Chapter 110: Are You Trustworthy?

“Your future is—Death, and its associated meaning is ending,” Triloni said.

Shivan stared at the card’s image of a skeleton riding a white horse, furrowing his brow.

“So what does this card signify?” Shivan asked, puzzled. “Does it mean that everyone ultimately reaches the end of life?”

Triloni cast him a cool glance, then pursed her lips and explained, “In Tarot, Death does not strictly symbolize death or finality. It can also represent a new phase.”

“After the old world is destroyed, new life emerges, vibrant and ready to embrace what comes next. Though ‘Death’ brings endings, it also offers hope for rebuilding. Only through destruction can there be space for creation,” Triloni said.

Shivan pondered her words carefully but found her explanation somewhat lacking in practical value.

She spoke, yet did not fully reveal the truth...

“I feel like every card’s interpretation is as if it’s not interpreted at all—neither good nor bad, ambiguous,” Shivan doubted. “So, is your Tarot reading really accurate?”

“Tarot cards have upright and reversed positions, each indicating different circumstances. That’s not something I can decide,” Triloni shook her head. “Moreover, given your unique nature, I cannot be certain if my reading is precise.”

Shivan was at a loss for words. He had been quite nervous seeing the Resurrection and Cycle cards earlier, only to realize the reading offered no concrete guidance.

One could only say, fortune-tellers are truly masters of deception!

...

As the train’s whistle blew, it slowly pulled away from the platform.

Shivan lost interest in the Tarot reading and leaned back against the leather seat, opening Miranda’s *Book of Spells*.

This book was also a Christmas gift from Miranda. It came with advanced spell-searching enchantments that could accurately locate any spell within the text—a truly sophisticated tool!

Just as Shivan immersed himself in the book, a knock came at the compartment door.

“Routine carriage inspection!” a magnetic female voice called.

Soon after, a senior witch pushed the door open. She had long gray hair, striking blue eyes, and wore delicate metal-framed glasses.

“Miranda?” Shivan blinked, surprised to see the Ravenclaw witch with the prefect badge.

Then he noticed Miranda’s fresh new outfit and smiled warmly.

“Those new glasses suit you far better than the old black frames!” Shivan waved at her.

Miranda returned his smile, saying, “Thank you for the Christmas gift—I really like it!”

Then, hesitating, she asked, “By the way, how come the payment for my manuscript was so generous? You didn’t secretly manipulate anything, did you?”

“That’s handled by Steward Stott at our family’s Diagon Alley bookstore. I only handed him your draft,” Shivan said with ease. “Rest assured, Stott would never let our family lose money.”

“I suppose it’s because the sales are exceptional. After all, your *Book of Spells* might be the most comprehensive spellbook in the wizarding world right now!” Shivan chuckled.

Of course, Shivan did not mention that he had a hand in Miranda’s royalties. When Millie delivered the book to the bookstore for publication, Shivan had slipped Stott a parchment requesting the highest payment for Miranda.

Now, Shivan happily noticed Miranda had replaced her old, worn robes with a brand-new set.

Hearing Shivan’s explanation, Miranda relaxed and smiled, saying, “Well, I won’t say more. Just let me know if you ever need anything!”

“It’s nothing,” Shivan waved the “original author’s handwritten *Book of Spells*” in his hand, smiling. “Actually, your notes might have helped me even more.”

“Then let’s call it a mutually beneficial arrangement!” Miranda smiled, shook her head, and said goodbye. “I have to check other compartments. We’ll talk more when I have time!”

Shivan watched her leave the compartment, then sank back beside the window to continue reading.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t choose to read right now,” Triloni suddenly said from the opposite seat, her tone cool and detached.

“Why not?” Shivan looked up at her, puzzled.

Triloni nodded toward the compartment door with her chin, expressionless as if nothing could capture her attention.

Sure enough, not long after, the door swung open, revealing Abraxas with his platinum shoulder-length hair.

“Shivan, you have no idea what I’ve been through this holiday! Let me tell you...” Abraxas immediately launched into a long-winded tale about his family’s trip to France.

‘Count yourselves lucky you didn’t run into Grindelwald in France...’ Shivan thought bitterly, sighing as he realized he wouldn’t be able to read on the train after all.

...

Meanwhile, to test Triloni’s sensitivity to souls, the ghostly Shivan, who had drifted from the Hall of Ghosts to the main tower, was approached by an unexpected visitor.

“Mr. Strange, could you come to the Transfiguration professor’s office? I need your help,” said a silver-white phoenix, flapping its wings before ghostly Shivan, its voice unmistakably that of Dumbledore.

Shivan hesitated briefly, then nodded and followed the phoenix guardian up to the third floor to Dumbledore’s office.

Inside, Dumbledore sat leisurely behind his desk, awaiting ghostly Shivan’s arrival.

As Shivan floated up through the floor behind the guardian, Dumbledore smiled warmly.

“I have little experience entertaining ghosts, so please forgive any shortcomings,” he said kindly.

“That’s quite alright, Professor Dumbledore,” Shivan waved dismissively. “Is there something you needed?”

Dumbledore’s expression grew serious as he fixed a steady gaze on ghostly Shivan, making him feel suddenly uneasy, wondering if he had somehow been exposed.

Then Dumbledore spoke.

“Mr. Strange, forgive my boldness, but I must first confirm something…”

“Are you to be trusted?” he asked softly, his deep eyes locking onto Shivan.

...

...