In the midst of endless, swirling chaos...
A golden meteor tore across the void, streaking through the darkness beyond countless worlds. Its brilliance blazed like a comet, headed straight into the depths of the unknown.
But just as it passed a radiant and ancient realm, an overwhelming presence stirred within the cosmos. A great Will, vast and eternal, turned Its gaze toward the falling star. Music echoed, celestial and sublime, woven into the very fabric of the world. It was the Song of Creation, the Great Music of the Ainur.
With but a single glance, the golden meteor was seen through, every thread of its essence laid bare.
As if called by fate itself, the meteor swerved. Its path bent, drawn irresistibly into that universe, pulled into harmony with the Music. A new note was born, a fresh and nimble melody that danced amidst the solemn chords of the grand composition, bringing a spark of lightness to the ancient song.
A voice, cheery and concerned, stirred Sylas from sleep.
He blinked and slowly opened his eyes, only to be met by the sight of towering green trees and the gentle rustling of leaves overhead. Birds chirped somewhere nearby. The scent of wildflowers and fresh earth filled the air.
He sat up groggily, puzzled. Wasn't he just asleep at home? How in the world did he end up in the middle of a forest?
And who was this small fellow standing in front of him, peering down with furrowed brows and concern?
Still disoriented, Sylas asked directly, "Who are you?"
"Ah, Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, sir."
Bilbo Baggins? The name struck a chord in his memory. Familiar, almost too familiar.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
Wait, why could he understand him? Sylas's English grades in school had barely scraped past the line, yet here he was, not only comprehending every word but speaking fluently in return, as if the language had always been his own.
He scrambled to his feet, still confused. But standing next to Bilbo now, he noticed something else. This "man" barely reached his waist.
Not a child. Not a dwarf either.
The stranger had curly hair, kindly eyes, and a pair of distinctly pointed ears. His broad feet were bare, but thick with fur. He radiated warmth and simplicity, utterly unlike any human.
"You're a Hobbit?" Sylas asked hesitantly.
Bilbo nodded with a friendly grin. "That I am."
Sylas' heart skipped.
"And where exactly is this?"
"This is the Shire, good sir. Hobbiton, to be precise."
All the color drained from Sylas' face.
This couldn't be real.
He wasn't dreaming. He hadn't just stumbled onto a movie set. He had transmigrated, somehow and impossibly, into Middle-earth.
Not just any fantasy world either. This place had Elves, Trolls, Orcs, and all manner of magical creatures. There were wizards who could summon fire with a word, dragons that hoarded gold for centuries, Balrogs born of shadow and flame, and beings like the Maiar, spirits older than time. Even the Valar walked these lands, and beyond them, Ilúvatar, the One who created all.
How was an ordinary guy like him supposed to survive here?
This wasn't a casual adventure. This was nightmare difficulty.
Bilbo, watching the man's face go from stunned to horrified to utterly blank, took a cautious step back. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this newcomer, whose expression changed faster than second breakfast.
Still, Hobbits were nothing if not kind-hearted.
"Er, sir? Are you alright?" Bilbo asked gently.
Sylas exhaled, half-laughing at his own situation.
"I'm fine," he said with a weary smile. "I just... can't seem to find my way home."
Bilbo tilted his head sympathetically. "Are you lost?"
Bilbo asked with a touch of surprise,
"Well, perhaps you could buy a map in the village. They sell maps of places beyond the Shire there."
Sylas shook his head, his voice heavy with quiet despair.
"My home is very far away. I might never reach it, not in this lifetime."
Bilbo blinked, struggling to imagine just how far "very far" truly was. To a Hobbit who rarely left the bounds of the Shire, even Bree felt like a distant land.
Still, as he looked at the weary man before him, surrounded by silence and sorrow, Bilbo felt a sudden wave of sympathy rise in his chest. He fidgeted awkwardly.
"Er, sir, I mean... if you don't have anywhere to go, would you care to be my guest for a while? You're welcome at my house."
Sylas looked up in surprise, his expression softening for the first time.
Seeing that look, Bilbo grew a little flustered and rubbed the back of his neck.
"We don't get many outsiders in the Shire. But well, if you've no place to stay, you might as well stay with me a few days."
