After the old wizard appeared, the black panther gave Sean one last long, shocked look (almost resentful) before melting back into the mist.
Sean's consciousness blurred. In that fading moment he saw himself standing on a shabby street in front of a sign that read "Children's Home." The last thing he caught was Dumbledore mouthing something at him:
"It's Saturday, my boy—"
Only Sean would understand what "Saturday" really meant. On the permission slip allowing him to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, Dumbledore had written:
P.S. If you do decide to stay, feel free to drop by my office for tea any Saturday morning.
Dawn came gray and quiet.
The distant mountains were nothing but soft smudges. A thin mist floated over the Black Lake. A lone owl (the first Sean had seen in weeks) circled the castle towers.
With all the students gone for summer, the owls had been on vacation too.
The gray-tailed owl swooped past the tower pinnacles, past Sean walking the corridors, and finally vanished into a room somewhere high above.
Sean's gaze followed it until it landed on the huge stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office. This time the gargoyle didn't leap aside; it just stared at him.
"Cockroach Cluster," Sean tried.
The password Dumbledore had once shared with him.
The gargoyle sprang open. Sean stepped onto the spiral staircase as it carried him upward.
He pushed open the door.
Dumbledore stood at the window, back to the room, silver hair and robes catching the pale morning light. Only when the door creaked did the greatest wizard of the age (the man who had once driven Babajide Akingbade away) turn around.
"You came, Mr. Green. Do sit by the fire."
"Headmaster."
Sean took the offered chair.
Dumbledore finally tore his gaze from whatever distant thing he'd been watching, sat across from Sean, and gave a small twinkling smile.
"I imagine you have questions. Plenty of them. Luckily, we have all the time in the world this morning."
Sean did. After a nod from Dumbledore, the words spilled out.
"Where exactly was I, sir? Everything in Dream Tales… is it real?"
He went straight for the heart of it: what was that place, and what kind of strange magic lived there?
"You always know what matters most," Dumbledore said softly, long silver beard quivering. "We call it the Boundary between Life and Death. As for the powerful forces there… yes, they exist. And I must tell you, my boy, it is a realm no one truly understands, a place almost no one has ever entered.
It is extraordinarily dangerous. In a thousand years even the wizards of Uagadou have never dared linger long.
History is full of lessons about what happens when wizards underestimate the deepest, most hidden parts of magic…"
He trailed off. The eyes behind the half-moon spectacles looked unusually tense.
Sean stayed quiet. He had seen too many impossible things there: multiple versions of his own soul, bizarre shifting scenes hidden in the mist, Babajide Akingbade trying to drag him off to Uagadou—and actually managing to keep him trapped for a little while.
"That," Dumbledore said suddenly, voice warm again, "is the wonder of magic."
Sean pressed on.
"Sir, what were those strange misty visions? At the very end I saw an orphanage—why?
How could Headmaster Akingbade find me? Can he do it again whenever he wants?
If both of you could speak there, why couldn't I?
And how did you get there in the first place?"
Every question earned a gentle nod. By the time Sean finished, Dumbledore's kind smile was practically glowing.
"Excellent, excellent. Let me answer one by one."
He leaned forward like a grandfather about to tell the best bedtime story.
"The orphanage—fascinating. I didn't expect that location, but for you it makes perfect sense.
Yes, it too is a kind of Boundary."
Sean's expression didn't change much, only curiosity. "Between magic and Muggle?"
"Very clever, my boy."
Sean let out a small breath of relief. The moment Dumbledore had said "Boundary," Sean should have realized it wasn't just the line between magical and non-magical—it was also the border between life and death, between what was and what might still be.
"As for the strange visions," Dumbledore continued, "ancient Scandinavian belief never saw the soul as singular.
Looking directly at the soul can lead you astray. Those misty places are the most dangerous temptations of all.
Anyone who cannot keep their soul pure and their mind clear will eventually be lost forever. A fate worse than death.
As for Babajide Akingbade—pure accident. The Uagadou wizards do know secrets we have never touched, but he cannot reach you every time.
When your will is strong enough, he cannot enter your dream."
"My… dream?"
Sean blinked. Wasn't it the Boundary?
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Don't tell me you're actually confused. That would be a first."
Sean thought fast.
"Dreams let elves, ghosts, and soul-bodies move freely—no distance can block them.
So the freedom of movement I felt in the Boundary… that was inside my own dream.
My dream connected to the Boundary.
And you, sir—I think I called you there.
The void rune, the soul relic… maybe that's part of its purpose: a bridge, an alchemical key that lets a wizard open the door."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Does Tela ever get headaches trying to keep up with you?"
Sean barely heard the teasing. The pieces had clicked.
Why had Dumbledore appeared?
A soul relic isn't the Resurrection Stone. If it could bring Sean across, why not the headmaster too?
When Akingbade showed up and Sean desperately didn't want to go to Uagadou, he had instinctively called for Dumbledore—that single panicked meow from the black cat.
"You give the relic far too much credit if you think that's the reason," Dumbledore said quietly.
"I spent years obsessed with Uagadou soul relics. Their power is bottomless. Among everyone who ever studied them, I was the least impressive, the least gifted, the most ordinary.
No one has ever managed to bring another wizard into their own dream.
Uagadou wizards can transform effortlessly and read true prophecy in the stars like centaurs.
Yet they believe only the person who can bring a soul in—or pull one out—is the true master of the soul relic, the chosen heir of the supreme god Katonda."
Sean hadn't expected that. He had assumed he'd simply called Dumbledore because Dumbledore allowed himself to be called.
"Why me?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"That, my boy, is the real question.
Sometimes the person least hungry for a power is the only one who should ever have it.
Like you."
Outside, the morning mist over the lake was lifting. Sunlight sparkled on the water.
An owl swooped past the window, cooing softly, clutching letters full of someone's longing.
Dumbledore was quiet for a very long time. When he finally spoke, his beard trembled.
"My boy… may I ask something terribly selfish of you?"
"Anything, sir."
Sean already knew what was coming.
"Exploring the Boundary is incredibly dangerous. Even Uagadou wizards never stay long.
If you think I'm only saying this out of selfishness, I won't argue.
But when you feel ready—when you're absolutely certain—I need you to do something even more dangerous."
"To try pulling a soul back across?" Sean finished softly, pretending he'd only just realized.
Dumbledore's eyes darkened with old guilt.
"People like me spend our lives damaging our own souls—loading them with greed, ambition, violence.
We never stop to appreciate the unimaginable strength of a soul that has stayed whole and pure.
And now here I am, asking the one person who possesses that strength to risk everything for my own selfish wish.
Maybe that's why I was never worthy.
I did… something unforgivable once."
Sean had never seen Dumbledore look so lost. The kindly, confident headmaster was gone; in his place sat a tired old man who had carried regret for a century.
"I'll try," Sean said. His voice felt heavy.
What kind of man was Albus Dumbledore, really?
If you judged only by his actions, the ledger was mixed.
But when the old wizard stood before him, small and uncertain and pleading, Sean saw something else:
Even Dumbledore was just a lonely old man who had spent his life talking about the supreme power of love… and had received so little of it himself.
He got tired. He made mistakes. He carried guilt that never went away.
"The past doesn't weigh anything anymore," Sean said quietly. "Stop punishing the man you were back then, Professor. It isn't fair.
You know he was just as lost in the mist as she was."