【BethelKlein/ALL克】Annular lunar eclipse (1-3)

【门克/ALL克】Annular lunar eclipse

https://42milk.lofter.com/post/31ed617b_2ba5b838f

1.

"Annular Lunar Eclipse Hypothesis"

The third era witch of Bingyue starts the if line. Someone's pseudonym comes from the bad taste of riddle lovers.

 The moon tonight was a gloomy patient, looking haggard and indifferent, with a dim crimson halo peeking out from behind the gaps in the clouds. Without even having to walk into the garden below the tower, the young recorder could smell the earthy smell and the almost stagnant honeysuckle fragrance floating in the air. The violent smell burned silently in the damp and sultry night wind before a rainstorm. Deep in the shadow of the privet tree, the trembling cry of the chestnut bittern was heard. All creatures that were still awake in the early morning seemed to be longing for a heavy rain in this noisy silence.

This was not a night suitable for stargazing, as the rain-filled clouds and moonlight would interfere with the observers, but Bethel still stayed in the observatory for a long time. He stood in front of the window, playing with the incomplete collection while gazing at the southern sky for a long time. Although there were only bloated cumulonimbus clouds in his sight, the boy could still use his outstanding memory to outline the constellations in the night sky and the trajectories of many stars.

Rationally, the Recorder knew that distant star clusters would also affect human's sensitive nerves, and the mystery was as mysterious as the change of the moon phases driving the rise and fall of the tide. As the red Mars moved to the two first-magnitude stars in Virgo, the northern continent would also usher in the hottest season of the year, and all things would burst out their long-accumulated energy in this hot and dry early summer, entering a frenzy of growth and reproduction.

Just outside this window, figs and poppies are nurturing dreams of rich fruits in their wombs, and colorful fruit bats courting mates are dancing wildly in the night sky until they are exhausted... But emotionally, Bethel still finds it difficult to comfort himself with such a simple excuse: chaos and disorder are the nature of living things. Regardless of the tenacity of will, he will always be captured by the atmosphere of this midsummer feast. Can this explain the fire that is raging in his heart? He is like a patient with hysteria, and the calmness and agility that he is usually proud of have betrayed him.

At three quarters in the morning in late July, Bethel's thoughts were as hot and sluggish as the air currents before a rainstorm. Every particle that made up his astral body was burning, and the accompanying thirst burned his throat with every breath.

To whom could he blame this pathetic, sensitive nature, the shackles that bound most living beings? This broken, gloomy crimson crescent? He was just another patient in the grip of a mania.

The recorder absentmindedly stroked the case of the collection. He was already familiar with every line of this portable mirror. Bethel knew how the twelve perfectly symmetrical metal edges were set with the round mirror that looked like a full moon. The axis that penetrated the inside of the double-sided mirror and the vertical bearing connected to the frame allowed the mirror to rotate freely like a gimbal. The mithril decorated on each corner of the twelve-sided shape was cast into a narrow fan shape that matched the outer contour of the round mirror. The tiny gemstone particles formed the most representative constellation images of the twelve months, arranged clockwise from the first month of the year to the last symbolizing the end of the severe winter. The edges were covered with complex reliefs of laurel branches and leaves, and the veins of each leaf were clearly visible. Hidden under the plant decoration was a snake biting the tip of its own tail. The two were inextricably entangled, forming a circle with an indistinguishable beginning and end. Above the ruby ​​eyes of the Ouroboros, two stretched leaves formed an ingenious buttonhole, through which a silver chain with a dull luster passed.

He gently fiddled with the silver chain with his fingertips, causing the mirror to spin rapidly clockwise again. The ruby ​​sparkled in the dim moonlight, as if the snake was waking up from hibernation and opening its scarlet eyes. There was a tiny inscription on the snake's tail. Only under the convex mirror could the sharp strokes of the Elvish language be discerned. Bethel spent some time deciphering the meaning of the inscription:

"Sit down, eat, and be satisfied with your fate."

If one looks at it with the most discerning eye, the mirror is perfectly made, if one ignores the poor quality citrine at the end of the silver chain and the completely broken mirror.

He exchanged this incomplete little object from his cousin for a box of white opal. The transaction was born out of a momentary spiritual inspiration. Thanks to the guidance of spiritual intuition, he successfully found the mirror among the large amount of debris piled on the workbench.

The first lesson every extraordinary person learns is usually related to mysterious spiritual induction. The responsible teacher will warn the newcomer: You'd better believe in spiritual guidance, even if in most cases, such guidance seems to be groundless. In the extraordinary world, the spiritual intuition derived from extraordinary characteristics is often the most acute eye, allowing dull humans to break away from their dependence on the flesh and gain insight into the truth of the world from a more mysterious dimension.

Abrahams all have a mysterious desire to collect shiny, aesthetically valuable objects, which may also be the influence of the spiritual imprint of the apprenticeship path. When Bethel picked up the thin silver chain and watched the small mirror flip in the air, the dim moonlight gently slid across the broken mirror, casting a shallow halo on his palm, he could feel the restlessness in his heart calm down a little. Considering that he had exchanged a sealed object left by a demigod for a moon-watching instrument made by a craftsman on a whim, paying a box of gems was not a luxury for him.

Now that he was the owner of the broken mirror, the recorder did not call it according to the name his cousin had made up for the collection, neither "the poet's mirror" nor "the muse's dream", but Bethel affectionately called it "my mirror".

"I never realized that you had such a strong sense of territory before."

Cousin Ishmael's comment was as succinct and sharp as ever: "Do you want me to make you a name tag to put on it? Inlaid with a dozen agate stones?"

"If you are willing to take the time to crawl out of your dark lair and make a gift for your dear cousin, who can I say no to such a thoughtful offer?"

  "For the sake of Abraham, please do not describe the library of precious knowledge as a cemetery."

"But you have made this place look like a deserted cemetery, my dear brother."

The young man wrapped in a loose cloak paid no attention to Bethel's sarcasm. He continued to lazily nestle in the armchair like a stranded jellyfish, humming softly and flipping through the pages of the gem atlas unhurriedly.

The young man's eyes involuntarily fell on the fingers holding the paper. They were tightly wrapped in black velvet and looked nimble and graceful when they moved, reminding him of the dark rock spiders living in the swamp. They were a kind of spider that was extremely difficult to find, with iconic long and slender legs and venom in their chelicerae that could easily dissolve the prey's internal organs. They were graceful dancers wandering in the mist, and also predators entrenched in the upper levels of the food chain.

