Chapter Text
Cosmic Revolution 3749, 5th Lunar Cycle
Things were not really going according to plan.
Sneak, freeze, extract - the initial plan was as simple as that.
It was meant to be a simple operation, one they execute at least once a month with the rising demand for potions of vitality, but the sound of a loose flask slipping from Jeno’s satchel had the sleeping orcs Renjun was meant to disable chasing after them, ax, spears, cleavers, and all.
“Must you always be so clumsy,” Renjun scolds, clutching his book of incantations close to him. A spell of total frost requires time and an immobile target so, with the pace they’re currently sprinting at, it will be impossible to cast one now.
“My sincerest apologies, master.” Jeno is running in pace with him, the clink-clank of their supplies most likely alerting the orcs of their location at all moments, and Renjun has half the mind to throw the satchel away if it did not contain the expendables for most of his spells.
The lumbering sound of the orcs’ footsteps recede in a decrescendo as they reach a fork in the beaten path. “Do you recall our path back?”
Jeno nods, moonlight illuminating his silver hair like a lighthouse leading the orcs to their shores. It is a wonder they have not already been ambushed. “We proceed west through the glades and back to Hearthshire. Turning east leads us to the flatlands.”
“West it is,” Renjun decides for them, ditching the operation altogether. They can just return another day, once the beasts have calmed considerably and they can retry the extraction.
However, several dozen meters down the dim path, Jeno stops him in his tracks, canine ears peeking out. “Master, an orc is camouflaging close by,” he whispers. Tugging carefully on Renjun’s robes, Jeno pulls him down to meld with the broadleaf shrubs.
Jeno inhales as he scents the fresh earth beneath them. The muted dimness of their surroundings is heightened by the constant ringing of the summer cicadas and the profound yellow of Jeno’s irises that seek out their adversaries.
Renjun, for as much as he can sense a heartbeat from a reasonable distance, can only pinpoint the magnolias wishing in the wind and Jeno’s form on all fours as he examines the trail, his characteristic dark dual bands on his left arm catching the smallest inklings of light.
“Have you located them?” Renjun mumbles in a hushed tone. His fingers tremble as he skims through his tome, readying the spell of total frost. Orcs belong to a higher stratum of mythical beasts and should never be underestimated. If push comes to shove, he’ll dive for the cleansed spring water in the satchel and cast the incantation while Jeno holds the orc off, their most practiced routine.
“It is hard to determine their precise location; they too can meld within the foliage,” Jeno explains, gaze suddenly directed at a strange rustle in the woods a few meters away. “However, they hide worse than you when it is time to launder the robes and garments.”
Renjun can only muster an unamused glower. “I wonder if your humor can save us from these bloodthirsty orcs.”
“Perhaps so,” Jeno smirks as he readies a heavy stone in his grip. “Follow my lead and freeze it when you can, master, then we flee back to Hearthshire.”
Counting down to 1, Jeno readies his aim and fires the stone toward the elm tree. A large thump resounds in the vicinity and, just as Jeno had predicted, an orc appears out of hiding to swing its club at the source of the ruckus. With the orc preoccupied with rebounding from the strike, Jeno pounces to hold back the beast’s arms in a harsh grip, entering a fierce yet one-sided melee given the wolf’s astounding fortitude.
Renjun takes his cue and cracks the flask of spring water by a nearby elm. His hands continue to tremble as he attempts the incantation, but he emboldens his posture for battle. The woes of a white witch spawning a combative spell.
“Everfrost come to my aid, frigid bite and yonder bright, accept this clear spring water-”
The spring water beams an iridescent cobalt as Renjun feels the cold seep through his vessels. He had only performed this spell a handful of times on a mobile unit, one whose strength equals Jeno’s in his untransformed state, and the challenge to execute it never wavers.
Breathe, he reminds himself. An intermediate incantation such as this should be no qualm to a practiced witch. “-freeze my foe-”
“Any moment now,” Jeno suddenly calls out from where he is pushing the orc back, effectively breaking Renjun’s concentration. The spring water flows loosely into the verdant grass below, the artifact squandered, and he sighs.
“Let me gather my focus,” Renjun bites back. There are only 2 flasks remaining and, while Jeno can easily hold an orc in its place, time is ticking before the remainder of the pack arrive at the scene.
From where Renjun can see, Jeno has released his claws to sink into the orc’s skin, purple blood gushing out as the beast releases a pained cry. “Perhaps you need another hour to prepare your magic so please take your time back there. The orc and I can sit down for midnight tea while we wait.”
Choosing to ignore Jeno’s snide comments, Renjun cracks another flask to prepare the incantation once more, unable to spot the movement occurring behind him.
It happens in a flash of light - a flash of steel.
