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Chapter 368: A Lost World, Like a Fairy Tale
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 15:52:36 +0000 UTCMaybe it was the shock of suddenly being brought back to life—or maybe it was the sugar—but after a brief adjustment period and munching down several pieces of candy, Hermione finally calmed down. Her earlier fluster had melted away, leaving her much more at ease.
Down by the shoreline, the golden sand sparkled under the sun, as breathtaking as ever.
Hermione had rolled up her pant legs and was wading barefoot through the foamy surf. Every now and then, she'd bend down to pick up little gifts the sea had left behind—colorful, iridescent seashells that looked like they'd fallen out of a dream.
Under the shade of a bitterfruit tree, Ino watched her from afar, then turned to the man beside him.
"Professor Hans, I really do appreciate your help this time."
He had never expected the golden apple. He'd only come seeking advice on how to use the Iceflower—he hadn't even ended up needing it.
"It's no trouble. These things were set in motion long ago," the middle-aged Hans replied in his usual breezy tone, as if speaking about the weather.
Ino was used to this kind of response from him. After all, when your mentor was a traveling bard with a side hustle in cryptic prophecies, vague declarations like this were just part of the package.
But today… Ino had questions. Real ones.
He had a feeling—call it intuition—that if he didn't ask now, he might never get the chance again.
"Professor," Ino said, his gaze drifting back toward the sea, "honestly... this whole thing has me confused."
He finally gave voice to a question that had been haunting him for a long time.
The miracle of his very existence.
His tenth birthday. The orphanage bathroom door. The absurd, inexplicable arrival in a magical world. And then—of all people—meeting middle-aged Hans, spinning tales like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Sure, at the time, it had all seemed like a weird dream. He hadn't thought much of it.
But looking back now… the pieces were starting to connect. And anyone with a half-decent brain could tell there was something strange going on.
His first arrival, the first person he met, even that mysterious dice—it all pointed to something more. The dice had somehow let him skip the usual entry through a Sanctuary and drop straight into the story world from the castle.
He'd once chalked it up as a lucky life-saving tool.
But then Hermione had come back to life as casually as someone waking up from a nap, and suddenly, everything that once seemed normal now stood out like a sore thumb.
Even the White Witch—legendary figure, destroyer of worlds, tyrant of Narnia, and possible rival to the god-lion of creation—had only been able to sneak out a single seed.
And even that had required an absurd series of convoluted steps.
After voicing his doubts, Ino leaned back against the tree trunk, falling silent as he waited for a reply.
Time passed.
Finally, Hans spoke again—more serious than usual. "Before you leave, I'll give you your answer."
"But before that," he added with a glance toward the distance, "you still owe Miss Swallow your help. She's the one who picked the apple, after all."
It wasn't a direct answer—but somehow, Ino felt lighter. It was enough.
Having an answer, even just the promise of one, was better than the unknown. After all, few things are scarier than a mystery without resolution.
Prophets and seers earned respect not because they had all the answers, but because they could at least peek into the fog ahead.
Now that he had some clarity, Ino didn't mind the wait. He'd endured for years already—what was a little longer?
That evening.
The modest cottage was alive with noise and warmth. Hermione and Miss Swallow chatted like old friends, their laughter ringing out like bells.
Ino sat off to the side, quietly handling the fresh seafood he'd picked up earlier.
He hadn't expected Professor Hans to settle down in a little fishing village like this. It was surprising, but he didn't question it.
Bards often seemed like drifters, but even they needed somewhere to pause and catch their breath from time to time. If Hans had chosen this place, then it was just that—a choice.
After dinner.
Ino opened the suitcase he always carried.
He hadn't needed it before—he was used to sleeping rough. But now there was someone else with them, and there was no way he was going to let Hermione sleep on the floor next to him like some hobo's apprentice.
Besides, this wasn't the same case he used to raise Acromantulas in.
This one had been a gift from Nico—crafted from enchanted wart-pig hide. Sturdy stuff.
