Runes

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Monday.

Zhang Wen spread the six rune rubbings across an entire wall of his office.

From left to right were the front, back, left side, right side, top, and bottom of the cabinet. Every rubbing was densely inscribed with three overlapping layers of runes—the outermost Runes were the clearest, followed by the Anglo-Saxon runes in the middle. The innermost Ancient Celtic Runes were obscured by the first two layers, leaving only faint outlines visible.

Zhang Wen stood before the wall for ten minutes.

Then he realized he needed help.

The first helper was Filius Flitwick.

The diminutive professor climbed onto a small stool, leaned close to the rubbings, and put on three layers of magnifying lenses.

"Interesting. Very interesting." His voice rose half an octave with excitement. "The outer layer consists of standard Scandinavian Long-Branch Runes. A late Viking Age variant, roughly from the ninth to tenth centuries AD. Their usage is extremely orthodox—whoever made this received systematic rune training."

"Can you decipher the full meaning?"

"The outer layer, yes. Give me two days." Flitwick jumped down from the stool. "But I'll need to consult references for the Anglo-Saxon variants in the middle layer. There are very few surviving rune texts from that period—most were destroyed after the Norman Conquest."

"What about the Inner Layer?"

Flitwick adjusted his glasses.

"I don't recognize the Inner Layer at all. Judging from the structure of the strokes, it's far older than either the Runes or the Anglo-Saxon script. Possibly native British runes from before the Roman period? But this isn't my field of expertise."

"Assistant Pendragon recognizes part of it. She said it's an Ancient Celtic Sealing System."

Flitwick's eyes lit up.

"Miss Pendragon knows Ancient Celtic Runes? That's an extraordinarily obscure field. There can't be more than five wizards in all of the United Kingdom researching it. Where did she study it?"

"Self-taught," Zhang Wen said without changing expression.

Flitwick wore the expression of someone thinking that geniuses were indeed all self-taught, then happily carried a copy of the outer-layer rubbing back to his office.

The second helper was Hermione.

Zhang Wen had not originally intended to involve a student in research this deep. But Hermione came to him on her own during Tuesday afternoon's office hours.

"Professor Zhang, I heard you're researching some kind of ancient sealing rune?"

"Who did you hear that from?"

"Professor Flitwick mentioned it in class. He said he was helping you analyze a very complex array of Runes."

Flitwick. That enthusiastic little professor's ability to keep secrets was practically nonexistent.

"I'm very interested in Ancient Runes." Hermione's eyes were shining—that particular light she always had whenever she discovered a new field of knowledge. "I'm taking Ancient Runes as an elective. Professor Babbling said I'm already two terms ahead. If you need help—"

Zhang Wen looked at her.

Thirteen years old. Two terms ahead in an elective. Volunteering to join a professor-level research project.

This girl would either become Minister for Magic someday or Headmistress of Hogwarts. Or both.

"You can help organize Professor Flitwick's findings," Zhang Wen said. "But the details of the cabinet are confidential. You'll only be responsible for the academic analysis of the runes themselves. You don't need to know where they came from."

"Understood!" Hermione nearly jumped into the air.

She ran out of the office hugging a stack of reference books, nearly colliding at the door with Artoria, who was about to enter.

"Sorry, Assistant Pendragon!" Hermione slipped past her sideways.

Artoria shifted slightly to let her through.

"She was in a hurry."

"She found a new research topic. She'll probably stay like that until she finishes every related book."

"That will probably take—"

"At her speed? A week."

Wednesday night.

Zhang Wen and Artoria studied the Inner Layer's Ancient Celtic Runes in the office.

This was their usual working arrangement—Zhang Wen handled the records and logical analysis, while Artoria identified the meanings of the runes. They sat side by side at the desk, with the rubbings, notebooks, and several reference books spread out before them.

"This symbol." Zhang Wen pointed with the tip of his pen at a curved pattern on the rubbing. "You said before that you'd seen it in Merlin's sealing system. What exactly does it mean?"

Artoria leaned closer and looked at it for a while.

Her face was roughly fifteen centimeters from the rubbing.

And around twenty centimeters from Zhang Wen's face.

"It means 'chain,'" she said. "Merlin used this symbol to represent 'binding incorporeal existences'—souls, consciousnesses, magical entities. It differs from the symbol used to bind physical entities."

"Incorporeal existences." Zhang Wen wrote it down in his notebook. "So what's sealed in the cabinet may not be a creature with a physical body—but some kind of soul or conscious entity?"

"Possibly. But it might also be something that possesses both physical and incorporeal forms. Merlin dealt with many hybrids like that."

"For example?"

Artoria thought for a moment.

"The Shadow Knights Morgan le Fay created. They had physical forms, but their cores were soul fragments trapped inside armor. Merlin used this symbol when he sealed them."

