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The Borderland.
Just before dawn.
A witch with long, flowing hair wandered among the bushes, barefoot on the soft earth. The moment she caught sight of any other figure, she ducked out of sight like a startled deer.
"Ariana."
A clear, gentle voice called out. A strikingly beautiful witch stood in the doorway of the wooden cottage by the sea, smiling as she invited the timid girl inside.
This was the fifth time Rita had seen Ariana.
She watched those wary eyes soften—just a fraction—before the caution rushed back in. Rita pressed her lips together tightly.
"Stay a while? I made candied quince and Devonshire pudding."
Rita coaxed her softly.
"No…" Ariana shook her head. Her hollow eyes held a stubborn spark.
"You've been searching for so long, child. You need to rest."
Rita looked down, her voice quiet.
Wandering souls had only one purpose here: to keep searching. Souls like Ariana had no home in the Borderland.
There was an old saying in this place: Where the heart finds peace, a cottage will grow.
A restless heart had nowhere to settle.
So they wandered, searching endlessly, hoping that before they lost every last scrap of feeling and memory, fate would finally deliver a stroke of luck.
Ariana turned away like a frightened animal, ready to vanish back into the trees.
Rita's face tightened with worry.
"Ariana!" she called. "You're looking for the Lucky Messenger, aren't you?"
The timid witch froze. Her eyes flicked, quick and hidden, toward the side of the seaside cottage door.
There, beside a simple black-cat drawing, sat a mysterious black-cat statue.
She tucked her hands behind her back so Rita wouldn't see the tiny, childish sketch of a black cat she was clutching.
Rita let out a silent breath of relief.
Meeting a wandering soul was never easy. In nearly seventy years, she had only crossed paths with Ariana five times. Even in the timeless Borderland, that meant more than a decade had passed between encounters.
The next time might be…
"At least have some Windsor soup, all right?" Rita tried again, her voice as soft as a queen offering a poisoned apple. "I've met the Lucky Gentleman. Would you like to hear his story? How he bridges life and death and brings wizards eternal good fortune? Would you stay for that?"
Ariana finally stopped just outside the doorway.
She didn't step inside. She simply stared at Rita with eyes that had begun to glow again, like dying embers catching fresh air.
Rita knew this was the most she could do.
She looked at the timid witch—so close she could see every strand of hair, yet so far away the whole figure seemed to blur. In the Borderland, distance was measured by the space between hearts.
Ariana's heart was far from everyone… except the two people she had waited a hundred years for.
Two very unworthy people, Rita thought bitterly.
How could anyone leave a frightened little girl to wait alone for a century? She still believed they would come for her. If they didn't, she was ready to summon the courage to find them herself.
"Stay a little longer," Rita said, setting out two stools and a steaming bowl of soup. "I have plenty more stories."
This was her version of Windsor soup—originally a thick, ugly brown sludge that looked like painted floorboards. Rita had reworked the recipe until it became a creamy white broth that made even Ariana's empty stomach rumble.
"Besides the Lucky Gentleman's story, I know lots of others. Have you heard of Newt? He was Dumbledore's favorite student… I know he was still wetting the bed at six…"
Rita smiled warmly.
Every so often her gaze drifted to the mysterious black-cat statue, and she prayed silently.
Hurry, Mr. Black Cat. Please hurry…
Far away, the black cat's whiskers twitched as it walked the misty white expanse. It glanced at a suddenly thicker thread of fog, thoughtful.
That was Rita thinking of it again.
The threads thickened and thinned all the time. The black cat figured it was just normal wizard emotion.
Mist swirled. The black cat had been walking the Borderland for a long while now, following Rita's fog trail, thinking about the witch she had described. Time slipped away unnoticed.
Its paws sank into the cloud-like ground as its mind kept turning.
Normally the black cat could find anyone, as long as it held a clear enough impression. The Borderland would bend to its will and show the way.
But that didn't mean it could always reach them.
Direction was one thing. Distance was another.
If the distance was too great, the black cat might run out of time before it had to leave the Borderland.
Ariana was exactly that kind of distance.
The black cat had always felt she was impossibly far, which was why it had asked Rita for help.
By the time it reached the seaside cottage, the sky had darkened.
Dusk arrived wearing a veil of sunset clouds, painting the white expanse in warm orange.
"Six and a half hours…" the black cat murmured, counting to itself as it stepped into the cottage.
Outside, Rita stared at the horizon, looking lost.
"Miss Rita," the black cat greeted.
"You're late, honored god," Rita said. "And I couldn't keep her."
Her brows drew together in quiet guilt. "She's been searching so long, all alone, with nowhere to belong…"
She looked at her god. "Good luck doesn't favor slow children, does it?"
The black cat paused. It suddenly understood.
"You…"
"Have some Windsor soup, honored Lucky Messenger. Let me tell you the story of a very slow child."
Rita's blue eyes shimmered. She turned her head slightly and wiped away the moisture.
Inside the little cottage the fireplace roared. Firelight outlined the black cat's fluffy shape.
From Rita's halting words the black cat learned what kind of life the witch it sought had lived.
A witch who had fallen into the Borderland. A witch with no place to rest. Carrying her terror of the world, she drifted stubbornly through an endless sea of mist.
Loneliness and fear were constant companions, but her obsession shone like stars in the night.
"Her lips are always murmuring about her brothers," Rita said. "But where are they, sir? Unworthy people—did they treat her so cruelly in life and then leave her restless even in death?"
Rita's lips pressed tight.
The black cat stayed silent.
