Kai was in a conundrum.
For all he knew, the killing could restore Order, as much as saving, like a flutter of butterfly wings could cause Chaos.
What to do now? Kai asked himself. Just as he finished reading the red sentences, the vanished blue returned by its side. Both missions flashed, luring his eyes towards them, like the bait of a wild beast, and Kai dared not bet his future on a wild guess. This choice would dictate his future; his end if he were to be wrong.
When you don’t know which path to choose, son, take the counsel of your experiences.
Yes, mother, Kai thought and closed his eyes. Scenes after scenes raced by his mind, like a blurry photo reel. Most of it was blood and pain. The rest was claimed by unending screams, and hidden in the gaps were events of Kai trying to deceive others, using them, manipulating them.
The answer lies here, a deep voice told Kai in his mind, not in the madness; this is my essence. Kai found what he was looking for, not too late. I am a loner, yes, but without the people surrounding me, I am not truly alone, he told himself. The butterfly’s wing can’t cause a storm if there is no wind to support it. These people, they are my wind, Kai was sure of it, surer than ever.
Only when there is an Order, there can be Chaos.
Kai’s eyes opened, the doubts were gone, hesitations, if any, erased. He knew what his choice was, or he had always known what it would be. Kai looked at the red words, which looked ferocious and menacing as if hiding something under a false impression. The blue seemed more orderly, smooth, and soothing, trying too hard for all Kai cared.
“I choose to assist Thunder Faction in saving the life of Beedle the Bard,” Kai declared.
As soon as he spoke, both colors faded and became stony-grey. The mission to kill faded, diffusing into the room’s space, leaving behind its counterpart to take the center-stage. Kai waited for more words to appear to show the results of his well-thought choice. But dizziness hit him sooner than that, rocking his mind to the gates of darkness.
*
*
When vision returned to him, he found himself in a small room.
He was laying still on a bed, Kai could tell, and the roof above felt soggy wood. Then the smell hit him, damp and a touch of rot mixed in. Kai sat up warily, his eyes darting around to find a window by habit. When he found it, he relaxed and noticed there were clothes on him, unlike before.
They were old, just by the appearance, and torn from the seams. A short coat over loose pants, and Kai felt the hardness of a bulky knot pressing against his manhood. Poor… Servant? Kai passively guessed. He stood up and looked around as he adjusted the cloth-knot, tightening it on his lean waist. There weren’t many things in the room, including the bed, there was a table, a stool, and a closet, its handle all gone but a wooden stump.
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There is a mirror too, Kai noticed the shine over the closet.
With brisk steps, Kai approached the closet and reached up to touch the glass. When he brought it down, he could see it wasn’t a proper mirror, but only a shard. A crude triangular shape, reflecting a blurry image. Kai held it against his face and looked at himself.
White hair, hazel eyes, and the curves of his jaw. Yes, it was him, alright.
Throwing the mirror on the bed, Kai stepped to the table. A few yellowish papers were laid there, their texture felt like rough flaky skin when Kai touched it. Parchments, Kai recognized. Kai had read about it in one of his home lessons. Besides the parchments was a bottle of black ink, a cork dug deep in its mouth. Placed behind the ink-bottle was a quill, its nib blackened, and red-brownish feathers at the other end.
Now what? Kai thought.
The quill answered his thoughts.
It lifted by itself, making Kai jump back towards the broken mirror on the bed. His eyes narrowed, tracing the flight path of the quill, like a snake watching its prey. The quill felt wronged by Kai’s wariness and it too backed away towards the wall. The cork over the ink-bottle popped out gently, and the quill had to come forward again. As it dipped its nib in the mass of liquid blackness, a parchment left its restive post and hovered at Kai’s eye level over the table.
Magic!
Kai’s eyes shone with an unmatched brightness. Even in his previous world, there was only technology and death. All strange things had only one origin, the virus. If there was anything worthy to call magic in his world, then that was harnessing the essence of a beast. But the feeling of a quill lifting by itself felt more magical to the 16-year-old boy, than any weapon of death he had left behind.
Kai straightened his back and eyed the quill kissing the parchment. Held by a force, he knew nothing about; it wrote in beautiful cursive writing:
[The history of Magic is as old as the time itself, for some, even longer for others. It is everywhere, and yet only a few are worthy to see its wonders. To some, it remains elusive; to some, it grants power more than a man could ever need. Books aren’t enough to cover everything about it, only enough to amaze the feeble minds of readers. This is a world of magic, wonders, dreams, and desires that can either make you the brightest soul or can show you darkness, where even light is afraid to reach.
15th century AD, magic is booming, old myths are dying, and magical technology is advancing like never. But throughout history, ‘Change’ has been resisted by people. Few look favorably to see Magic growing, more than it already has. Mr. Beedle, one of the many wizards, is caught between these two extremes.
Chaos welcomes you, Kai Stormborn. Help Mr. Beedle to spread his tales throughout the Magical World of Harry Potter.]