Following Death

Before long, the chick recovered under Hoffa and Joey's care.

Dodos lived in the present. After just one night, it had forgotten the horror of its species being massacred. It ate when it was time to eat and slept when it was time to sleep.

Hoffa, however, could not be like it.

His quality of life worsened by the day.

Returning to being an unnoticed student and clearing his bad record was not nearly as easy as it sounded.

Every day, besides attending classes and doing homework, Hoffa had to wander through the forest gathering herbs. More often, he had to patrol the edge of the Forbidden Forest, checking on the living conditions of its various magical creatures.

It was exhausting work, because there were simply too many magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest.

There were Murtlaps, mouse-like creatures that lived by the lake. They liked eating shellfish and had anemone-like growths on their backs. Hoffa needed to collect those growths for the school hospital.

There were Pixies, which always appeared in swarms. They were tiny humanoid creatures that looked like fairies, except they had extra arms and legs, black fur all over their bodies, and thick beetle-like wings.

Hoffa had to collect their claws as ingredients for Potions class.

(Pixies were the creatures Hoffa hated most. They were not very dangerous, but they constantly buzzed around over your head like mosquitoes hovering by the grass in summer.

Once, Hoffa had even seen two Pixies deliberately mating right above his head. Furious, he had torn the two pairs apart and hung them separately from tree branches.)

Pixies were annoying, but they were not dangerous.

Fwoopers were different. These birds looked beautiful, with brightly colored feathers in orange, lime green, and yellow. But their calls could drive people mad.

And Hoffa had to collect their feathers, because they were used to make the teachers' quills.

During the process, Hoffa had nearly gone berserk several times from their irritating songs and started firing his wand everywhere. Fortunately, Joey had covered his ears in time.

The only creatures Hoffa found somewhat less irritating were Mooncalves.

They had huge eyes, round bodies, and oversized feet. Shy by nature, they liked remote places without people around. Usually, they only emerged from their burrows on full-moon nights to bathe in the moonlight, standing on their hind legs to dance and leaving intricate patterns on the ground. Those patterns would mislead future Muggles into thinking UFOs had made crop circles.

Of course, even these adorable creatures could not improve Hoffa's foul mood, because the reason he dealt with them was to collect their dung. Their dung was excellent fertilizer, and sprinkling it on magical plants would make them grow quickly and vigorously.

It was hardly pleasant work. Every time he collected the stuff, his dissatisfaction with Yinduo deepened.

That bastard had set him up, then left without a word, abandoning him at Hogwarts to do hard labor. What a pal.

Outside of work, Hoffa also kept a close eye on news from the outside world.

Whenever Miranda's Daily Prophet arrived, he would go over and take a look.

He hoped to see news that the three dark wizards had been captured.

Unfortunately, the Hogsmeade incident continued to escalate, but no one found any trace of Schmidt or Ruterov.

It was as if they had vanished from the face of the earth.

That kept Hoffa from ever truly relaxing, because Schmidt's wand was still locked in the wardrobe beside his bed.

October gradually passed. Damp, icy air spread around the Forbidden Forest, and the weather began to turn cold. Hoffa's time working there was also drawing to an end.

On October 30th, at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, two black horses, one large and one small, walked slowly alongside a frost-covered stream.

They were Hoffa and Joey.

Hoffa rode on horseback, while Joey led his own horse and dragged a large sack behind him, occasionally picking some herbs and tossing them inside.

Since his work in the Forbidden Forest included patrols over a vast area, Hoffa had learned to ride over the past month. It counted as Joey's free lesson for him.

Patrolling on horseback was not exactly a cushy job. After the novelty wore off, Hoffa's backside often hurt terribly from the jolting, and the skin around his thighs had been rubbed raw, to the point that he could not even walk with his legs together.

Fortunately, today was his last day working in the Forbidden Forest. Once it was over, he could return to the relatively easy routine of normal school life.

Of course, that was assuming Joey gave him a grade of at least Good on his evaluation form.

Hoffa had no doubts about that. After all, they had spent a month together, and their relationship was fairly good.

But today, on the final day of their joint patrol, Joey was in terrible shape.

He walked ahead of the horses with lifeless eyes, occasionally bending down mechanically to grab a few plants and toss them into the sack. He looked numb, like a puppet on strings.

