Kael regarded the Hobbit with a hint of confusion. His tone was less of a greeting and more of an interrogation.
"Hello," Kael said politely. "And you are?"
"Robin Smallburrow," the Hobbit replied, puffing out his chest. "Sheriff of Michel Delving."
Kael raised an eyebrow, surprised to encounter a Hobbit lawman. "A pleasure, Sheriff Smallburrow. My name is Kael. I've just come from Hobbiton and plan on traveling through the Shire for a while."
The Sheriff's eyes widened in recognition. "You're Kael? The Wizard from Hobbiton?"
"You've heard of me?" Kael asked, surprised.
"Ahem," the Sheriff cleared his throat, his official demeanor softening considerably. "News of a Wizard taking up residence with Mister Baggins has spread through all Four Farthings. I just didn't expect you to grace our town with your presence so soon."
Once Kael's identity was confirmed, Sheriff Smallburrow's attitude shifted entirely. He became a gracious host, personally escorting Kael to the town's only inn, The Green Holm. Like Bag End, the inn was built for Hobbits. The low ceilings were a constant menace, and the innkeeper had to push two beds together just so Kael could stretch out his legs.
As he settled into the cozy, if cramped, room, the familiar blue text box shimmered into view.
[Hogwarts Sign-in System]
[Location Detected: The Shire - Michel Delving]
[Would you like to sign in?]
Kael didn't hesitate. "Sign in."
[Sign-in Successful!]
[Congratulations! You have obtained: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1]
A spectral image of a textbook materialized before him, its pages translucent and shimmering. Kael discovered he could turn the ethereal pages with a mere thought and eagerly began to explore his reward.
The first-year textbook was, as expected, quite basic. It detailed the theory and execution of five simple, non-combative spells: the Wand-Lighting Charm (Lumos), the Levitation Charm (Wingardium Leviosa), the Fire-Making Spell (Incendio), the Unlocking Charm (Alohomora), and the Mending Charm (Reparo).
But Kael was thrilled. This was the first time he had come into contact with true spellcraft. His previous feats had been acts of raw, instinctual will—a crude form of telekinesis. It was powerful but clumsy, requiring immense concentration. When he controlled his cleavers, he was a stationary target, utterly vulnerable to attack. Proper spells were different. They were frameworks, stable constructs of magic. Once cast, they required far less focus to maintain, freeing his attention for other things.
Kael pored over the spectral pages, absorbing the principles, incantations, and wand movements. He started with the simplest charm: Lumos.
Without a wand, he mimicked the required movement with his hand. "Lumos!"
He wasn't disappointed. He knew that even for the simplest spell, casting without a wand was an advanced magical art. Most wizards in his old world were helpless without their wands, unable to perform even nonverbal spells, let alone wandless ones.
He tried again and again. Finally, after countless attempts, a tiny spark, like a firefly, flickered at his fingertip before quickly dying out.
But it was enough. Hope surged through him. He focused, channeling his magic and his will into the incantation one more time. "Lumos!"
A steady, soft white light, as bright as a candle flame, bloomed at the tip of his index finger, illuminating his triumphant grin.
The next day, Sheriff Smallburrow took it upon himself to give Kael a grand tour of Michel Delving. Their first stop was the Town Hole, the seat of the local government, where Kael was given a warm reception by the Mayor of the Shire himself. From there, the Sheriff led him to the Mathom-house, the Shire's museum.
"A mathom," the Sheriff explained, "is what we call something we have no use for but are unwilling to throw away."
Kael was astonished to see that among the odd trinkets and historical curiosities, the museum housed an impressive collection of weapons: bows, spears, swords, axes, and armor. He was drawn to a magnificent longbow crafted from a pale, golden wood, hard as iron yet gracefully flexible.
"Elven-work, it's said," Sheriff Smallburrow offered. "Been here as long as anyone can remember."
The Sheriff then showed him a collection of axes and mail shirts, clearly of Dwarven make, but sized for Hobbits. The armor was dented and scarred, grim evidence of a forgotten battle where the gentle folk of the Shire had been forced to take up arms.
Finally, Kael's eyes fell upon a shirt of mail that shimmered with an inner light. It was woven from countless silver rings, light as a feather and as soft as cloth, yet it felt impossibly strong. He noticed it wasn't Hobbit-sized. It was large enough to fit a Man of his own stature.
"Another piece of Dwarf-craft," the Sheriff said. "Tough as dragon scales, they say. Can't be pierced by any blade or burned by any fire. Of course, it's far too big for any of us, so it sits here as a mathom."
Kael stared at the mail shirt, his heart pounding. It was perfect. As a wizard with no defensive spells, he was vulnerable. This was exactly what he needed.
"Sheriff," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "I need this. Is it for sale?"
The Sheriff shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Kael. The items in the Mathom-house are not for sale. They belong to all the Hobbits of Michel Delving. To claim it, you would need the consent of the entire town."
Kael's hopes sank. But then, the Sheriff's expression brightened into a grin.
"However," he said with a conspiratorial chuckle, "if you were to, say, put on a little magical display for everyone at the upcoming Founder's Day banquet, I imagine the townsfolk would be more than happy to gift it to you as thanks."
"Aye! In five days, we celebrate the twelve-hundredth anniversary of the founding of Michel Delving! There will be a grand feast in the Town Hole, and you, my friend, are most welcome to attend!"
Kael's face broke into a wide smile. He had planned to leave after signing in, but the promise of such a valuable prize was more than enough reason to stay a few more days. He accepted the invitation without a moment's hesitation.
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