Chapter 471: A New Day
"It is strange that a wizard's mouth refuses to speak." The black cat leaped
onto the tabletop.
"What do you think it should say?" Leta asked with a light laugh.
"It should say the things that were left unsaid."
In the blink of an eye, the cat vanished. Leta watched it pass through the
wooden door and leap toward the fireplace, feeling an inexplicable sense of
loss.
When she lingered in the kitchen, cradling a steaming pumpkin pie near the
cupboards, the black cat reappeared. The snow outside had fallen into a heavy
silence, and a pale pink halo blurred the edges of the dream. The cat looked
like a messenger of the night, bringing the dusk with it.
The cat's tail swayed, and she suddenly noticed the ground beneath her feet
shifting. It was the cat's magic, yet she knew that magic was a precious and
rare thing in the Lands Between. Rarely did any wizard carry their magic into
this realm.
But she was being sent away. In this dusk, she felt as if she were stepping into
a night sea, where someone had invited her to salvage the lost stars.
"I have never hated you, Leta." Newt was speaking. Getting those few words out
seemed to cost him every ounce of his strength. "I did it willingly. Whatever
concerns you held, I forgave you long ago. You should know that I have always
forgiven you, without reservation."
Reality could be a dream that required constant caution, but a dream was a
reality where one could finally let their guard down. The black cat had merely
articulated Leta's state of mind to Newt, and the silent Mr. Scamander had
finally found the clarity to voice what had been hidden in his heart.
"Why, Newt? If you don't hate me, why do you still comfort me?" Leta felt lost
for the first time.
"Because nothing saddens me more than your unhappiness," Newt said.
Neither of them spoke again. The cat could only hear the sound of the snow
falling softly outside the cabin.
"I have missed you, Leta." Newt finally said. It was the last thing a man so
unaccustomed to words would ever say.
Outside, the mist grew dense—so thick that Newt could no longer see the face
before him, so thick that he was forced to look directly ahead. He could no
longer hide.
Newt heard the floorboards creaking, as if something was running toward him; he
heard the sound growing denser, closer; Newt froze. Something pressed against
him—bearing a warm, gentle body heat and a rich, rose-like fragrance. Something
cool dripped onto his neck, tickling him, a sensation that strangely reminded
him of the ice outside that would never thaw.
"Thank you." He heard someone whisper.
He strained to hear clearly, desperate to etch this moment into his memory
forever. But it was too late; the Lands Between did not welcome visitors from
the outside. Newt bowed his head, and in those final moments, he let the
accumulated weight of the years turn into droplets that fell to the floor.
He snapped his eyes open. The cabin was still the same cabin. The three Kneazles
had become one, its black fur dusted with white snow, a stone-like object
emitting a faint glow against its chest. It had forcibly pushed back the mist.
Inside the cabin, the two reunited souls held one another for the first time in
nearly a century. When they finally parted, they knew that nothing could ever
separate them again. The Lands Between held both dusk and dawn, yet it was never
a place of total darkness; it remained a white expanse, forever churning with
mist.
"We shall meet again in a place where there is no darkness," Leta said.
And so, the world inverted once more. A wizard lost in a dream must eventually
return to reality.
Dorset.
Aged Newt stared blankly at the faint brightening of the horizon. Something had
leaped from the depths of his heart; at times it was like a curled-up little
snake casting magic in the deep snow, at others like a gentle dove cooing
against a white windowpane.
He picked up a manuscript from his desk. The pages were filled with drawings of
a black cat. He decided to name this work Dreams and Gods, and he knew,
inevitably and uncontrollably, that perfecting this book would be the final,
most important task of his life.
"The black cat that traverses the boundary between life and death, the master of
dreams that appears and vanishes in the mist... I have always believed it
watches over the wishes of wizards in the dark. Perhaps it does not know, yet it
always brings good luck to those it visits... Ancient wizarding legends are not
entirely false, and the source of all dream tales points, in the end, to a
talking black cat. And those things shuttered away by the daylight shall, in the
end, be brought to us by the Dream Cat."
Newt wrote his preface, turning his head to see that it was drizzling in
Scotland. From a light sprinkle to a downpour, it struck the earth, touched the
soil, and waited until the morning sun rose to return to the heavens. It had a
brief, secret tryst with the earth.
Though the sun would always rise, the night was long enough.
The Lands Between.
Only the black cat and the beautiful witch remained. The mist would drive away
guests, but it was not so quick to drive away its master. The black cat could
always stay a little longer than its invited guests. As it had said—this was its
dream.
Yet, the black cat could not control when the dream would fade. Just now, a
thread of mist had abruptly thickened, and it was inexplicably held back.
Leta felt no sense of loss. Accompanied by the sound of the snow outside, she
busied herself tidying the broken cabinet. She repaired the wooden door and
discarded the shattered bowls. Occasionally, she glanced at the wooden table to
see the cat wrestling with a pumpkin pie in the glow of the hearth. Its white
whiskers were stained with sweet pumpkin juice, and it moved its paws as if
directing a band of cutlery.
She smiled radiantly, looking like the pure Gabriel flowers outside. She brushed
the crumbs from the black cat and let it settle on her shoulder. On this bright
day, she laid down every burden.
She burned away her regret, and so her dream became transparent. She cast aside
the "yesterdays," and so her footsteps became light. She moved through the
garden, busily pruning branches amidst the blooming Gabriel flowers.
Hummingbirds perched upon the honeysuckle.
There was nothing in this world she wished to possess. She knew there was no one
she needed to envy. Any misfortune she had ever suffered, she had forgotten. It
did not embarrass her to think that she of the past and she of the present were
one and the same.
The pain had, for the most part, vanished from her. Straightening her back, she
gazed out at the blue sea and the shadows of sails. On her shoulder, the cat
seemed to have fallen asleep; after finishing the pie, it appeared quite drowsy.
Leta knew that suppressing the mist had cost the Messenger of Luck a fair bit of
strength.
And so, amidst the mundane trivialities of daily life, she suddenly touched upon
a fragment of eternity and happiness. She slept with unusual peace that night.
After all, tomorrow would be a new day.
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