True Desire, Path of Moonlit Journey!

"What are you spacing out for? Get to work!"

Filch's raspy voice snapped Ethan back to his senses.

He looked down at the rag being handed to him.

Pausing for a moment, he ultimately said nothing and took the rag.

"By the way, I need to warn you," Filch continued.

"Those covered items don't need wiping, and don't get curious and lift the cloth—that's not allowed! I'll be watching you."

Filch narrowed his eyes, his aged, murky gaze fixed on Ethan like a snake's.

Mrs. Norris crouched silently at his feet.

This scrawny little monster of indeterminate age, its two eyeballs gleaming in the moonlight.

Ethan glanced at them, turned around, and began wiping these dusty old trophies.

He thought to himself:

How about two Stunners?

Or two Petrificus Totaluses?

If I use the Portal, the spells could come from behind Filch—looks like someone else cast them.

But I'd have to face Filch directly, my line of sight past him.

Ethan's mind churned.

He had no awareness that he was serving detention precisely for beating up a classmate.

Out of the corner of his eye, that mysterious item shrouded in cloth, bathed in hazy moonlight, exuded an inexplicable pull.

It left Ethan with hardly any hesitation before he made up his mind:

Tonight, I have to uncover its true face!

Ethan had a hunch.

It would greatly aid the art he sought.

All that remained was shaking off Filch's surveillance.

Feeling those two burning stares boring into his back, a chill flickered across Ethan's eyes.

At that moment, he was wiping the glass cabinet holding the trophies.

His cobalt-blue pupils reflected on the glass, overlapping with a dust-coated golden trophy inside.

It read:

[Special Award for Services, Tom Riddle, 1943]

"You know," Ethan suddenly spoke, breaking the room's silence, "I'll win a Special Award for Services too someday."

Ethan turned, smiling at Filch.

"Huh?"

Filch frowned, then let out a sneer, mocking him:

"Kid, do you even know what the Special Award for Services means? It's only given to outstanding students who've made huge contributions, huge achievements to Hogwarts!"

"A troublemaker like you, locked in detention just weeks into your first year, will never get a Special Award for—"

Filch's words suddenly died in his throat.

Because he saw those cobalt-blue eyes.

Even as the ivory moonlight shone upon them, they held no warmth.

Like two blue planets encased in black ice amidst endless darkness, radiating a cold devoid of any heat.

Chilling to the bone.

Under the gaze of those eyes—even though Ethan's lips were curved upward—

Filch couldn't utter another word.

As a Squib, what he most envied, and most resented and hated, were these young wizards who could do magic.

Others flew on broomsticks; he swept the floor with one. That twisted psychology made him long to harshly punish these "swaggering" bad students.

Best if he could use a whip, put them in chains!

But at this moment.

Facing this black-haired, blue-eyed boy, standing there quietly, Filch felt a new emotion—

Fear.

"Hiss!"

Mrs. Norris arched her back, fur bristling, pupils constricted, hissing at Ethan with her mouth open.

Filch staggered backward.

Suddenly, he noticed the wand that had unknowingly found its way into Ethan's hand.

His eyes flew wide in terror, and he blurted out:

"What—what are you doing—?!"

"BANG!"

A loud crash shattered the eerie silence in the room.

Then, from outside, came a clatter of footsteps like a troll running.

Filch didn't sound excited about catching a student out after hours, as he usually did.

As if granted a reprieve, he dropped the words "I'll go check it out" and hobbled away.

"Come, come! Mrs. Norris!"

At his call, the cat shot one last glance at Ethan, then turned and nimbly followed her master's steps.

Soon, their figures vanished beyond the door.

"..."

Ethan blinked, lowered his wand, and muttered regretfully:

"I was going to show him the wonder of magic. Too bad he ran off so suddenly."

Still, it was for the best.

It saved him from breaking another school rule.

He just wondered which student, still awake at this hour, had conveniently drawn Filch away.

The thought flickered past.

Ethan turned, his gaze burning toward the tall object draped in cloth.

He strode over in three quick steps and yanked the cloth off with one motion!

"WHOOOSH!"

What met his eyes was a very imposing mirror.

A golden, carved frame, reaching all the way to the ceiling, supported by two claw-shaped feet.

At the base, an inscription was carved:

[Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi]

"I show not your face but your heart's desire."

Ethan murmured, understanding the object's name—

The Mirror of Erised.

The mirror that had drawn Harry in, and the final line of Dumbledore's defense for the Philosopher's Stone.

He hadn't expected it to be sitting here now.

Moonlight fell upon the mirror's smooth surface, reflecting Ethan's lean, upright figure like a pale ghost.

What will I see?

Will I see myself renowned, the center of all eyes?

Or standing at the pinnacle of art, remembered and worshipped by the world?

But even as he asked the question, Ethan already knew the answer in his heart.

It had nothing to do with wealth or fame.

Nor would he compromise for worldly aesthetics.

What he had pursued his whole life was simply "art" itself!

As the thought settled, The mirror's surface suddenly rippled like a lake.

Ethan's figure twisted, blurred, and faded.

A primal scent of grass and earth wafted out from the mirror.

Moonlight shone into it, passing through the surface, falling within.

Ethan's eyes widened slightly.

What appeared before him was a primitive path bathed in moonlight!

Dim tree shadows swayed, rustling softly.

[You have discovered a special location—Path of Moonlit Journey!]

[Current identity: Mortal]

["I know full well that all things in this world are but fleeting radiance."]

"Mortal"?

Ethan noticed the way he was being addressed.

Since there were Fae, there must be Transcendents.

Ethan thought of Voldemort, and of Nicolas Flamel, who had lived for over six hundred years.

Whether through external objects or magic, they had transformed themselves, reaching heights ordinary people could not.

He wondered what awaited him in this dim, dense forest.

Ethan took a deep breath, stepped over the frame, and set foot on the damp soil, walking deeper into the forest one step at a time.

The moonlight was faint, and everything around him looked black.

Ethan pushed through the thick vegetation, struggling forward.

Grass blades and shrubs scraped his exposed skin, leaving his face and hands covered in tiny cuts.

For a moment, Ethan felt he had lost his direction, forgotten the way back.

He had even forgotten to cast spells.

But just then, the wand in Ethan's hand glowed, illuminating the surroundings.

It drove away the shadows, lit the path ahead, and reminded Ethan of the way he had come.

"Thank you, Aibo, my partner."

Ethan looked at his wand with gratitude.

Finally, when the trees ahead grew too dense to pass, and his back was soaked with sweat, he discovered a hidden spot—

a patch of bark covered in moss.

Carved into it were lines of text.

When Ethan reached out to touch it, a faint blue light flared, and a line of subtitles appeared before his eyes:

[You have learned the Erised Spell!]

[You can create illusions through drawing, leading others into fascination.]

[You have marked a special location—Helga's Abandoned Mansion, a hidden room behind a tapestry.]

[You may find treasure there, or danger.]

[Often, both exist side by side.]