When Solim returned, he found Elrond fiddling with something at his workbench while Sirna sat nearby, quietly reading a book.
"It's over?" Elrond asked without looking up.
"The same as usual," Solim replied.
It was obvious that neither grandfather nor grandson took what had just happened too seriously. Elrond knew well how capable his grandson was. Young wizards like Adelaide and Wright were no match for Solim—and incidents like these had happened more times than anyone cared to count.
Sometimes, even the adult wizards watching their duels would be left speechless.
"How are you doing, my lovely sister?" Solim greeted, walking toward Sirna.
"As usual," she replied without looking up. "My only entertainment is reading."
Elrond and Solim exchanged glances.
"Then let your brother share some good news with you," Solim said, sitting beside her. He gently closed the book in her hands and noticed the title—The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
"Oh?" Sirna raised an eyebrow. "I'm stifling with boredom, so I hope it's truly good news."
Solim took a breath, then said slowly, "Sirna is going to become a wizard. How's that for good news?"
For a moment, Sirna froze. Seeing Solim's serious expression, she knew her brother wasn't joking.
When she remained silent, Solim continued, "There are now potions that can help you awaken your magic. If everything goes well, you'll be able to attend school next year. Are you happy?"
Sirna looked past her brother toward their grandfather, seeking confirmation.
"That's right," Elrond said with a smile. "Our little Nana will go to school in Schuyler next year."
Solim turned toward him in disbelief. "You're sending Sirna to that dreadful place? She's already ten! Schuyler doesn't accept new students older than seven!"
Glancing up, Elrond said sternly, "Why are you shouting? The age limit only applies to boys. Girls can be admitted as long as they're under eleven. How have you studied for so many years and not known that?"
"No, Grandpa! You know what kind of place Schuyler is. Do you think Sirna could ever adapt to that place?" Solim protested fiercely. "And what's this nonsense about age limits? I never heard that while I was there!"
"How should I know what you did or didn't notice?" Elrond shot back. "It's common knowledge. Besides, Sirna is a Selwyn—she can only attend Schuyler."
"Grandpa, you know what I went through there!" Solim's voice dropped. "I barely escaped that place…"
As he spoke, he noticed the faint, knowing smile at the corner of his grandfather's mouth—and realization dawned.
"Hmph. So you finally admit it," Elrond said, folding his arms. "You 'escaped,' did you? It was 'hard,' was it? So you finally tell the truth—that it wasn't heroism but impulsiveness?"
(╯口)╯┴—┴
You bad old man!
Closing his eyes, Solim took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "So those age restrictions you mentioned—they're fake, right?"
"No," Elrond replied calmly. "They're quite real. Think for yourself. Did you ever see girls your age at Schuyler? All the older ones had transferred from other schools. The curriculum for girls is different—they're educated separately until a certain age. Did you really never notice there were no girls your age around you?"
Elrond's tone carried faint disbelief, and his expression grew strange. When he saw Solim's blank look, he sighed dramatically.
"Oh my, my…tsk, tsk, tsk. I truly worry about your future."
(:3」∠)
"Spare me…" Solim groaned inwardly.
In Schuyler's brutal environment, who had time to notice such details?
Sirna, meanwhile, smiled as she watched her grandfather and brother bicker. She loved these moments—the rare warmth that filled the otherwise cold and gloomy castle.
"Alright, old man! Enough jokes," Solim said. "Sirna must go to Hogwarts. If not, Beauxbatons is fine—but not Durmstrang, definitely not Schuyler."
"Of course Hogwarts," Elrond replied, giving him an impatient look. "Why would I send her anywhere else? Now, it's getting late. Let's go have dinner."
The three of them usually dined in a small private room rather than with the rest of the family. The truth was simple—they didn't get along with their other relatives and avoided them whenever possible.
Elrond led the way, and Solim walked beside his sister.
"I just saw you reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard again," he said. "Haven't you already read it several times? It's not like there aren't other books in the library. What keeps drawing you back?"
"Brother," Sirna asked, "did you read it when you were young?"
"Of course I did. Why?"
"Don't you think the story of the three brothers is fascinating?"
That tale was known to every wizard. After all, Beedle the Bard was practically the first book every young witch and wizard read. Naturally, Solim knew it—though, in truth, he remembered it from his previous life as well.
