detect a subtle unease—shyness, even—from Broomstick, Cloak, and Firebird. They flinched slightly, avoiding eye contact as if they couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.
Only the Rubik's Magic Puppet stood tall, its posture radiating two clear messages: I’m not one of them, and I’ve already scolded them.
Wade rubbed his temple. “What happened? Did you blow up the Alchemy Chamber? Break some priceless Potion?”
“No, no!” Broomstick swayed nervously. “It was Cloak—he took Master’s Stone Necklace without permission!”
“I only wore it for a second!” Cloak protested. “Broomstick attacked me, so the necklace fell!”
“If you hadn’t stolen it, it wouldn’t have fallen!”
“If you hadn’t scattered me, it wouldn’t have fallen!”
“It’s not broken! Mihal pecked it with his beak!”
“Exactly! Mihal, how hot is your beak? You don’t even know, do you?”
Both Magic Puppets turned their ire on Firebird. Mihal tilted his head, letting out a soft coo, looking utterly innocent—and utterly adorable.
Cloak’s conscience ached. “Well… it wasn’t really broken at the time… No, no—wait, the necklace’s fine. The one that broke was… the other one.”
“What?” Wade asked, stepping into the storage room—and then he saw it.
The third party in this unexpected incident.
A single Stone.
“I… I wanted to put it back,” Cloak whispered. “But I don’t know why… I just touched it lightly, and it shattered.”
An ordinary Stone, certainly not worth displaying on a shelf. But this one had been a Christmas gift from Professor Mor—Wagadu Magic School’s Dream Messenger had sent it to each student, engraved with ancient Egyptian script.
Wade was fascinated by how the Dream Messenger could transmit such a Stone across distances. But the script was in an archaic form of Egyptian, and he hadn’t yet found the time to learn a new language. So he’d set it aside.
A Stone given to every Wagadu student—common, not valuable. But it was a gift from Professor Mor. That made all the difference.
Wade stayed silent, just quietly gathering the debris. Broomstick and Cloak stood close together, shifting nervously, bumping into each other.
The Rubik’s Magic Puppet sighed, drifting over. “Honestly, I can’t entirely blame them. Sure, touching collectibles is wrong—but this one? I think the fault lies with the Stone itself.”
Wade gave it a sharp look.
He had a sense that this Magic Puppet was more mature, more level-headed. Yet it was spouting such illogical defense? It sounded… oddly familiar.
Like a child falling, then blaming the floor, yelling: “Bad floor! Bad floor! You made my precious Home fall!”
“I’m not defending them,” the Magic Puppet said, pointing to the stand where the Stone had once rested. “Look at this. The stand fell outward, not inward.”
“Uh… it wasn’t me,” Broomstick insisted.
“Not me either!” Cloak added, flustered.
Mihal: Chirp-chirp!
The Magic Puppet waved a hand. “Don’t rush to blame each other. Let me analyze.”
It turned to Wade. “If the necklace’s movement had shattered the Stone, the stand would’ve tipped inward. The fragments would’ve scattered inside. But look—this stand fell outward. The shards are scattered at the edge of the shelf. That means the situation was reversed.”
“Not the necklace hitting the Stone. But the Stone moving toward the necklace—knocking over the stand, causing a collision. One of them broke.”
Silence fell.
Then Cloak clapped loudly. “Rubik’s Magic Puppet, you’re a genius!”
“Famous detective! Holmes! Poirot! Conan!” Broomstick slammed his broomstick against the floor, sending twigs rustling.
Wade gave the two a sideways glance, voice cool. “You two happy?”
They snapped quiet instantly, bowing in unison. “We’re sorry. We were wrong.”
“Good,” Wade said, calm. “You’ll stand facing the wall for an hour. Mihal, you supervise.”
Even if they’d accidentally done the right thing, Professor Mor’s gift had still been ruined.
