"That's ours!" the villager named John roared, his eyes bloodshot like a beast whose young had been stolen as he lunged at the young man clutching the money bag.
"Get lost! I found it first!" The young man held the bag tightly, a fierce, possessive light in his eyes.
"Finders keepers! Everyone gets a share!"
"Grab it!"
The villagers, who had only moments ago been united against a common enemy, now turned into hyenas fighting over carrion as they frantically threw themselves at the young man holding the bag.
They shoved and roared, fists flying.
Someone picked up a bloodstained stone from the ground, no longer aiming it at the Church knights, but at one of his former companions.
Bang!
A villager was struck in the back of the head by the stone and collapsed without a sound.
"You hit my brother! I'll kill you!"
Screams and curses intertwined into a hellish chorus.
The young man was ultimately overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and the money bag tore apart during the struggle, sending gold coins and silver objects clattering across the ground.
The scattered valuables were like oil poured onto a raging fire, instantly destroying what little reason remained in the crowd.
They no longer distinguished between friend and foe.
Anyone who came too close became a target as they frantically attacked one another while desperately stuffing the scattered treasure into their own clothes.
The brawl, or rather this farce of mutual slaughter, did not last long.
Eventually, the screams faded into silence.
By then, alongside the bodies of the Church personnel, dozens more villagers lay dead across the camp.
They sprawled in pools of blood in twisted positions, while the gold coins they had failed to carry away gleamed coldly amid the blood.
The only person still standing was the young man who had first discovered the money bag.
He was covered in blood and leaning on a wooden club he had picked up from somewhere. It was stained with brain matter and shredded flesh.
His chest heaved violently as he gasped for breath.
His eyes held the madness of survival and a hollow sense of victory.
He looked around, making sure that no one still alive could threaten him.
Then he threw away the wooden club and staggered towards the scattered valuables, mechanically gathering every gold and silver item he could find and stuffing them into his tattered clothes until his chest bulged almost to bursting.
Only after finishing did he seem to notice his overwhelming hunger and thirst.
He stumbled over to the large pot still simmering above the campfire, where dried meat stew continued to boil.
The liquid had reduced considerably, and chunks of meat rolled through the bubbling broth.
Ignoring the heat, he reached directly into the scalding pot with his bare hand, grabbed a piece of meat, and stuffed it ravenously into his mouth, chewing like an animal.
Then he picked up a fallen knight's helmet, used it to scoop up the thick soup mixed with blood and dust, and gulped it down.
After eating and drinking his fill, he hugged the heavy gold and silver tightly against his chest, curled up beside the burning campfire, and fell into a deep sleep.
The firelight flickered across his filthy face.
From time to time, his eyes opened slightly, revealing no trace of humanity, only animalistic numbness and an obsessive fixation on the treasure in his arms.
...
The sensation of spatial distortion gradually faded, and the two once again felt solid ground beneath their feet.
The girl instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers clutching tightly at Sagres's robes. Only after several seconds did she dare to slowly open them.
Before her was no longer the chaotic forest camp, but a spacious and quiet room.
Towering bookshelves rose all the way to the vaulted ceiling, packed with thick tomes, while the air carried the peculiar scent of parchment mixed with potion ingredients.
The fire in the fireplace crackled softly, driving away the chill they had brought in from outside.
The curtains drew themselves open, and quills danced merrily through the air.
It was a world completely unlike anything she had ever known.
Where was this place?
"This is Hogwarts, a school of magic," Sagres said, breaking the silence as he released her arm.
"What's your name?"
"L... Lilian," the girl answered timidly, though her eyes could not help wandering curiously around the room.
Sagres nodded slightly and asked, "Lilian, when you turned eleven, did you ever receive a letter delivered by an owl? An invitation to enrol."
Lilian shook her head blankly, confusion filling her eyes.
"An owl? No... Sir, I've never received any letters. I can't read. In fact, no one in our village can read, and... things brought by owls are usually considered bad omens."
A flicker of understanding passed through Sagres's eyes.
Legends of owls being birds of ill omen had existed for a long time.
And in an era when witch hunts were rampant, and wizards and ordinary people were estranged or even openly hostile towards one another, Hogwarts clearly could not send owls to deliver letters as openly as it would in later generations.
Many children like Lilian, born to Muggles but possessing magical talent, might simply have been overlooked, or even persecuted because they were unable to control their magic.
Sagres did not question her further.
Instead, he simply clapped his hands.
With a crisp pop, a very old house-elf appeared out of thin air.
It bowed respectfully to Sagres and said in a high-pitched voice, "What are Professor's orders for Kallata?"
Lilian was startled by the creature's sudden appearance and instinctively took half a step back, hiding behind Sagres.
She peeked out from behind him, both frightened and curious as she stared at the little elf that had introduced itself as Kallata.
Sagres instructed it, "This is Miss Lilian. She will be staying in the castle for some time. You will be responsible for looking after her daily needs and fulfilling any reasonable requests she makes."
"As you wish, esteemed Professor. Kallata will await Miss Lilian's commands!"
The little elf bowed deeply to Lilian, its head almost touching the floor.
Sagres then turned back to the girl.
She was still clutching the edge of her tattered clothes tightly, her body trembling slightly. Her clear eyes were filled with fear and unease at the unfamiliar surroundings.
Her own family had reported her to the Church because of an accidental burst of magic.
In other words, she no longer had a home.
At that moment, Lilian looked like an overly frightened little animal that had been torn away from everything familiar and thrown into a strange new world.
Sagres was silent for two seconds.
His tone remained as flat and emotionless as ever, but his words carried a faint hint of reassurance.
"Hogwarts is a home for wizards. Here, you can learn how to protect yourself. You are safe here. No one will judge you for the power you were born with or tie you to a stake."
He pointed towards the respectfully waiting house-elf.
"As for Kallata, it is a house-elf that serves this castle. They may look a little unusual, but you can trust it completely. If you need anything, food, clothes, or simply someone... or rather, some creature to talk to, you can tell it."
He then glanced around the room, which was filled with traces of magic.
"I know everything here is unfamiliar to you, and it's perfectly normal to feel frightened and lost."
Sagres spoke calmly.
"Fear comes from the unknown. From now on, you can learn about all of this little by little. Believe me, it will be worth it."
With that, he said no more.
He turned towards the bookshelf, pulled a hardcover book from the top shelf, and handed it to Lilian.
"This book has been enchanted to help you learn how to read."
The girl accepted it blankly.
Sagres added, "Try to finish it as soon as possible. After all, you're already far behind your peers."
He offered no warm promises, but those simple words and clear arrangements acted like a heavy anchor, slightly steadying Lilian's drifting, rootless heart.
She looked at Sagres, then at the little elf watching her with large, kindly eyes.
At last, her tightly tensed shoulders relaxed a little.
She nodded gently and whispered in a voice barely audible even to herself, "Thank you... Sir."
At least here, it seemed she no longer had to fear being burned alive at any moment.
___
o(*≧▽≦)ツ💫 Read up to 12+ chapters in advance on Patreon/DarkDevil1