Bethel tried to pull out a normal-looking round stool from a pile of weird root carvings. After some effort, he successfully sat down in front of the long table where the caretaker worked. With the light of the candlestick, Bethel saw the pattern of the carpet under his feet for the first time. The boy couldn't help but gasp: "For the sake of the stars, where did you get this thing? Did the devil of the abyss sell it to you?"

Under the young recorder's feet was an irregularly shaped long-pile carpet. Bethel could swear to the Silver Galaxy that this was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Dark gray and beige fluff alternated on the carpet's surface. At first glance, the grotesque pattern of irregular spots of different colors resembled the distorted human face patterns on the wings of a skull moth. The ends of the fluff flashed with dirty colored halos like oily films, especially when they slowly squirmed, just like the dense whip stings of some poisonous larvae slowly swinging when crawling. Rather than saying he was stepping on a carpet, it would be better to say he was stepping on the back of an alien creature. Those soft and disgusting fluff were the organs that this monster used to feed on.

This sense of disharmony reached its peak when Bethel saw the long pile of the carpet wrapped around the core of an apple: "Is this how you treat the sacred temple of knowledge? Pollute it with a bunch of aesthetic blasphemy?"

The library keeper remained unmoved, curled up in his cozy fortress of blankets and pillows. "Please apologize to the lovely Miss Hungry. Thanks to this capable lady, I never have to bother sweeping the floor near my desk."

Bethel resisted the urge to point out that this "lovely and capable lady" was probably a dangerous sealed object; he was well aware of his cousin's eccentric collecting habits.

Compared to the brightly lit hall and the observatory with a wide view, this library seems so dark and quiet, like an independent and closed foreign land floating in the depths of the nebula. In fact, this room is probably not located in the apprentices' castle. The door of the library is painted with complex runes to anchor the energy required for long-distance transmission. This must be the work of a secret wizard. In order to protect some fragile books made of special materials, the windows of the library are closed all year round. Bethel's cousin once said that if the heavy curtains made of the abdominal diaphragm of deep-sea invertebrates were opened, more than a thousand atlases in this room would fade due to light sensitivity, and only blank waste paper would be left in the end.

During his time as the caretaker, Bethel's distant relative had turned the library's lending area into his private nest. He spent all day in the dark library, stuffing all kinds of odds and ends he had collected into the room, just like a magpie decorating its nest with all kinds of stolen rags. When he first entered the library, Bethel was caught off guard by a dream catcher dotted with crow feathers, and he almost thought he had walked into the wrong room.

He often felt that this room was a specimen bottle isolated from the outside world. Under the dim light that could easily induce sleepiness in visitors, even the flow of time would slow down. The young man sitting behind the long table was like a coordinate object that existed in this library since its inception, a ghostly phantom born from the shadow of the bookshelf, living alone in this exiled tomb.

"You've been a little irritable lately. What's wrong? Are you having summer syndrome?"

As Bethel was looking at a bird skull casually placed on a pile of travel notes, Ishmael tilted his head slightly and cast a stingy glance from behind the heavy book. The face hidden in the shadow of the hood turned to the recorder, waiting for the young man's answer: "Your last promotion was two months ago. With your experience, you can't be in a stable state until now, right?"

"The stars have been very restless lately, and mapping their trajectories is a headache."

"Is that why you prefer to come to me lately? I thought you would never get tired of the stars."

"I thought I didn't need to explain to you that astronomical observation is just a necessary part of the exploration of occult science."

"Okay, I forgot, would you like some hot tea? Don't worry, I just added some homemade apple candy to the black tea."

Bethel sighed and took the teacup that the other party pushed towards him. The mellow tea with a hint of sweetness slightly dispelled the pain in his temples - at least Ishmael's taste in things was always trustworthy.

But today he wasn't here to host a midnight tea party.

The recorder pulled his mirror out of his pocket and showed the broken mirror to the person hiding behind the illustrated guide.

"Tell me something else. Where did you find this little thing?"

Although he couldn't see the face hidden in the shadows, Bethel knew that the other person must be smiling with a little surprise at this moment.

"Why are you still working on this? I thought you would lose interest soon."

The guard jumped up briskly - before that, Bethel thought he had taken root in the velvet cushion - his posture was as light as a wind-up music box puppet, or a water bird startled from the depths of the reeds. The dark cloth wrapped around the young man, tightly covering every inch of skin that might be exposed. He looked like he was wearing a starless night, or he himself was a ghost made of flowing shadows and dust. Bethel watched the young man disappear silently in the depths of the bookshelf. The other's steps reminded him of spiders, which move so lightly and swiftly on the spider web, as if dancing intimately with their prey.

He returned soon, carrying several books that looked quite heavy. The top volume was elegantly bound, with a dark green twill cover detailed with curling flowers and leaves.

Bethel recognized the delicate strokes of Elvish writing: "This seems to be... a collection of poems?"

"Yes, the elves' poems probably contain records about your little collection."

"Another puzzle game?" The Recorder wanted to sigh again, "When can you be more straightforward?"

"You should be able to stop being so inquisitive, my dear little recorder."

Then, the guard unceremoniously told Bethel to leave: "Finish reading this first. Don't bother me until you've finished. It's almost four in the morning, so I won't allow you to come."

  In the next few days, Bethel tried to solve the puzzle given to him by Ishmael. After reading the poetry collection, he knew that the mirror was actually an extraordinary item with almost zero danger. It was originally discovered in the ruins of a royal city on the southern coast of the northern continent. In the next hundred years, this nameless sealed object passed through the hands of various owners. When it was finally obtained by Bethel's cousin, most of the fragments of the mirror had been lost.

According to the records of archaeologists, the earliest place where the mirror was found was the remains of a kingdom. The land covered by lush green forests was rich in iron ore and poets. This country had never belonged to any god or angel, and therefore had never been a paradise favored by any god. The last ruler of the kingdom, located among the green mountains, was a descendant of elves who migrated from the Western Continent. His achievements in poetry were better known than his achievements as a king. The king had recruited many scholars with titles and gold as rewards, and started a translation campaign that lasted for decades, trying to translate all the elven works circulating in the world into the common language of the continent.

This arduous translation project was doomed to fail. The ancient elven language, the language of the ancient race that had existed since the Second Age, was famous for its obscure grammar and varied characters. Due to the disappearance of the pure-blooded elves, their language was on the verge of being lost. Unless necessary, few people would delve into this obscure language.

