Chapter 361: The Beast (Part 3)

When Hoffa woke up again, it was already nighttime. He could see the branches of the birch tree above him swaying gently under the stars. He could smell the faint scent of violets near his nose and feel the soft texture beneath the back of his head. A hand was slowly stroking his forehead.

He blinked, and an arm extended from the darkness, holding a small teacup.

"Try it—Yorkshire pudding."

The owner of the teacup spoke.

"Thank you, Susanna. I've wanted to taste it for a long time."

A familiar voice responded as another hand reached out to take the teacup. The flickering firelight reflected off the cup's surface, illuminating the profile of a young European girl.

Hoffa's mouth opened slightly, shocked by how familiar her face was. It was like a mathematician solving a puzzle only to realize the answer had been simple all along. Why had he never remembered this girl's name before? What had happened?

"You won't be disappointed. Oh, he's awake."

Susanna suddenly stepped back, putting some distance between herself and the girl, looking uneasily at the boy resting on the girl's lap.

"It's fine, don't worry, Susanna."

The girl reassured her. "With me here, I guarantee he won't do anything reckless."

"I know, I believe Hoffa isn't a bad person, I just..."

Susanna trailed off, sighing as she bit her lip, stomped her foot, and turned away. In the nearby woods, a small bonfire burned, with food cooking over it. Around the fire sat several women and children, watching the two beneath the tree with a mix of awe and fear in their eyes.

After watching Susanna leave, the girl lowered her head, scooped a bit of the yellow, translucent pudding with a spoon, and brought it to Hoffa's lips.

"Hungry? Want some pudding?"

Hoffa didn't eat. He slowly lifted his head from her lap and sat up. Seeing his refusal, the girl simply put the pudding into her own mouth.

"Miranda."

Hoffa called her name softly, as if it came naturally. "Where am I?"

Miranda bit down on the spoon, holding it between her teeth for a moment before replying in a gentle voice, "We're in Ferindales."

"And where is Ferindales?" Hoffa asked.

"By the North Sea," Miranda answered. "Don't worry, it's a remote place. No one will find us here."

"Why are we here?"

Hoffa was confused. He still remembered passing out from a headache in a remote Yorkshire village. Now, he had woken up in an even more isolated forest. The expressions of the women and children nearby suggested that something unpleasant had happened.

Miranda absentmindedly stirred her pudding as she spoke, "We went to Yorkshire together—don't you remember? Then we ran into people trying to capture you, so we escaped. You should be thankful to them. If it weren't for their truck, we'd have been caught."

"Is that so..."

Hoffa touched his head, still feeling the remnants of his headache.

Miranda's explanation made sense, but why had those farmwomen escaped with him? And why were they now looking at him with such fear? Had he accidentally dragged them into danger? If so, that would be terrible.

Seeing his troubled expression, Miranda slowly put down her teacup, leaned closer to him, and asked softly, "Hoffa, what do you remember?"

Hoffa couldn't recall much. He only knew that the girl in front of him was Miranda—his closest friend. Miranda had a younger brother named Miller. Beyond that, everything else was a blur. He had a vague sense that he had something very important to do, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what it was.

"I don't remember, Miranda."

Hoffa asked, "What exactly happened? Can't you give me a hint? My head keeps hurting, and I can't remember anything. What happened?"

He looked at Miranda hopefully, wishing she could clear his confusion. But her gaze was deep and unreadable. She quietly studied him before asking in return, "You really don't remember anything?"

Hoffa shook his head.

"Not even why we're here?" Miranda asked.

"It feels like... we're looking for something."

Hoffa scratched his head. He tried recalling the past few days but found that even yesterday was a blur. He couldn't even remember how he had met Miranda—almost as if he had woken up from a dream and suddenly found himself on her lap.

"And what are we looking for?"

Miranda looked at him intently.

Hoffa frowned in thought. Suddenly, something clicked, and he said, "We're looking for magic."