"I won't go over the story itself," he thought silently. "I'll write that part later."
"Oh?" he said aloud. "Tell me, Sirna, what do you find so interesting about it?"
"Look," she began, "the eldest brother got the wand—he was killed. The second got the resurrection stone—he took his own life. The third got the invisibility cloak—and he died naturally."
She paused, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Isn't it interesting? Each item seems to represent a different kind of death. So what do you think would happen if someone possessed both the wand and the resurrection stone?"
"Huh?" Solim's thoughts drifted. The mention of the resurrection stone reminded him of his grandfather's plan—they were going to study that dangerous Horcrux in a few days. He fell silent, distracted.
"Brother! Are you even listening?" Sirna pouted and stomped her foot.
Her kick brought Solim back to his senses.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "Go on."
"I'll say it again," she huffed. "If someone had both the wand and the resurrection stone, how would they die?"
Solim froze. Her question, simple as it sounded, carried eerie weight.
The term Deathly Hallows was no stranger to him: the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak—the three legendary artifacts said to make their master the Master of Death.
Setting aside their supposed powers, Solim began to think about who possessed them.
The Elder Wand—the unbeatable wand—was now in Dumbledore's hands.
The Resurrection Stone—said to summon the dead—had been turned into a Horcrux by Voldemort and was also currently with Dumbledore.
The Invisibility Cloak—granting escape even from Death's gaze—would soon be passed to Harry Potter, during the coming Christmas holiday.
And according to Sirna's observation, the one with the wand was killed; the one with the stone took his own life; and the one with the cloak died naturally.
It fit disturbingly well.
Dumbledore had the Elder Wand—and was killed by Snape. Grindelwald and Gregorovitch, both former masters of the wand, were also killed by Voldemort.
The pattern was clear.
And as for Draco and Harry, who also briefly held the wand…Solim didn't know how their stories ended, but he doubted they'd escaped unscathed.
Now, the Resurrection Stone. The story said its holder would end by suicide. In the real world, its known owners included Voldemort and Dumbledore. Dumbledore's death matched eerily well: he arranged for Snape to kill him—a willing death.
If holding the Elder Wand destined one to be killed, and holding the Resurrection Stone destined one to die by one's own hand, then Dumbledore's death combined both—he was willingly killed.
And Voldemort? He never truly possessed the Elder Wand, since its loyalty lay with Harry. But in the end, his own Killing Curse rebounded and destroyed him—killed by his own spell. Suicide, in a sense.
Solim's hands grew cold. These weren't coincidences.
He and his grandfather were about to tamper with the Resurrection Stone—if the curse of the Hallows was real…
"Brother! You're spacing out again!" Sirna exclaimed, kicking him lightly.
He blinked and forced a smile. "Right. About your question—maybe…the answer is 'willing to be killed.' That's how someone with both would die."
Sirna frowned. "Brother, what's wrong? You've been acting strange."
"It's nothing," he said quickly. "But you clearly found more in that story than I ever did. What else caught your attention?"
Her eyes lit up again. "Well, look. The wand brings murder, the stone brings suicide, and the cloak brings natural death. All three relate to death—but in opposite ways. It's like each item limits the manner of your death."
Solim frowned, repeating her words slowly. "The wand represents homicide. The stone, suicide. The cloak, natural death…"
"So, if someone possesses one of them," he murmured, "do they exclude the other two? A wand-bearer can only be killed—not die naturally or by suicide? That's absurd."
But the more he thought, the less absurd it seemed. With the Elder Wand, you'd never die peacefully—you'd be hunted, killed, defeated. And those who had the Resurrection Stone were consumed by obsession—doomed to destroy themselves.
Could someone truly escape death by owning one of them? No, he decided. The Hallows didn't grant mastery over death—they dictated how death would come.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm overthinking. Dumbledore and Voldemort's deaths were coincidences—nothing more."
Sirna tilted her head. "Why are you laughing?"
"Just thinking about stories and how easily we see patterns in them," Solim said, smiling faintly.
They reached the dining room then. Elrond was already seated, waiting for them. As they joined him, Solim glanced at his sister—her eyes still bright with curiosity, her mind alive with questions.
For a brief moment, he wished her childhood could stay like this—untouched by the darkness that loomed over their family and the world beyond.
But deep down, he knew better.
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