Until the end of the Third Age, the protracted war between gods destroyed the country. When the final death knell sounded, no god showed mercy to these unbelievers. The scholars who survived the natural disaster fled the city burned by thunder with the parchment scrolls in their arms. No matter how sad they were, they could not look back, otherwise they would turn into salt pillars and stand forever on the red scorched earth because of looking directly at the power of the gods.

Ishmael collected fragments of the king's collection of poems in the library. Like the mirror of Bethel, these precious copies had experienced a long journey before arriving at the safe treasure house of the apprentices. When the recorder flipped through this unfinished masterpiece, he found a frequently used title - "Muse in the Mirror" - the poet described the other party "driving a chariot of burning flames", "traveling through endless dreams like a storm", "He whispered the ancient names of the stars in his dreams", and those passionate and worshipful sentences were more like the dreams of fools in love than hymns praising the Holy Spirit.

Seriously, isn't this just a bad joke played by that lazy library keeper who loves mysticism?

The ghosts living in the mirror gave Bethel some strange associations, but the witches who shuttled through the mirror had no special connection with the elves. One was a spreader of disasters, and the other was the surviving tribe of Xiaoyong's warlike people. They had no special intersection in history.

In fact, the compilers of the poetry collection seem to have a similar obsession with mirrors. They spent a lot of space describing the rumors of this mirror - the last king of the Greenland inherited this exquisite creation from his father. It is said that in the Western Continent, the believers will be eternally purified in the galloping dream shadow. In the era when it was not isolated from the world, its mirror surface was still intact. It is said that the other side of the mirror is connected to a friendly creature wandering in the depths of the spirit world. "He" seems to favor this impatient race and will respond to the prayers of the elves even during sleep. This hidden existence has a strange taste in sacrifices - He likes some trivial and confusing things - mundane delicacies seem to be the most favored, and exquisite music and precious natural minerals are also good. Sacrificing the flesh and blood of slaves to Him will only lead to furious punishment. He does not like meaningless killings, nor does he care whether he can attract believers. Whether to respond or not depends entirely on his preferences. He calls himself "the guardian of children and art."

There is also a separate chapter in the collection of poems that tells the story of the Muse in the mirror:

"--My friend, all those who are tormented by the capriciousness of love and the uncertainty of inspiration. If you are willing to follow his silent servant through the quiet garden and the dewy stream on the night of the new moon! Pray to the silent master for a peaceful sleep, you will eventually receive the gift of the Muse...

"Offer the Muse golden cider, bizarre stories from faraway lands, pearls as white as moonlight, or the most sincere secrets, and she will generously grant the speaker sweet dreams.

"His whispers are like soothing balm, healing the festering wounds of the soul. Wander in the gentle whispers of amniotic fluid..."

Unfortunately, he did not have an outstanding talent in literary appreciation. Bethel pressed his aching forehead and decided to put down the poetry collection temporarily and go to the courtyard to get some fresh air. However, the garden at the end of July was too noisy. Whether it was the creatures that could run on the land or the creatures that had their roots deep in the humus layer, they all burst out with amazing vitality in the abundant rain and light, as if there was only this summer left for mating and reproduction. The recorder soon gave up wandering under the shade of the pomegranate tree. When he stood facing north under the shade of the privet tree, his sight crossed the vast plain with dense river networks, and then continued to the Anadis Mountains along the gradually rising hills. He could only see the glaciers on the top of the mountain shining like diamonds in the sun, and the light gray rocks looming behind the thin clouds, like a sleeping giant.

  TBC

Ps: Please don't use the Lehu pigeon emoticon in the comments, thank you

2.

"Riddles and Riddles"

2

The recorder knew that the library keeper had a pendulum. At the end of the silver chain was a yellow crystal with a missing corner. Ishmael carefully wrapped this old pendulum around his right wrist, hiding it in the shadow of his cuffs. The young man seemed to treat it as just an ordinary ornament. At least Bethel had never seen him use the pendulum for divination. Occasionally, Ishmael would lift the dim silver chain and stare at the crystal swinging slowly in the air in a trance, falling into a long silence.

Bethel would tacitly not disturb the other party's deep thoughts about the future, destiny and truth at this time, although it turned out that his cousin was more concerned about what to eat for dinner today than to understand the trajectory of the endless future - grilled lamb chops with rosemary or pork knuckle with pickled cabbage? This is a more serious question than the orbit of a comet.

Young apprentices would ponder some trivial propositions at the dining table: Would a broken gem interfere with the accuracy of divination to some extent? Some special precious minerals often play the role of a bridge in the field of mysticism, and are used by people to establish a connection with specific extraordinary powers. But Bethel is not sure about the inevitable relationship between the physical properties of gems and the results of divination. This may be a new research topic to kill his free time before he is allowed to travel.

When he mentioned his new research direction to the caretaker, his cousin, who was slumped on the soft pillow, suddenly sat up alertly, like a meerkat that smelled the stench of a hyena.

"I'm happy to provide you with spiritual encouragement and support," Ishmael said cautiously.

"I won't ask you for something that has already been exchanged." Bethel put an amber sugar cube into the teacup, and then stretched out his hand to his cousin without any hesitation, "I want to see your pendulum."

Ishmael hugged the soft pillow tightly in his arms and took a deep breath in a very artificial way, as if Bethel was asking for not an old pendulum, but his pure and priceless soul. "Dear cousin, do you want to listen to the nonsense you are talking about? The props used for divination must be especially careful to maintain the purity of the mysticism. How can you just give them to others?"

"I can make you a new one, using a better stone than citrine."

"I refuse. I love my pendulum like I cherish my brothers and sisters. Yes, even you, a mean and mean bad guy." Ishmael fell slowly and curled up in the armchair like a stranded octopus. "I have established an irreplaceable tacit understanding with my dear pendulum, which can help me think more easily about the various paths and choices in front of me."

"What profound choice could bother you?" Bethel couldn't help interrupting him, "Are you thinking about whether there is potato and aloe vera chicken soup on the menu tonight?"

"How can dinner recipes not be considered a profound proposition? Even kings, demons, and angels eat dinner, and I haven't even mentioned that measuring the brightness of the moon in different seasons is a boring thing."

The young recorder pointed out bluntly: "You said it now."

The watchman in the shadows chuckled in an ambiguous way, reached out from under his cloak, and grabbed a book beside him.

