furball

The muted grays of dusk have claimed the forest by the time you’ve reached the abandoned healing spire you call home, arms weighed down by your bundles of herbs. The trek back from the depths of the woods hadn’t been far, but the journey was made tiring by the constant sense that something was hovering just out of sight in the trees.

You could have sworn you’d caught the slightest glimpse of a black ribbon, the glint of golden spectacles in the dying light.

You must really be beginning to lose your grip on reality. In the handful of weeks since you’d last seen him, your mind had stayed fixated on Qifrey. The pained look on his face after the two of you kissed had seared itself into your memory. You saw him, scowling and tear-streaked, in every gloomy corner of the spire and every foggy shadow of the forest.

Staying away from him felt like withdrawal; longing gnawing at the base of your skull. But you had managed to fend off the urge to seek him out. There was a precious truth in your mind that kept your resolve solid. It wouldn’t be fair to him. And so, time crept forward, towing you along despite the way your heart ached with the growing distance.

But tonight there is work to be done, a blessing to someone so apt to wallow in their own misery. You tug off your heavy cloak once you’ve entered your little gothic home and make your way into the workshop to begin stringing up the herbs to dry.

Your hands are stiff and slow with the twine, sore from a day of yanking stubborn plants from the earth. You don’t make it very far into your collection before you need to stop; fishing in your bag for your palm quire. You’ll just take a moment to warm your hands to soothe their aching. You flip through the pages until you find the spell; dip your pen into the ink and make to close the ring, only to flinch your pen straight through the spells center when you hear someone pounding on the door of the spire.

“Who the hell would be wandering this deep into the woods this late?” You grumble bitterly as you crumple the ruined spell in your palm. You only pull the door open an inch or two before you realize who it is standing at the threshold of your home. He’s halted, arm still lifted to knock again, pointed cap sat crookedly atop his silver mop of hair.

“Qifrey?” The relief in your voice is humiliating. You’re not sure if this is real, or if you’ve finally utterly lost your mind.

“Mind if I come in?”

There’s a weariness in his voice that makes it impossible to turn him away, to do what you know is healthiest for you both and tell him to leave. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you pull open the door and watch him step cautiously across the threshold into your home.

“What are you…” The question fades midway through as you watch him shed his cap and cloak and make his way into your dining room. By the time you’ve shaken the fog from your brain and followed him, he’s seated at your table; slumped over the oak surface with his head in his hands and his glasses discarded.

“I didn’t know who else to come to.”

You sit across from him cautiously, as if he’s a fawn you might scare off if you make too much noise.

“What’s going on?” There’s a tension in his limbs that makes you hesitant to ask, it’s clearly desperation that’s brought him to you.

He heaves a defeated sigh, and then the explanation comes tumbling from his lips. When he finishes, you’re left dizzied by the story and immediately overwhelmed with the task he’s requested of you.

“So this boy, Euini, was forcibly given a forbidden transformation seal tattoo by a brimmed cap wielding an empty cloak as a body.” You scrub at your tired eyes as you recount the key points. “The girls managed to retrieve from said brimmed cap an amulet etched with a counter-spell, but you want me to try and find a more permanent solution for the boy.” A recreation of the seal, meticulously redrawn in what could only be Alaira’s hand, sits on the table between you.

Qifrey looks more forlorn with every word you utter. Now that you really take him in, it’s clear he didn’t escape this nightmare unscathed either. Each time he shifts, you see the ghost of a wince flicker across his features.

“I didn’t know who else to ask, Alaira is with him in hiding. I couldn’t bring myself to condemn him to lose his memories at the hands of the Knights Moralis.”

Of course. What other option did he have than to further break the pact in trying to save this child? Perhaps it was this one small mercy you could give him, to dirty your own hands in forbidden magic to save him some semblance of morality.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Relief floods Qifrey’s face, brief and unguarded. “I’ll need to reverse this counter-spell to try and determine what can be done to permanently disable the original spell. I’m guessing neither you nor Alaira was able to get a good look at the casting seal?” Qifrey shakes his head, and a weary sigh knocks loose from your chest. The night was going to be long.

──────•✦•──────

By the time you look up from your work, the windows of the spire are dark with the inky black of night. Qifrey’s face, absent of its usual hostility in sleep, is rested on his crossed arms across from you. It’s selfish to have chosen not to send him home to his atelier when you began working. It wasn’t as if you had no way to contact him with updates on the seal; you’d have no trouble finding him wherever he wandered to. But he had been quick to fall asleep as you worked, and it felt almost crueler to wake him just to shove him out of your home.

Feeling the delicate muscles of your hand begin to seize with the stress of your harsh grip on the pen, you decide you need caffeine to keep you running through the night and stand as quietly as you can to depart for the kitchen. You’re barely done brewing the water for coffee when you hear Qifrey wake, his drowsy grumbling reaching you in the next room.

“Do you want any coffee before you begin the trek back to the atelier?” A gentle push towards his departure disguised as courtesy.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you darling.”

The pet name feels like a relic dug out from beneath the years of scorn and distance, the sound of it causing your stomach to turn. Neither of you acknowledge his slipup, but you know from the weight of the silence that it wounded Qifrey just as deeply to have momentarily unearthed the affection he used to have for you. You finish pouring your cup of coffee, stirring in cream and sugar and trying not to succumb to the hollow feeling slowly expanding in your stomach.

“Why did you tell me?”

Qifrey is picking anxiously at his fingers as he stands in your little kitchen, staring so intently at you as you freeze with the mug of coffee you had been sipping from raised halfway to your lips. You hadn’t even heard him approach, his footfalls silent as a ghost.

“Why did I tell you?” You know what he’s asking, but the question still rattles around in your head without real meaning. How could you have lied? The silence is deafening, but you can’t form a response worth dislodging your heart from your throat to speak.

“You could have kept it from me; stayed in the atelier and kept our life together intact.”

“You know I couldn’t.” His blue eye is an ocean of anger and hurt, trained so intensely on your face that you’re afraid you might be drowning in it. “You know it would have been too dangerous for me to stay there and practice forbidden magic in the same space as your apprentices.”

“You would never have caused them any harm, that much I know about you.”

He’s so close to understanding that it briefly kindles that now familiar anger only Qifrey could evoke from you.

“Of course I wouldn’t have harmed those girls!” Your voice shakes violently, the breath of it disturbing the steam rising gently from your cup. “How do you not grasp that it is for that exact reason I couldn’t continue to play house with you, Qifrey? That even if I would never cause them harm, there are witches in the Brimmed Caps who would delight in my connection to you; to Coco.”

He’s scowling again, that mirage of his painfully sour expression that had haunted you these past weeks made flesh in your dimly lit kitchen.

“Did you not want to stay? Was lying to me really so unbearable that you had to flee and hide yourself in the woods?”

Your fury is dying fast, smothered by exhaustion, and you cannot continue to fight like this anymore. The time away from him, though agonizing, had made clear that these circular conversations solved nothing. It wouldn’t be until the world was entirely reshaped, good or bad, that the two of you could reconcile your differences.

