Chapter 376: The Miracle That Belongs to Ino

The transformation of the valley stirred a faint sense of wonder in Ino's heart.

To be honest, when alone, he couldn't help but feel that Professor Hans had been somewhat biased.

After all, when the pages of the storybook were torn, the miracle that once allowed him to step into the tales disappeared with them.

It would be a lie to say he felt nothing about that. He wasn't a saint.

But thoughts were one thing—he knew well that voicing them now would be meaningless.

Logically speaking, the Sanctuary belonged to Hans. How one chose to use their own possessions was entirely up to them.

Holding onto this understanding, Ino quietly watched the shifting landscape of the valley.

After all, this place—this valley—was the one thing truly his.

The land came from outside Athens. Magic beans from the Brothers Grimm were planted in the soil. Above, a multicolored river shimmered—formed from the dreams of the children of Rohan.

And now, even the long-dormant Ring of Fire was beginning to stir once more.

...

Time slipped by, second by second.

In the flowerbed, the tulip's stem grew fuller with each passing moment, and its glow brightened steadily.

Then suddenly—

A familiar melody echoed through the valley.

Just a few notes in, and Ino recognized the tune—it was something he had improvised just earlier, inspired by the moment, played without much thought.

Anyone who has performed before knows: the feeling of playing music and the experience of listening to it afterwards are entirely different.

Now, hearing it again, Ino felt the flaws. The melody had been beautiful, yes, but it lacked warmth.

It carried the gentleness of Shire summers and the grandeur of war—but it lacked the smoke and fire of life itself. It lacked vitality.

Realizing this, Ino sat down on the soft earth, and plucked his harp once more.

...

A simple melody began to take shape.

It had none of the previous tranquility, none of the epic majesty—only the familiarity of a folk tune echoing with life.

Old John and his neighbors, the humble merchants of Merchant Town, Aunt Julia and her granddaughter from Minas Tirith… even nameless young witches and wizards from Hogwarts.

Ino thought of each one of them as he played.

Some he had barely glimpsed, others he had shared brief exchanges with. But their existence could not be denied.

Perhaps they were just background characters in the story, but it was precisely because of countless leaves absorbing the light that a flower could bloom so brilliantly.

And so the folk melody rang out.

Maybe because it was played on the same harp, its plainness melded naturally with the valley's existing tranquility and grandeur.

Three melodies—serene, grand, and simple—intertwined.

And as they fused into a single grand symphony, the glowing tulip blossomed at last.

...

To the soft sound of harpstrings, a golden six-petal tulip gently detached from its stem and floated into the sky.

Its light, gentle and golden, resembled the first rays of dawn—witnessing the miracle of all things awakening.

Truly, this was a miracle.

Ino sat amid the soil, his fingers dancing across the strings, and as the music leapt through the air, the light mist that veiled the valley began to fade.

What's more, the valley—visibly—began to expand.

...

If the blooming tulip represented the world's first light—simple and pure—

Then the musical notes in the valley were its intricate counterpart.

Like stars in the night sky, they shimmered into being, weaving and clashing into a complex harmony.

Miraculously, these weren't just sounds—they were vessels of emotion.

They drifted through the valley, telling stories—of laughter, of sorrow, of yearning and despair, of dreams and hope.

And with this grand harmony, the valley seemed to take on life—color, warmth, and breath.

...

At the same moment—

The frozen path within the Sanctuary, once leading to Middle-Earth, quietly dissolved.

In the town of Alpbach, Hermione sensed it immediately and vanished on the spot.

Now standing at the Sanctuary's edge, she gazed longingly at the valley, so close yet unreachable. No matter how she tried, she could not set foot within.

But what she saw left her awestruck.

The valley, once the size of a humble village or small town, had transformed dramatically—stretching endlessly in all directions.

Above, the familiar rainbow river still hung in the sky—but now, beside it, a golden sun bloomed like a flower.

Children's dolls laughed and danced across the ground, blossoms sang in chorus, oaks bore human faces—all of it reminded her of that enchanted forest from The Ugly Duckling.

It looked just like the fairy tales described in books.

...

As a witness, Hermione was amazed.

But for the creator, Ino—after the initial astonishment—what filled his heart most was the feeling of rediscovery.

His miracle was still here.

He could feel it all—every stone, every speck of dust in the valley…

And so he immediately noticed the newly formed tavern at the heart of it all.

It wasn't large—just over a hundred square meters—constructed from greenish stone and spanning two floors.

Its design had a medieval charm to it.

But that was only the surface.

What truly stirred something within Ino was what the tavern meant.

Its door, an unremarkable slab of walnut wood, remained shut.

Yet he knew—just knew—that if he pushed it open from the outside, he'd step into a realm of countless tales.

Inside, stories were being told—or had already ended.

Stories from the books he once read in the London library: One Thousand and One Nights, Grimm's Fairy Tales, Andersen's Tales, Aesop's Fables, Alice in Wonderland...

And it didn't end there.

Because if someone opened that door from within the tavern, they could invite in others—those blessed by fate, from countless magical worlds.

It was then Ino finally understood something.

His miracle was never truly granted by Professor Hans.

If he had to name a moment—it had been with him since the day he crossed over.

By accident or coincidence, he had simply never used it.

And what Hans had done before was no more than pushing open that door… and inviting in a guest of fate.

...

Ino looked at the tavern's walnut door.

An urge to wander surged within him.

But he reined it in and looked skyward instead.

Above, the golden sun—shaped like a six-petal tulip—suddenly shot forth a single golden comet.

Trailing a glorious tail, it streaked across the rainbow river, heading straight for the earth.

Ino sat on the soft ground, calmly watching it draw near.

He didn't dodge.

He didn't need to.

Here in this valley, he could sense everything—every blade of grass, every stone—and he had control over it all. No place could be safer.

The meteor drew close.

Ino slowly raised his hand.

And on the index finger of his right hand, a golden ring appeared—set with a seven-colored gem.

...

At the same time, the music in the sky came to an end.

As the final note fell silent, Ino stood and dusted off his clothes.

He happened to glance back—and saw Hermione, anxiously waiting beyond the valley.

She had clearly been worried by the meteor's descent.

Ino watched her wave her wand—Hans' gift of a chestnut pen—again and again at the valley, casting spell after spell.

But no matter what she tried, the boundary between Sanctuary and valley held firm, like a barrier spanning time itself. Her magic didn't stir even the faintest ripple.

...

Inside the valley—

Seeing her worry, Ino raised a finger slightly.

And so, with the valley's metamorphosis complete, it welcomed its very first guest.

"Ino, are you okay? That meteor scared me! But I couldn't get in..."

Hermione didn't care about the changes in the valley. As soon as she arrived, concern filled her voice.

Her slender, fair hands moved anxiously over his arms, as if checking for injury.

But the moment her eyes met his—those clear amber eyes—her hands froze, and a blush crept across her cheeks.

"I'm fine. Better than I've ever been."

Noticing her shy demeanor, Ino tactfully changed the subject:

"The valley has changed a lot. You can explore freely. But I need to head out for a moment. Otherwise, someone may worry—and that too, would be impolite."

He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder—and vanished from sight.

...

In the high tower of Nurmengard—

Grindelwald watched with great interest.

The young man who had been playing and singing a moment ago—

Had vanished.

And then—just as suddenly—reappeared.

Of course, that alone meant little. Apparition could explain it easily.

What truly surprised him was that the music, though it had faded, seemed to transform into a new rhythm—subtle, yet ever-present—gently swirling around the young man.

But at that very moment, Grindelwald suddenly froze.

His dark brown left eye shimmered softly, as a layer of lingering silver light flickered across its surface.