"Well, I occasionally think about things that happen outside the library and the kitchen, such as the trajectory of Venus and the coronation ceremony of the new emperor of our northern neighbor. What's that expression on your face? You always criticize me for avoiding life, but when it comes to discussing things happening on the ground, you may not be as sharp as I am. For example, you can definitely write down the coordinates of the first-magnitude stars of this season, but I bet you don't know that the grapes and wheat planted in the territory will have a poor harvest due to an outbreak of insect pests in the spring. However, when you look out at the distant view, all you think of is the starry sky."

Ishmael raised the book and used the heavy pages to cover his face, as if hiding behind a shield. This was a subtle hint, a body language that was unique to him, just like the implication of holding up a half-full teacup, which meant that the guard wanted to end the current conversation. Bethel, who knew Ishmael's quirks well, understood what he had not said. He couldn't help but sigh and kindly reminded him as he stood up: "The book is held upside down."

The caretaker half-peeked out from behind the inverted cover.

"Now, please go out of that door right now."

Such small quarrels often occurred during their meetings and gradually evolved into a communication mode unique to the two of them: harmless mutual ridicule, sarcasm, and subtle probing wrapped in joking words - of course, the overly curious clue follower would not be the guard who liked to tell riddles, he was the victim who was annoyed by the apprentice's thirst for knowledge and frequently protested.

Ishmael often complained about Bethel's arrogance, claiming that sitting in the same room with him was like being forced to hold a swollen porcupine with bare hands. Bethel felt that his evaluation was unfair. First, his dear cousin was an articulate sophist who never easily lost in a verbal dispute; second, he never concealed his true character. His alchemy teacher once judged his favorite student as "gifted and creative, but fate has fairly added some thorns to his personality"; finally, even though he did not get his cousin's pendulum in the end, Ishmael still opened the door of the library for him during the next visit and handed him fresh apple candy.

So a few days later, they reconciled again tacitly. The caretaker sat in the shadow under the dream catcher dotted with black feathers, holding a cup of tea, listening to Bethel talking about the moon phase map he was redrawing. After a long silence, Ishmael suddenly said to him: "Dear little owl--"

"Um?"

"You've always been focused on observing the stars above your head."

When Bethel Abraham chose to walk into the distillery in the dull afternoon, watching the thin and brittle platinum sunlight impatiently break into sharp pieces on the black solid wood table, he didn't understand why he suddenly recalled an unhappy conversation that happened a long time ago. The hall was very quiet at 1:15 in the afternoon. The dry wind swept away the laurel tree's sleepy dreams and scattered the leaves' whispers from the high dome. No one saw the recorder's brief daze.

About four years ago, this workshop would be open to the young people of the family as an alchemy classroom, allowing them to conduct various low-difficulty experiments. Every student who studied alchemy courses had to go through the test of tedious and boring basic operation exercises: they had to cut the fruits and rhizomes of plants, grind the ores, beetle elytra, and animal bones according to the process recorded in the scroll, and then add the processed limbs and tissues of extraordinary creatures, and finally obtain qualified finished products after complicated steps of mixing, stirring, heating and condensing. During this period, it was inevitable that some careless unlucky people would be mercilessly scolded by the instructor for irregular knife holding gestures, wrong stirring directions and other mistakes that novices often make, and then they would be left to clean the sticky floors and tables that exuded strange smells. But as the direct descendants of the Abraham family gradually migrated to the territory of the emerging kingdom north of the Anadis Mountains, the old manor became quieter and quieter, and the distillery workshop no longer welcomed those impatient and lively young birds.

The air in the room was lingering with a faint fruity scent. Bethel could discern the unique sourness of citrus. The peel extract of this fruit is often used as a reagent to accelerate the mixing of various poisons with other solutions. It seems that the last person who brewed potions in the workshop forgot to open the windows in time for ventilation.

The young recorder changed into a robe that was convenient for experiments and began to pick out the necessary materials from the locker - dried deep sleep flower leaves, essential peppermint oil, mandrill venom and ghost-faced night owl egg white... These are the most important ingredients for making the "Dream Catcher" potion. Bethel silently recited in his heart, and a clear list quickly formed in the recorder's mind. Inexperienced students would not refine such an unstable potion without the company of a mentor. Just controlling the heating speed to prevent the fragile egg white from becoming ineffective is enough to make them exhausted. The mixture of snake venom and peppermint essential oil is very volatile, and the unlucky person who inhales this gas will have convulsions and vomiting reactions. But for Bethel, the entire refining process is no more difficult than reading a long lyric poem of an elf blessing with complex rhymes.

The green shadow gently undulated on the smooth wall of the glass beaker, which was the reflection of the laurel tree outside the window blown by the wind... In the days when the stars deviated from their established orbits due to the "vortex" that erupted irregularly, the black-haired caretaker had told many absurd stories to the young apprentice who had interrupted stargazing and mapping to pass the time. Bethel sat in the dim nest built of books, collections and velvet fabrics, listening to the other's low voice, and swallowed every plot told by his cousin like a bookworm chewing a codex.

Ishmael never explained in detail where the stories came from. The inspiration may have come from a slave, a merchant, or a sage, and the caretaker only recounted these rarely recorded words to a new audience. Bethel could hardly forget a myth about the laurel tree: in order to avenge the arrogant sun god Apollo, the god of love shot a golden arrow that could ignite the fire of love at him, and shot a lead arrow that could kill all the throbbing of love at the innocent spring nymph. In order to escape Apollo's courtship, the nymph named Daphne ran as hard as she could, trying to stay away from the god who was burned by the flames of love and lost his mind, while Apollo could not let the object of his love leave, so a long competition took place between them. Daphne was chased by the sun god across the sea and land. At the moment when she was about to be captured by the sun god, the desperate nymph prayed to Gaia, the mother of the earth, who responded generously and turned Daphne into a laurel tree. Apollo despaired to find that his lover would never be revived.

Finally, in order to commemorate Daphne, he preferred to decorate his bowstring with laurel flowers, play music on a harp made of laurel wood, and wear a laurel wreath woven with green branches on his head for a long time, as if in this way he could share endless glory and love with the girl.

"And then?" the apprentice asked in confusion, "Is this the end of this story?"

"Yeah, that's the end."

"I didn't feel any love worth praising, I only heard a conspiracy and a murder."