“I just couldn’t lie to you Qifrey. I have no explanation for it aside from this; I loved you far too much to shackle you to a façade. I had to leave you.”

For a moment there’s silence, broken only by the occasional faint sound of the tree branches swaying outside.

“Well, I suppose I wish you loved me less.”

It’s a whisper, choked by tears you’re trying not to watch fall, but it rings like the gunshot in your ears. There’s not a single word in any of the world's languages that can properly describe the pain that settles itself deep into your chest. In a lifetime of pain, nothing comes close to the searing anguish that seizes your heart.

“That’s… surprisingly selfish of you Qifrey.”

“I know.” He laughs, a bitter rueful sound that shouldn’t ever leave such beautiful lips.

There’s another stretch of silence as you swallow the rest of your coffee and set the cup in the water basin to be cleaned after Qifrey leaves. He’s still watching you, leaning against the frame of the door, looking unhappy but slightly less angry than he usually is in your presence. When you make to leave past him, he catches your arm in his hand, his grip gentle but firm. His gaze is cast downward when you try to make eye contact with him, his cheeks tinted pink with shame.

“Please don’t make me leave.” The words are barely audible, laced with a desperation that makes your heart ache. “Let me be selfish just for tonight.”

The tension hanging between you is unbearable. It feels as if Qifrey’s palm on your bare arm is searing his handprint into you. You should say no. You should tell him this will only make you both feel worse; he knows that better than you. You should pry your arm from his grip and wish him farewell so you can drown this longing in a bottle of Silvernectar wine.

“Alright.”

The word is barely past your lips as Qifrey pulls you flush against him, burying his face into your neck and wrapping his arms around you. He’s clinging to you like a child clings to a beloved stuffed animal, breath ragged with emotion he can’t verbalize as he presses a soft kiss against your collarbone. You manage to shake the shock that paralyzes you there in his arms, threading your fingers up into his silver hair and scratching softly at his scalp. A hum vibrates through him at the feeling and he presses impossibly closer. You just stay like that for a while, pressed together in the doorway.

Eventually you pull yourself away from him to clean the solitary mug in the basin, though your personal space remains non-existent as Qifrey follows and wraps his arms around your waist from behind. When you’ve finished, you turn in his grasp and pull him to you. The kiss is softer than your last all those weeks ago in the rain, though there’s still the ghost of that intensity and desperation. Each time you break for air the return is increasingly desperate, as if too long apart would leave room for reality to douse the spark of connection between you.

That’s the entirety of your night; feverish kisses that grow sloppier as you drink your way through the bottle of Silvernectar together, the constant feeling of Qifrey’s hands tugging you closer as if trying to fuse himself to you. There’re moments tinged with sadness, shared tears that mix with the wine flavored kisses, but the night ends with Qifrey beneath your layers of blankets in the drafty healing spire. He tucks you soundly into the curve of his body the way he had every night in the atelier, presses kisses to your bare shoulders. And as the sound of the tree branches swaying outside and his breath in your ear lulls you into sleep, Qifrey’s voice drifts through the ambience one final time, the venomous tone you had long since accepted as permanent replaced with a fondness that you had thought was long dead.

“I love you.”

When the sound of birdsong lifts you from sleep late the next morning, the space beside you in bed is empty. Qifrey had disappeared sometime in the dawn, like one of your ghosts, with the only evidence he had ever been in your home the half-finished deconstructed spell on your dining table and the two wine glasses in the wash basin, waiting to be rinsed.

It would be easy to drown in the sorrow that fills you at his absence. To let the mourning of the brief tenderness you’d had consume the day. Instead, despite your heavy heart and wicked hangover, you sit back at the table and take up your pen. Like always, work was a reprieve for someone so apt to wallow in their own misery; and Qifrey had left you quite the task to complete.

He was kind even in his cruelty.

──────•✦•──────

ˋ°•*⁀➷| m.list | more qifrey works |

“the lying, qifrey… the secrets—!” 

at the rise of your tone, qifrey swiftly brings a hand to cover your mouth, and the thought of waking the girls from their sleep quickly reels you back. it hits you that he’s close like this, and you almost wish you could pause time. to be able to feel the heat on your skin not from the fire, but from his own skin. the almost-wish aches your being. 

you pull his hand away from your mouth but don’t let go. qifrey doesn’t either. and your tone is still just as hard as before when you whisper,

“i can tell something is going on. i just do not know what. i can see that it is eating away at you, qifrey. i want to help. we want to help. please, won’t you tell us? me?”

the more you push with your words, the more you lean into his frame, your face now mere inches from his. it seems that your pleas might’ve struck a chord within the white-haired man, as his hand softens against your cheek, your own palming over it.

the saturation in his eye glistens, yet he defeatedly looks away from your persistent gaze. the definitive action makes your skin prickle.

a man as kind as him would be equally as stubborn. his tender hands have always felt so heavy in more ways than one. with what weight, you truly didn’t know. he wouldn’t let you know. you feel a sting in your nose, a sadness in your chest as a tear slips from your eye. it trails down to where your finger overlays his on your cheek.

at the sight, qifrey inhales audibly through his nose. he looks so torn that it haunts you, makes you close your eyes in dejection—

—just as you feel two soft lips press onto yours. 

your eyes blow wide open at the sensation, his kiss stifling the noise of surprise that tries to leave you. 

qifrey gently brings his other palm up, cushioning your face with both hands, but he only keeps his lips pressed onto yours—unmoving, firm. you squint your eyes in surrender as you return the kiss with equal pressure, tasting the salts of your shed tear.

this is unlike him. unlike you. after all these years, the line between friend and something closer has never felt more blurred until now. he’s never spoken of his feelings. you’ve never spoken yours. but maybe, this was the confession you needed, through all the worry and uncertainty he’s caused you.

the realization could make you cry, because it could never be any more than this.

the hearth crackles. 

it pops with every fiery splitting of the wood, with every step qifrey takes forward, and you backwards. he pushes and pushes and pushes, his stride gentle and unrelenting as always. but there’s a particular desperation to the way his hands cradle your face—rigid fingers that yearn to melt into your skin, yet hold back. the way that he doesn’t pause even as you both draw away with each needed breath taken, his lips moving forward to capture yours again after every inhale.

it makes you tug at his shirt, the tight black fabric that adorns him silk underneath your fingers. qifrey pushes, and you pull. the gasp that escapes him when your tongue dances with his only fuels you further—makes the desire swell low in your gut.

you want him closer. closer. to crawl underneath that skin-tight fabric of his and live in between his ribs. to revel in making him gasp and chase without this sudden fear that he’ll pull away spiking in your bones. his lips are warm, mingled breaths hot as your hand reverently travels up his chest, feeling his body tremble at the intimate touch. 

your fingers come to pull at the hair at his nape, then urge his head closer—his mouth deeper, unknowingly reaching for his cheek to hold him like he holds you.

sinking. you think you’re sinking, and that qifrey might be too, when suddenly, he draws back in alarm. his hand snatches your hovering wrist and forcibly pins it to the wall behind you, restricting any movement. your eyes snap open to meet his own that swarms with horror.

you’re speechless. not even a wonder of how you two got to the wall crosses your mind, just pure defenseless overtaking every thought. completely taken off-guard by the anxiety seeping from qifrey’s gaze and the hard set line of his lips that was just on yours a second ago. the temperature in the room drops astronomically despite the fire going—chills traveling up your spine at the almost cold look marring his features.

