Chapter 360: Ritual of Rest

“Hmm, you’ve just engraved five hundred and twenty sets of seamless expansion runes.”

Newt’s gaze fell behind Seán, where the interior space of the Wizard’s Book had grown large enough to hold an entire classroom.

“Five hundred and twenty-one, Mr. Scamander.”

Seán stared at the parchment in his hand, covered in dense arrays of runes.

He had always been accustomed to documenting his alchemical processes and compiling them into books.

“Fascinating—the Spell of Division is… also a difficult charm. We can learn it slowly.”

Newt smiled warmly.

For the rest of the time, Seán studied the Spell of Division under Mr. Scamander.

Of course, their training ground had shifted to the Ilvermorny Forest.

When the cold wind howled, their footsteps echoed across the snow-dusted grass of Ilvermorny Forest.

They always paused at different locations, practicing the Spell of Division for a while before moving on to another secluded spot once Mr. Scamander sensed the space was becoming unstable.

They traversed forests, dark crevices, violet marshes, golden broom-covered slopes, and once even reached a hidden pebble cove.

Ilvermorny Forest was even larger than Hogwarts’ Forbidden Forest, and Seán followed Mr. Scamander in study until deep into the night.

During this time, Puck occasionally brought them lavish meals. During breaks, Seán and Senior Newt hid behind trees, watching a pair of Ilvermorny students write in the snow with sticks.

“I’m done!”

A witch called out loudly.

The wizard approached hesitantly, excited yet timid.

They had written winter’s special letters—everything they could never say aloud.

The only rule was that they couldn’t wait too long, or the message would melt away.

Snow had whitened Seán’s eyebrows; he pulled his McGonagall professor’s scarf tighter, then noticed Mr. Scamander wearing a scarf so bulky it looked comical.

“My wife, dear Goldstein, knitted this for me for a whole week.”

Mr. Scamander smiled.

Seán nodded, his thoughts crossing the entire Ilvermorny Forest, crossing the frigid Atlantic, drifting to the warm hearth in the Transfiguration Office.

He wondered if the ball of yarn and long needles in the corner of the office would still be turning in McGonagall professor’s hands.

In winter, snow crunched underfoot, and the two wandering wizards both wore noticeably oversized scarves.

After resting.

After half the night’s effort, Seán finally mastered the Spell of Division.

When he successfully split off a small portion of space, he was filled with joy.

Snowflakes shook from his hair; he swiftly raised his wand, ensuring Mr. Scamander could see clearly.

“Excellent—remarkably fast learning.”

Newt murmured praise.

Seán turned back, eyes fixed intently on the panel.

【You practiced the Spell of Division at a beginner level. Proficiency +3】

【Spell of Division: Locked (3/30)】

For Seán, the hardest part had been the first success; now, the only obstacle was time.

…

The Origin Stone House of Ilvermorny.

Seán stepped into the warm house, wrapped in night and snow.

On the table lay porridge and sliced beef, along with various fruits.

By the hearth, sweet potatoes and pumpkins roasted, filling the air with an aroma Seán couldn’t refuse.

“Eat something? No one’s come here in ages—I’ve forgotten how good William’s cooking was…”

Time is a thief. It let me witness Ilvermorny grow from a small cabin into a granite castle.

Now, it blurs it all again. What’s left of me? This is why I remain.

Miss Isolde watched Seán’s spoon pause mid-dip; the young wizard now stared thoughtfully.

“Ghosts are born of fixation—but even if a ghost resolves its fixation, how does it return to the Threshold?”

Seán gripped the steaming, pumpkin-shaped cup, frowning.

“A learned young wizard—you know of the Threshold?”

Miss Isolde’s interest sparked instantly.

“I know a little, Headmaster Serpell.”

Seán said.

“The world beyond the Veil—how fascinating. I can hardly wait to reunite with James, Chauncey, and Webber.”

Miss Isolde offered a long, deep smile.

“Our school, which we founded, has become renowned—every magical family across North America vies to send their children here;

Freedom, fairness, equality are now etched into every Ilvermorny wizard’s heart;

And the North American magical knowledge we built and spread—melding native magic with European traditions—has forged something newer, stronger, and more beautiful.”

Seán’s hand stilled as he drank pumpkin juice, his green eyes fixed on Miss Isolde.

“Magic is magnificent and wondrous. When a wizard’s knowledge is vast and his conviction unshakable, magic flows like a spring.

An arrow cannot fly farther than the bow’s tension allows; a wizard’s power cannot exceed his belief.”

Miss Isolde drifted before Seán, pointing to the runic symbol carved above the hearth.

“If the Veil exists, then there must be magic to lift it—that is the ritual to Making Guide ghosts to the Threshold.

If you’re willing to help, that would be best… I watched Herrera grow up, watched William grow old…

Let them send me off—that would break my heart.”

Seán could not fully imagine such a thing; he silently gazed at the runes above the hearth—the words “Ritual of Rest” glowed faintly.

Then Seán nodded:

“I’m happy to help.”

Sending off a ghost—what a strange thing.

…

At dawn, Seán awoke, sipping pumpkin juice as he began his charm practice.

【You practiced the Spell of Division at a beginner level. Proficiency +3】

【You practiced the Spell of Division at a beginner level. Proficiency +3】

Only when he felt weary did Seán step out of the cabin.

The Spell of Division was still too difficult, let alone spatial transfer.

He estimated he’d need at least 【Skilled】-level proficiency to accomplish it.

Walking along the snowy path, Ilvermorny loomed faintly in the distance.

Likewise, the Ilvermorny Forest—and Senior Newt within it—were not far away.

As snow fell heavily, Seán entered the forest.

The forest hummed with sounds: distant branches snapping, the soft rustle of snow, the mingled footsteps and rustles of animals moving through it.

As he walked, Seán suddenly caught a flash of yellow darting past.

The sight thrilled him—it was a leopard, Ilvermorny’s wild mascot.

Today, after the final exam, the deer finally escaped its suffering. Two chapters postponed; normal four-chapter schedule resumes tomorrow.