As Bilbo scurried back into the kitchen, Sylas let out a quiet breath of relief. Once alone, his eyes turned back toward the glowing message floating midair, his expression growing serious.
"Hogwarts Sign-In System?" he muttered. "What does that have to do with Middle-earth? If this is Hogwarts magic, shouldn't I have ended up in the wizarding world? How did I end up here?"
He frowned deeply, the confusion in his heart thickening.
"Did I transmigrate to the wrong place?"
Nothing about this made sense.
He stared at the glowing prompt, trying to make sense of its presence in a world of Hobbits, Elves, and ancient Rings. Then, with no better option, he tried speaking to it directly.
"System… what exactly is your purpose?"
No answer came. The text remained still, pulsing gently as it hovered in the air, as if patiently waiting for him to respond.
After a few more moments of silence, Sylas hesitated, then spoke the words aloud.
"Sign in?"
The floating text flickered. The original prompt vanished, replaced by a new message written in bright golden letters:
[Sign-In Successful! Magic talent unlocked. Congratulations. You are now a Wizard!]
Suddenly, Sylas felt something surge within him, as if a gate buried deep inside his body had been flung open.
A powerful force, warm and bright, rushed from his core and spread through his limbs. His bones tingled. His breath caught.
He felt something crack inside, a barrier broken, an awakening.
And then, magic erupted from him.
The table, chairs, teapots, plates, and even Bilbo's woven slippers lifted off the ground. Everything in the room floated gently, caught in an unseen current.
Sylas himself felt weightless, suspended in place.
A sharp gasp came from the kitchen doorway.
"Oh my goodness!"
Bilbo stood frozen, staring in wide-eyed shock as spoons danced in the air and sofa cushions hovered gently. The plate he was holding dropped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
As if startled by the sudden noise, the levitating objects trembled and then collapsed all at once. With a series of thuds and clatters, the entire room came crashing down.
Sylas blinked, finally regaining control. His face flushed as he looked at the chaos around him.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Baggins," he blurted. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I swear, it was an accident."
Bilbo, still breathless, didn't seem angry. Instead, his expression slowly shifted from astonishment to admiration.
"Mr. Sylas," he said in awe, "you're actually a wizard."
"That was incredible."
Sylas scratched his head sheepishly. "I didn't expect it either, to be honest."
The rest of the afternoon was spent cleaning up the wreckage.
Though Sylas was now technically a wizard, he had no idea how to use his powers properly. He couldn't control a single spell, so he had no choice but to help clean the mess the old-fashioned way, on hands and knees beside Bilbo.
Once the room was back in order, Bilbo set out two more plates and brought a simple meal to the table.
As they sat down, Bilbo looked a little embarrassed.
"Sorry, Mr. Sylas. I wasn't expecting guests today, so I didn't have much prepared. But I promise, first thing tomorrow, I'll head to Hobbiton and gather everything I need. I'll cook you a proper Shire-style feast."
Seeing the Hobbit's sincerity and slight nervousness, Sylas smiled warmly and shook his head.
"Bilbo, I can call you that, right? You don't need to be so formal. Just call me Sylas. You've already done more for me than I could ask. Honestly, I'd be honored to call you a friend."
Feeling Sylas's sincere attitude, Bilbo finally relaxed. A warm smile lit up his face.
The kind-hearted Hobbit had never been one to hold back when it came to friendship, and he happily accepted Sylas's offer of companionship.
He extended a hand, beaming.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sylas, my friend."
Sylas smiled brightly and reached out to shake his hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Bilbo, my friend."
The atmosphere in Bag End became cozy and welcoming. The fire crackled gently, and the flickering lamplight cast golden shadows across the curved walls.
Curious, Sylas asked Bilbo about the Shire and what lay beyond its borders.
Though Bilbo had never left the Shire himself, he answered every question with enthusiasm. A lover of books and travel tales, he had read many adventure journals and could recall maps and legends with surprising clarity.