It gazed at the falling dusk, the heavy twilight.
For the first time it felt the Borderland's cruel laws.
"The sky is dark…"
The black cat looked out over the night and said goodbye to Rita.
"Ruler of dreams and mist, bridge between life and death, symbol of eternal good fortune…"
Rita watched the black cat's silhouette vanish into the darkness and prayed with all her heart.
"May you hear the rain falling on the living world. May you wipe away the tears of those who have left…"
The black cat did not fully understand what its presence meant to the souls here, but Rita's words left it quiet.
It could picture how a timid witch like Ariana must wander this strange place.
So it simply ran.
Under a sky blazing with starlight, distant constellations guided the black cat. It raced like the wind, rustling sparse thickets.
Still too far. Still too far.
When it looked up, something made it stop dead.
[You have observed the night sky of the Borderland. Prophecy Magic proficiency +100]
[Beginner Prophecy Magic unlocked]
[Beginner Prophecy Magic: Novice (99/300)]
[New Prophecy Magic domain title unlocked—please check]
[A wizard talent has been unlocked—please check]
The records in Dream Stories—or Merlin's Tale—had been true after all.
The Borderland had the brightest night sky. Astronomy shone here, and wizards could glimpse the future.
The black cat paused. It was still too far from Ariana.
Unless it could locate her exact position and turn the hazy guidance into something certain, it might never reach her in time.
But the black cat had a feeling: perhaps Prophecy Magic could reveal where she was.
[Title: Unmastered Prophet]
[The Inner Eye has cracked open]
What did that mean?
The Inner Eye had cracked open?
The black cat had expected something like this.
But where was its Inner Eye?
It carefully lifted a paw and touched its forehead.
Nothing.
It remembered the description from the Hogwarts books.
The Inner Eye, also called the Sight, is a rare Divination talent that appears only occasionally among Seers. It allows one to see the future. Only Cassandra Trelawney and her great-great-granddaughter Sybill Trelawney have been confirmed to possess it. Sybill's control of the Sight is imperfect; most of her predictions are not true prophecies.
The black cat looked back at its panel.
[Name: Sean Green]
[Unlocked Special Forms: Cat, Panther. Unlocked: Unknown]
[Unlocked Special Ability: The Inner Eye, Slightly Open]
[The Inner Eye, Slightly Open: In special realms, the slightly open Inner Eye can grant you the revelations you seek.]
The black cat froze.
Special realm… where else but the Borderland?
But how did it use it?
Before it could figure it out, the world went dark.
It lay in a Borderland forest, eyes unfocused, whiskers trembling.
Sean felt as if he were falling, endlessly falling. Flashes of scenes rushed past—future scenes, he somehow knew—but he couldn't see them clearly.
He was like a drowning child; seeing the scene in front of him was his only lifeline.
He couldn't.
So he strained his eyes wide open, desperate to catch even one fragment of the future.
After what felt like forever, he finally saw.
A girl with long hair walked barefoot across a marsh. Moonlight stretched her shadow long behind her.
Her face held fear and unease, yet she kept walking stubbornly.
Every so often she glanced at a wooden cottage in the distance—one with a black-cat drawing on it.
She clutched a small piece of paper tighter in her hand.
"Ruler of dreams and mist, bridge between life and death, symbol of eternal good fortune…"
She murmured the words, lost in a daze.
When the black cat started running again, the night was deep.
Occasional faint sounds rose, but it paid them no mind.
It crossed hills, valleys, streams, and open fields.
At last, in a muddy marsh, it found the timid witch.
She had curled up in a patch of grass, using the tender green blades as a blanket.
When the cold wind blew, she shivered.
"She is a witch without a home, sir. She only enters a cottage when the person she's waiting for arrives. This isn't the Borderland's cruelty—it's simply that loneliness keeps obsession alive. Forgetting always makes everything beautiful, so pain becomes the rule that fights against forgetting."
Rita's words echoed in the black cat's mind.
It stepped closer. With every step its body grew larger and more majestic until it became an enormous, magnificent cat.
Its tail flicked gently and wrapped around Ariana, shielding her from the wind and bringing warmth.
The great black cat, its fur dark as ink and clouds, heard her soft whimper. A moment later she opened her eyes, trembling.
The giant cat had vanished. Only the black cat she had dreamed of remained—the one whose tail was big enough to wrap her completely.
"Good evening, dear Miss Ariana," the black cat said.
"Ah…"
Ariana gave a tiny start. Her small nose quivered. She stared at the black cat, a sound rising in her throat—half sob, half broken cry—too faint to be heard.
But the black cat understood.
In her heart, the pain of separation and disappointment had long since lost its voice.
"You are the first witch I have met tonight. Make a wish, Miss Ariana. I will help you make it come true."
The black cat's voice was warm, like an ancient lullaby carrying a moving melody.
It knew Ariana had died at only fourteen, so it chose to tell her the gentlest story possible.
Let it be a god of eternal good fortune tonight. It had seen a wizard's wish, and it would help her fulfill it.
The Borderland had never seemed so bright. Ariana felt she was the luckiest witch in the world.
Starlight poured down as if celebrating with her—the long journey of a hundred years had finally reached its moment of rest.
Yet in the middle of all that joy, why was she crying?
Her tears soaked the black cat's fur. She tried frantically to hide, but the black cat simply lifted a paw and gently brushed the tears away.
She wanted to speak, but only unintelligible sounds came out.
The black cat didn't mind. The world was full of people living alone.
Talking to a black cat wasn't strange at all.