"A thousand readers will have a thousand interpretations. I just tell you this story. As for how you want to understand it, that is your freedom."

The young man was not satisfied with his cousin's perfunctory answer. He grabbed a feather pen and subconsciously scribbled on the memo he carried with him. This was a small habit of Bethel, which helped him capture the inspiration that came to him by chance, characterize it with words, and then slowly sort it out into practical ideas.

"The gods mentioned in this myth are also fictional, right? At least I have never heard of a sun god named Apollo, or a god of love named Eros who shoots arrows randomly."

"Myths are just myths. After all, they are just ordinary people's further imagination and fiction of the world they observe. Do you want to take the product of imagination seriously?"

"Whether this story was written by someone independently or was filled in from a framework after a long period of transmission, I find it hard to understand why its creators would choose such a special identity for the protagonist - it is a dangerous move to fabricate anecdotes about gods."

"Uh-huh, so what's going on in that clever little head of yours?"

Bethel pondered and said, "Unless the author of the story has never heard of the Creator, and a scholar has recorded the entire text in detail, and you were lucky enough to find it from a pile of old papers - dear brother, where did you read this story? I am really curious."

"Even if I tell you that I dug it out from the ruins of Green Hill myself, would you still ask for the details?"

The guard sighed, a sigh of helplessness he often gave to his cousin. "If you don't want to take a vacation, take your things back to the tower and don't use those interrogation tricks on me."

"This is not an interrogation."

Bethel looked at the young man sitting under the dream catcher. Even in the dark room, he still wore a wide hood, which perfectly blended his face into the shadow that the candlelight could not explore. When Ishmael leaned over to grope for the handle of the teacup, his chin and Adam's apple, which were originally hidden in the shadow of the hood, were exposed to Bethel's vision. Ah, is he really not a vampire? The same paleness and passive escapism, and the unpredictable temper... The apprentice thought aimlessly, the skin illuminated by the warm yellow candlelight was probably cold. He touched his cousin's palm, and the temperature was much lower than he imagined, like a granite handrail soaked in the morning mist. But the owner of the palm was much softer than the rock. He confirmed this with his fingers. He did not find any scratches or callouses on Ishmael's palm. The young man's hands were as smooth as a field covered by heavy snow all night, and all the footnotes of the past were perfectly covered.

Young Abraham was in a trance for a short time, his eyes fell on the old pendulum wrapped around the wrist of the caretaker. As a diligent and good student, Bethel knew all the adjacent paths of the apprentice. In his impression, almost all fortune tellers have a little talent for sophistry. They are good at using ambiguous words to describe the signs of fate and translate the already obscure divination conclusions into more tortuous riddles. Ishmael said that this was purely professional prejudice. He believed that fortune tellers who were too cheerful and lively were likely to die in the long journey of thoroughly digesting star crystals and Lava octopus blood. The style of using frank and straightforward language art to cause a series of fights and provocations belonged to hunters with excessive energy. A truly rational fortune teller would not be burned by the fire he ignited.

Bethel felt that Ishmael's defense was a hidden favoritism. To be honest, his dear cousin often acted more like a fortune teller than an apprentice. Ishmael's answer was still roundabout. He used his usual annoying and playful gentle tone to say, "Why not use your genius brain to guess?"

...It really wasn't his fault, Bethel didn't want to conduct any kind of interrogation on Ishmael, but whenever he sat next to him it was always hard not to act so eager, almost like a bear digging for honey.

"Dream Catcher" is a sleeping potion often used by extraordinary people. As long as it is combined with some special dream runes, the user can quickly fall into a deep sleep and have a certain degree of "freedom" in the dream. It is usually used by extraordinary people to peek into the short-term development of the future. Bethel did not want to conduct a simple dream divination, he just wanted to capture the dream of the Muse who had been absent for too long.

It turns out that Bethel's mirror is not just for viewing, it is actually a precise measuring instrument. With an academic research mentality, Bethel copied the patterns on the mirror. After deciphering the Elvish symbols on the inner circle of the mirror frame, he found that those phrases were part of the scale and successfully used the mirror to observe the changes in the height of the sun during its movement. At the same time, Bethel suspected that the twelve-month star map was a simple star map of the northern sky. In the alternation of two eras, the trajectories of most stars may have changed, but Abraham's ancestors invented a set of formulas to calculate the deviation of star tracks. Bethel can reverse the appearance of today's constellations hundreds of years ago. In the distant golden age, the elves may also know how to use mirrors to identify the stars in the night sky. In the darkest night, they can also find the right direction under the shining of the stars.

The inscription on the mirror also confirmed its nature: an anchor pointing to a very specific ritual magic, just like a complete and accurate command will only accurately point to the existence it belongs to. This ingenious creation is a mouthpiece for calling "Muse". However, there is no god in this world who holds such useless authority as poetry, and there has never been a third god among the elves besides the Elf King and his queen. The existence chanted by the mirror's worshippers may be an ancient subordinate god, or it may be an animated extraordinary concept.

The young recorder listened to the dull bell ringing outside the window and sighed wearily.

If this being who can run freely in dreams really has strange powers, and even terrifying spiritual creatures are willing to be driven by Him, then why has He not left any mark in history? Unfortunately, up to now, Bethel Abraham has never had a dream inspired by a mirror, otherwise he would have the confidence to further uncover the mystery of "Muse".

Ishmael had his own opinion.

"Don't be so arrogant." He seemed surprised that the mirror had such a lasting attraction to Bethel. "...Not having dreams doesn't mean anything. There are tens of thousands of people sleeping without dreams every day. Maybe the mirror is broken? Maybe you should consider the possibility that the ritual inscription is invalid, or just ignore it."

Bethel realized that an expert in restoring runes was standing before him.

"Are you sure that the inscription on the mirror can be repaired?"

"Yes, but I still suggest that you study something else as soon as possible, as long as it is something valuable."

Ishmael was leaning against the bookshelf. Although Bethel could not see the face that was submerged in the shadows, he could feel that the young man was smiling silently.

"——After all, dreaming too much can make people bored."

As an amateur research subject, Bethel has spent too much time on this object. He has always been obsessed with the process of solving puzzles, but when the cost of investment and the expected return are not equal, rational weighing is needed to intervene. The seniors who stayed in the manor were very pleased that the young man found something worth investing his energy in other than promotion. After all, being obsessed with an ancient harmless object is better than rushing to promote the digestion of the potion and increasing the risk of losing control.