“… qifrey?” you ask quietly, tentatively, unable to tear away from his eye contact. his face towers over yours, close and almost frightening. you’ve never felt so close, yet so far away from him.

qifrey blinks once, twice, then loosens his iron grip on your wrist. your arm barely moves from its position, rigidly breaking off the wall and suspended in the air as if still registering the lightning-abrupt motion.

in fact, you’re still registering what just happened.

“w-what’s wrong?” you attempt to gather your thoughts. “are you—?”

“i apologize,” he says. the statement makes your heart sink to your stomach. 

“…what for?”

“we cannot do this. i apologize for my rash behavior.”

you’re not sure what kind of expression twists over your features. confusion? anger? disappointment? all of the above? whatever it is, and try as you might, you can’t hide how gutted you feel. and you guess it satisfies qifrey in some sickening way because he smiles.

qifrey smiles sorrowfully, with a lifetime full of grief you can never come to understand. you feel another pang hit your chest as his beautiful azure eye shines down on you, his eyebrow downturned miserably. you want to smooth out the wrinkle—to take away his pain.

because underneath the witch’s cloak, you know what kind of man he is. someone who is soft, kind. someone who you wish you could embrace and protect just as much as he cares for others.

what wills him to deflect like this?

from this angle, his shadow completely encases you, no longer a fiery glint reflecting off the gold rims of his spectacles. 

you really can’t stop the urge when you ask, quiet and heavy,

“are you not tired of running away?”

qifrey cocks his head just slightly, his white hair swaying with the motion, but never revealing his right eye. it never does. his left eye pins you frozen to your spot.

and longingly, he whispers, “i…”

hope courses through your veins as qifrey reaches for your face again, only to pause right before making contact, fingers twitching as if you were something unattainable. as if touching you was something he wasn’t allowed to do. you want to tell him it is possible. you wait and wish for him to take the plunge, for him to push again. 

he doesn’t.

qifrey pulls away, and in an unsettlingly light voice, he responds, “as long as you keep looking at me that way, everything will be fine.”

what way? in pain?

how in the world would that make everything fine?

your body is still tight with tension as qifrey slowly backs away, the light of the fire finally brightening your vision. words die in your throat, and you can still feel the tingle on your lips.

(oh, how hopelessly in love you are with him.)

qifrey speaks again. just as soft. just as defeated. “i apologize. i cannot give you an answer to your questions. for your sake—”

he’s quiet, but you hear his final words as he walks away. it makes you bite your lips in helplessness, face dropping to the ground as hot tears run down your cheeks.

“—and for mine.”

the hearth burns, anguishly.

The rain is heavy, almost deafening as the droplets strike the canopy of leaves above your head, but the silhouette of the witch you’re tailing is shielded from the downpour by a sphere of shimmering magic. He’s stooped over in his little bubble of sunshine, plucking some mushrooms from the ground into a basket. It’s been hours of this, lurking just out of sight as you battle internally over whether you really want to speak to him. Whether it would break or mend your heart to hear his voice again.

Your body is beginning to protest the cold of the rain, joints groaning in discomfort as you shift up from the crouch you had held in the brush. You step carefully from the cover of the trees and make your way towards the grey cloaked witch, your approach concealed by the pattering of the rain until you step into the protective bubble.

“Mind sharing your umbrella?”

Qifrey recoils from the sound of your voice as if he’s been burned. As he turns to fix his gaze on you, the glowering expression on his face intensifies when he sees the brimmed cap rested on your head. You should be used to that look by now, but it still sends a brief pang of hurt through your chest.

“Must you always look so venomous when I visit?”

“What do you want?”

Despite the scowl he’s still wearing like armor, there’s a tinge of gentle sadness in his voice as he straightens up. You pout half-heartedly at the way he’s withdrawn his hands into his cloak, obviously in search of his components.

“Just to talk,” You lift your hat from your head, beginning to wring the rainwater from your soaked hair. “To see how you’re doing; how the girls are.”

Qifrey scoffs coldly. “I’m swell, thanks for your concern. We’ve developed a conscience now, have we? Or are you here to collect information for your higher-ups?”

His mocking tone sparks an anger that burns deep in your chest. To suggest you possess no real regard for their well-being, knowing you abandoned witch society in pursuit of the goal he is only willing to chase in shadow, that is a disrespect that cuts deep. You place your cap back onto your head, ignoring the way the crease between his brows deepens as it obscures your eyes.

“Don’t take a moral high ground against me, Qifrey. Don’t you dare accuse me of trading the safety of those children for reputation points among the Brimmed Caps.”

“I’m supposed to believe you joined the Brimmed Caps just for the aesthetics?”

The air buzzes with a simmering tension, as if the forest itself is waiting to see which of you will escape your standoff unscathed. These trees had seen the two of you in every stage of your relationship; the awkward first kiss, the stolen moments away from the responsibilities of teaching, the fallout of realizing some things are too painful for love to mend.

“I did it for us. For you.” Angry tears pool at the edges of your eyes, hot and infuriating in their testament to your emotions. You grit your teeth and force the wavering from your voice. “Not all things can be cured within the confines of the Pact, you of all people understand that; I’m not sorry for having the sense to seek out a solution you’re too cowardly to even consider.”

“Oh, I’m the coward?” Qifrey takes a threatening step towards you, his one eye wide with frustration. “You want to accuse me of cowardice as you hide beneath that brim?”

This was not how you wanted this encounter to pan out. As delusional a hope it was, each time you came you wished for a happier reunion. It never was. You begin to retreat, to put some distance between yourself and him, but Qifrey lunges forward as if on instinct and captures your wrist in his hand.

“Face me and tell me what makes your path deserving of my respect, Brimmed Cap.” He spit the words at you with such vigor that it must knock all sense from your mind.

A tidal wave of emotions crashes through you, and your hand closes around the golden pendant that joins the two halves of his cloak together. You yank him to you, and before your lips have even met, he’s thrown his willowy arms around you, holding you so tightly it hurts. The kiss is desperate and harsh, it’s almost cathartic. You feel your anger dissipate, as if it was merely a toxin you needed Qifrey to siphon from your bloodstream. You lock your arms around his neck, desperate for this to last forever. If you could not have his love, you would drown yourself in his hatred. This messy, hostile tension would have to substitute for the gentle kind of companionship you had once before. He pulls away from you, breathing heavily, and you can only afford enough time for a few gulps of air before you’re pulling his face back to yours. It’s as if the second he withdraws you’ll come unraveled, too fragile to return to the bitter reality of who you both are. This kiss tastes like salt, warm tears that you can’t determine the source of. He’s released his grip on your waist, tangling his long slender fingers up into your hair and knocking your hat from your head.

