Sterling's eyes were born able to see "threads" existing on all things, but these "threads" only existed on people with magic and items existing in the magical world, and were ineffective in Avalon.
Initially, Sterling thought they were magical power, but obviously those items that weren't alchemical tools didn't possess magic, let alone buildings having far more content than wizards.
After long exploration, Sterling could finally confirm that these threads were "stories." Traces left in the world by magical people walking through it.
So Diagon Alley and Hogwarts had terrifyingly exaggerated threads, because every wizard who'd ever visited would leave his or her story, and these stories combined together created the buildings' absurdly high "thread content."
However... Sterling didn't know what use this was.
This ability seemed to have no application beyond awakening his Origin Magic at the beginning of term. Sterling had barely used this ability recently.
Walking while thinking, suddenly an icy chill soaked through Sterling's entire body, as if he'd bathed in cold water.
"Oh, child, you must watch where you're walking!"
Sterling came to his senses. Hufflepuff's ghost, the Fat Friar, was floating on the ceiling looking at him. He seemed to have just passed directly through the Friar's ghostly body.
This was quite a novel sensation. Sterling felt he could find a ghost when summer got hot, though casting a Cooling Charm on himself would be more convenient and comfortable?
"Though I'd love to chat, the fifty-third ghost meeting targeting Peeves is about to convene, so I must be off... Remember to watch where you're going, child!"
The Fat Friar whooshed through the ceiling and flew away.
"Sterling! Weren't you supposed to get jam?"
Hermione's distinctive voice rang out behind him. She was holding an iron basin with half a block of butter inside.
"...Actually, I think we should still let the house-elves..."
Sterling's voice grew quieter under Hermione's visual assault. He could only sigh and dutifully go ask the elves for jam.
The four Ravenclaws had just come to the kitchen with Hannah. Somehow, Hannah suddenly wanted to try making cake herself rather than letting house-elves handle everything. Hermione immediately agreed.
Thus the current situation.
Hannah handled the main work, Hermione helped with preliminary material preparation, Padma handled cake decoration... Sterling and Terry were external personnel, helping with whatever was needed.
"Hi, could you trouble yourself for a jar of jam? Strawberry flavoured."
Sterling called to an elf cleaning tables. She had wrinkled ears and wore a relatively clean towel with Hogwarts' crest around her.
"Oh! A young wizard requests Peppy's help!"
She immediately jumped up happily, waving her finger. A full jar of strawberry jam smoothly floated from wall cabinets into her hands.
"Peppy gives the young wizard the strawberry jam the young wizard wants!"
"Oh, thanks... Your Wingardium Leviosa is quite skilled. Why not use magic to clean tables?"
"Peppy likes wiping tables. House-elves all like housework."
Peppy proudly puffed her chest. "Elves who use magic to be lazy are fallen elves. Peppy doesn't slack off. Peppy is a hardworking elf."
Well... Sterling respected others' choices.
After bringing back the jam, he and Terry had nothing left to do. They wandered separately around the kitchen, with passing elves avoiding them.
The kitchen was supposedly specially created by Hufflepuff. Simply placing dishes on kitchen tables would transport them to corresponding Great Hall tables.
Such alchemical tools nowadays probably only Nicolas Flamel could create. Hufflepuff was famous for alchemy during the Four Founders' era.
Hufflepuff of alchemy, Ravenclaw of charms, Gryffindor of duelling, and Slytherin of dark magic.
These were the Four Founders towering over all British wizardry. Even now, the highest praise British wizards gave was merely "approaching the Four Founders".
Only Merlin could claim superiority over them.
Hufflepuff had incorporated many personal preferences when designing the kitchen, like picture frames appearing regularly.
Sterling felt Hufflepuff had excellent taste. Beautiful sunflowers, elegant lake scenes, a scowling white-haired knight in purple armour, appetising fruit plates...
Wait? A white-haired knight in purple armour?
Sterling stopped advancing and backed up. Galahad raised his already elevated head even higher.
"Why do you have a frame here too?"
Grey eyes still couldn't reflect Sterling's image, as he continued speaking to himself.
"The opportunity remains distant."
"You haven't embarked on your journey. His gaze still hesitates."
"Cherish your eyes. They are divine grace to be bestowed."
Same as before. After speaking, he vanished, leaving only an empty, dim study in the portrait.
Sterling resolved again that after Queen Kai's matter ended, he'd search all of Avalon for this riddle-speaker.
Merlin's beard, why prefer riddles when possessing the ability to speak plainly?
However, he had revealed something understandable.
Sterling opened magical sight again. Being called "divine grace", even if "to be bestowed" meant it wasn't complete, it couldn't be entirely useless, right?
Sterling casually swept his gaze around, finally seeing a silver-and-yellow interwoven thread on his hand. Threads composing the Fat Friar's ghostly body.
Oh? Could he capture others' "stories" now?
Sterling pinched that thread. Suddenly intense pain shot through his head as memories unreasonably invaded Sterling's mind, the thread in his hand crumbling...
Dimly, two figures spoke in a basement. Candle flames were so weak they were barely visible, leaving only faint, spreading cold light.
"Anselm Risu, you should know the Church has long been intolerant of you. Only because you could appease these devil's children did they reluctantly grant you relatively free activity rights."
A tall figure scolded a short, fat one.
"And you shamefully betrayed the Church's mercy! Answer me. Why did you send those demon children to that... that evil devil's stronghold?"
"They are young wizards, not devils. Hogwarts is the finest magical school, not some devil's stronghold!"
The short, fat figure grew clearer, finally revealing the Fat Friar's face. Unlike his usual gentleness, he was filled with indescribable solemnity.
One felt he was the most devout monk.
"I've had enough of your persecution. If aimed only at me, I would bear the Lord's suffering, submitting to His gentle yoke to better serve Him."
"But you shouldn't imprison and terrorise these children equally beloved by the Lord. Demon seeds grow on them from hell through your oppression. If their potential isn't awakened, disaster will fall upon your heads!"
With the Fat Friar's increasingly impassioned words, the dark basement faded, returning to Hogwarts' warm kitchen.
Sterling looked at his empty hands. It was stories.
Ghosts were composed of traces they'd once left in the world. He'd merely passed through and intercepted a segment of the Fat Friar's story.
Just uncertain whether this affected the Fat Friar? After all, these were part of his components... At least during his brief absence, there seemed no major impact.
Sterling realised he understood too little about everything in this thousand-year castle. The Fat Friar had been a mediaeval figure in life.
What he'd done, even from this brief understanding, was enough for Sterling's respect.
Sterling planned to ask Hannah to watch the Fat Friar's condition, but as he prepared to turn, his still-open magical sight suddenly spotted a purple thread...
On Galahad's vanished frame.
Oh, what a coincidence!
Sterling smiled. People could speak in riddles, but surely your story couldn't be evasive?