The sunset had a dreamlike beauty to it—light filtering through gaps in the clouds and settling over everything in a languid haze. The cemetery's crowded headstones stretched long, narrow shadows across the ground, casting the scene in a strange, hushed atmosphere.
Not far away, beside a white poplar with a thick crown of branches, a man with cotton-candy-tousled white hair stood holding the hand of a little girl. There was no doubt about it: a father and daughter paying their respects.
What Maka had noticed earlier was the back of a girl with pale-golden hair that fell all the way to her waist.
Of course, Maka wasn't some kind of creep—he had no interest in a little girl who looked barely ten. (Though, to be fair, he was about that age himself.) It was just that her long hair carried a faint, luminous halo in the sunset, an unusual sight that was impossible to ignore.
He looked a few seconds longer, then stopped himself. After a brief pause, he averted his gaze, hoisted his suitcase, and started toward the town.
But in the few steps it took to leave the ring of graves behind, he caught the man's voice—faint, yet clear enough.
"Luna, we should head back. It's getting late."
Luna? Pale-golden hair?
Deep in Maka's mind, a spark flared—old words, dulled by time, flashing into focus.
No way… could it really be that convenient?
He stopped again, hesitated, then plunged into the roadside brush. He wanted to circle back and confirm it for himself.
When he emerged from the trees and returned to the cemetery, the Lovegood father and daughter were already gone. Maka stepped up to the spot where they'd been standing and looked down at the headstone.
"Pandora Lovegood…" he murmured. "Lovegood—yeah. That's got to be it."
His thoughts clicked into place. Then he broke into a run.
Finding a practicing wizard and asking for directions is a lot smarter than stumbling around on my own. And maybe I can even borrow their fireplace. What was that stuff called again? Fl—Floo Powder?
"Um—Mr. Lovegood! W-wait a moment, please!"
Thankfully, they hadn't gone far—or perhaps, more accurately, they hadn't used magic to leave yet. Maka caught up.
"Hm? And you are?" Luna's father—Xenophilius—turned back, eyeing the boy who came sprinting toward them.
"Oh—yes." Maka came to a stop in front of them, breathing hard, hastily sorting his thoughts before continuing. "I'm… a fan of the magazine you edit. You know, I really love the articles. They've added color to my life."
In truth, Maka couldn't even remember what the magazine was called. That didn't stop him from using it as his opening line.
"Er… the Crumple-Horned Snorkack—yes, the Crumple-Horned Snorkack." He forced his dusty memory open, catching whatever fragments he could and tossing them into the conversation like bargaining chips. "I hope you know I've always believed they exist too. I just… haven't been able to find them."
"Oh—one of our own," Luna said softly.
Her tone was distant, but her silvery-gray eyes stayed fixed on Maka's face without blinking. It was obvious: he'd piqued her interest.
"Haha! Thank you for your support, my dear young reader." Xenophilius beamed and nodded, genuinely delighted.
Seeing his chance, Maka did what he always did when someone handed him a ladder—he climbed. He plastered on a bright smile, poured enthusiasm into his expression, and started chatting with Xenophilius as if he truly were a loyal subscriber.
Believe me, it wasn't hard. All he had to do was steer the topic back to the Snorkack, let Xenophilius talk, and toss in the occasional agreement. That alone was enough to keep the conversation rolling.
One tall figure and two small ones drifted farther down the road, laughter rising now and then. The approach had been a clear success.
In the end, Maka was invited to the Lovegood home—and planned to stay for a few days. The reason was simple: he had just so happened, quite accidentally, to let slip that he would be starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on September 1st this year.
And if all went as expected, Luna would start the year after that—meaning Maka would naturally become her upperclassman.
"Next year, I'll be counting on you to look after your new little schoolmate, Mr. Maka," Xenophilius said with a wide grin, ruffling Luna's hair. "Come now! I think dinner can be a bit more generous than usual tonight. We should welcome your future upperclassman in advance!"
It had to be said—judging from that "very generous" meal, the Lovegoods didn't seem particularly well-off. But that wasn't important to Maka. He wasn't someone who chased luxury. Poverty and hunger had been the constant background of his childhood.