And then the rain drops onto the two of you like a sheet.

The seal Qifrey had drawn to ward of the water is crumpled in the palm of his hand, ruined in the intensity of your embrace. The drenching is a harsh return to earth; Qifrey shudders with the sudden cold and pulls away from you, sucking in gasps of air as he tries to process what just happened between you. There’s a pain in his expression that makes you want to reach for him, but it feels wrong to now that the moment is over.

“Tell me it’s worthwhile.” Qifrey is boring holes into you with the intensity of his gaze, that blue eye zeroed in on you as if he can see the doubt laced into your heart. You pick up your cap, anxious to replace the shield of the brim onto your head. “Tell me the shred of hope to find some way to be healed with magic was worth throwing your life away. That you don’t regret giving up all you’ve lost in accepting forbidden magic.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate what exactly you gave up. The words hang unspoken in the damp air of the forest.

Tell me it was worth losing me.

Now that his spell is gone, the moisture feels suffocating; though that might just be your heart lodged in your throat that’s making it hard to draw breath.

You’re grateful that the very cap he’s condemning shields your face some as you feel the tears you’ve been collecting again finally cascade down your cheeks. He would take them as surrender; as evidence that you thought you’d made a mistake in pursuing forbidden magic to try and revive the practice of healing witches.

He would be wrong.

“We could have found ways to ease the pain.” Qifrey’s voice is still stern, but it lacks the bite of true anger. “Olly could have made you some contraption to help you manage it, to help make drawing easier.”

You flex your hands anxiously within your cloak, the dull ache you know will crescendo into agony after a day spent in the chilling rain making itself known with each movement. No number of herbs, Healing Spire visits, or warming contraptions from Olruggio could rid you of that horrible pain nestled deep in your bones.

“We would have kept looking for our antidotes together. You would have had my love to soothe your pain.” The slightest crack is there in the words my love.

“Your love was never going to be my cure.”

The guilt that strikes you as you say it seems to tilt the earth beneath you; you feel sick.

“Then why do you return to me like a moth to flame? Why torture us both with ghosts of what was?”

There’s no good answer you can give. He’s a vice to you, a reprieve from the darkness of your world that you selfishly seek out like an antidote to your fear. He can’t save you, but he’s like the umbrella spell in a way, a patch of sun to retreat to when the sky unleashes a downpour.

“Until next time, Qifrey.” You tug the brim back down to conceal your eyes, closing out your own umbrella spell and once more shielding the small clearing from the heavy rain. You leave behind the seal as you turn your back on the silver-haired witch, a feeble attempt at an apology for ripping open old wounds.

Perhaps one day there will be a world in which you two can reconcile your differences. But for today, you must leave him. Even if it’s a pain more agonizing than any physical ache you’ve ever experienced.

──────•✦•──────

"Oh! What is that?" Coco points at a bird perched on an opened window. The atelier is busy with spring cleaning, but she, along with Agott, Richeh, and Tetia, took a well-deserved break from dusting and sweeping all afternoon. She moves cautiously, scared that she'll startle the bird away.

"It's a letterbird! Who could the letter be from?" Tetia stands up and skips to the window. As she gets closer, the bird sets the letter on her waiting hands. Coco comes closer and starts petting the bird before it flies away, and looks at who the letter could be from.

"It's from Professor [Name]!" Coco exclaims. Agott and Richeh come closer to have a look on the elegant seal, and it is indeed from their beloved Professor.

"Richeh wants know what they said." Richeh says, curious to what the letter contains.

"C'mon, it's rude to open it without permission. Besides, it's better if Professor Qifrey or Master Olruggio were the one to open it." Agott tells them firmly... "... but I am curious what it says too, though." she adds quietly.

Tetia's arms sag, "But the Professor is out collecting for dinner..." she pouts.

"And Master Olruggio is probably busy in his workshop..." Coco adds.

It's true, Professor Qifrey was out, collecting herbs and vegetables for a delicious dinner he has planned. His apprentices deserve a warm and filling meal after helping with all the chores of today, after all. Master Olruggio, on the other hand, was holed up in his workshop above, tinkering with a new spell for a client who wants to have different colored lights in their garden, not knowing it was time for spring cleaning.

He's been tinkering away with his back hunched since morning. Feeling the grumble of his stomach, he realizes how much time has passed, and sighs. Qifrey was sure to chastise him of this if he ever found out. Getting up, he bends and stretches his arms and back until he hears his joints pop. He hears the girls chat up a racket and walks towards his door to see if there's anything wrong.

"Oi, what's with all the ruckus?" He says, suddenly startling the girls.

There was a commotion in the common room. It seems that a Letterbird had come and delivered a scroll addressed to Qifrey's atelier. They were polite and well-mannered girls, but this letter had the seal of their beloved Professor [Name] on it! They want to open it so bad! Safe to say, they were itching to know what the letter could contain. 

"Professor Olruggio, we're sorry! The letter opened by itself somehow! And now we've might have... accidentally... read it?" Coco sheepishly says. 

Accidentally read it? He sighs, if it opened like that, maybe the seal on it was safe. He's too tired to think about the technicalities of it. More importantly though, a letter?

"A letter? Who's it from?" he asks them. Surely it would be addressed to either him or Qifrey if they wanted to reach them.

"It's from Professor [Name]! They're coming to visit us here soon!" Tetia exclaims, smiling. Beside her, Richeh nods excitedly. Agott is the one who hands the letter to him.

"Okay!" Coco exclaims, picking up the broom again. "I'm so excited, I could sweep the place until the broom is empty!"

"Coco, please take it easy..." He says to the girl. Opening the letter, he is greeted with your handwriting, penned beautifully with a new writing ink.

The girls' chatter continue on in the background as he reads.

“To my dearest friends, Qifrey and Olruggio, I hope this letter finds you all well. How have you all been through the winter? I hope that the both of you and all the girls are doing well. I apologize for the lack of correspondence on my part. The neighboring villages here near the northern part of the Marshtop Highlands were in need of help all winter and has kept our little atelier busy with all sorts of tasks. But as the season turns anew, their gratitude has showered us with too many resources to store. I send this letter in hopes that you’ll accept our visit in 3 days' time. My apprentices, Castell and Corvell, will be coming along with me to visit you. We’ll share some winter forage, along with some early spring harvests with you all. I hope that this won’t disturb any upcoming plans in your atelier! Please send a reply if this causes conflict on your part. We hope to see you soon! Always at your call, your dearest friend, [Name]. P.S. Have the spring flowers bloomed on your side of Kalhn yet? "

Reading the letter, Olruggio's face flushes. In 3 days?! His workshop hasn't even been touched by the new season yet! But no matter, his area somehow sparkles when there's a deadline coming after all. More importantly, you were coming to visit! He hasn't seen you in quite a while, too.

