"Lady Ravenclaw."
The black cat stared at the warm fireplace, instinctively wanting to draw a little closer.
"My dear Green."
Ravenclaw's smile was faint, almost there and not there.
"Some pumpkin juice?"
Helena directed the steaming pumpkin mug—its little legs pattering—to run up to the black cat's paws.
"Thank you for the hospitality."
The black cat dipped its head and used its tail to lift the pumpkin cup.
It looked around the cottage, questions worming their way out of its mind.
What exactly was the Borderlands?
Why had it stopped sensing Lady Isolt lately, yet Lady Ravenclaw felt closer than ever?
How did souls move in the Borderlands? What rules did the world behind the Veil follow?
It couldn't figure it out—only felt an intense curiosity.
"You have many questions?"
Ravenclaw walked over. Another ancient-looking book appeared at her side.
"Yes, Lady Ravenclaw. I want to know what the Borderlands truly are. And what decides the distance between you and me."
"A good question. Then tell me—what do you think decides the distance between wizard and wizard? Is it a measurable length?"
"It's the distance between one heart and another."
The black cat thought for a few seconds before answering.
"That is the first answer."
Ravenclaw smiled.
"But what rules does the Borderlands follow? Why do I feel Lady Isolt is farther away from me now?"
The black cat still didn't understand.
"A wizard's soul is something that moves. Sometimes it's nearer, sometimes farther.
Even if two hearts are close, the soul seeks freedom. And on the road to freedom, a wizard is also—lonely.
Two wizards' paths do not necessarily cross."
Ravenclaw took a sip of pumpkin juice, a trace of teasing on her face.
"Your meaning is…"
The black cat fell into thought.
"Yes. Compared to other witches, your distance to Sel is very close.
But Sel keeps moving forward. She left you a place in the soul-world—but she may not slow enough for you to catch her.
Only at certain moments do a wizard's paths truly align."
Ravenclaw explained again.
"I understand."
The black cat realized it at last. It looked at Rowena, then at Helena, fur trembling—yet said nothing.
"You're wondering why Helena and I are always together?"
Ravenclaw was, of course, wise.
"Because we built a home inside each other's souls. What do you think a home is?"
As she spoke, she lifted the black cat gently into her arms. The cat, still deep in thought, didn't even notice.
"Where love is, that's home…"
The black cat lifted its head—and found the whole world had dropped away beneath it. It was suddenly very high up, looking down at Helena shaking with laughter.
"This isn't funny."
The black cat jumped down.
The fireplace roared with lively flames. Outside the cottage, vines rustled and danced.
In the soft, pleased sounds, Ravenclaw's voice rose in the room:
"Mm. A fine kind of wisdom."
In the instant they touched, she seemed to understand something—enough to make the black cat's tail start swaying.
"What?"
the black cat asked.
"You ask about the rules of the Borderlands, but you already understand them—like you do now."
Ravenclaw lifted a finger. Small mist-orbs popped out from the edge of the black cat's tail.
In the first orb, an intricate hand motion appeared, along with a harsh, obscure incantation.
"Barely passable spell-wisdom," Ravenclaw judged.
The second orb shifted shapes—cat, then catpanther.
"Quite good transfiguration-wisdom."
A smile touched Ravenclaw's lips.
The third orb, the fourth, the fifth—each carried a cold, black aura.
"…Dark magic. Dark magic. Dark magic. What have you been learning?
Has Hogwarts changed that much over these centuries?"
Ravenclaw's expression tightened.
The black cat drew its head in and stayed silent.
It understood now: these were "wisdom-orbs," like the strange "desire-orbs"—common things in the Borderlands.
"Hogwarts doesn't teach dark magic,"
the black cat finally said, quietly.
"Green, it's all right."
Ravenclaw stepped closer; the black cat could see the ornate patterns along the hem of her robes.
It didn't know what she meant until she spoke again.
"Dark magic is a sharp blade. What I'm more curious about is—what forced you to raise that blade?
I remember when wizards had defeated dragons, defeated giants, stood toe-to-toe with goblins, and built their castles on magical soil.
Was it the goblins—rebelling?"
Ravenclaw sounded genuinely intrigued.
"That was before."
The black cat chose its words carefully.
"Oh? Then it's a wizard's war?"
Ravenclaw didn't sound like she was asking.
The black cat nodded.
Ravenclaw didn't press further, as if that outcome was inevitable.
When wizards solve the problem of survival, faith naturally splits wizards apart.
And wizards rely on faith so completely that magic is born from it—and so is war.
They sat in silence for a while inside the cottage, until the mist began to rise on its own.
"I'm leaving now, Lady Ravenclaw. Lady Helena."
the black cat said.
It had seen what it most wanted to see.
"Then—shall we wish each other good luck?"
Ravenclaw still wore that faint, mischievous smile.
The black cat's whiskers quivered. It didn't answer.
"There are countless souls who try to cling to me, hoping to gain the strength that wizards still carry even here in the Borderlands. Do you know what that strength is?"
Ravenclaw asked suddenly.
"Wisdom."
the black cat answered.
"And that is what I wanted you to understand.
Wizards have so many faiths; even cruelty has its followers. But the true power of magic has never existed only there.
Ancient wizards defeated dragons, defeated giants, even suppressed the goblins. Yet by Helena's account, wizards today no longer possess that kind of magic…"
Ravenclaw spoke slowly, and the black cat listened intently.
In their cottage, a pine tree was hung with colored lights. Beneath it lay a fluffy orange rug, with round stools—and a plush toy shaped like a black cat.
A kettle boiled, steaming; in the bubbling sound, the black cat caught the clean scent of pine.
It sat quietly on the rug, forcing itself to memorize every word Ravenclaw said.
It had always had a peculiar intuition about magic.
And now that intuition told it: it was about to touch the deepest, most obscure part of magic.