He told Sylas that heading east from the Shire led to the Brandywine Bridge, followed by the mysterious Old Forest, then the haunted Barrow-downs, and eventually the human town of Bree. Beyond Bree lay the wild lands and the Misty Mountains.
Bilbo also mentioned that from Bree, one could travel south on the North-South Road that skirted the Misty Mountains and eventually reached the southern kingdom of Gondor.
And then he added something that made Sylas sit up straighter.
The current year was Shire Reckoning 1340, which meant it was the year 2940 of the Third Age in Middle-earth.
That was just one year before Bilbo's famous adventure to the Lonely Mountain with Thorin Oakenshield and his company.
This meant Bilbo would soon leave on a legendary journey that would take him through forests, mountains, Elven lands, and dragon-guarded treasure.
Before becoming a wizard, Sylas had only thought about living cautiously and surviving in this strange world.
But now, with the Hogwarts Sign-In System, he began to wonder. Should he join the Lonely Mountain expedition?
The journey would pass through many places, and those might serve as key locations where he could activate the system and grow stronger. It seemed like an ideal path.
That night, after bidding Bilbo goodnight, Sylas lay on a small bed that was clearly not meant for someone his size. The blanket barely reached his knees.
Thankfully, it was midsummer. He wasn't cold, just a little cramped.
Moonlight streamed through the round window and mingled with the soft candlelight in the room. Outside, crickets chirped and frogs croaked. Slowly, his anxious thoughts faded, replaced by a strange peace.
He had been thrown into a world both foreign and familiar.
He didn't know why he had come here, but he had made up his mind.
He would survive. He would grow stronger. He would live well.
Letting go of the day's thoughts, Sylas closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, and before long, he drifted into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Sylas woke early.
He could hear faint snoring from Bilbo's room. Trying not to wake him, Sylas ducked carefully under the low beams, crept into the living room, and opened the round green door to step outside.
Cool air greeted him, laced with the scent of blooming flowers.
He stretched his back and shoulders. Living in a hobbit-hole might have been charming, but bending over all the time was torture on his spine. If he stayed much longer, he was afraid he might actually get a crooked neck.
Bag End sat atop a gentle hill. From its garden, all of Hobbiton stretched out below like a picture-book village.
The grass was lush and green. The flowers were in full bloom. Even the trees seemed smaller and friendlier, as if the land itself had adapted to its Hobbit caretakers.
Sylas took in the peaceful beauty with a smile. For a brief moment, he even considered settling here permanently.
But soon his thoughts returned to his new reality.
He was now a wizard in name, but he had no wand. No spellbook. No knowledge of magic.
In practical terms, he wasn't much stronger than an ordinary person.
Sure, he had memorized dozens of spells as a Harry Potter fan—Wingardium Leviosa, Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, even Avada Kedavra.
But he knew better than to think chanting a few Latin words would make something happen. Real magic, as he had read, required understanding magical theory, combining it with focus, wand movement, and intention.
Still, he wasn't ready to give up.
He believed that with willpower alone, even without a wand, he could make something happen.
Hadn't Harry Potter made the glass at the zoo vanish before he even knew he was a wizard? Hadn't Neville Longbottom bounced down a street like a ball when he was thought to be a Squib?
Those incidents had been uncontrolled, instinctive reactions. But if magic could awaken like that, maybe it could be trained too.
Sylas fixed his gaze on a small stone in the garden.
He narrowed his eyes and focused.
'Move,' he thought. 'Rise.'
He furrowed his brow, poured his will into the thought.
Nothing happened.
He tried harder. His cheeks turned red from the effort.
Still nothing.
Sighing, he gave up on the stone and chose something lighter—a leaf.
At first, the leaf didn't move either.
But as he steadied his breathing and focused again, something began to change.
The leaf quivered.
Then, slowly, gently, it rose into the air.
It floated upward, swaying in place, dancing slightly in a breeze that wasn't there.