Telling the girls to take it easy and rest, he grabs a snack from the kitchen before he retreats to his workshop. 'Qifrey wouldn't mind if I reply to them first, heh.' he chuckles to himself, picking up a pen to start writing.

After a little bit, Qifrey arrives at the atelier greeted with the lively chatter of his apprentices. They seem to be talking about a picnic? What a great idea! The season's turned anew, and what better way to celebrate than a picnic outside.

He knocks to signify his presence, and the girls clamor to him to tell him about the letter that arrived just a few moments earlier.

"Professor! What's Professor [Name]'s favorite food? Are they allergic to anything?" 

"They're visiting soon! There's more reason we have to clean now!"

"I want to have Agott's Mariberry pie..."

"C-calm down, everyone! A letter from [Name]? Could you show it to me?"

"Master Olruggio took it to his room, Professor." Agott tells him. 

'Oh that sly little...'  Qifrey thinks to himself. He thanks Agott and sets his foraged ingredients aside, before walking towards Olruggio's workshop above. 

｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

A Letterbird is perched on a window when one of your apprentices, Castell, notices it. She holds out her arm to receive the scroll. After giving the bird a pat on the head, she goes outside near the back of your atelier, reaching you as you arrange the various fruits and vegetables you are set to carry in three days' time. She calls out to you at the same time her twin brother, Corvell, does. He came from the other side of the atelier, fixing a wheelbarrow before noticing a Letterbird too. Apparently, both of them have scrolls that they recieved from a Letterbird. How funny, they reached you at the same time!

You thank the both of them and tell them to rest inside and prepare for dinner. You open the scrolls and read.

"To my dearest [name], The winter has been kind in this part of the Naakiwan Downs. Though, it has not been uneventful on my part - with the preparations I help the villagers with every year. Have you all been well? No winter sniffles have been in your atelier, I hope. I always remind you to take care of yourself. (though i can be a hypocrite when it comes to this, but i digress) As for your planned visit, please, you are always welcome here. We’ll be happy to receive whatever you bring. The girls have read your letter on accident and are already excited. They plan on hosting a little picnic and are already brainstorming dishes to cook as I write this. I’m sure I’ll be dragged along in the cooking as well. As far as I know, and from the looks of things as they are now, no conflicts abound with your visit, so please come soon. I WE hope to see you soon. I’ll share with you some contraptions I’ve been experimenting with, and perhaps you can share your input on them, too.  Stay safe in your travels.  Never too far, your dearest friend, Olruggio. P.S. Yes, the flowers here have bloomed beautifully, and they’ll bloom even more at your arrival. P.S.S., I took it upon myself to write and send a reply first. Qifrey is always too fun to rile up hahaha.

(The letter is written in Olruggio's characteristic script, smooth yet with the rough flourish of a craftsman. The post-scripts were written a bit too roughly though, as if the writer was caught in the middle of writing a secret.)

Dearest [Name], The winter has been as it’s always been: cold and covering the Naakiwan Downs in white. Do not apologize for anything, I’m glad the villages have you there to receive your kindness and help. We’ll be happy to receive you all and the gifts you’ll bring. You know you are always welcome in our atelier. There’ll be a picnic, as requested by the girls, and they are already asking for your favorite food. (I hope it is still Mondstadt’s Hash Browns.) The whole atelier will welcome you all with open arms. There was a trip I was planning to take to the Great Hall, but your arrival is more important. You know I’ve never really liked that place anyway – seeing you will be infinitely better. I hope to see you soon. Please stay safe during your travels.  Always near, your dearest friend,  Qifrey. P.S.  The flowers here have bloomed as beautifully as you. Come soon.  P.S.S. I’m sure Olly has already said the same things as me. But for my pride’s sake, I hope you’ll read my letter first.

(The letter is written undoubtedly in Qifrey's handwriting, flowing like the water he controls. Though it's evident it was written a tad bit too quickly, as if rushing to send it faster.)

His fingers intertwine, the vial pressed between his palms. He places his hands to his forehead, praying for an answer. He begs, "Please, lead me to them." Raising it once more, he flicks the glass; watching the medallion clink against the glass barrier. The magic of the twin bottles, devised by the witches of healing-craft.  The medallion, a small disc of glass with a spell engraved, allowed its users to keep potions evenly split no matter the distance. Used by healers back in the Golden Era of Magic, ensuring that no medicine would be unavailable in times of need.

A lost art it was. 

An ancient contraption used to aid others.. That was the purpose of magic. How ironic it is for this ancient contraption of medicine can only be produced by the brimmed caps, what a waste of beauty, Qifrey thinks, staring at the bottle. “I can see why the wiser ones’ chose to ban healing-craft,” muttering to himself. It is easy to turn something used for good into something sinister, the vial in his hands as evidence of it.

How sad that he must take it apart, but it is the only way. The only means for him to find them. Kneeling down, he holds a pair of tweezers, it is the medallion inside he needs. It is the carved seal that belongs to them. If he could successfully place it in a guidance orb, then it would point to their location. Finally, he sweats, a tiny clue that could lead him to the next where they hide. Slowly squeezing his forceps into the vial, he searches for the glass disc inside. A few seconds pass by, his hand shaking in focus, nervousness growing inside. Clipping the medallion, he slowly lifts it, watching the ink glide over its smooth surface, uncovering the small emblem inside before an outburst of light blinds him. They already noticed, and so fast?!

 He ducks, shielding his vision with an arm. Ready for battle, Qifrey swiftly flies up with his sylph shoes. The beam of light fades, sparks fly, revealing a shadowed figure on the patch of grass.

A brimmed cap!

It seems as though Qifrey has no use for the guidance orb, the witch had brought themselves to him. With practiced precision, he summons a large wave of water, it bellows in rage. Just as he conjures his spell, the brimmed hat acts faster—blazing lightning rods shoot in his direction. Barely evading the attack, Qifrey lands on the ground, a loud thud sounds his landing. In response, the enemy soars up to the roof as he shields himself with water.

In a chase of cat and mouse, they exchange a battle of powerful spells. Dust falls from the roof, staining Qifrey's attire. The brimmed hat moves with stunning ease, dodging each attack he sends to them. In contrast, he grows tired at barely avoiding their spells. Yet as the battle progresses, the brimmed hat effortlessly dodges each attack he throws their way. Growing infuriated, Qifrey sends spell after spell, growing unsatisfied with the battle.

The power dynamic dawns on him, he grows restless at the imbalance of strength between them, seeing as the brimmed cap evades his attacks with eased grace. "Going easy on me?" he shouts, a vein popping on his forehead. The opponent keeps silent, dodging every strike without a sweat. The battle progresses, Qifrey snarks angrily at the enemy–growing tired, continuously throwing endless insults to their end. That seems to work as they pause in the air, their cloak hiding their face. He laughs at them. "Cowardly are you?" He gloats, conjuring another water attack. If he could just trap them and interrogate them  somehow, he could finally get the answers of his endless search. “Is that all you got?” Qifrey relishes on the way the enemy stiffens up, obviously irked. 