Miranda closed her eyes, then slowly opened them with a sigh. Her expression dimmed as she said, "Yes, we're looking for magic."

"You don't seem very happy."

Hoffa asked, "Miranda, what's going on? Is there something you know that I don't?"

"No."

Miranda said calmly, "There's nothing I know that you don't."

Hoffa stared at her blankly. He could tell she was hiding something. But if she didn't want to tell him, what could he do?

A flicker of disappointment crossed Miranda's face before she stood up and pulled a piece of paper from her coat, handing it to Hoffa. "I found this on the people who were trying to capture us. It might help you find magic."

Hoffa took the paper. It was a blood-stained flyer, cheaply printed with crooked, ink-smeared text:

*"Reignite the flames in the cold winter. Hold your ground when no one else does."

"A gathering is happening. The strange call to the strange."

"The army is assembling. Reclaim the castle."*

Below these lines was a drawing of a dark, eerie path. A broken signpost stood along the road, and beyond it was a stone building sitting on muddy ground. In front of the building, a severed boar's head was impaled on a stake, its tongue lolling out grotesquely in death.

There was no address on the flyer, yet something about the boar's head seemed eerily familiar to Hoffa. He felt like he had seen this place before, but—just like everything else he had forgotten—it remained locked away in the fragments of his memory.

"Where is this, Miranda?" Hoffa asked.

"Hogsmeade. The Hog's Head Inn."

Miranda answered flatly, "Someone is holding a gathering there. Looks like those lunatics already know about it."

Hoffa's gaze dropped to the bottom of the flyer. Beneath the crude text, a sharp and orderly steel stamp was pressed onto the paper. It bore four stark words—

"Arrest Warrant Approved."

"They wouldn't be shooting in the dark. Aren't you looking for magic? Go to this village and take a look—you're bound to find something." Miranda suggested.

Hoffa looked at the note in his hand and felt a surge of excitement. But when he saw Miranda's expression, he became confused again. "Didn't you say you knew things I didn't? Clearly, you know way more than me. I didn't even know about Hogsmeade or the Hog's Head Inn."

He questioned her with conviction.

But upon hearing his words, Miranda merely responded with a cold, ambiguous smirk, closed her eyes, and said nothing.

Seeing this, Hoffa couldn't help but feel uneasy. "So, you're not coming? I have no idea where this village is."

Miranda chuckled, ran a hand through her hair, and leaned comfortably against the tree trunk, closing her eyes to rest. "Why wouldn't I go? Don't worry, I'll stay with you—until the day you return to normal."

Hearing that Miranda would accompany him, Hoffa felt relieved. He leaned against the tree beside her and quickly drifted into a deep sleep.

Night passed in the blink of an eye, and soon, the sky brightened again.

Hoffa and Miranda climbed onto a truck with a group of farmwomen, heading toward a place called Hogsmeade. The farmwomen, however, were traveling to other cities. Miranda explained that they needed to transfer at a station before reaching Hogsmeade, and until then, they would share the same journey.

By now, the wheat and hay on the truck had been removed. Gone were the warm, golden cushions of grain—only the cold, hard metal remained. The farmwomen who once chatted and laughed were now silent, sitting in the truck with somber and bewildered expressions.

Unlike their first encounter, none of them sat beside Hoffa. Instead, they huddled in the corners, looking at him with eyes full of fear. This filled Hoffa with guilt. He didn't know what had caused them to lose their smiles, but he was certain it had something to do with him. He wanted to make amends, yet had no idea where to start.

As the truck left the forest and returned to the rural dirt road, the moment of their eventual separation grew closer. Hoffa couldn't bear it—he had to do something.

He moved closer to Susanna and softly called her name.

Susanna looked up at him. Unlike the other farmwomen, her gaze wasn't filled with fear—only deep confusion.

"Susanna, do you have any plans?" Hoffa asked quietly.

"We're planning to take a detour to Sheffield and look for work there," Susanna replied gloomily.

"This is all my fault. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have ended up like this."

