"What is the world's most impenetrable prison? Azkaban? Bastille? Or Auschwitz?"

  A hoarse, indistinct voice echoed from the dimly lit room.

  At the center of the room y a row of stone benches, arranged at a steep downward angle. In the pit at the center stood a tall dining table.

  The location and time were unknown.

  Under the flickering candlelight, the voice meandered through the air, lingering like a restless ghost.

  "Perhaps none of those. Just the thought of some people breathing the same air as me makes my stomach churn."

  A creak broke the silence.

  The door to the dim room opened.

  A tall woman in a bck suit entered slowly, carrying a delicate silver ptter with a steak. She pced it on the stone table and withdrew into the shadows without hesitation.

  The moment she disappeared, a blurry shadow emerged in the corner of the room. It seemed both seated on a chair and floating in midair.

  Across from the dining table sat an elderly man, gaunt and frail, his bony joints protruding. Sparse hair was combed neatly back, and he stared at the silver ptter before him, expressionless.

  "Try it," the shadow said. "I hope your taste buds haven't aged too much."

  The old man raised his trembling arm, picking up the knife and fork with unsteady hands. He began cutting into the steak, his movements resembling those of a man nearing his end.

  The faint sound of chewing and swallowing spread through the still air.

  The shadow spoke again: "Two years ago, I had my pride shattered at Hogwarts. A naive, half-witted kid brought me to my knees."

  Pausing briefly, the shadow let out a soft ugh.

  "But ter, that kid left Hogwarts and reappeared as an arms dealer. People say time matures us, but for people like us, time feels more like a curse. Don’t you think so, Fmel?"

  The old man stopped eating and replied in a raspy voice, "Life has its ceiling. For those who've touched it, experience and age are mere numbers."

  "Cssic wisdom from an old man as ancient as I am," the shadow retorted.

  "You're too kind," Fmel replied, resuming his meal.

  The shadow watched silently as the old man ate. Fmel meticulously cut into his steak, his cloudy eyes drooping. Occasionally, however, a faint and nearly imperceptible glint fshed across them.

  When the steak was finished, Fmel sipped some water and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  The woman in the bck suit reappeared, stepping forward to clear the table. With a flick of her wand, the room brightened slightly.

  "Nicos Fmel," the shadow began, "I know you can't lift my curse. Not even the Philosopher’s Stone can help me."

  "Ha! I didn't come to you for such trivial matters."

  "Trivial?" Fmel raised an eyebrow. "You've avoided contacting me for centuries. Now, out of nowhere, you summon me all the way from Britain. What do you want?"

  "I want to create a cage—one no one can escape," the shadow replied without hesitation. "I want to trap the obstacle in my way."

  "Hoffa Bach?"

  "Exactly," the shadow said with a sly chuckle.

  "Hoffa Bach... that enigmatic figure. Life feels so dull without him around."

  Fmel gave a faint snort, barely perceptible. He rested his frail arm on the table.

  "Forgive my bluntness," Fmel said dryly, "but I believe no grown wizard can be confined by any earthly prison."

  "Oh? And why is that?" The shadow leaned forward, intrigued.

  "Magic breaks the chains of reality, and maturity frees the mind from constraint. To cage a true wizard is an impossibility," Fmel said, his tone ced with sarcasm. "After all, you yourself are nothing but a shell now, clinging to a miserable existence."

  The shadow interced its fingers, leaning further forward without responding. The candlelight dimmed, and silence engulfed the room.

  Fmel stared deeply at the shadow.

  "You’ve lost the ability to wield magic. The explosion two years ago drained all your reserves. I suggest you abandon this idea—building a cage isn’t as easy as you think."

  With that, the old man pushed his chair back, stood with effort, and hobbled toward the door.

  At the doorway, the old man pulled the door open.

  "Wait."

  A voice called out from behind him, halting his steps.

  "What have you been up to tely, Fmel?"

  The shadow asked zily, "Did the newly appointed Minister of Magic assign you to oversee a mysterious project?"

  The old man’s grip on the door handle tightened, his fingers momentarily pausing. A flicker of struggle crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

  "That has nothing to do with you," he said, repeating firmly, "Nothing."

  "Oh, I’m just curious."

  The indistinct shadow leaned back into the chair, retreating into the darkness.

  "I’ve heard this project viotes several of the wizarding world’s highest taboos."

  "The world is already in chaos; sometimes, extraordinary measures are necessary."

  With those words, Fmel closed the door and hobbled away from the flickering candlelight.

  "See him out," the shadow murmured.

  The woman in the bck suit stepped forward gracefully, following in Nicos Fmel’s footsteps.

  "I’ll escort you," she said.

  The hunched old man extended his arm toward her.

  The woman took his arm and supported him, guiding him down a flight of stairs and into the desote outskirts that resembled an abandoned graveyard.

  There, a carriage drawn by twelve skeletal Thestrals awaited. The thin, bony creatures exhaled white mist into the cold air.

  At that moment, Nicos Fmel spoke:

  "You shouldn’t follow him. Believe me, even the most dangerous and outcast wizard cannot compare to the darkness lurking in the corners of the world. He won’t see you as a person."

  "I am his family," the woman replied curtly.

  "Do you think he values family?" Fmel asked.

  The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she countered with a question of her own:"And you? After all these long years of life, do you still care about such mundane emotions?"

  A sharp glint flickered in Fmel’s clouded eyes. He shook off the woman’s arm and climbed into the Thestral-drawn carriage.

  "Safe travels," the woman said with a smile.

  The Thestrals pawed the ground, spread their bck wings, and pulled the carriage into the sky.

  Inside the carriage, the frail old man exhaled deeply, slumping into his seat. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a faded gold pocket watch.

  The watch featured a red-haired girl cradling a doll, her head tilted as she smiled sweetly at the old man.

  "Chloe," he whispered softly.

  Far away, in France, a pair of silver eyes snapped open.

  (End of Chapter)

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