A soft grunt escapes them—voice dripping with annoyance, "Water, huh?"they gripe back  before lifting their chin. A ray of moonlight lights the tower. Their brimmed hat lifts, the moon casting a glow on their eyes. Their eyes, he recognizes—those familiar hues of bright colors were all he reminisced endlessly. Their name just on the tip of his tongue, its weight shuts him up, killing all of his willpower. 

The brimmed cap scoffs in amusement, watching him freeze in shock. "W-Wait!" Qifrey stutters, stunned at the familiar face. His hand reaches out in a plea to stop, full of desperation. The dark witch only pulls their cap down as its brim hides their face once more, scoffing.

A surge of ice cold water floods the tower—the whirlpool moving around the walls with great velocity, his body trapped inside its strong current. Qifrey gasps, startled at the level of vast power. Unable to react on time, a surge of water enters his windpipe, choking him. He clutches his throat trying to stop it. Overwhelmed by the sheer force, Qifrey floats adrift through the swirling mass of water, slowly losing consciousness. Yet as fast as the whirlpool had appeared, it disappeared just as fast.

"Stupid witch." the voice echoes. The atmosphere tensed immediately as the 'stupid' witch laid across the patch of grass. You watch as the waves ripple  into thin air, leaving a salty mist within the confined spaces of his atelier’s tower. Landing on the patch of grass, droplets puddling under your weight, victory raising your ego. "You should know better than to try me." glaring at the old friend you once knew, his body twitched. His bangs stick to his forehead, uniform completely soaked to the brim, his body surrounded by a pool of water. 

He has not changed one bit; smart mouthed and still incredibly rash. "Had you planned this any better, you might have succeeded, Qifrey." your lips twitch upwards, impressed by his audacity. Despite his bravery, or rather his stupidity, he had guts. He may have become a master, you thought, he may have learned patience—learned to hide things better. But you knew more than anyone, deep inside he was the same old boy. 

"Focus on what is at hand." you whisper to yourself. Not wanting to stay any longer than you should, you search for the medallion, shuffling around the damp grass. Each step you take sinks against the soil, leaving your boots mushed with dirt. You ignore it, focusing on the task at hand. You find it beside him, inches away from his face, hidden in the grass. A sharp huff escapes your nostrils, fatigue weighing on your limbs. Wasting no time, you stand above the witch's body. Ignoring the passed out figure, you crouch down to take the disc.

Its intricate seals, the ones you drew, stare back at you. “What a waste,” you grouch, bitter. Had you not let yourself be compliant, your efforts would have been more useful for more important matters than trivial ones like Iguin's child of 'hope' or, so he claims, to be promising. That child does nothing but be troublesome if someone like he would be interested in. Within the safety of your possession, you are ready to leave, having gotten what you came for. 

Your body freezes when Qifrey twitches, staring  at his face. Watching as his chest rises and falls, guilt slowly settles in you, realization hitting what you’ve done to an old friend. If that is even something you could call yourself—if that's what you both were to each other. Your eyes shut as you sigh, placing the medallion in your pocket. Remembering what you two were, that is a distant memory you rather not think of. Yet your mind does not stop, glimpses of the past stealing your breath away.

Someone calls your name across the classroom. Another lesson had just ended about the history of magic, you were just fixing your things, ready to leave. You glance to the door, seeing a tuft of what hair bounce around, Qifrey smiles at you, a shy grin spreading across his lips. “Can you help me with my spells?” his eyes shine with anticipation, you smile back at him. How could you say no to that face?

The day ends at his dorm, his very own room. One of the great perks of being Balderuit’s apprentice.. and since he was a problem child at the great hall. “You’re so good at magic,” you both sit on his bed, you’ve been teaching him how to analyze the spell book. How to draw it in a more efficient way, and your help has been working. You’re both only around nine at the time, but you’ve already passed your first and second examination. Actually, you’ve already passed it when Qifrey had just been introduced to the great hall, you were a prodigy—a great witch in the making.

“Thank you, Qifrey.” you respond politely, he blushes at that. Your friendship bloomed when Master Balderuit told you to befriend him. Back then, he ignored your attempts at friendship, but with consistency; you had softened his heart bit by bit, the boy clinged to you ever since. You had his heart, and at the time, young and unaware, he had yours too.

Conversation flowed endlessly between you two, anything was of topic, including his friend Olruggio, his studies, and how his master annoys him, but you could see he cared for his master, even if it doesn’t show. He was not good with feelings.

Your thoughts are interrupted, whispering your name, “I’m.. really grateful for you.” He fiddles with his fingers, dried ink splotched on them, callouses growing prematurely. “I know that I am not exactly easy to be with,” he paused, eyes distant. You frown, “Says who?” 

“The witches, everyone says so.” he hears it all, the whisper in the halls. Witches staring at his figure when he walks past, gossiping as if he was deaf, and children, like birds, repeat what their masters say. He doesn’t care, he bites his lips, why should he care about what others think? You watch the boy lost in his thoughts, “Well.. I think you’re the easiest person to be with.” confidence in your tone, he looks up stunned at you. “Really?”

“Yes.” you say, firm. Tears collect on his eyelashes, he grins at you, full of joy. “I’m glad.”

Inhaling sharply, your throat closing on itself. A deep sorrow, one that you are well versed in, stops you from leaving. The memory, distracting your focus.

An image of yourself as an apprentice, a wonderful witch of the great hall. Fleeting memories of your childhood, you were a principled witch, always doing the right thing. You pause, now hyperaware of the burden you had just done. You just practically drowned Qifrey, his body stretched out in front of you, not only that but you had a direct involvement in endangering his student, a child no less. You used to be a better witch, skill and attitude wise, than the man unconscious on the ground before, but that was what it all was. Before. In the past.

Now, you’re one sinister witch, an unprincipled one.

The memory of your first act of atrocity. 

You remember that night vividly–the night you left. You were only around seventeen.

Qifrey screams your name, “Wait!” he begs on his knees. The stars watch your figures, another tragedy unfolding beneath them. Leaves of silverwood crush against his weight, trapped under him. The night howls, your cloaks roughly flow with the gust of wind, your hairs stand in their wake, shivering in the cold of the night. The fire spell you had casted, now burns away. Leaving you both in the dark. You pause, your figure facing him away. He can only see your back, your pointed hat is off, found within his quivering clutches. The headdress crumples in his grip, his hair violently scraping his skin with the moon’s gusts. “Why are you leaving?” he stutters, voice trembling in fear, hoarse from crying. You can’t leave. “Please,” he whimpers.

Having enough of his pathetic begging, you spin around, “Don’t you understand, Qifrey?” you finally face him. “This,” you point to the ground before flailing your arms in a round motion; aiming at him, “Everything about this is wrong!” He sits on all fours, looking at you as tears endlessly flow, eyes puffing, his red, nose stuffy. “You are vile,” you say, disgust scratching your voice rough, “This,” you emphasize,”is revolting.”  

