"What… is this?"
Robert's voice was low, his movements carrying the care of one handling fragile glass. Leaning forward, he took the parchment letter from the windowsill. It was heavy in his hand, dry and ancient to the touch. The deep red wax seal upon it carried a solemnity utterly out of place in the modern world.
Alan said nothing.
His gaze had already pierced through his father's hands, fixed firmly on the crest—lion, eagle, serpent, and badger entwined together.
That was it.
In an instant, within the grand structure he called his Mind Palace, a forbidden region that had lain sealed in fog for eleven long years split open with a soundless detonation.
Countless fragments of information burst forth, flooding his cognitive system.
Ancient runes, spell models intricate as starlit orbits, and even shards of memory that were not his own—memories of a boy named Harry Potter. All of it was parsed, archived, and restructured at a speed surpassing light.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
A world he had always believed to be a product of human imagination.
So that was it.
He had not merely been reborn—he had entered, by some logic-defying means, a story framework that truly existed.
The realization struck so hard it brought a moment of vertigo, black spots creeping at the edges of his vision. But only three-tenths of a second later, absolute rationality rose from the depths of his soul, steadying his heartbeat, cooling his overloaded senses by force.
[Hidden Quest Activated: Origin of Magic]
[Quest Description: Step into the unknown magical world. Analyze the fundamental logic of magic. Integrate it into the theoretical systems of the Mind Palace.]
"A trick! It must be some elaborate trick!"
Carla's sharp voice split the silence of the room. Her body tensed instantly as she yanked little Lilia behind her, as if the letter before them were about to explode.
"How could they know Alan is here? Robert, we have to call the police!"
Her words tumbled out in a rush, her voice trembling with fear.
"Alan's talent is too extraordinary—he must have been targeted long ago by some criminal organization!"
Her fear was not without root. Alan's brilliance, so far beyond what even prodigies could reach, had always been both the family's pride and their Damocles' sword. They had hired the best security consultants, planned the safest path for his future, yet none of that could stop this letter from flying in through the window.
But Robert's reaction veered in an entirely different direction.
He showed no anger, no panic. In the shifting lamplight, his face seemed distant, his eyes losing focus, as though searching across the vast river of time for something long forgotten.
"No… wait…" His throat bobbed, words rasping like sandpaper. "I've seen this crest before…"
His gaze snapped from the envelope to his son, voice dry and hoarse.
"I remember now."
"When I was a boy, my grandfather once spoke of it. He said there was a distant aunt in the family… her name was Liliana, I think."
"Grandfather said she had… strange abilities since childhood. She could make cups fly off the table, and talk to the family cat for an entire day. When she was in her teens, the family sent her away. She never came back."
With every word Robert spoke, Carla's face grew paler.
"Grandfather's exact words were… she was taken away by a special school."
The sentence landed like a nail, hammering straight into the heart of Carla's materialist worldview.
And at the center of this storm, Alan merely used machine-like precision as his fingertip slid across the wax seal, breaking it open.
The letter's contents matched perfectly with the memories that had just unlocked within Alan's Mind Palace.
An acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with a long shopping list filled with strange items—cauldrons, wands, dragon-hide gloves.
"This is ridiculous!" Carla finally lost control of her emotions. "Magic? Witches? This is the twentieth century, not the dark Middle Ages!"
In that instant, the family was split into three separate worlds.
The mother's worries were rooted in cold, hard reality.
The father's recollections drifted like misty legend.
And Alan's letter stood between them both, an undefinable, surreal existence.
"Mum, your concern is perfectly reasonable."
Alan spoke.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange weight, like a stone dropped into chaotic waters—calming the ripples at once.
"Dad, your memory might be the key to unraveling this mystery."
He placed the letter neatly on the table in the sitting room, every movement filled with an unquestionable steadiness. Sweeping his gaze across his parents' contrasting emotions, his tone shifted into something resembling a business negotiation.
"Right now, we're dealing with two things. First: an event that current scientific knowledge cannot explain. Second: a family legend we cannot yet verify."
"Arguing won't solve anything. What we need—" his eyes flicked toward his mother, offering her a reassuring glance, "—is verification."
In his Mind Palace, the optimal solutions were already arrayed, each assessed for risk.
"It's simple."
Alan's logic was clear, stripped of emotion.
"The letter says that if we choose to accept, we must send a reply by owl before July 31st. Then let's follow their rules."
He paused, ensuring his parents could keep up.
"We'll reply. But the letter won't be acceptance, and it won't be refusal."
"In our response, we'll write as any ordinary family would: voicing our confusion and our deepest concerns about this so-called magical world. We'll politely request that the school send an official representative to visit us, to answer our questions and prove that magic is real."
Alan's gaze turned to his mother, locking the final link of his logical chain.
"If they can prove it, then we must reevaluate the structure of this world. If they cannot, or simply never reply, then it confirms your suspicion—that this is nothing more than an elaborate hoax targeting gifted children."
"At that point, we contact the local police. I'm sure they'd be eager to investigate such a malicious scam."
The plan was flawless.
It kicked the ball squarely back to the other side, throwing all uncertainty upon them. Whether they were genuine or not, the Scotts would remain firmly in control, with every move accounted for.
The tight lines of worry on Carla's face slowly eased. She looked at her eleven-year-old son, her eyes filled not only with admiration, but also with a strange, unshakable sense of unfamiliarity.
Robert's tense shoulders relaxed as well. He let out a long breath.
"Alan's right. This is the best way forward."
And so, Alan took up the pen himself.
He did not waste words on eloquence. Instead, with rigorous precision and objective phrasing, he wrote a reply that was orderly and unmistakably clear.
When he finished, he ignored the tawny owl still preening its feathers lazily on the balcony.
Instead, he walked into the back garden, rolled the letter carefully, and tied it to the leg of the family's homing pigeon.
He lifted the bird, watched it spread its wings, and soar into the dark night until it disappeared from sight.
If the other side truly possessed supernatural power, then the method of reply would not matter.
This was a test.
And it was a declaration.