Sylas' face lit up with gratitude.
"Thank you for taking me in, Mister Bilbo Baggins. You truly are a good person."
Bilbo flushed and waved his hand.
"Oh, well, that's very kind of you. Right then, please follow me."
With that, he slung his fishing rod, nearly twice his height, over his shoulder, picked up his wooden pail, and began walking down the path.
Sylas followed close behind. His sorrowful look faded almost instantly, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.
Though his emotions weren't entirely false, much of what he had shown just now had been carefully played to stir the Hobbit's sympathy.
He needed shelter, and fast. Being stranded alone in an unfamiliar world, with nowhere to go and no allies, meant sleeping under the stars and fending off who knew what kind of creatures.
Besides, if his memory served him right, Bilbo Baggins wasn't just any Hobbit. He was a central figure in this world's legend. Sticking close to such a person meant better chances of survival and more possibilities in the future.
As they walked the winding lanes of Hobbiton, they passed several quaint Hobbit-holes nestled into grassy hillsides. Each had its own charm, rounded wooden doors painted green or sky blue, flower gardens blooming with daisies, marigolds, and snapdragons, and chimneys puffing gentle curls of smoke.
The houses looked like something out of a storybook, like rabbit holes for fairytale folk.
Several Hobbits paused their gardening or laundry to peer curiously at the tall stranger trailing behind Bilbo. It wasn't every day a Man showed up in the Shire.
Bilbo, unusually quiet, didn't wave or call out to his neighbors as he normally might. In fact, he walked a little faster.
Sylas, however, didn't seem the least bothered by the attention. He smiled and nodded politely to every Hobbit who looked his way.
Eventually, they reached the end of the lane and stopped before a well-kept home set into the hillside. A small wooden gate led to a tidy garden, and hanging over it was a painted sign that read Bag End.
This was Bilbo Baggins' home.
The garden was colorful and neat, clearly tended with love and care. Every hedge was trimmed, every flowerbed blooming.
As Bilbo fumbled with his key and pushed open the round front door, he turned to ask, "I just realized. I never got your name, sir. What should I call you?"
"My name is Syl... ?"
As he spoke, Sylas froze.
Just as he was about to say his usual name, another name had surged into his mind, Sylas, and slipped from his lips without thought, as if it had always been his.
Where had that come from?
His heart thumped uneasily.
When did I start being called that?
Bilbo hadn't noticed anything unusual about Sylas. As they approached the round wooden door of the hobbit-hole, Bilbo turned with a gentle reminder.
"Alright, Sylas, please remember to duck your head when you come in. You humans are much taller than we are, after all."
Sylas, distracted and not paying attention, walked straight into the top of the doorway. He clutched his forehead, wincing as the sharp pain set in.
"Um, Mister Sylas, are you alright?" Bilbo asked, trying to hold back a laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"I'm fine!" Sylas muttered, rubbing his head and waving one hand.
There wasn't time to dwell on it. The truth was, this hobbit-hole wasn't built for someone who stood over one point eight meters tall. He had to walk hunched over, keeping his head low and shoulders rounded just to avoid another collision.
Rather than exhaust himself with worry, Sylas simply let it go and found the nearest armchair to sit down. It creaked a little under his weight, but it was surprisingly comfortable.
Meanwhile, Bilbo had hurried off into the kitchen, clattering about with kettles and cupboards as he prepared something warm and welcoming for his guest.
Just then, something entirely unexpected happened.
A glowing message materialized in midair in front of Sylas, as if conjured by a spell he didn't know he'd cast.
[Hogwarts Sign-In System Detected]
Current Location: Middle-earth – The Shire – Hobbiton – Bag End
Would you like to sign in?]
Sylas jolted upright in shock.
His voice rang out louder than he intended.
Bilbo poked his head back around the corner, holding a teacup and saucer.
"Is something wrong, Mister Sylas?"
Sylas blinked rapidly, realizing the other man couldn't see the floating message.
"No, nothing at all!" he said quickly. "Just... startled myself, that's all."
Bilbo raised an eyebrow but nodded, vanishing back into the kitchen.
Sylas stared at the glowing text box, heart racing.