“Am I supposed to forget this? Erase my memory?” You shout, clutching your chest in anger. 

“I..” he sniffles, his voice lost against the gaze of your temper. “Forget it!” you say, the ground shakes at your rage, and so does he. He trembles, watching you walk away. “There’s no point.”

“No..” he cries, his hands fold under him. His face pressed against his arms, muffling his whisper, “I’m sorry,” he weeps, “don’t leave.” your footsteps growing farther. When he finds the strength to look up, you are already gone.

Miles away, you hide within a cave. Gasping, adrenaline in your bones, your knees going weak, you clutch the wall’s crevices unable to hold your own weight. The weight of what you had just done, too heavy for you to bear. You grunt, sitting on the floor with a hard thump, you clutch your cloak, your only sense for keeping warm against the wind as the night darkens. You hug your knees with nothing else to hold. Sobbing, you whisper apologies endlessly into the dark, wishing that somehow, its winds whisper your deep remorse to the crying boy you left.

The stars glisten in tears, watching the start of another tale of sorrow begin. 

Exhaling—you still your body. There is no point in dwelling on what has been done. Not when you know the path you've already taken is one of no return. The path of a brimmed cap, one that you willingly chose, is not a clean one. Blood will be spilled, and you will do what you must for your cause. Your sins cannot be simply washed away by mind erase, you will be killed if the Knights Moralis ever got their hands on you. Yet you know that even death is nothing but a light punishment for what you have done and what you will continue to do.

Your hands twitch, empty handed as if craving to hold something. Patting your cloak, you feel the medallion inside it, yet despite its small stature; its weight feels heavy. Against your better judgement, your limbs move on their own. Placing a hand on his cheek, his delicateness is cold, freezing in his soaked coat against the hurling winds of the night—your warmth rouses him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. 

Trapped in the reminder of your affection for the witch, your body leans closer, craving his presence. Regret spreads through your arm and to your heart, you were right; nothing has changed. Your hand, even through years with his absence, still sits perfectly on his cheek as if made for it—made to hold him. His breathing evens out at your touch. Almost like you weren't just fighting to kill earlier, you almost laughed. A beautiful deep ache throbs in your core, pumping with nostalgia.

You missed—no, you miss him. Terribly so. Although unwilling to admit it outloud, your heart knows it. Your thoughts race, playing a dangerous game against yourself and time. He could wake at any moment, and a bloodbath may happen. You almost want to stay. Remain and watch him decide; would he kill you, push you away, or let you linger? What would it be like if you never ran, if you chose to stay when he told you what was inside him. What would your life be beside him—a permanent presence within his life. You purse your lips, reminded of why you left, and your reason for it is lying on the floor, curling into your hand. 

You are playing a fool’s game. 

Slowly removing your hand on his cheek. Shocked to discover bumps on his once smooth skin, flowing like roots intertwined similar to ones you’d find in dense forests. His texture wrinkles like coarse bark. In a situation as dire as this, his silverwood should not be growing at such a rate. Unable to bear another second looking at it, you summon droplets of water. You raise your hand just above his cheek, letting the droplets wash away the roots. Could it be that..?

“Is something like that even possible?” your eyes widen at the possibility. Shocked at your discovery, unsure of your theory, you slowly reach out. Feeling the warmth radiating from his cheek as your palm moves closer, just an inch away until his eyes suddenly open wide, strained and fixated on you..

He gasps awake, screaming your name as he sits up, almost hitting your heads in the process. You flinch back, rushing to back up—the close space between you is dangerous. Your hat falling behind you, you have no time to grab it as Qifrey, undeterred despite just waking from unconsciousness, his head throbbing in pain, hastily catches your retrieving arm. Seizing your wrist, he reels you in, his hold is tenacious—refusing to let go of you. Despite the unwavering strength he keeps to hold you, his face flashes in a series of emotions when he realizes it's you. He pulls you closer, his eyes scanning your face in recognition, freed from the secrecy of your brimmed cap.

Breathless and coughing out large sums of water, the effect of the spell you summoned. "I-Is this what you've been doing all along?" he chokes out, trying to catch his breath as realization dawns on him. Qifrey had always had his suspicions when you left. It was like you vanished off the face of the earth so when he had learned of your place with the brimmed caps, he became hysterical. It was one thing to learn that you have betrayed the great hall, but it is another thing to learn of your involvement within Coco's ink vial now.

"Was this your doing?" disbelief written all over his face. The shame that shoots through you is evident on your face, your direct involvement in his apprentice's sabotage. You have heard of the incident of the river, word spreads fast among the brimmed caps, the Knights Moralis had appeared and apprehended his apprentices with their staff—you know that the great hall will be watching his atelier closer now, and that is a heavy burden in itself. "Qifrey,"a whisper is all you can return, your voice soft and unsure of how to respond. You're left frozen by his accusations. You gasp when his grip grows stronger, your eyes scanning around rapidly once you realize the growing severity of the situation.  

Before you know it, his hold on to you becomes deathly. "Did you do this to Coco?!" his voice trembles, you flinch back at the volume. Qifrey's mind races, accusations flowing at rates he cannot keep up. You were an ally, a friend, and everything more. There must be an answer.

You panic, catching sight of his silverwood. It wraps around his hand, still tightly holding on to you. Its branches, quickly growing, encase your hand with it. Keeping you in place. Its grip is as deadly as his, you watch its wooden tendrils grow to your elbows, squeezing your skin in a tight grip that it hurts. Its hold is enough to leave your whole arm bruised.

You stare, open-mouthed, at the parasite. It was as if it was aiding him in battle. "You're not going anywhere!" He shouts, voice deep and rough. He can't lose you now. "Tell me what have you done! You're staying here." he barks, commanding. Defiance sparks inside you, not one to back down nor let anyone demand of you, casting a spell beneath your cloak.

"Says who?" you snarl back.

A splash of water burns his vision. Scorching hot..

His face, drowned by the steam, reddens at the seeping heat from the water spell you cast to his face. He loosens his grip, the silverwood dissipating by the water's contact. The witch grunts when a powerful force kicks him against the chest. Landing on the wall behind, the old stone cracks at the strong impact. Qifrey spits, choked. His glasses fall, lenses cracking as its metal bends. Crying out in pain, he tries to move his neck—his bones pop with every attempt to stand back up again. His mind screams for him to do something, anything, to keep you here. 

He can only squint his eyes, vision blurred. Your fuzzy figure raises its hands, casting spells without ink, dark magic, he recognizes. His spine aches, throbbing agony spreads throughout him. Unable to move, the witch lays paralyzed on the ground. No strength left, he is helpless to watch as powerful gusts of wind surround you. Your magic sparks through the air with electricity, flashing malevolently—cryptic and sinister. Smoke fills the area as your figure disappears with it.