After the Magic Puppets left, Wade brought the Rubik’s Magic Puppet to the Laboratory. He gathered all his recent research, laid out the notes, and placed the necklace on the table. Then he cast the spell again:
“Oumai gen, fata, tei a mo gen, pull you, niups lang a you…”
The necklace pulsed with a faint red glow. To Wade’s eyes, the runes flickered—some bright, some dim—faint silver threads darting through them like lightning.
It reminded him of neural signal animations. There was a strange, uncanny similarity.
He steadied himself, marking the glowing runes on his research paper. The Magic Puppet flew to work, calculating and simulating in seconds. Minutes later, it presented several new spell sequences and pronunciation methods.
Wade tried again: “Semia pull – Sami – Aisno – Oumai…”
Nothing.
Third attempt: “Humanuo – di lipi rong – a you – ni pu…”
The glow brightened slightly. The points of light shifted.
He recorded everything. The two sat side by side, analyzing, computing, breaking down the spell. Soon, the table was buried under pages of calculations.
Outside, the Magic Puppets—finished with their wall-sitting—peered through the window. The sight of Wade and the Magic Puppet deeply engrossed in work filled them with dread.
Cloak murmured, “Same kind of Magic Puppets… why is the Rubik’s one so smart?”
“Yeah,” Broomstick sighed. “I’m such a fool. Such a great fool.”
Cloak shoved him aside in exasperation.
Mihal: Chirp-chirp!
Broomstick perked up, circling Firebird. “I’ve always wondered—Mihal, I don’t have a mouth, but I can talk. You do have a beak… so why only ‘coo’?”
Cloak interrupted: “Who said it? He can gurgle too!”
“Shut up!” Broomstick snapped. “I’m not talking about that! I mean—why can’t you talk like the rest of us?”
Mihal spread his wings, preening his feathers with a nonchalant air. I’m just a bird. What would I know?
Broomstick stared. Then suddenly: “Mihal’s a dummy!”
Firebird snapped his head up, narrowing his eyes.
Broomstick took a step back. “Mihal’s all tough and flashy, but every morning he goes to the lake to wash his brain! Because—”
Before he could finish, Firebird lunged.
Heat surged through the air, warping it like a mirage. Broomstick shrieked—and zipped into the sky in an instant. Mihal shot after him, trailing fire like a comet, clearly aiming to disintegrate him.
Cloak dashed out the Main Gate, staring up at the two streaking through the sky. “Whoa…”
It was a relief the closet space was large enough. Otherwise, Broomstick would’ve been obliterated in one shot.
But the two weren’t really destroying anything—just playing. Still, Cloak thought, if they kept this up, and I stayed quiet and worked… when Master found out, he’d know who the real good Magic Puppet was. He’d wipe the slate clean of my earlier mistake.
Cloak touched its nonexistent chin. Brilliant idea.
It slipped back into the Laboratory, quietly helping organize papers. Occasionally, it sneaked into the Reference Book room to pull out old tomes.
Later, outside, came Broomstick’s scream: “Aaaah! I’m sorry! I’m the biggest fool! I need to wash my brain!”
Wade, deep in study, looked up. “What are they doing now?”
“Broomstick’s annoying Mihal again,” the Rubik’s Magic Puppet said, dryly. “Even though he can’t win. Master, you should’ve given him more brains.”
“To be honest,” Wade sighed, “I didn’t differentiate when I infused them with thought. Human minds are unpredictable. Even before you were born, I couldn’t foresee what you’d become.”
Cloak nodded. “It’s strange… Broomstick’s brain capacity is just too small. Oh, wait—he doesn’t even have a brain. That’s why he’s dumb.”
The Magic Puppet stared at Cloak, speechless. Does that make you smarter? It didn’t say it aloud. Instead, it grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and began writing equations at lightning speed.
In the magical world, spells weren’t conjured from nothing. Most spells taught at Hogwarts originated from Latin, a few from Arabic, Egyptian, or Greek. Take the Disarming Charm—Expelliarmus. Expello means “to drive out,” arma means “weapons.” Combined, it’s clear: “Expel the weapon.”