After all, how could he turn down such an intriguing challenge, especially when the puzzle was the result of another, even more obscure and enticing puzzle?

3.

"Party before the rainy season"

3

"Congratulations, you are back to the waking world again."

He slowly opened his eyes from the depths of the dark tide. Such a simple action almost exhausted all the diver's strength and courage. Something slightly cold gently touched his eyes, slightly heavier than the flight feathers of a crow, with a faint, sweet fragrance of fruit pulp. The familiar fruit fragrance was captured by the diver's breath, as if a cool breeze brushed across the stream, slightly blowing away the fog shrouding his mind. He couldn't help but take a deep breath, chasing the sweet smell. After the object that blocked his eyes was removed, his consciousness was able to slowly withdraw from the sensory illusion caused by sleeping too long. This time he was sure that he saw the dim firelight and the topaz slowly swinging above his face. The pendulum rotated steadily in a clockwise direction, and the elliptical trajectory reminded him of a dark yellow planet entering maturity. The delayed dizziness and nausea gripped his heart. The young man felt a chill creeping up his spine. The confused senses made it impossible for him to regain his balance immediately. Even though he vaguely realized that he was lying on his back on the ground, he still had the illusion of falling into a wet and cold swamp. He thought he was falling with the mud, being carried by the undercurrent to the sunless underground. He instinctively stretched out his hand - or just bent his fingers weakly - trying to grab any straw that could bear his weight, but the deep black dreamland was so quiet. The souls whispering in his ears tempted the living who set foot in the spirit world with eternal peace, trying to keep him and melt with them in the vortex formed by the fragments of fate.

"Wake up, little owl," the voice said again.

Someone snapped his fingers, but to the only listener it was like a thunderbolt exploding on his eyelashes. The sound shook his entire body and soul, and violently pulled his consciousness out of the sticky honey trap. The diver escaped from the imaginary swamp and fell safely on the hard birch floor. Cold sweat soaked his close-fitting robe. The young apprentice opened his mouth eagerly to gasp. The potion left on his tongue had a stinging sour taste. He had to weakly turn sideways and curl up.

The footsteps approached Bethel, who was still dazed. Someone touched the apprentice's sweaty forehead and helped him push the hair stuck to his cheeks away. The hooded man bent down and looked down at him. From Bethel's perspective, he could clearly see the pair of warm brown eyes with a smile, which reminded him of the morning stars that were shining in the cold sky at dawn.

The young apprentice realized belatedly that it was the other party who had used his palm, which smelled of apple candy, to block the light for him, so that his eyes would not be stressed by the sudden exposure to light.

"Well... congratulations, you are very lucky to be intact and nothing serious happened. Well, how do you feel now? Can you stand up?"

"Ahem, to be honest, it's not very good."

Under the infinitely magnificent starry sky, as the most remarkable genius among Abraham's younger generation, Bethel rarely falls into such an embarrassing situation. However, he cannot even blame anyone for his current experience - after all, all these hardships are brought upon himself by the willful genius.

Bethel took a deep breath to calm his disordered heartbeat. He was completely awake, except for the annoying minor sequelae such as dizziness, nausea and tinnitus. He regained his balance and stood up as carefully as possible to avoid causing new damage to the ritual spells drawn on the floor, but he soon found that his carefulness was unnecessary.

Ishmael ignored the wet little owl. He was squatting on the edge of the inlaid spell, observing the thin silver lines with interest. Bethel followed his gaze to the spell symbolizing the "Silent Oath". The powder on that part had been wiped away, leaving only the charred marks deeply engraved on the birch wood.

Making a dream rune that carries the spirit body of a Beyonder is a task that tests one's patience. It takes several hours to draw the tedious and lengthy secret code using special "pigments" mixed with pearl powder and cloud vine fragments, not to mention that the lines must be kept smooth and accurate when writing some key words and phrases. Any negligence will cause the entire rune to fail. Bethel couldn't help but press his temple. Well, it seems that this attempt to enter the dream has also failed. The poet's muse not only rejected him again, but also kicked him out of the edge of the dream and reimbursed his rune. Well, this is in line with the style of the self-proclaimed guardian of children and art, the apprentice thought with a smile, after all, these two seemingly unrelated things are equally illogical and puzzling.

Ishmael looked at the mess of the magic circle and gave a heartfelt admiration: "It seems that you are really quite unpopular."

"Are you laughing at me?"

"I'm just showing my respect. This isn't the first time you've been thrown out so decisively. Tsk tsk, are you still not going to give up?"

"You're just laughing at me."

The caretaker began to look around: "Well, well, now that you put it that way - let me see if the tea is ready, dear, would you like a cup?"

The annoyed little owl ruffled his gray feathers and replied dejectedly but honestly, "Well, I really need some hot tea now. Do you have any candy apples?"

"Bethel Abraham was obsessed with a mirror."

Before the arrival of the midsummer rainy season in the south, the monsoon that swept the abundant moisture of the Korina Wetlands southward would have to stop its rapid pace in front of the dark blue rocks of the Anadis Mountains, and the dry foe winds known as the "July Horse Herd" would eventually cross the foothills of the White Diamond Mountains. This scorching wind would rampage recklessly across the southern plains of Anadis, greedily grabbing the moisture of the earth like a bumblebee absorbing nectar, until the storm came on the wild westerly wind. During such a long and difficult period before the rainy season, the manor in this town far away from mortals would always be filled with a strange atmosphere of tension and laziness. In a place where entertainment activities are scarce, any rumors that are difficult to distinguish between true and false will spread among the people at an incredible speed like driving a horse herd.

So when Bethel Abraham met the fifth guy who gave him a mysterious and inclusive smile on the same day, it was too late. He missed the opportunity to nip the rumors about himself in the bud and had to endure the apprentices' meaningful looks and snickers.

So, he hates dealing with idiots!

The young recorder wandered in the garden angrily. What was going on? Could it be that these idiots' brains were finally burned by the July wind, or that the mysterious orbits of the stars successfully digested their rationality? Could it be that these bored people couldn't find other more meaningful things to do, and they had to be as keen as wild raccoons to stick their noses into other people's privacy? It seemed that there had never been a second madman in the family who was desperate to study the seal. It was no news that Abraham was rich in freaks. Thinking of the disastrous scene at dinner time when those stupid guys competed to ask about the progress of his magic mirror research, the young man couldn't help but frowned and lost the mood to go back to the hall for dessert.