“Master!”
Renjun feels it sooner than he can visualize it, the crushing blunt force to his torso that sends his small frame flying off the ground. Then it becomes all white and smoke, his vision clearing the periphery to zero in on the porcelain luminescence of the moon, his lungs racing to replace the air pushed out but refilled only with earth and blood.
His body is an anchor sinking into a deep indigo lagoon, limbs unable to contract enough to complete a full motion, let alone cast a counterspell in defense against the orc working its way to his unguarded body lying in wait.
The sound of cicadas crowds his senses like the silence before the storm, a whirlwind of magic loosely escaping his fingers. While his body can naturally restore its injuries with time, an internal hemorrhage remains an internal hemorrhage, something his level of restorative magic cannot remedy alone.
Lucky for him, Renjun had packed a number of restorative and coagulating salves in cases of emergency such as this. Unlucky for him, there are no salves close by and the offending orc appears ready to finish the job.
Then it happens once more in another flash of light - a flash of silver.
The cicadas substituted with a familiar feral howl and the agonizing shrieks of orcs, the halcyon skies tainted by violet plasma, the rough earth underneath him displaced quickly by a softness, the sweet aroma of lily of the valley and earthy jasmine swirling under his nose.
“Master,” Jeno gently calls for him, voice contrasted by his husky mane and cutting fangs besmirched with orc’s blood. “Master, please drink this salve.”
Renjun can barely muscle out an affirmative, opting to hang his lips open to let his familiar pour the turquoise potion into his mouth. It is liquid ambrosia, the salve warming up his body and sealing the unseen wounds. Air comes flooding back into him and he immediately jolts to his side, coughing out the excess blood on his tongue, sensing the burn of his crushed ribs poking what is most likely his liver.
“Carefully,” Jeno consoles, “you’re still wounded.”
“Excellent observation, Jeno,” Renjun groans. The reality of their situation strikes him as the wretched odor of orc’s blood reaches him. Renjun scrunches his nose, eyes widening when he notices the corpses of at least 3 nearby orcs, the tears on Jeno’s dress shirt, and his rugged breathing, minute growls rumbling out as he exhales.
The telltale remnants of Jeno’s wolf.
“I told you to stop transforming unnecessarily,” Renjun scolds. The witch maneuvers his hand over the major site of impact, redirecting his blood flow to channel the procoagulants close to the site of his internal hemorrhage. Feeling the wound finally sealed, Renjun releases a deep breath and relaxes into the hold. “Your reckless savagery against these beasts, regardless of their actions towards me, was not warranted.”
“My sincerest apologies,” Jeno pouts, bowing his head. “You were hurt under my care; I could not control my anger and disappointment at myself.”
Renjun rolls his eyes despite the quiet fondness he masks as indignance. “Do not be overdramatic. I am fine, see?” As if to prove his healed state, Renjun motions to stand only for a piercing flare of pain to strike him, a troubled cry rushing out of his lips.
Quickly, Jeno positions the witch to a neutral supine, opening Renjun’s outer garment to allow for easier circulation. “Master, please allow me to examine your wounds in your place. We must prevent the worsening of your injuries.”
“I told you; I am fine. Just,” a bead of cold sweat drips from his forehead and Renjun forfeits, “just give me a moment to recover. Please stand guard.”
“As you will,” Jeno concurs, albeit reluctantly. The younger scans the scene and dashes to and from to bring the remainder of their satchel’s contents closer, bringing out a siphoning kit. “May we still extract the blood from these fallen orcs?”
“The samples would have already oxidized by this time; it would only spoil the potions of vitality.” Renjun leans back on bent elbows but rearranges his crushed bones in the process, another loud groan escaping him. “Hand me the ossein potion in the satchel. My ribcage is in shambles.”
Jeno nods, searches through the satchel, and reveals a scarlet brew, uncorking and aligning it with Renjun’s mouth. “Please consume this potion slowly.”
Lost with another flare of pain, Renjun bids the warning farewell with the wind and consumes the potion in a single gulp. Instantly, a myriad of flavors tingle on the back of his tongue. The sourness of an autumn pomegranate first, a bitter trout’s kidney next, and the sweetness of a pure nymph’s heart last.
The combination is… peculiar. As far as he can recall, ossein potions were considerably salty from the minerals and the prominent feeling would be the burn from the mending of his bones yet all that resides is the faintest tinge of daffodils.
Daffodils, like the hue of Jeno’s concerned eyes searching Renjun’s for a reaction to the ingested brew.
Daffodils, like the joyful sway of their petals under moonlight consumed by the proximity of Jeno’s face to his own, all chiseled jawline and the imprinted guiding star under his right eye, his hound ears and button nose adding this rough handsomeness to him.