"Shadow Knights." Zhang Wen added another note. "Could the cabinet contain something similar? Some kind of soul fragment sealed inside a metal container?"

"Not impossible. But soul fragments—"

Artoria paused. Both of them thought of the same word at once.

Horcrux.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Zhang Wen said. "We'll make a judgment after we decipher all the runes."

"Agreed."

Zhang Wen pointed to the next symbol.

"What about this one? It looks like two snakes entwined together."

Artoria leaned closer again.

This time, her face was only around fifteen centimeters from Zhang Wen's.

Zhang Wen could make out the details of her eyelashes. Golden, slightly lighter than her hair. Very long.

"This means 'sleep,'" Artoria said. Her voice sounded especially clear at such close range. "Forced sleep. An existence sealed by this symbol enters a state similar to suspended death—the consciousness remains, but it cannot act."

"Forced sleep plus restraint." Zhang Wen completed his notes. "Double insurance."

"Merlin was always cautious."

"You know him well."

"I—" Artoria's tone wavered slightly. "He was someone worthy of respect, though he often made things unnecessarily complicated."

"Sounds like you worked with him."

"I've read a great deal about him."

A standard defensive answer. Zhang Wen was used to it by now. Whenever the topic came close to the true history of Camelot, Artoria switched into her "I read it in the records" mode.

Zhang Wen did not press further. He turned to the next symbol—

Then he noticed that Artoria had not moved back from their previous distance.

Her face was still fifteen centimeters away.

She was looking at the runes. At least, she appeared to be looking at the runes.

But the runes were on the rubbing. And her line of sight—if Zhang Wen's judgment was correct—was slightly off from the direction of the rubbing. By roughly fifteen degrees.

A fifteen-degree deviation pointed toward Zhang Wen's profile.

He pretended not to notice.

"The next symbol." He pointed with the tip of his pen, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

Artoria's gaze returned to the rubbing.

The distance did not change.

The two of them continued studying at a distance of fifteen centimeters for forty minutes.

Until Zhang Wen's neck began to ache from holding the same angle for too long.

"Let's take a break." He straightened up and rolled his neck.

Artoria straightened as well. She rubbed her right hand, tired from holding a pen for too long.

Zhang Wen noticed the gesture.

"Your hand—"

"I wrote too much. It's fine."

Zhang Wen held out his hand.

"Let me see."

Artoria hesitated for a second. Then she offered him her right hand.

Zhang Wen took it.

His thumb pressed against the base of her palm near the web between her thumb and forefinger—the muscle group that took the most strain while writing.

"Does it hurt here?"

"A little."

Zhang Wen gently kneaded it a few times with his thumb.

He was not actually very good at massage. But he knew the muscle structure there—fatigue caused by prolonged writing could be eased by applying light pressure and kneading along the direction of the muscle fibers.

Artoria's fingers curled slightly.

"Does it hurt?"

"...No."

"You curled your fingers just now."

"A reflex."

Zhang Wen continued massaging for around two minutes. From the base of her thumb to the roots of her fingers, he lightly pressed each knuckle once.

Artoria's hand was smaller than he had imagined. Those hands looked full of power when she wielded Excalibur, but her bones were not actually thick. Her knuckles were distinct, her palm firm, and her fingers slender. There were thin calluses on her palm—left by sword practice.

"That's enough." Zhang Wen released her hand. "Tell me next time your hand gets tired from writing."

Artoria drew her hand back.

She looked at her palm, then clenched and unclenched it.

"It feels much better," she said. "Where did you learn that technique?"

"During the Holy Grail War. Your hands were sore every day after sword practice, so I bought a sports massage book and studied it myself."

Artoria's expression changed.

It was a very slight change. Her lips pressed together faintly, and the lines at the corners of her eyes softened by a degree.

"During the Holy Grail War, you learned sports massage," she repeated.

"Because when your hands hurt, your sword practice efficiency dropped by three percent—"

"You learned massage in the middle of a life-or-death conflict because of my sword practice efficiency?"

"...At the time, I thought it was important."

"In a war where every participant was trying to kill one another—you spent time learning massage because your Servant's hands hurt."

"You make it sound like that was very unreasonable."

Artoria looked at him.

"It's one of the most unreasonable things I've ever heard," she said softly. "And also—"

She did not finish.

"And also what?"

"And also very... like something you would do."

Zhang Wen was not sure whether that counted as praise or mockery. But Artoria's expression told him—it was definitely the former.

Thursday.

Flitwick's preliminary analysis was ready.

"I've translated the complete meaning of the outer Runes." Flitwick placed a neatly organized report on Zhang Wen's desk. "It's a standard sealing matrix, but there are several nonstandard modifications—"

Zhang Wen opened the report.