Apples don't fall too far from the tree, but Bethel is the outlier that rolls down the hillside. Since childhood, he has been the child that his nurse has been most worried about. When his peers were still crying because of bedwetting, Bethel had already mastered basic words such as "hungry", "cold" and "thirst" to accurately express his needs to his caregivers. When he grew up a little bit, adults often found that this boy who neither cried nor laughed would deliberately avoid other children and find a corner to fiddle with simple star chart models. He had no fixed playmates and would not take the initiative to participate in the games of his peers. At first, some elders worried that this quiet child was shy and unsocial by nature, so he would always stay away from the group, but they soon realized that this conjecture was wrong.

There is no doubt that Bethel Abraham is a smart and beautiful boy. However, anyone who has looked into his blue eyes seriously will notice the arrogance hidden under the boy's harmless appearance. When he was a child, he developed a strong interest in the occult. Fortunately, he happened to have the talent and brains needed to explore the extraordinary world. Bethel was the first among the same batch of apprentices to learn to use the astrolabe and successfully draw the southern star map. He also performed very well in courses such as alchemy, identification of sealed objects, and pharmacology. Bethel never let his reagents explode; nor would he confuse the extraordinary properties that condensed into opals with real dazzling gems; when the careless novice did not tighten the jar that imprisoned the moss jumping spiders, causing these cunning little animals to escape to every dark corner of the classroom, Bethel had already sealed the potion he brewed, which could be used as a perfect example, and ignored the commotion in front of him, reading the interesting books he collected from the library alone.

The mentors who had taught this young apprentice admired him very much. They discussed privately whether Bethel would become the youngest demigod in the family's history at the speed at which he digested the potion. Bethel's brothers and sisters admired and feared him a little: the reason was simple. The personality of this young genius was as impressive as his talent. Bethel was not willing to deal with fools. He thought there was nothing wrong with his choice. Everyone liked beautiful, expensive, and outstanding things. So what was wrong with him being more willing to get along with smart people?

"The problem is, by your strict standards," the library keeper pointed out, "there are very few lucky people in this estate who are not fools."

"What does that matter?" Bethel asked unconvincedly.

The black-haired young man shrugged.

"You can't open a door and run to the starry sky right now, little owl. You still need to stay on the ground for a long time, so learning how to live among people is also an important art."

"You're such a weirdo, and I'm not an owl."

"Yes, dear, you are right. Birds are not as arrogant as you."

As one of the few people who could be regarded as "a wise man worth associating with" by Bethel, Ishmael never tolerated the bad temper of his apprentice. The arrogant young man repeatedly ran into obstacles with the caretaker of the library. When they were finally able to sit down and drink tea peacefully, Bethel decided to take his advice. After all, he was not a mental patient who liked to enjoy the fearful expressions of others. It was embarrassing that the group of fools saw him and shrank back like quails that had caught a glimpse of the shadow of their natural enemy. Yes, Bethel was of course a normal person who would experience embarrassment, anger, joy and other emotions. In short, in order to make the group project that might be carried out next go more smoothly and to make the mentor say less about his interpersonal relationships, Bethel made some efforts after he realized that he would indeed live among the people on the ground for a long time.

Ishmael summarized some tips for him: "If you don't remember the other person's name, at least say something like good afternoon. Yes, even a piece of nonsense can play a role in communication. If you don't want to talk, then you shouldn't make eye contact with other people for too long. In most cases, you just need to smile... Well, don't ask questions in return, just smile and nod, don't cross your arms, and pretend that you agree with the other person. Why? Just try it."

The apprentice practiced these seemingly unreliable suggestions with suspicion and curiosity. Although he did not quite understand how these variables specifically affected the social balance, his attempts paid off. People of his age no longer dared to stand at a distance and look at him in awe, whispering in low voices. Gradually, he got to know some less stupid guys in the family. There were still not many people of his age who dared to take the initiative to talk to him, but when Bethel's eyes casually swept over them, some people began to smile timidly at him.

——Of course, there is no gift in this world that does not secretly come with a price. At least these idiots didn't dare to joke with him in person before!

A mockingbird was sitting alone on a branch of a privet tree, silently turning its flexible neck and staring at the strange creature without wings and tail walking back and forth under the tree. The temperature was higher tonight, and Bethel could touch the colorless flames flowing in the hot air with just his hand. Sweat was evaporated by the hot air, but he could not feel the slightest coolness.

The moon tonight still looked sickly, and the blurred moonlight cast a layer of dark red on the scenery. The recorder couldn't help but think of Abraham who went to the northern kingdom. It is said that the land farther away from the plateau north of Mount Anadis has four distinct seasons, where you can experience cool summers and long winters. If you continue to head north across the border, you will come to a desolate land frozen by glaciers. Those are all wonders that Bethel has never witnessed with his own eyes. One day, he will go to the north with the flock of returning birds. He is confident that he will seek his own honor and seat in that strange and prosperous capital.

But the only thing he was unsure of was whether another tired migratory bird would be willing to leave the nest built of dreamcatchers and books and move forward with him.

"——Dust-weary travelers, please take a rest here, under the shade of the fig and pomegranate trees, where the scorching sun cannot burn your cheeks.

"Weary traveler, take off your heavy bag. The stream blessed by the master of dreams is flowing on the clean stone steps, and the poet is playing the lute.

"Oh, worried traveler, why do you often see melancholy in your eyes? Please wash your dry lips with the stream water, drink the golden apple wine, and the Muse will come in a chariot of fire and thunder, and put mellow dreams into your ears.

"The land He walks on will heal the gangrene of our souls and bring eternal peace and joy..."

The elves' poems are all exquisite deceptions. The "Muse" is far less generous than they describe. This broken mirror seems to be deliberately rejecting Bethel Abraham. The mysterious gift of the "spiritual wanderer" has never come to the young recorder. The blessed stream bypasses his quest and flows in the stranger's dream. The constant failure of the dream challenge made Bethel begin to doubt whether he had offended the guardian of the elf poet in the past, or whether the inscription on the mirror shell had actually become invalid.

Just after another quarrel, on the third day of the cold war, when the recorder was planning to go to the library with his homemade sour apricot jam to harass the guard, Derin Preston Abraham and Suli Abraham actually returned to the Southland Manor in early August when the fire wind was raging.