Besides, on that small table were several ingredients he'd never seen in his life. Some looked strange—almost misshapen—but the flavors were distinct, and the portions were filling.
What Maka liked most was a soup made from an aquatic creature called a "Big-Mouthed Colorball Fish." It was genuinely delicious. The meat itself, though, wasn't great—probably too tough from how much the creature swam, and it carried a peculiar earthy, muddy tang.
"Full, are you, child?" Xenophilius asked when Maka set down his spoon. "Perhaps you'd like a cup of Gurdyroot tea?"
"Oh—no, thank you," Maka said, rubbing his round belly with embarrassment. "I think I ate too much. Would you mind if I went out for a walk?"
"Of course." Xenophilius shrugged. "Luna can go with you, if you like. It's safe around here, and the air is wonderful. I'm afraid I need to prepare for tomorrow's work—you know, writing, drafting, that sort of thing."
"Luna," Maka said, turning to the girl who was staring off into space, "may I invite you to take a walk with me?"
"Hm?" She tilted her head toward him. "What? Oh—of course. We can keep talking about other magical creatures…"
"Yes, yes. I think unicorns would be a good choice," Maka said with a smile as he stood and pulled on his coat. "I hear they're famous even among Muggles."
He opened the door behind him.
Everything here was nice enough—except the house felt a little cramped. It reminded him of the tiny attic room he'd lived in for three years.
The night air was familiar in its own way, but far cleaner than Taimo Lane in Turbopoint. After all, the Lovegood home was built on a small hillside.
The open view and the spread of stars overhead made Maka's gaze blur, as if he'd fallen into the sky. Perhaps Luna's personality had something to do with growing up in a place like this.
"It's beautiful here," Maka said quietly. "It feels… free."
Out here, nothing blocked your path. He wandered on instinct, eyes lifted to the endless night.
Luna, who had been talking to herself about mistletoe and nargles, fell strangely silent at his words. She studied him for a moment—then lifted her gaze to the stars as well.
"You can smell freedom here," Luna said softly, her voice more lost than usual. "Can you smell it?"
"What?" Maka blinked, startled—then something clicked. "Oh… is that something your mother used to say?"
"Mom liked it here too." Luna nodded. "When she was resting, she would often take me out to watch the stars."
Her face gave nothing away, yet some things were never so easy to let go of.
Maka nodded. He vaguely remembered that Luna's mother had died—not too long ago, perhaps. And that, in turn, reminded him of his own mother. This life's… and the last one's.
"They say the positions and paths of the stars can be used as a foundation for prophecy," Maka said, choosing his words carefully. "The centaurs are supposed to be quite skilled at that."
For Maka, in moments like this, it felt better to sidestep grief lightly than to offer hollow lines like I'm sorry or That must be hard. But Luna was not an ordinary girl.
"Mom is dead," Luna said, not taking the offered topic at all. "It was last year. A spell went horribly wrong."
"That's terrifying," she continued, her voice lowering into a murmur. "I've been sad about it ever since. But I can't let Dad worry. I think he might be even more heartbroken than I am… so I can't cry."
Maka listened as her words sank lower and lower, and his hand unconsciously pressed against the envelope tucked into his coat pocket. A thought flashed through his mind, and he raised an eyebrow.
"My mother is gone too," Maka said after a pause. "I think I understand what you mean. But… I've been thinking—maybe it doesn't mean we'll never be able to see our mothers again."
He hesitated, then went on carefully.
"The principles of magic are still so unclear. If we could study them more deeply—understand them more thoroughly…"
At last, something like a normal expression surfaced on Luna's face—but it wasn't delight.
"If you make a mistake," she said softly, the haze gone from her voice, "it becomes dangerous."
"Uh… yeah." Maka rubbed his forehead awkwardly. "I suppose you're right."
Luna watched him for another moment, then offered a small smile. She pressed her lips together, and added in a quiet afterthought:
"But it is a path."
The night breeze was fresh, but still cold enough to bite. Maka hunched his shoulders, pulled his coat tighter, and waved for Luna to come back inside. He turned first, walking toward the house shaped like a chess piece.
Luna stayed behind for a second, watching his back. Her lips pressed together again.
"Wisdom is humanity's greatest wealth," she whispered—so softly it sounded like she was speaking only to herself.