Sylas sat quietly beneath the ancient elm, poring over a worn page in. He studied the theory behind the Patronus Charm with intense focus, carefully committing the incantation and principles to mory.
Once he felt confident, he stood, raised his wand, and whispered, "Expecto Patronum!"
He concentrated, summoning every happy mory he could grasp, monts from his life in this world and the one before it. A swirl of silvery mist burst from the tip of his wand, but it faded quickly into the air, too weak to take shape. A shadow of doubt flickered across his expression, but only briefly.
Unfazed, Sylas steadied himself and tried again.
"Expecto Patronum!"
This ti, more mist poured forth, thick and radiant, gathering like a glowing cocoon of moonlight around him. It pulsed with magic, as though sothing within was trying to break free. But the form failed to coalesce, and Sylas lowered his wand with a puzzled sigh.
"I've recalled every joyful mory I have... What am I missing?"
He stared down at the silver wisp lingering in the air, deep in thought.
Then it struck him. The na, Patronus. It didn't simply an mory. It ant protector.
The spell wasn't just fueled by happiness. It required sothing more: a fierce, unyielding will to protect. That detail hadn't been spelled out in the book. It was sothing he had to feel.
Eyes narrowing with renewed clarity, Sylas lifted his wand once more.
"Expecto Patronum!"
This ti, the happy mories surged stronger: peaceful walks beneath the golden trees of Lothlórien, laughter shared with Bilbo, Gandalf's warm chuckle, the weight of his wand in hand as he first arrived in Middle-earth.
Then ca sothing more, deeper. The image of his companions in danger. The dread of the road ahead. The burning desire to keep them safe.
A wave of magic erupted from him like a crashing tide.
The mist no longer wavered. It poured out with force, filling the clearing with radiant silver light. The mist swirled and rose, then condensed, feathers forming from light, wings unfurling.
A great silvery-white owl soared into the air, elegant and powerful. It flew a graceful circle around Sylas, leaving behind a sense of peace and comfort that swept over him like a soft wind.
He blinked in awe. "An owl?"
The creature descended and perched gently on his outstretched arm. It had no weight, no warmth, just shimring light and magic. Yet it felt alive. Its large luminous eyes blinked once, and it nuzzled affectionately against his cheek.
Sylas smiled, his heart full.
"What a wondrous piece of magic," said a voice behind him.
He turned.
Two Elves had erged from the woods. They were tall and graceful, dressed in travel-worn robes, and bore such resemblance to each other that only the colors of their circlets, one gold, the other silver, offered any distinction.
Their dark hair shimred in the filtered light, and their bright gray eyes were fixed on the owl Patronus with astonishnt and admiration.
"Stranger from afar," said the one in the golden circlet, his voice warm and lodic. "We are the sons of Elrond."
"I am Elrohir," he added with a respectful nod.
"This is my brother, Elladan."
Elladan, wearing a silver circlet that glead softly in the dappled light, gave Sylas a courteous nod, his movents smooth and graceful like flowing water.
So these are the twin sons of Elrond... the only known elven twins in all of Middle-earth? Sylas hadn't expected to et them so soon, and he respectfully returned the gesture.
"Greetings to you both. I am Sylas."
"We have heard much of your exploits, Black-Robed Wizard Sylas," said Elrohir, the twin with the golden circlet, his tone light but sincere. "Your na is known across the wilds. The Huorn's Tree-Feller. The Bane of the Corpse Demon of Guzharn. The Trollslayer. The Scourge of Orcs. And the one who rebuilt Amon Sûl in a single night, after centuries of ruin."
"Such feats echo even in Elven lands."
Sylas chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Those tales sound a bit embellished."
"There is no need for modesty," Elrohir replied with a faint smile, his piercing blue eyes studying Sylas closely. "I can sense the truth behind the words. Deeds of that nature are not easily fabricated."
Sylas was quietly impressed. 'So this is the insight of Elrond's children. They really do see through people like sunlight through leaves.'
Beside him, Elladan stepped forward, his gaze fixed not on Sylas himself, but on the slender wand he held.
"Wizard Sylas, the stick in your hand... it differs from the staffs used by Gandalf and the other Istari. Might I ask, what is it?"
"This? It's called a wand," Sylas explained, offering it out for Elladan to see. "Unlike a wizard's staff, which channels large-scale power, a wand focuses the user's magic into precise, refined spells."
As Sylas handed the wand to Elladan, a thought struck him.
'Could an Elf actually use a wand?'
From everything he had learned, Elves were a deeply magical race, but their magic was rarely channeled like a human's. Instead, it was woven into the fabric of things: in the forging of enchanted blades like Glamdring and Sting, or in the creation of the legendary Rings of Power. True spellcasters among them, such as Galadriel or Elrond, were rare, ancient beings with vast experience and wisdom.
Most Elves, by contrast, expressed magic through deep connection to nature, heightened senses, and martial grace.
But still, Sylas couldn't help but wonder.
With curiosity gleaming in his eyes, he gently handed the wand to Elladan and said, "Try this. It's a simple incantation: Lumos. Focus on the intention, to summon light, and speak the word."
Elladan nodded, holding the wand delicately between his long fingers.
He closed his eyes briefly, whispered, "Lumos," and gave a practiced flick of the wrist.
A soft glow sparked at the tip.
It flickered like a candle fla, small, uncertain, but it was light nonetheless.
The three of them stared at it in stunned silence.
"I... I did it?" Elladan murmured in disbelief.
...
Stones plZzz
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