The end of October 1979, the night begins.
In the south bank of the Firth of Forth, the Scottish capital city of Edinburgh is bathed in festive mood as the streets and alleys are lit up, even as an unexpected and out-of-season thunderstorm could not deter people from celebrating this grand occasion.
In the downpour, Holyrood Palace (Palace of Holyroodhouse), standing at the end of Royal Mile, is brightly lit. The dense rain curtain gives this ancient palace steeped in history a misty cloak, yet it cannot block the surrounding atmosphere of solemnity and bloodthirstiness that clings to it.
A loud, piercing sound of the car door bursting open, the thunderous roar of millions of raindrops pounding the earth at once, the palace's garage swings wide open. Thirteen cars painted entirely black stream out one after another, following a pre-set route and breaking through the rain curtains to disappear into the night.
Tonight, the sacred thorns will defend the glory of the Lord.
In the heart of the new town, a three-story building with a charming Georgian design rang out with joyous birthday songs. Outside, the jack-o'-lanterns hanging from the eaves swayed in the wind and rain, their rhythmic sway seemingly celebrating alongside the little host inside.
In the fireplace beside the wall, neatly stacked oak logs are bursting into flames. On the opposite wall, a golden apple adorned with mistletoe around its edges and decorated with thousands of peculiar golden acorns glows brightly under the flickering firelight.
Hill Mr., leaning against the window frame, drew his gaze back from the endless darkness outside and turned his attention to his daughter, sitting at the long table in a gold chiffon dress topped with a wicker crown, laughing happily. His eyes were filled with infinite affection.
Only, the worry on that handsome face could never seem to fade away.
"Dear?"
Hill Mrs. tenderly brushed her daughter's hair, noticing her husband's unusual behavior. Seizing the opportunity to talk to her daughter and parents, she rushed to the window, trying her best to dispel her husband's unease with a smile.
"This is a rare opportunity for family togetherness, my dear, and you should spend more time with your family."
"I'm sorry, Hia--"
Facing his concern, Mr. Hill also forced a smile. He looked back at the outside where the wind was howling and thunder was rumbling. After a while, he sighed heavily.
"I just feel... there's an unsettling feeling in my heart, Hia. I always seem to think something is about to happen."
A slender hand pressed against Mr. Hill's heart position, feeling the irregular heartbeat in her palm. Mrs. Hill sighed slightly, saying,
"I know what you're worried about, my dear, but..."
Mrs. Hill looked at her daughter jumping into her father's arms, crying and hugging him, and lowered her eyes, letting out another sigh.
"It's her wish, my dear, she hopes to celebrate her birthday with her grandparents... you know, the future will weigh heavily on her shoulders. I can't refuse--"
Mr. Hill remained silent, his gaze fixed on his daughter, who was as adorable and innocent as an elf. In the depths of her light green eyes, there was not only pain but also resentment.
"When we return, I want to convince the teacher and lead all the disciples to move out of the jungle... Many clues have already pointed to the fact that it is no longer safe there."
After a moment of silence, what Mr. Hill spoke next caused Mrs. Hill's brow to furrow.
"We have been nesting there for many years... Where do you want to go?"
"Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest, it is the perfect place for us to dwell. Centaurs are not a problem, we all worship nature and the stars. We can get along well with them..."
Mrs. Hill's hand left Mr. Hill's chest, and her brow furrowed even tighter. After a moment of silence, she directly broke through the reason her husband wanted to hide,
"You want to seek the protection of that wizard -- Albus Dumbledore, my dear?"
"That would be the best outcome, wouldn't it?"
Mr. Hill wasn't surprised that his little secret was exposed by his wife. He spoke frankly, "Yes, my love, it is the best solution."
"Dumbledore's strength and breadth are evident to all, and if we could gain his protection, then we would have a chance to breathe, I mean... we wouldn't have to rush so much for that..."
"If it were any other time, I might support your bold attempt, my dear,"
Mr. Hill had not finished speaking when his wife interrupted him,
"But we both know that now is not a good time, my love. Those wizards are facing great trouble of their own. The one the wizards call 'The Man With No Name' is causing a stir in the wizarding world, and Albus Dumbledore is overwhelmed. If he were to openly accept us now..."
Thunderous!
Blinding lightning cleansed the land, and deafening thunder hid the footsteps of death.
Only after the buzzing subsided, Mrs. Hill continued to express her opinions.
"Do you think he would add another enemy at a time when he might exhaust himself and still not be able to handle them?"
Mr. Hill's breathing grew rapid. He hadn't overlooked these considerations, but he was holding onto hope.
"Albus Dumbledore is a kind wizard. I believe... you must know, we have been one with the wizards. He will not turn a blind eye to those in need..."
"That was over a dozen centuries ago, my love. We have long diverged from them. Perhaps Dumbledore is of high moral character and will have some sympathy for our situation, but I believe such a wizard would not be so naively kind. He would never..."
"Dad, Mom?"
The increasingly tense atmosphere between the two people affected the others in the house. Vitia, who was sitting by the table, received a reminder from her grandparents and looked at the entrance hall with her innocent and pure eyes, tilting her head.
"Go and bring your parents back, you lovely little elves--"
"Yes!"
The white-haired grandfather whispered something in her ear, and Vitia, who received the reminder, immediately jumped out of the grandfather's arms, making everyone in the room laugh with her mischievous appearance.
Hill Mr. and Mrs. took a deep breath, easing the slightly tense atmosphere between them. He wrapped his arms around her, welcoming his daughter with a face flushed with red and a smile full of innocence.
BOOM!
Suddenly, the earth shook violently, and the space above the ground floor disappeared like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. The dust and debris that were about to swirl around had not yet had a chance to show their true colors when they were mixed with rainwater to form a muddy sludge.
In the suddenly dark world, a cluster of pure white holy light fell from the heavens like a nail, piercing through the mess on the ground!
The bright red blood, the piercing screams, and the cold sobs could not be suppressed even by the rumbling sound of thunder.
"Wu, I will take revenge!"
Amidst the rubble, the little girl stood among a land covered in blood-stained acorns, helplessly crying. Several bodies lay before and behind her, their eyes devoid of light and their hands reaching out towards her.
"I will kill you for sure!"
With a voice as innocent yet unforgettable, she declared her unyielding defiance towards fate, but the fate remained unchanged.
"Evil heathens."
From the rain curtain came a cold pronouncement. The chilling holy light flashed again, momentarily replacing the enveloping darkness of the world, to annihilate all seeds of resistance in the soil.
In the shattered fireplace, the charred oak suddenly bloomed with brilliant green light. A small sprout unfolded its body and grew from the ashes that symbolized death. In an instant, it had become a towering tree, blocking the holy light that washed over the earth.
"I'm sorry, Vitia--"
The old priest, with silver hair and green eyes, ignored the cries of the cultists pierced by the tree's branches. He took a step at a time to approach Vitia, gently embracing her delicate shoulder. The wrinkled face, tears and sweat mixed with rainwater, trickled down.
"Why... why, Teacher, sob sob, why don't they leave us alone?"
The little girl no longer suppressed her sobs and screamed loudly.
"...Along with the hatred, we all forgot where it began, Vitia, and when it will end..."
The old priest's voice was filled with sorrow, but his green eyes showed determination.
"Our only option is to fight until the end!"