Magical creature leather was naturally infused with magic, and with a few Extension Charms, the interior now spanned hundreds of square meters. Despite that, it remained remarkably stable. Practical and stylish.
At dawn.
A pale blue sky greeted the world.
A swallow soared through the air with carefree grace. Trailing behind her was a jet-black swan, wings cutting the air in silent rhythm. And behind them both, drifting a little lower, was a flying carpet about three feet long.
Hermione sat cross-legged on the carpet, clutching the enchanted suitcase. She'd taken flying lessons at Hogwarts, of course, but this—this felt like real flying.
Broomsticks? Those were more like riding a bicycle in the sky.
She glanced up at the swallow and swan in front of her, a little envious.
If only she could fly like that—without tools, without spells—just wings and wind.
"I am going to learn Animagus transformation when I get back," Hermione muttered with quiet determination.
Unlike Hermione, who was daydreaming about flight, Ino was deep in thought, calculating the timeline of this particular story arc.
From their conversation yesterday, he'd figured out something was different this time.
Maybe it was the way they entered this world, or maybe it was something else entirely—but time seemed to be flowing at the same speed on both sides.
After all, Hermione's first request upon waking had been for a sweet, tangy drink—pretty clear evidence of continuity.
And later, during casual conversation, he learned that an entire week had passed in the castle, and the Goblet of Fire had even been forcibly extinguished.
Not that he cared about the Triwizard Tournament.
What he did care about was Voldemort, Junior Barty, and whoever else might be lurking in the shadows, stirring the pot.
Debts had been stacking up lately.
Just like he owed Miss Swallow a favor for the golden apple—some people in that world owed him, too. And unlike with the dead, those debts could still be collected.
Thinking all this, Ino beat his wings harder, trying not to fall behind.
Swans could fly at 100 km/h, after all. Impressive, but not nearly enough to match the swallow ahead—one of the fastest birds alive, capable of hitting 350 km/h in a dive.
He had to push himself just to keep up.
As for the flying carpet he'd bought during the World Cup? Honestly, it was little better than a broomstick. Probably a marketing ploy—"classic one-rider experience!" they'd said. Not like the massive carpets from One Thousand and One Nights that could carry entire families.
They flew for what felt like hours.
Ino wasn't sure how many cities they'd passed, how many mountain ranges they'd crossed. It was all a blur.
But finally, just before sunset, the swallow began to slow.
With the drop in speed, Ino was finally able to take in the view—and it left him stunned.
The sky above was as clear as polished sapphire, dotted with a few lazy clouds drifting along at their own pace. Some clumped together like flocks of sheep; others spread out like wisps of cotton, tracing delicate patterns across the heavens.
Sunlight filtered through them, casting shifting golden rays upon the earth below—a warm, gentle glow that wrapped the land in a dreamlike veil.
And the land—oh, the land was something out of a storybook.
It looked like nature itself had carved this place by hand. Flowers bloomed in a riot of color, birds chirped joyfully from every branch, foxes bounded through the grass, rabbits danced, and even the occasional raccoon was spotted grooming itself with comic precision.
A crystal-clear river meandered nearby, glinting silver in the sunlight like a ribbon woven into a green tapestry. Leaves floated lazily atop the water. Waterfowl skimmed the surface, sending ripples outward like poetry in motion.
But most eye-catching of all was the group of white swans gliding elegantly along the river's center, while plump river ducks paddled busily along the edges.
There was no noise here. No chaos. Only peace.
Every detail felt lovingly crafted, like this world had stepped straight out of a forgotten fairy tale.
Hovering in the air, Ino felt as though he'd stumbled into a place lost to time.
"We're here!" chirped Miss Swallow.
At the same time, a shriek rang out behind Ino.
"Oh my gosh—what the heck happened to me?!"
Hermione's panicked cry made him whip his head around.
And what he saw nearly made him fall out of the sky.
Gone was Hermione. In her place, seated primly on the flying carpet, was a silver-grey otter, paws clutching her little head, wearing an expression of pure confusion and disbelief.
