In the days that followed, Wade continued helping Nicolas Flamel and Perenelle sort through their various collections—something Flamel made no attempt to euphemize, referring to it plainly as their "inheritance."
"Come to think of it, we're truly fortunate," said Perenelle with a warm smile. Wrapped in a blanket and holding a cup of hot tea in her hands, she sat in an armchair and added, "Many people never get this chance."
"These things help me remember the times we shared," Flamel said with a smile, holding Perenelle's hand. "I found that ebony pipe you gave me—it was for my 380th birthday, I believe."
"Ah yes, I remember," Perenelle said nostalgically. "There was a piece of amber inlaid in the stem. You loved that pipe. Used it for many years."
"When I found it, there was still a bit of tobacco in the bowl!" Flamel said with a hint of regret. "But the moment I touched it, it crumbled to dust."
The two sat together on the balcony with their bodies close, reminiscing over tiny yet precious fragments of their long life together.
Perhaps because the end of life was approaching, this couple—who had been together for over six centuries—found themselves with endless things to say. But Perenelle's strength was waning; she would often fall asleep mid-conversation.
Whenever that happened, Flamel would gently tuck the blanket around her, smooth her hair, and quietly keep her company for a while before returning to sorting through their belongings with Wade—though even picking up a slightly heavy book now took considerable effort, and he had to rest after just a few minutes.
In over six centuries of life, Flamel had received countless Christmas presents—magical items of all sorts, rare materials, priceless paintings, and jewels… Even without intentionally collecting them, he had amassed an enormous trove.
He and Perenelle have no children, but many friends. Flamel also has deep connections with several magical schools, especially Beauxbatons, which was his alma mater.
Thus, most of the items being sorted were to be gifted to Flamel's friends, some of whom were even magical creatures.
From the West to the East, from mountains to oceans—even in the Arctic—this wizard has friends, a fact that surprised even himself when he thought about it.
Some items were to be donated to magical schools, hospitals, or other institutions—and even to several Muggle universities and museums.
A portion Flamel wanted to leave to the house-elves who had cared for the couple for many years. Though not a large number of items, the gesture moved the house-elves so deeply they burst into tears on the floor.
"After I'm gone, I hope you can take them in," Flamel said, holding Wade's hand. "A house-elf without a master is even more pitiful than a stray dog on the streets. But I'd rather see them homeless than fall into the hands of some unscrupulous wizard who'd treat them like slaves."
"Milo and the others are sweet and capable house-elves. They even know a bit of alchemy. I'm sure they'll be of help to you."
"You have my word," Wade promised. "I'll take good care of them."
"Ah… I believe you," Flamel said with a gentle smile. "I heard you took in a house-elf and treated him like family. That's why I've decided to entrust Milo and the others to you."
"But… skip the wages and clothes, Wade—you'll scare them. Not every house-elf is full of the spirit of freedom and rebellion."
Some of the inheritance, Flamel planned to take with him to the grave—like that pipe Perenelle had given him.
This part of the inheritance had no real material value, but for Flamel, each piece held cherished memories. To him, they were priceless.
Wade finished packing the last box. A green quill flew over and swiftly wrote the recipient's name and address on it, then a house-elf placed it neatly on the shelf.
The walnut bookshelf, stretching all the way to the ceiling, was now filled with hundreds of similar boxes. They looked no larger than ordinary shoeboxes and felt just as light—as if they only contained a sweater.
Of course, these disposable magical boxes held far more inside than they appeared to. Some, if you simply tore off the sealing strip, could instantly fill an entire classroom with their contents.
Flamel had already contacted the Owl Post in advance. These boxes were to be mailed out at the designated time—after his passing.
As for the portion intended for Muggle friends and institutions, Wade had been in touch with a Muggle logistics company over the past few days. It took several trucks to transport all the parcels.
Bit by bit, the items dwindled. Rooms that were once brimming now looked noticeably empty. By the end, aside from the essential furniture, there was nothing extra left to be seen.
Of course, Flamel didn't keep Wade around just to help with the packing. During the process of sorting through the collections, Flamel, like spring rain nourishing the earth, shared with Wade various reflections on alchemy.
He never repeated what was already written in books. Instead, he spoke more about the creation process of alchemical items—comparing it to transforming a barren desert into an oasis.
Sometimes he would briefly touch on elemental transformation and transcendence, life-form transmutation, contemplations on time and space, and the mysteries of the universe.
"Wade, most of the seemingly miraculous alchemy is, in truth, not that different from enchanting a teacup to clean itself," Flamel once said casually during a break.
"The highest form of alchemy is the transmutation and unification of soul, spirit, and magic power."
"I don't understand, sir," Wade replied. "Do you mean… human transmutation?"
"No… You don't need to understand that..." Flamel seemed to have let something slip and quickly added, "Pursuing the knowledge of origins is extremely dangerous. Its answers lead only to destruction."
Wade nodded thoughtfully.
Flamel didn't leave Wade any gold, silver, or powerful alchemical artifacts. Aside from his collection of timepieces, he gifted Wade a single box of alchemical materials.
Of course, while it was just "one box," its magical storage capacity was naturally quite impressive.
"Child, material treasures can bring you misfortune. Knowledgeis the greatest treasure I can leave you." Flamel said gently, "Knowledge is freedom, and also a burden. It is the most wondrous form of alchemy."
"It can bring power and wealth, transmute ordinary stone into gold, and allow one to become the master of their own fate. Once possessed, no one can take it from you."
"But you must also understand the danger, Wade— I've seen many brilliant minds go mad. The more knowledge they had, the more like lunatics they became. They turned what they learned into the very tools of their own destruction."
He paused, let out a long, weary sigh, and then said, with fatigue in his voice:
"Wade, remember—never become Icarus."
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