Hoffa had no idea what was wrong with the old man, so he asked, half seriously and half jokingly.

"Hey, Joey, have you signed my form yet?"

"Mm... yeah."

Joey answered absentmindedly, yanking up a few weeds and tossing them into the sack.

Hoffa frowned slightly from atop his horse.

"Then... did you give me an Outstanding?"

"Mm... yeah."

Joey still seemed listless as he gave him a perfunctory answer.

Hoffa stopped probing. He guided his horse in front of Joey.

"Hey, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Joey hesitated for a while before slowly asking, "Talas is going to die. Would you be willing to come see him off with me?"

"What?"

Hoffa was shaken by the sudden news.

Talas, that old Thunderbird, was going to die? He still remembered that night a month ago, when the Thunderbird had blocked the centaurs' arrows for him and saved his life.

During the month's work, Joey had taken Hoffa into the Forbidden Forest to check on the Thunderbird every few days or so. After his initial surprise, Hoffa had gradually grown used to the giant creature.

It had a gentle temperament, but it barely moved or ate or drank. It was too old, too weak.

Hoffa knew the great bird could not hold on for much longer, but he had not expected it to last less than a month.

"The cold weather in Britain has been tormenting it," Joey said. "It has decided to end its life early."

"Of course I'll go," Hoffa said.

"Not just go. I need you to do me a favor."

Joey suddenly seemed to make up his mind, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

"What favor?"

"Thunderbirds are very similar to phoenixes. Every death is actually the beginning of a new life. But unlike phoenixes, before they die, they erase their own memories and souls, giving birth to offspring unrelated to themselves."

As he spoke, Joey's gaze grew firm.

"I can no longer communicate with it directly, but you can. Your spirit is stronger than ordinary people's. No one else could have lasted so long in the centaurs' magical illusion. I hope you can help me speak to Talas one last time and convince it not to erase its soul. At least... leave behind some memories."

Hoffa froze. He had not expected that request.

"You want me... to say something to Talas?"

"That's right. I don't want it to forget me. For more than thirty years, it and I have gone through countless adventures together. If possible, I don't want it to do this."

"Doesn't it understand how you feel?" Hoffa asked.

"It does, but it refused my request. If possible, I want you to give it one last try," Joey said.

Hoffa nodded. He only had to say a few words to the bird. It was no trouble at all.

But Hoffa knew nothing about how to converse with birds. He had no idea what method Joey intended to use.

The two rode their horses one behind the other along the path until they reached a clearing in the woods.

The last time they had come was at night, when he could not see clearly. This time, it was daytime. Hoffa could see everything plainly, and the sight filled him with grief.

The Thunderbird that had once saved him was nearly finished. It was in even worse condition than before, little more than skin and bones. Its skin was gray-white, its body painfully thin, and its thick, complex skeleton jutted high beneath its flesh. It looked like a fossil still wrapped in skin, while feathers carpeted the ground around it.

As the cold wind blew, its abdomen rose and fell faintly.

Even Hoffa's heart ached at the sight. Perhaps an earlier release would be better for it.

Joey led Hoffa toward the Thunderbird. The aged bird's consciousness was already hazy, and it did not notice their arrival at all. Joey gritted his teeth and touched its body, paused for a moment, then began chanting under his breath.

An indescribable magical ripple began flowing through the air.

As he chanted, Joey took out a small knife and sliced open the Thunderbird's loose skin.

A drop of blood gathered on Joey's fingertip.

Then Joey cut off one of his own little fingers with a single slash.

Hoffa sucked in a sharp breath. His feet curled, and goosebumps rose all over his body.

Fuck! What the hell was this old man doing? Was he really mutilating himself without even blinking!?

Blood gushing from his severed finger mixed with the Thunderbird's blood.

An inexplicable gale began to howl.

Even from several meters away, Hoffa could feel the immense magical power contained in that drop of blood.

Joey's face turned deathly pale, and his hair withered yellow, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

It was as though extracting that drop of blood had drained all his strength.

He walked over to Hoffa and took his hand.

Kneeling on one knee, he tremblingly smeared the blood across the back of Hoffa's hand, drawing an arcane eye symbol in blood.

Hoffa felt a chill run through his body.