He lays still on the floor, tired. Beaten and battered. His teeth grind, jaw clenching in utter frustration. His eyesight fogs up, bleary. Sitting up, he places his weight on his knees. Moaning in pain with every movement. The ground prickles his skin through the fabric of his uniform as he kneels.

Qifrey is once more reminded of the gap between you two.

Growling, his hands grips the useless wand between his fingers before slamming it on the ground, it shatters at the robust force, stabbing his skin with sharp splinters, the delicate skin rips apart and bleeds. Filled with rage, he pays no mind to the injury as emotions overtake him. "Curse it all!" he slumps, placing his palms flat against the wet soil. Breaking down in ugly sobs as tears streamed down his face as dirt sticks to his forehead, "I swear," he curses, "I'll get back what you've taken from me!"

he chokes on your name, tears spilling, "I'll get you back."

…

Across the land far from the atelier, the wind howls ferociously as dark magic wafts in the air. Twisting in endless darkness, it sparks violently against the slowing sun. A capped figure appears through the void's crevices, your fingers gripping onto it.

You have returned.

Seated on a large stone, Iguin observes you as you appear before him, landing on the sand with a soft thud. The calm sea across you is a stark contrast to the wave of anger he feels settling in. His eyes catch the injury on your wrist, the skin dented with marks Qifrey left on you. Noticing where his attention lies; you turn your body away, hiding the growing bruise. Before he is able to question any further, you throw the medallion in his direction. He catches it with ease. You turn to watch the setting sun, knowing where this conversation is headed to. This is not the first time one of his plans led to nothing. Regardless of his failed plans, you know he is not one to easily back down.

Between his fingertips, the twin medallions stand still with his thumb and fore finger. He brings the articulate sigils closer to his eye. "After all that trouble to see it into the hands of the child." he huffs. The medallions rest on his calloused palms, he throws the discs into the air. Catching the fragile glass in a crushing grip, its dust falling between his fingers. You momentarily glance at the masked brimmed cap, resentment clashing. He shrinks, "How bothersome."

"Right, my fellow comrade?" he hums, trying to lighten your mood. You pay no mind to his attempt at small talk. With no response, the brimmed cap sighs, "Or maybe not," feigning hurt.

You only watch the sun before it sets, nightfall creeping behind the vast valley of mountains like sharp teeth bearing against you as its shadows stretch infinitely across the land. Strong emotions swirl within you, you force your face to remain still. Qifrey's face flashes in your mind when you casted your spell to escape. Shame instilling inside your chest—betrayal evident in his face, and you are as guilty as charged. But before you could let yourself lose your mind to the night’s sorrows, you remember where you are. Not here you decide. You may call the brimmed hats your allies.

But, they are not your friends.

"Next time," the masked man faces your direction, his curiosity piqued at what you have to say. "Do not waste any more of my time with your useless plans." your eyes narrow, the tension rises as the air turns cold, hostility etched all over your face. Iguin hastily looks away, contemplating, before a rush of magic violently clashes against the ocean's soft breeze. He silently watches you disappear like thin air. Your magic bellows with a powerful roar, marking your exit. Dull silence follows suit, the atmosphere lingers with the heavy feeling of your fury.

He remains seated, indifferent—it is no trivial matter, reassuring himself and letting you be. It was him who insisted on this plan anyway, you had wanted no part in this. Despite your occasional disapproval of their way of solving the world's problems—you are loyal to the cause; that's what's important, he deems. You'd be dead if you ever thought about betraying the brimmed hats, you wouldn't want to make everyone your enemy, would you? Iguin smiles to himself.

There is nothing to worry about.

…

Releasing the barrier spell, the tranquil atmosphere of the atelier serves no comfort to the dull throb in Qifrey's chest. He limps to his room, thankful for the lack of waking presence within the home. Passing by the girls' rooms, he finds them deep asleep in their own beds, softly snoring in peace. Relief washes over him at their image, closing their doors with a soft click. Continuing his long venture to his quarters.

Finally alone within the safe haven of his room, he locks his door before casting a silencing spell. Stripping off his garments, he pays no mind to his uniform, laying a mess on the floorboards, leaving a trail of sopping puddles. Qifrey stands, stripped bare, staring at his image in the mirror. There he stands, completely worn-out, frozen in fear at the evident trail of rootstock that sprouted in his chest—exactly where you struck him. The parasite stretches his skin, the cradle of silverwood embedded deeply within it. He stares at it, at the mark you’ve left on him. You are alive; well and strong, he realizes, almost happy.  

A sharp stab across his chest interrupts him, he moans in pain as his knees turn weak. He falls forward, catching himself, his hands trapped against the sides of his reflection. He stares at himself, his image trembles in nonstop pain. The reason why he had to stop his search looks back at him. The silverwood grows, its stiff hands spreading across his abdomen and throat. His torso freezes in place, unable to move—either from the parasite holding him hostage or his fear for it; Qifrey is unable to tell the difference.

Qifrey is a selfish man, he knows, his desires gnawing on him, the urge to find you haunts him once more. He remembers searching for you soon after he had passed his third examination, finally a full fledged witch. The search only lasted for less than a year, but with reason, for no hint nor clue led him to you. He had almost thought you were dead.

Even the heartbreak he experienced all those years ago can't keep his disease at bay, it had no chance against the unresolved feelings he still kept for you. When a glimmer of hope of your location, appearance to a nearby village, was enough to awaken the parasite. Even a memory of your face appearing in his mind is enough. Only you could manifest an effect on him as apparent as this. 

He should be furious with you, and should have not felt any  fondness when he saw you at the tower. A shameful notion strikes his core in spite of  your betrayal, Qifrey could never let go of his affection towards you. He loved you too much, regardless of your association with the brimmed caps.

The silverwood knew that too; his cheek, hand, and chest. He had felt the stiffness growing on his cheek when he awoke, the sudden spurt of growth branches when he gripped your wrist despite the stressful situation, and the heavy weight on his chest—anywhere that you came in contact with, the silverwood grew in lightning speed even when he was unconscious. Dread dawns in him, the danger if you would encounter each other again and in battle; he'd become utterly useless, yet as twisted as it is, hope also glimmers within him to see you once more. 

He may have stopped his search for you in less than a year, but that never meant he stopped looking for any possible clues. Any clue to the brimmed caps, was one that could lead to you too. There should be an answer why you have taken that path, to be a dawn a brim. An answer to your involvement with Coco’s vial. It would make no sense when she told him that the brimmed cap that had given her the book of forbidden spells and previous incident they were trapped in was the doing of a brim-hat with a mask of an eye, Tartah told him that night.

His thoughts are interrupted as his chest squeezes in excruciating pain, he heaves. Skin burning a bright red, stinging against the wind that seeps through the cracks of the atelier. Fingertips ghosting just a whisper above its rough wooden texture evident between his cleavage. He hisses at the burning sensation, watching his sweat glide over it. An uneasy feeling swells in him.

The wind howls, leaving Qifrey in his thoughts.