Flitwick's handwriting was neat to the point of obsession. Every rune had an enlarged illustration, with its original meaning and contextually adjusted meaning annotated beside it.

"The core function of the outer seal is 'isolation.'" Flitwick pointed to the third page of the report. "It formed a complete magical isolation layer across the cabinet's exterior. Any magic leaking outward from within would be absorbed and dispersed by these runes."

"But this isolation layer is beginning to fail now," Zhang Wen said.

"Right. Because the magical output from inside has exceeded the absorption limit of the outer runes. The runes themselves aren't damaged—the design is intact—but the pressure inside has exceeded its intended capacity."

"Like a dam. The dam isn't cracked, but the water level has risen above it."

"Perfect analogy." Flitwick nodded approvingly. "But there's one detail—"

He turned to the fifth page and pointed to a special arrangement of runes.

"There's a modification here that I've never seen before. Standard isolation runes seal in every direction—nothing inside can get out. But this alteration leaves a one-way channel at the bottom of the seal—external magic can be directed into the cabinet."

"External magic can go in?"

"Yes. In but not out. Like a one-way valve."

Zhang Wen frowned.

"Why design a channel for pouring magic into it?"

"I can't make sense of it either." Flitwick shook his head. "By normal sealing logic, if you want to lock something away—you should make it as airtight as possible. Leaving an opening for outside magic to enter—that makes no sense. Unless—"

"Unless whatever is inside needs a continual supply of magic to remain stable," Zhang Wen said.

"Or—" Artoria suddenly spoke. She had been standing beside them and listening.

The two of them turned toward her.

"Or whatever is inside is being fed."

Silence.

"Fed?" Flitwick's voice rose by a degree.

"There is a special technique in the Ancient Celtic Sealing System." Artoria's tone was calm. "When sealing a conscious existence—if you do not want it to die completely—you must provide the minimum amount of magic required to sustain it. Like giving food and water to a prisoner. Otherwise, it will struggle itself to death inside the seal. The energy released during death may blow apart the seal from within."

"So the one-way channel is keeping it alive," Zhang Wen said.

"Yes. The sealer wanted to keep it alive. For how long, I'm not sure—but at least alive."

Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair and thought for a while.

Keep it alive. Not destroy it. Imprison it.

Why?

If you had the ability to lock away something dangerous with three layers of seals—why not destroy it outright?

There was only one explanation—

The sealer believed this thing had value worth preserving.

"It may be something useful," Zhang Wen said. "Or—it possesses some kind of information. Information that can only be obtained while it remains alive."

Filius Flitwick's eyes widened further.

"You mean—someone locked this thing up as an intelligence source?"

"It has been locked away for nearly seventy years—perhaps even longer." Zhang Wen looked at the runes rubbed from the wall. "During that time, it was continuously fed external magic to maintain the bare minimum of survival. But recently—the external magic supply encountered a problem. The supply decreased or stopped, and it began relying on its own power to break through the seals."

"Why would the supply stop?"

Zhang Wen thought of a particular point in time.

1992. Last year.

The Chamber of Secrets Incident.

Voldemort's diary had been destroyed. Lucius Malfoy's influence had suffered a blow. The entire underground network of pure-blood undercurrents had been affected.

If the cabinet's external magical supply—that one-way channel—depended on some constantly operating magical device or ritual—and that device or ritual had been interrupted by last year's series of events—

The existence inside the seals had lost its stable "food supply," grown hungry and restless, then begun trying to break through the seals.

"Professor Flitwick," Zhang Wen said, "can you determine whether that one-way channel is still operating?"

"Judging by the condition of the runes in the rubbing—the channel's rune structure is intact, but its activity is very low. Like an open tap with no water in the pipes."

No water in the pipes.

Something had gone wrong at the supply end.

"I need to conduct a second examination at Malfoy Manor," Zhang Wen said. "To check whether there are any magical supply devices around the cabinet that have stopped operating."

"When?"

"This weekend."

"I'm coming with you."

"Of course."

Filius Flitwick looked at Zhang Wen, then at Artoria.

His mouth opened, as though he wanted to say something.

Then, very wisely, he said nothing and smiled as he gathered up the report.

"I'll continue deciphering the Anglo-Saxon runes in the middle layer," he said. "I'll try to have results by next week."

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick."

"You're welcome. This is the most interesting academic project I've encountered this year. If possible, after this is resolved, I'd like to write a paper—"

"Let's talk about papers after everything is over."

"Of course, of course."

Filius Flitwick skipped away.

Thursday night.

Zhang Wen wrote to Lucius Malfoy, informing him of the second examination planned for the weekend.

"We need to inspect the area where the cabinet is located for additional magical supply devices or traces of rituals. Please do not move anything in the basement before we arrive."

After sending the letter, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a while.

