After their whirlwind tour of Stockholm, Wyzett and his companions boarded a magical boat arranged by their guide, setting off toward the island of Midgard.
Somewhere along the journey, a strange cloud drifted overhead, veiling the bright sunlight and casting a dreamy shadow over the lake, as if a thin mist had settled all around them.
It was the most extraordinary cloud Wyzett had ever seen. Not only did it sprinkle delicate snowflakes, but it also released flickering ashes—now bright, now dim—that whirled together in the high winds above. The snow and ash mingled, transforming into a cascade of shimmering, multicolored dust.
These motes of light danced like fireflies, swirling in the air for a moment, forming a fleeting rainbow before gently drifting down and vanishing into the lake below.
Clearly, Xenophilius had done his homework for this trip. He pointed up at the fantastical sight and began to narrate:
"Long ago, Muggles called that ever-present cloud the 'World Tree.' The motes of light that fall from it—they called those the Rainbow Bridge."
"They believed that if you could catch the Rainbow Bridge, you'd reach 'Asgard' and earn the right to become a god. But gods? There's no such thing."
"It's just magic left behind by powerful wizards. The witches and wizards who settled here found the ancient ruins, thought the magic was beautiful, and kept it alive ever since."
Wyzett reached out, trying to catch one of the glowing specks. It passed right through his hand, drifting into the lake and disappearing without a trace.
A sudden thought struck him: to ancient Muggles, the magic of wizards must have seemed like the miracles of gods. Wizards like Dumbledore could shroud an entire city in mist—wasn't that, in its own way, divine?
Despite the dimness, the drifting motes gave everything a dreamlike, enchanted glow. Having just left the bustling modern city behind, the contrast was all the more striking.
The boat rocked gently, almost as if on purpose, letting them soak in every detail of this magical landscape.
As Wyzett gazed across the water, he spotted a solitary, blurred figure standing atop the distant lake.
It was a woman, draped in somber black robes, a pointed hat tilted low to hide most of her face. From the pale skin of her cheeks, he could tell she was elderly.
She held a bouquet of white lilies, her head bowed as if in mourning.
With a silent gesture, she released the lilies, watching as they floated and slowly sank beneath the lake's surface.
After a moment, as if sensing Wyzett's gaze, the woman lifted her head.
Just as he'd guessed, her face was lined with age.
Their eyes met across the drifting lights, and the woman gave a small, dignified nod.
Suddenly, a swirl of white mist billowed up, cloaking her form. When it faded, she was gone—leaving not so much as a ripple on the lake, only the motes of light sinking into the water.
Had Wyzett seen such a vision in his previous life, he'd have thought he'd seen a ghost—an old woman standing on the water, vanishing in a swirl of mist.
Luna noticed his distraction and leaned in, whispering, "Are you all right?"
"I thought I saw something…" Wyzett rubbed his eyes, "but it disappeared in an instant."
"Maybe you've been bothered by Wrackspurts?" Luna suggested, waving her hands beside his ears. "There, is that better?"
Seeing her earnest concern, Wyzett smiled and nodded. "Much better now."
...
The boat soon reached the island's shore.
Dense forests blanketed the land, with rolling hills and crumbling ruins peeking through the trees.
Even though powerful Muggle-Repelling Charms had been cast here, the wizards had added extra illusion spells—just in case.
"Finite Incantatem!" the guide declared, drawing his wand and tapping the air three times.
A faint white light shimmered from his wand tip as he seemed to part invisible curtains, peeling back the outer illusion to reveal the wizarding village within.
Time felt frozen here. The village clung to a medieval style, with a cobblestone path and stone houses stacked high and crooked—reminiscent of the Weasleys' Burrow, yet solid and steadfast.
But the centerpiece was a towering tent in the village square, its surface striped in brilliant red, yellow, and blue.
At the tent's entrance stood a grand archway, festooned with fluttering, colorful flags and glowing orbs of light that flickered merrily in the air.
Above it all hung a dazzling sign: Fantastic Circus.
Just then, a shark's head suddenly popped up in front of Wyzett.
It spoke in a muffled, menacing tone: "If you're in... interested in the cir... circus, you really must come... come and see!"
Wyzett instinctively took a step back, wand in hand.
"Cough, cough... Sorry, I'm just a... a Maledictus." The shark head vanished, replaced by a short man in heavy clown makeup.
His painted face and comical outfit, combined with his squat stature, made him look utterly absurd. Even his walk was a wobbly shuffle, as if he hadn't quite mastered using two feet.
"Here, as my apol... apology." The clown opened his palm to reveal a tiny shark figurine—adorable and lifelike.
He tossed it lightly, and the toy floated up, swimming through the air in lazy circles around Wyzett.
Hearing the familiar stammer, Wyzett felt a bit sheepish. "Sorry for overreacting. Thank you for the gift."
"It's the least I... I can do." The clown stuttered on, pressing a flyer into Wyzett's hands.
"We'll be here for... for two more days. The last show will be... especially spectacular—and free! Hope you can make it!"
The flyer's moving images displayed all sorts of magical circus acts, the highlight being a shark performance.
The star performer was clearly the clown before him—he'd transform into a giant shark and soar through the air, putting on a show unlike anything Wyzett had ever seen.
He'd never watched a circus performance live, and now he was genuinely intrigued.
Luna and the others felt the same—they planned to explore the village for two days, then catch the grand finale.
After tucking away the flyer, their guide led them to the local inn. When the innkeeper stepped out to greet them, Wyzett's eyes widened in shock.
It was the elderly woman he'd seen on the lake.
She smiled gently at Wyzett and spoke in a soft, welcoming voice, "Welcome to Midgard. I'm the proprietor of this inn—Annie Salu."
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