Wizards who invented spells often stumbled upon them by accident—reciting ancient words with intense intent, triggering magic from within. In Charms class, Professor Flee taught students not just to cast, but to deconstruct spells: break them down, understand their roots, even create new ones from old curses.
Bright students could even invent spells from word roots—though that approach was risky.
Even non-Latin-based spells followed the same fundamental logic. To decipher a completely unfamiliar spell, the key was first to identify its roots and patterns—then understand how to use it, and how to break it down.
Wade’s discovery of the fluctuating light patterns made the task far simpler. The spell’s structure now had a traceable pattern.
The Magic Puppet kept writing, decoding, until the parchment was full. Then—suddenly—it noticed the room had grown quieter.
It looked up.
Wade was lying on the floor, asleep, a parchment in hand. Cloak was gently covering him with a blanket.
“Sleeping?” the Magic Puppet said, surprised.
Wade always tidied up before bed. This was the first time it had seen him collapse like this—like he’d passed out.
“Master’s been exhausted,” Cloak said. “Don’t wake him. Take these papers to the next room. I’m turning off the lights.”
The Magic Puppet sighed. “You can’t leave him like this. Humans aren’t like us. He’ll wake up with aches and pains tomorrow. Wait—”
It left the closet space, flew to the dormitory center, and called out: “Zoe? Zoe?”
A pop. The house-elf appeared instantly.
“Here, sir. What is it?” She glanced around. “Mr. Gray isn’t in the dorm?”
“Master’s asleep,” the Magic Puppet said. “I need you to help me get him into bed.”
“Of course!” Zoe beamed. “Zoe is happy to help.”
Moments later, Wade floated out of the closet—softly, safely, tucked into bed under fluffy, warm blankets.
Seeing that Master hadn’t stirred, the Magic Puppet gave itself a mental pat on the back. Then it grabbed Cloak and Zoe, and together, they quietly packed up Wade’s belongings for his return.
…
Wade, in his “sleep,” had no idea of the magic and effort that had moved him.
Right now, he stood in a long, endless corridor.
Doors stretched in both directions—endless, identical. He was utterly bewildered.
He remembered only one thing: reciting a spell the Magic Puppet had compiled.
He’d tried dozens of times before. The repetition, the failures—each attempt felt mechanical.
Then, in a daze… he was here.
The walls were milky white, bare and plain. White streams of light darted past like tiny fish. Above, the ceiling shimmered with a vast, flowing starfield—like the entire galaxy had been pulled into this space. It was breathtaking.
Am I dreaming?
The thought crossed his mind. He pinched himself—hard. The pain was sharp, real.
Not a dream.
Was this the necklace’s effect?
They’d analyzed the runes again and again. The Department of Mysteries’ Silent Ones had studied it from every angle. No offensive magic. No harm.
Wade took a breath, steadied himself. No need to panic. He walked forward.
The doors looked identical. But as he passed, he noticed each bore a different symbol—some changing color.
He chose one at random. A windmill pattern—resembling a four-leaf clover. He pushed gently.
The door opened smoothly.
Beyond it—was a long, quiet street.
The buildings were old. The cobblestones were cracked and lifted at the edges.
A mother and child walked from the far end. The child clutched a plastic windmill, blowing hard to make it spin. The mother held his hand, smiling.
The child grinned. “Mom, look! It’s spinning so fast!”
“Because you’re blowing so hard!” she said gently.
“Will it get tired?” the child asked. “Will it need to rest?”
She laughed, tapping his cheek. “When your cheeks start to ache, that’s when it’s tired too!”
“I’m not tired,” the child said. “I can blow more!”
The windmill spun again, whirring. The two laughed, walking past Wade—completely unaware of him.
But Wade… he stared at the mother.
A strange light flickered in his eyes. The world blurred. Only her smile remained sharp, vivid.
His lips moved slightly.
Almost inaudibly, he whispered:
“Mom…”
(End of Chapter)
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