Beside him, Artoria was polishing Excalibur—routine maintenance.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"If the thing in the cabinet really was kept alive for seventy years—what state will it be in when it wakes up?"

"Angry. Hungry. Chaotic." Artoria's voice was even. "An existence imprisoned for a long time usually reacts to awakening by attacking and devouring. It needs a great deal of magic to restore itself—everything around it will become a source of food."

"People included."

"People included. A wizard's magic would be the finest food available to it."

Zhang Wen opened his eyes.

"So we absolutely cannot let it break through the seals."

"Or—we make every possible preparation before it does."

"What do those preparations include?"

"Understanding its nature, weaknesses, and scale. Creating a targeted plan to destroy or reseal it. Preparing sufficient manpower and equipment. Choosing favorable terrain—if possible, we should not fight in the basement of Malfoy Manor. The space is too confined."

"You've already been making tactical contingency plans."

"I've been doing so since the first second I saw that cabinet."

Zhang Wen looked at her.

Firelight flickered over her as she polished her sword. Her fingers moved along the invisible blade—Excalibur beneath the cover of Invisible Air—every movement precise and steady.

"Artoria."

"Hmm?"

"Is there ever a moment when you aren't making tactical assessments?"

Artoria's hand paused.

"Yes."

"When?"

"When you blow-dry my hair."

Zhang Wen's brain crashed for about two seconds.

"...What were you doing then?"

"Closing my eyes."

"I know your eyes were closed. What were you doing with your eyes closed?"

Artoria continued polishing her sword.

"Feeling the warmth."

She said nothing more.

Zhang Wen did not press further.

Some answers needed no elaboration.

"Feeling the warmth" already explained everything.

She was feeling the warmth he gave her.

In that moment, the King of Knights had let down all her defenses—tactical assessments, environmental scans, threat analysis—all of them shut down.

She had merely closed her eyes and felt the warmth.

Zhang Wen felt that he needed to blow-dry her hair more often.

For her relaxation.

Entirely for her relaxation.

It had nothing to do with whether he wanted to do it himself.

Absolutely nothing.

Friday.

During the break, Zhang Wen encountered Neville Longbottom in the corridor.

Neville was talking with a Hufflepuff girl—Hannah Abbott. Hannah laughed at something they said, and Neville blushed.

Zhang Wen thought the scene looked perfectly normal.

Normal enough that it required no intervention.

He took a detour back to his office, avoiding interrupting them.

As he passed Fred and George, the twins were huddled suspiciously at a corner of the corridor, muttering over a piece of parchment.

"Professor Zhang." Fred looked up, wearing his trademark mischievous grin. "There's some gossip—"

"I don't listen to gossip."

"It's about you," George said.

"Then I especially won't listen."

"All of Gryffindor is saying—"

"Mr. Weasley, five points from Gryffindor. Reason—spreading unverified information."

"We haven't even said what it is yet!"

"A preventive deduction."

"Did you learn that from Harry Potter? He said the same thing last time!"

Zhang Wen quickened his pace and left. The twins' snickering followed behind him.

He did not want to know what Gryffindor was spreading around.

He had a feeling—it involved a gray scarf and a blonde teaching assistant.

Friday night.

Preparations before departure.

Zhang Wen was checking their equipment. Beside him, Artoria made a list of things that needed inspection in the basement of Malfoy Manor.

"The floor—check for magic circles or conducting runes carved into it. The walls—check for hidden pipes or grooves beyond the cracks. The ceiling—check for suspended magical focal devices. The bottom of the cabinet—check how it contacts the ground and whether it has connections to underground conduits."

She read through the list once. It was organized and thorough enough that Zhang Wen could think of nothing to add.

"Perfect," Zhang Wen said.

"Basic competence."

"Your basic competence is higher than most people's peak level."

Artoria did not respond. But her pen paused on the paper for a beat.

"Who's going tomorrow?" she asked.

"Just the two of us. This is a technical examination, so there's no need to bring students."

"Good."

"You sound pleased."

"Fewer people means greater efficiency."

"Is that the only reason?"

Artoria closed the notebook containing the checklist.

"Go to bed early. We leave at eight tomorrow."

She stood and headed for the door.

"Artoria."

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow, it'll just be the two of us going to Malfoy Manor."

"You already said that."

"I know. I just wanted to say it again."

Artoria stood at the door for two seconds.

Her back was straight. Her ponytail was perfectly neat.

"Good night," she said.

"Good night."

The door closed.

Zhang Wen sat at his desk, looking at the empty chair across from him. It still held the warmth from where she had been sitting.

He smiled.

Tomorrow. Just the two of them.

He realized he was looking forward to it.

Not only to solving the cabinet's mystery.

But also to—

The feeling of having her standing beside him in the cold basement of Malfoy Manor.

Safe. Certain. Warm.

It had nothing to do with runes or seals.

It had to do with her.