He just wanted me to say a few words to a bird. Did he really have to go this far?

After finishing, Joey was so weak he nearly fainted. "Th-this is ancient sacrificial magic. It allows you to communicate with souls. Y-you... ask Talas whether it can keep some memories. Even a little would be enough."

Hoffa nodded. "Got it."

"But remember, you must come back before the eye closes. If you can't find it, don't force it."

Hoffa could not understand what he meant.

Come back?

Wasn't he in the Forbidden Forest? Why did Joey make it sound like he was going on some distant journey?

"Where exactly are you sending me?" Hoffa asked.

"To the local..."

Joey did not have time to finish.

Suddenly, the Thunderbird on the ground began convulsing.

Joey shoved Hoffa aside and stepped forward to press down on the old bird's beak.

"Old friend, let's begin. I'll take good care of you," he said.

Like a dying flame flaring up one last time, the Thunderbird gathered all its strength and stood. It raised its head high, its six enormous wings blotting out the sky. A faint trace of its former majesty could still be seen.

With its head raised, its throat heaved forcefully.

At last, it laid a sticky egg, as large as Hoffa's head.

That act exhausted all of the Thunderbird's strength, and it crashed heavily to the ground.

At death's door, it weakly but affectionately rubbed its head against Joey twice. It looked at Joey as it panted endlessly, its deep golden eyes full of reluctance.

Joey knelt beside its beak, stroking its head again and again.

A few seconds later, the great bird stopped breathing.

Its golden eyes lost their light.

Joey remained kneeling motionlessly on the ground, burying his head against its neck.

Watching it all, Hoffa felt a pang of sorrow.

Who said animals had no feelings? Sometimes, the bond between a person and an animal was even more sincere and pure than the bond between people.

Yet before Hoffa could grieve for more than a few seconds, the bloody eye on the back of his hand came alive. It blinked.

Then Hoffa immediately felt his eyelids become impossibly heavy.

He crashed to the ground with a thud, as if someone had yanked hard on his hand. The black vanished from his eyes, leaving only pure white.

An invisible gate burst open with a roar, and a fierce wind swept up Hoffa's consciousness.

Then his consciousness followed that mysterious force through layer upon layer of space.

Countless worlds flashed past before his eyes, countless planes lined up beneath his feet.

It was as though old film reels surrounded his entire body.

In his haze, Hoffa suddenly felt that this sensation must be much like traveling by Floo Powder, though he had never used Floo Powder before.

At last, when his fall ended and he stood on solid ground.

A bone-piercing cold wind blew toward him, as though it could scatter both his body and soul into nothingness, dissolving him into the Void.

Caught off guard, he shuddered violently and hugged his shoulders, in such pain that he nearly screamed.

But soon, Milarepa Walker's Meditation Method within him began to circulate automatically, over and over.

The meditation method flowed into his frozen body like warm blood, resisting the merciless cold wind.

Hoffa's spirit condensed again and again. The pain brought by the cold and wind gradually faded, and finally, he barely managed to open his eyes.

The first sight of this place stunned him.

Before him stretched an endless abyss of ice and snow.

Ice blue was the dominant color here, and the cold wind was the only climate. Slanting snow and ice fell from a dim, empty sky and disappeared into a bottomless abyss.

Everything here was hazy and inexplicable.

Hoffa held out his hand. A snowflake fell onto it, and within that snowflake, he saw the image of a boy wearing a crown on his birthday. The image lasted only a few seconds before vanishing with the melting snowflake.

He looked at several more. Every one was different.

Every snowflake here represented a memory.

Wiping the snow from his hand, Hoffa widened his eyes and looked around.

He was standing on a bridge.

It was an enormous, straight stone bridge.

It came from a hazy nowhere and led toward an unknown shore. At the end of that distant shore crouched the vast, blurred shadow of an eagle, so enormous that it defied description.

As it looked from side to side, a little light leaked out from it—the only light in this abyss.

Hoffa opened his mouth, sensing something behind him.

He turned around.

On the bridge behind him floated a fleshy eye nearly a meter across.

The eye hung in the air, trailing crimson tendrils. Within its pupil, Hoffa could vaguely see the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts.

That was where he had come from.

At that moment.

Within his mind.

The long-absent system notification sounded once more.