"Frodo, try to pick up the Ring, but be careful not to let it charm you," Gandalf warned.
Of everyone present, only Tom Bombadil and Bilbo could hold the One Ring without falling under its influence. Since Tom could not leave the Old Forest, the task fell to Frodo alone.
Though wary, Frodo reached into the silver box and lifted the Ring into his palm.
Gandalf watched his expression closely.
"How do you feel?"
Frodo stared at the Ring, unable to tear his eyes from it.
"I… I'm not sure how to describe it. There's a voice in my heart telling me to hide it and keep it for myself. But… I can still resist it. As long as I ignore that voice, it can't do much."
Gandalf exhaled softly, relieved, but his tone remained grave.
"You must be vigilant. If you let the Ring's whisper take hold, you will be corrupted, and it will turn you into its puppet."
Frodo swallowed and nodded solemnly.
"I'll be extremely careful."
Sylas added gently, "The Ring's charm grows stronger over time.
Even if Frodo can resist it now, prolonged contact will erode anyone's will. Tom's silver box can weaken its influence, so let's put it back in the container."
He then handed Frodo a thick leather pouch.
"This is a dragonhide space bag. It repels magic and contains multiple dimensional pockets. You can store the Ring's box inside, it will help suppress its aura."
Frodo reluctantly placed the Ring back into the silver box, then tucked the box inside the dragonhide pouch.
Even through the enchanted leather, they could feel the faintest whisper, but far weaker than before.
All three sighed in relief.
For Frodo especially, the Ring's voice faded instantly. The longing, the subtle pull, all of it vanished.
With the Ring secured, Sylas, Gandalf, and Frodo did not linger. After bidding farewell to Tom and Goldberry, they stepped toward the fireplace to return to Hogwarts.
Frodo entered first.
"Hogwarts!"
He threw down a handful of Floo powder, and emerald flames flared upward, ready to carry him away.
But in that instant, the One Ring, even sealed within layers of containment, sensed danger. A pulse of invisible, dark power erupted, seeping through box and dragonhide alike. It struck the Floo Network itself, disrupting the stability of the spatial channel.
The green flames stuttered, lagged, twisting violently as the transmission path spiraled out of control.
"Not good!" Sylas shouted. He and Gandalf lunged forward to stop the transfer.
Too late.
The Floo flames swallowed Frodo whole and shot upward. Before Sylas could react, Frodo vanished into the fireplace wall.
Sylas's face darkened.
"What happened? Sylas?"
Sylas clenched his jaw.
"When Frodo began teleporting, a burst of power erupted from the bag, shattering the Floo Network's spatial stability. I couldn't stop it. Frodo could be anywhere."
The moment Sylas mentioned the surge of power, Gandalf's eyes widened.
"It was the Ring…"
His voice turned grim.
"The One Ring holds a portion of Sauron's own soul and power. It has a will of its own, and it has been trying to return to its master. When you took it from the cave, it panicked and lost its chance. Since then, it's been waiting… watching. It must have sensed danger just now and used the Floo Network's weakness to break free of our influence, trying to drag Frodo toward Mordor."
Gandalf's expression tightened.
"I don't know where Frodo has been sent. We must find him quickly, before the Ring leads him into Sauron's grasp."
Sylas was just as worried as Gandalf.
The Floo Network had malfunctioned, and Frodo could have been thrown anywhere. If he had been sent into danger, or someplace deadly, things could become disastrous very quickly.
"I'll check the map first," Sylas said, already pulling out a parchment covered with glowing runes. "If he landed anywhere within my domain, the map will show his location."
The Marauder's Map displayed every living presence inside Sylas's lands. If Frodo had appeared anywhere within its boundaries, they could find him instantly.
Sylas prayed silently that Frodo was within its reach… because if not, he could have been blasted across the world, north, south, east, or west, and searching for him would take precious time.
But before Sylas could even activate the map, Tom Bombadil suddenly tilted his head and spoke:
"No need to check, Sylas," Tom said calmly. "The western wind already told me. The hobbit you're looking for is in the Old Forest."
Sylas and Gandalf both froze.
"Frodo is in the Old Forest?!"
Tom nodded, then frowned with concern.
"But you must hurry. That little fellow is carrying a very angry piece of evil. The trees have sensed it. They're attacking him."
Sylas's heart clenched.
"What's his exact location?"
Tom pointed downstream.
"At the lower reaches of the Withywindle, near Old Man Willow. You should remember that place."
That was all Sylas needed.
He seized Gandalf's arm, and vanished, teleporting at once toward Frodo's location.
Downstream, Along the Withywindle
A crooked, ancient willow loomed by the riverbank, Old Man Willow, its enormous trunk bent like a hunched giant. Its branches swayed despite the still air, and a low, almost imperceptible humming filled the clearing, a hypnotic enchantment leaking into the forest.
Frodo stumbled into the clearing, dazed and disoriented. He had no idea how he'd arrived here, not at first, but the moment he sensed the hostile atmosphere of the forest, the truth struck him.
Every tree felt alive, watching him, studying him, with malice thick in the air. His skin crawled.
He drew the dagger Sylas had gifted him and scanned the forest.
Nothing moved. No birds sang. No animals stirred.
Only rows and rows of ancient trees… and thousands of silent eyes.
Frodo's breath tightened. His instincts screamed that the stares came not from hidden creatures, but from the trees themselves.
Buckland's stories flooded back to him.
He had grown up hearing the tales of the Old Forest, trees with strange awareness, bitterness, and violence. Long before he was born, the forest had attacked Buckland itself.
And now he stood at its heart.
He gripped his dagger tighter, praying Sylas and Gandalf would arrive soon.
But the trees did not give him time.
Branches whipped downward, trying to crush him. Roots shot from the ground, twisting toward his ankles. Frodo barely managed to dodge, small size suddenly a blessing, as he parried and leapt through gaps.
The protective brooch-pin Sylas had given him flared to life, conjuring a glowing shield that blocked the worst of the strikes.
Seizing the opportunity, Frodo sprinted across the clearing, straight toward the hollow beneath Old Willow.
Unfortunately, his luck was mixed.
He escaped the attacking trees… only to run into something far worse.
Old Willow's humming intensified. A wave of sleepiness washed over him. Even the enchanted chest-pin couldn't fully shield him.
Frodo's eyes glazed. His steps slowed.
Drawn by the enchantment, he drifted toward the great tree's gaping hollow, ready to step straight into its waiting maw.
Just as he was about to vanish into the tree;
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Sylas appeared in a flash.
A surge of magic shot from his wand, slamming into Old Willow. The ancient tree froze, its branches stiffening, its hum shattering as the enchantment broke.
Frodo staggered as clarity returned.