Hoffa spoke with remorse.

"No, Hoffa. On the contrary, you saved us," Susanna said, waving her hand. She forced a smile, but anyone could see how strained it was. "That's not what we're worried about."

"Then what are you worried about?"

Susanna pressed her lips together, remaining silent. It wasn't until the truck passed a river that she finally spoke. The riverbanks were lined with abandoned buildings.

"Look," she said, pointing at the empty structures. "When I was little, this place was full of people. We worked on the farms together, rested together, played together. It was tough, but we were happy. But over the years, the villages have grown fewer and fewer. In the end, they all became empty."

Her voice was heavy with sorrow. Hoffa gently patted her back. She shuddered and, unable to hold back any longer, began to sob quietly.

"They won't let us go," she murmured. "I know what they want. They want to drive us all into the cities. But how can I leave the farmland? What can I even do in the city? Everyone says life is better there—better education, more money. But, dear God, I really don't like those smoking chimneys and those towering glass buildings."

Hoffa remained silent. He didn't know how to respond or offer comfort. All he could do was keep patting her back over and over again.

But Susanna was stronger than he had expected. She didn't cry for long before pulling herself together. "Maybe this is fate," she said. "Sooner or later, we all have to leave. At least I still have my sister and Arthur. I don't like the city, but it doesn't matter—as long as Arthur likes it, that's enough."

Hoffa glanced at Arthur, sitting at the other end of the truck, holding a piece of paper and drawing intently despite the truck's jolting movements.

A feeling of unease crept over him. He doubted Susanna's wish would come true. Arthur didn't seem like a boy who would ever enjoy city life.

Time passed quickly. Soon, the truck arrived at a small station, about ten kilometers from Sheffield. Miranda refused to enter the city, thinking it was unsafe, so she got off in the countryside.

Just before parting ways, Arthur, who had been drawing the entire ride, suddenly jumped off the truck and hurried to Hoffa. He held out his drawing.

Hoffa took it and saw a rough, childlike sketch. A tiny figure with wings floated mid-air, surrounded by sharp spikes, impaling numerous men in black robes.

"What is this…?" Hoffa was puzzled.

"Sir, how can I become like you?"

Arthur grabbed Hoffa's hand tightly. "Please, tell me."

"Why do you want to be like me?" Hoffa asked, confused.

"I want to make spikes shoot up from the ground—just like you did."

Arthur's eyes burned with longing.

Hoffa stared at the drawing, bewildered. Had he ever done something like that? Why didn't he remember? He glanced at Miranda, but she turned her head away, signaling that he should handle this on his own.

Hoffa didn't know how to answer. He was certain he couldn't feel any magic now, let alone summon spikes from the ground. It had to be either the boy's imagination or the work of someone else.

"I don't know, Arthur. Maybe this is how you see me, but I'm not sure if the person in your drawing is really me," Hoffa hesitated before adding, "At the very least, I don't have wings, do I?"

Arthur looked disappointed. He took back his drawing and mumbled, "Oh… I must have drawn it wrong. Sorry, sir."

Hoffa gently ruffled the boy's soft hair. After a moment's thought, he crouched beside Arthur and whispered, "Arthur, do you believe there's a place where magic exists?"

Arthur's expression turned firm. "Of course! Don't you remember my magic potion? Magic definitely exists in this world."

"Yes, I believe that too," Hoffa murmured. "No matter where I go, I always believe that. Things are difficult for us now, but it's only temporary. One day, magic will reveal itself. People will see that we were right all along."

But Arthur shook his head. "I don't want them to know."

Hoffa widened his eyes in surprise.

"If people find out about magic, it won't be special anymore," Arthur pouted. "I don't want everyone to know. It's my secret."

Hoffa's astonishment gradually turned into a silent smile. "You're right. It's our secret. It's best if only a few people know."

Arthur held out his pinky. "Pinky promise."

"Pinky promise," Hoffa said, hooking his finger around the boy's.

(End of Chapter)

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