[Sacred Artifact: Ten-Thousand Soul Banner]
[Functions:
1. Soul Refining: Absorbs the lingering souls of the dead and stores them. Souls from different power levels can be refined into controllable wraiths.
2. Soul Nurturing: Raises wraiths inside the banner, restoring their battle stamina. Wraiths can extend their lifespan by devouring other souls.
3. Soul Command: When unleashed, they auto-attack or can be manually directed. Wraiths retain some of their pre-death spells or abilities.]
Man, this thing is dark—but I'm kinda into it. A soul-based sacred artifact? Gotta be insanely powerful!
Still, why does the name scream "ancient Eastern vibes"?
Alice twirled the tattered cloth of the Ten-Thousand Soul Banner around her finger, frowning. It wasn't exactly chic. How the heck was she supposed to store this thing? She wasn't about to tie it around her head like some owl wearing a bandana—that'd be neither aristocratic nor girly.
As if it could read her mind, the rag suddenly melted into a streak of dark-gray light and wrapped around her right wrist, forming a tiny flag-shaped tattoo.
Alice scrunched her nose. She wasn't a fan of tattoos, but she couldn't think of a better option.
Next, she called the maid still hovering by the door. "For the next two hours, nobody disturbs me. After that, if you come in and I'm gone—or if I don't answer when you call—tell Mr. Taylor to call the cops immediately."
Once that was settled, Alice lightly brushed the tattoo on her wrist. In a blink, she was inside the banner's inner space.
It was… empty. Like, echoey empty. Then a hungry pulse from the banner hit her—a desperate craving for souls. The more souls it held, the stronger they were, the more useful it became… and the bigger the boost she'd get.
Under its influence, a twisted little urge crept into her heart: slaughter everyone in the manor and feed their souls to the banner.
The thought lasted half a second before she crushed it with sheer willpower. That wasn't her style. Real strength meant swinging your blade at someone stronger, not bullying the weak. If she was going to feed the banner, it'd be with the souls of the mighty.
But that was a problem for future Alice. Right now, she didn't know anyone about to kick the bucket—let alone anyone powerful.
Her top priority? Confirm if Hogwarts was real and figure out how to enroll and become a legit witch.
She popped back into the real world and grabbed the attachment from the letter on her desk—a list of required textbooks and supplies, plus the address where to buy them.
Everything looked legit… except she'd never heard of any of the books or authors.
Her eyes landed on the location: Diagon Alley.
Was there a Diagon Alley in Britain? Pretty sure that was a hard no.
So how was she supposed to get there? Roll up to the driver and go, "Take me to Diagon Alley, please"?
Yeah, no. She wasn't trying to get labeled a nutcase.
Still, she wasn't giving up. She had the maid fetch the butler again.
Soon, Mr. Haven Taylor knocked on the open door and strode over to sit across from her.
"Uncle Taylor," Alice asked, "ever heard of a place called Diagon Alley?"
He adjusted his glasses. "First, Miss, I owe you an apology. I accidentally glimpsed the back of your letter and saw the name. I wasn't snooping—promise."
"Second, after I left, I wracked my brain and had the staff comb through every map of Britain. I can confirm: there's no Diagon Alley anywhere in the country."
Alice propped her chin on her hand. Great. How was she supposed to shop for magic textbooks now?
Taylor looked just as stumped.
As the two sat there, totally stuck, Alice's personal maid poked her head in. "Miss, Mr. Taylor—someone just announced that an older lady named Minerva McGonagall is at the gate. She says she needs to see the Miss about… enrollment matters."
Taylor's first thought was another pushy school rep, but then it clicked. "Minerva… why does that ring a bell?"
Alice pointed at the envelope. "She's the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts—the one who wrote the letter."
"Oh! Right, right. So, Miss, what's the plan?"
Alice stood. "Uncle Taylor, please show Professor McGonagall to the parlor. I'll be right there."
"Helen, help me change into something proper."
Minutes later, Alice was dressed and speed-walking to the parlor. At the door, she paused, took a deep breath, smoothed her slightly messy outfit, and stepped inside.
Professor McGonagall, already in the room, caught every bit of that. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. This new student had manners—promising.
Alice entered just in time to hear Taylor mid-gush:
"…absolutely, Headmistress, my young lady is a once-in-a-generation financial genius, and she's kind, upright, cares for the little guy, respects authority…"
Alice walked in, shot Taylor a please stop look, then turned to McGonagall with an awkward smile. "Sorry, Uncle Taylor gets… carried away."
McGonagall raised a hand, cutting her off gently. "Mr. Taylor's enthusiasm has already told me plenty about you, Miss Alice."
She wasn't what Alice expected. No sharp middle-aged businesswoman vibe—instead, an elegant older lady with a stern but warm aura.
"Professor McGonagall, what brings you here…?"
"Just Professor is fine. For students from non-wizarding families, we send a professor to explain things to the family and take the student shopping for supplies."
"I was planning to come tomorrow, but after your reply arrived and I had a free afternoon, I figured—why wait?"
Alice raised her hand like she was in class. McGonagall's approval ticked up another notch; polite kids were her favorite.
"Go ahead."
"Professor, why did I shatter a glass and make a window vanish? It's been driving me nuts."
McGonagall chuckled. "Don't worry, dear. Every kid with magic goes through it—we call it a magic outburst. It fades as you get older, and Hogwarts will teach you control."
"We'll sort all that once you're enrolled. For now—ready to hit Diagon Alley?"
Alice grinned and threw both hands up. "Heck yes!"