Ian's sudden arrival had clearly interrupted the witch's meal. Not only had the table and utensils before her fled, but even the food on the plates had vanished with them.
The grand, palace-like hall lost its dazzling brilliance—chandeliers suspended from the ceiling disappeared entirely. The knife and fork once held in the witch's hands even sprouted tiny wings and flew off.
"S-Sorry."
Completely caught off guard, Ian recognized the witch sitting not far from him—it was the same mysterious woman who had once spoken to him in the village. She still wore that exquisite black gown, radiating nobility.
Like a shadow that silently descended with the night, she exuded a depth and mystery that defied description.
"Though your entrance was a bit… unexpected, I did once extend you an invitation. So you don't need to feel as if you've committed any offense."
A napkin appeared in her hand, and she elegantly dabbed at her crimson lips. With each graceful movement, she naturally displayed the manners and poise of an ancient noble.
It wasn't a performance.
It was something deeply woven into her every gesture.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your meal."
Ian still hadn't recovered from the surprise. What he wanted to say was that he hadn't planned on accepting her invitation. But he knew such words would have been far too rude.
"Souls in the Limbo Mirage don't need food. I simply maintain the habits I developed while alive. That food brings me no joy."
The mysterious witch chuckled softly, her eyes curiously scanning Ian. Her words made him gulp a little, the tension inside him tightening.
No joy from food?
Then what does bring this woman joy?
Toying with little boys?
Her gaze wasn't heated, but Ian still felt like ants were crawling all over him. Frozen on the spot, his posture and expression both betrayed a bit of discomfort.
Thankfully, the witch broke the silence.
"It seems you've already set foot on the path of magic."
Ian had no idea how she could tell. He hadn't even brought his wand into this realm, and yet she spoke with such certainty, as if it were self-evident.
"Yes, ma'am."
Faced with the witch's gaze—deeper even than Dumbledore's—Ian simply nodded. There was no need to lie about this. And in front of an unknown spirit like her, lies might only bring trouble.
That was instinct.
The kind that came from Thought Perception. Ian couldn't sense her emotions—just like with Dumbledore—but this extraordinary trait sharpened his sixth sense.
And sure enough—
When he answered honestly, the witch seemed quite satisfied.
"You should call me… teacher."
Ian wasn't sure if she had misunderstood him or if she was doing it deliberately, but her tone held a note of emphasis as she corrected his address.
"I… I…"
After a moment's thought, Ian chose to speak the truth: "Actually, I don't know why I suddenly ended up here."
"Every time before this, I always appeared in the same place—on that grassy field outside the village." And the fact that he was alive was not something he could hide.
Ariana, Pandero—both had realized at first glance that Ian was not a soul of the dead. There was no way this mysterious witch hadn't seen it too.
"So?"
Her deep, penetrating eyes held him fast.
Ian steadied himself before replying carefully:
"I have been thinking about learning magic from you, but I haven't really decided yet. I came this time mostly to see if my friend had returned."
He tried to keep his smile as innocent as possible. Deep down, he was sure this woman was not a white witch. With only a few simple spells at his command, Ian's best strategy was to play it safe.
"They haven't returned. It's only been three days since your last visit."
The witch propped her face against one hand, her elbow resting on the arm of the golden bench. Her other hand tapped idly on the opposite armrest as she spoke slowly, voice tinged with a lazy elegance:
"The Limbo Mirage is a strange place. It responds to a person's deepest desires and fixations. That's why the place you appeared in has changed."
She was clearly explaining things for his benefit.
And yet—
"Uh, sorry, but… I still don't really get it."
Ian frowned.
"Such a slow little pig."
The witch raised an eyebrow, her beautiful face tinged with faint exasperation. "I never imagined that my first pupil would be such a sluggish one."
Her tone wasn't nearly as sharp as Snape's, but she was clearly more proud. From beginning to end, she spoke with the air of someone above others.
She wasn't overbearing,
but it was easy to feel the gap between them—like royalty speaking to a commoner. Ian had dealt with this kind of thing before, though. Snape had taught him some tricks.
"So… should I leave?"
It came out a little timid, but that one sentence made the witch visibly choke. Her eyes twitched slightly—just like Snape's always did.
"You cheeky little brat."
The witch shook her head in amused frustration.
"In the past, you longed for friendship. Now, you long for magic."
She finally gave him an answer.
Ian thought it over.
Considering his current circumstances, it… did make some sense. But why would a desire to learn magic bring him here of all places?
"Because deep down, you know I can teach you powerful magic—and the kinds of knowledge your school would never dare to share. I can give you strength fast. Enough to face the danger ahead."
The witch spoke suddenly.
As if replying directly to his thoughts.
But—
Ian was sure he hadn't said anything out loud.
"You can read minds?!"
His eyes sharpened.
Now he really understood how Snape must've felt before. Was this the wizarding world's version of karma?
"That's not a hard spell to learn. But in the Limbo Mirage, I no longer possess the powers I once had while alive. Naturally, I've lost access to the magic I once mastered."
The witch laughed with genuine amusement.
"I'm just… observant."
(End of Chapter)