The two unexpected visitors were distant relatives of Bethel. Their parents were marginal figures in the family—no outstanding mystical talent nor noble enough blood—so Delin and Suli were not valued by the mentors. However, they had met the caretaker who lived in seclusion in the library a long time ago and became one of the few friends Ishmael kept in touch with. Long before Bethel met the caretaker of the library, the three of them had accumulated a deep friendship that allowed them to explore the habitat of the fire dragon together and be hunted by most of the population. Bethel had attended the afternoon tea party of the library trio. To be honest, he didn't like dealing with these two distant relatives, because these two seemingly taciturn and cautious guys would turn into lively chatterboxes in front of acquaintances, and when they got together, they would cause a catastrophic noise like startling hundreds of skuas... So it was difficult for him to understand why Ishmael would form friendship with them: his cousin who seemed to be planning to live in seclusion in the library for an entire era was like a dark rock spider that was completely unwilling to come into contact with the sun; and Delin and Suli were like noisy cicadas that would sing to their heart's content before the end of summer. Bethel could hardly observe any common points between them.

When most of the apprentices in the South moved to the North, Delin and Suli also left the manor. It is said that the former was stationed in the southern hot sea to raise a singing jellyfish he discovered, while the latter was determined to explore the entire continent and draw the most detailed topographic map ever. Only before the rainy season in the South came every year, they would come back to visit their old friends who stayed in the library.

All in all, Bethel knew that he and the two travelers were not close friends. Their few contacts all occurred at Ishmael's tea party, and they just happened to rest on the same spider web.

Therefore, when Delin and Suli visited the caretaker and asked him to come to their house before leaving the manor for their own journeys, the young recorder was surprised. Usually out of curiosity, usually with a slight spiritual touch, Bethel rarely opened the door of the living room to outsiders.

"Long time no see! May the endless starry sky bless you with good luck."

The red-haired woman limped into the semicircular room on the top floor of the tower and looked around curiously. "I thought we could only sit on the floor! Ishmael said that you would throw out the extra chairs to avoid entertaining guests. You must have a lot to talk about in seclusion."

The short man following closely patted his excited companion on the shoulder, and then greeted Bethel in a reserved manner. The two apprentices who were about to go on a long journey looked exhausted. On their cloaks, one could vaguely see traces of dust, rain, and grass juice. The recorder suspected that they did not even have a good rest in the manor. Like an albatross that has flown for too long and is temporarily unaccustomed to walking on land, the two apprentices folded their wings with an understanding smile and sat awkwardly on the other side of the square table. Bethel looked suspiciously at a bunch of plants that looked like willow branches that Su Li brought: "What is this?"

"Hey, this is a specialty from Thunder Hills. I call it Star Grass, and its flowers glow at night."

The recorder, who did not like to take care of plants, thought of some rumors. He recalled the few conversations he had with this distant relative and tried to ask directly: "So you had your leg bitten off by a pack of wolves in the hills just for this glowing grass?"

"How dare you expose someone's scars directly! Ishmael said that your temper has improved, but it turns out you are still the same! You have a poisonous tongue!"

Su Li covered her chest exaggeratedly when she was reminded of the embarrassing incident, but her tone was not angry, and her eyes were shining with joy. The good old man Delin sat on the side with his head drooped, and seemed to have a great interest in his palm lines. At this moment, he pretended to cough, trying to keep his companion's thoughts from wandering: "Well, we are disturbing you today because..."

Su Li happily interrupted: "We heard it when we were still at the post station. You were obsessed with a mirror!"

Bethel began to consider the feasibility of throwing a chair over the heads of those who spread rumors.

"Well, what I meant was that Ishmael mentioned your attempt to drink the potion to sleep," Delin coughed stiffly again, "The sleeping potion is not without side effects. After the rainy season, a new vortex storm is likely to erupt in the southern star track. He is very worried about you."

The blue-eyed apprentice raised his head and stared at him for a moment, and before Delin could feel a chill, Bethel returned his gaze to the teacup again.

"I have a problem with that. He doesn't worry about anything other than cookbooks and old books."

Unaware of the subtle resentment in the recorder's tone, Su Li moved in her chair, trying to adjust to a comfortable position that would not put pressure on her injured leg: "It's okay, dear. Who hasn't experienced a rebellious period when they were young? When I was 17, I felt that my mother didn't care about me at all and wanted to run away."

Delin looked extremely helpless. He glanced cautiously at the expressionless boy and once again regretted not letting Su Li chew a mouthful of walnuts before the visit. The latter continued to speak happily:

"Anyway, we heard about your little bet, and wanted to give you two a little help."

"Yes, we happen to know a little about the secret of that mirror."

Before his companion spoke again, Delin decisively began to tell some rumors about the Mirror of Muse - not only extraordinary people, but even ordinary people can sometimes feel the residual breath in the mirror, and everyone who touches the mirror may have some confusing dreams. The dreams are mostly filled with complicated sounds and colors. The mirror seems to randomly extract the memories of the contactor and combine them with absurd fantasies to create a confusing dream full of mysterious omens. The lucky person who touches the mirror may see the faces of ten thousand strangers passing by, the sky gardens that collapsed and collapsed in the fire, and the endlessly churning blood-colored sea of ​​gravel... The dream itself will not have side effects, but almost every dreamer will feel a grief that does not belong to him after waking up.

Su Li suggested that Bethel follow the elves' example: go out on a moonlit night, find a shaded and clean place in the wild to serve as a temporary altar, bathe in the clean stream, put on a gorgeous robe, offer red pomegranates and lilacs, and play the lyre in front of the altar to please the being behind the mirror. This was the experience she learned from a fortuneteller who once held a broken mirror. The old Beyonder readily transferred the mirror to someone else because he had a premonition that he was not the final owner of this sealed object. This creation left over from the last era would still wander for a long time until it returned to the place where the moon rises.

"The Moonrise Land? I don't remember any town or secret place with this name in reality."

As the visitors spoke, the recorder kept recording silently until Su Li mentioned her meeting with the fortune teller, and Bethel raised questions.

"I'm sorry, but the old man didn't explain. After all, we were mainly there to steal earth dragon eggs. It was a complete coincidence that we ran into him at a nearby market."

Su Li spread her hands, and Delin patted her hands comfortingly: "It's already great that we can escape from the dragon's nest alive. Didn't we find a lot of good things in the wanderer's market later? It was thanks to you buying a dozen amulets made by the fortune teller that he was willing to reveal the whereabouts of the mirror, and Ishmael finally found it."