Daffodils, like the all-consuming emotion ballooning in his chest, heart rate racing into a breathless sprint at the beauty of his familiar and the tender embrace he holds Renjun with, mouthing words that pass through Renjun’s rational brain composed solely of thoughts of convallaria and earthy jasmine.
And then it hits him.
“You fool! This is a love potion, not an ossein potion,” Renjun sputters, trying to expel as much liquid as possible but to meager avail. He turns the flask and, sure enough, the label he had once associated with a difficulty in formulating greets him like a taunt. “Look!”
A look of horror ruffles the tips of Jeno’s silver hair. “My apologies, master, but this potion closely resembles an ossein potion.” To exemplify, Jeno rummages through the satchel to take out an actual ossein potion and another love potion. Sure enough, both bottles are colored a dark red and follow the same curvature.
Renjun groans. “Do you know what you have just done?” Jeno shakes his head, sheepish. “A love potion is precisely what the label entails - a potion that will make the drinker of the love potion fall in love with the giver,” the older expounds, exasperated.
Jeno grimaces. “Are the- are the effects immediate?”
“Love is a powerful emotion, described to be a mortal’s only form of magic,” Renjun clarifies in the same way that Dongmei had clarified it to him. “While a love potion positively influences the development of this emotion, it will take time to fully come into fruition.”
“Does this mean that…”
“Yes, in time, love will effloresce between us. And since you are the fool who gave me this potion, I will be the one who will fall in love with you,” Renjun sighs, drinking the correct potion while ruminating on the position he has found himself sinking in.
This is truly the last thing Renjun wanted to concern himself with.
Due to the varying weather patterns over their region, the lilac shrubs in their garden failed to produce suitable flowers with extractable pollen for their malaria potions. A blockade of trolls has also stalled all shipments of honeybee wax into Hearthshire which has impeded their production of wart cleansers. Moreover, their quest to gather more banshee’s throats and bags of hermit’s smoking powder came to a near empty yield.
Now, Renjun has to deal with the repercussions of this absurd love potion. Whose idea was it to even bring such a thing for an orc’s blood siphoning? It was truly illogical from all standpoints and, to make matters worse, Jeno expressed little regard over the ordeal, as if-
“That does not sound like the worst thing,” Jeno mumbles, gaze not quite meeting him, canine ears folded inwards, cheeks uncharacteristically rosy.
Perhaps Renjun had twisted his head too hastily at Jeno’s response, but the auras of a migraine were suddenly appearing. “What?”
“It was nothing,” the younger replies.
“Wait, what did you-”
A distant howl sends Jeno firm on two feet, pupils dilated and focused on the source of the approaching uproar and clatter of armament. “We must depart immediately. The war cry of an orc is a call for reinforcements.”
Jeno offers a hand, but Renjun waves it off, opting to stand on his own, only to nearly topple over from the squeeze and throb associated with the onset of a migraine if it were not for Jeno quickly bracing his frame. For the fourth or fifth time that evening, Renjun feels a flutter of an unfamiliar something in the pit of his stomach.
“Master, please allow me to carry the weight of your feet and escort you home safely,” Jeno suggests - more closely, pleads - then kneels, motioning for a saddleback carry.
“Do not be ridiculous, I can carry my own weight,” Renjun chides but hardly manages a few steps before Jeno spares him from another fall.
Renjun flinches at the advancing rumble of orcs, the aggressive cling-clang of metal alerting them of their racing proximity, and he wants nothing more than to wipe the smug look off Jeno’s face.
“At least be quick about it,” the older sighs as he leans his weight onto his familiar, looping his arms and legs like a brace.
“As you will, master,” is all Jeno says before he secures Renjun’s body then dashes westward into the veil of night.
* ੈ ✩ ‧ ₊ ⋆ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆
The Extensive Lore of Revered Covens, Volume VII, pages 323-325
White witches are rare, if not the rarest, magical entities in the realm of the humes.
While all witches have the capacity to concoct complex brews and cast an array of intricate spells, only a white witch can manipulate a being’s life force at all states of vigor, impairment, or agony. It is their predisposed nature to commune with the corporeal macrocosm, understand its innermost workings, and influence their outlook. Once fully awakened, a white witch has the ability to cure terminal illnesses and extend one’s golden strings, the witch’s own life immune to the natural passage of time.
Due to the immense power a white witch may acquire, the world weaver crafted an elaborate system that prevents the dominion of witches over other magical creatures.
See, a white witch is not simply trained but birthed from the appropriate matching of 3 witches who bear the recessive genes of the white witch. These genes must then be inoculated into a suitable host, a maiden who has demonstrated immense devotion to life itself and whose temperament has shown willingness to rear a child who shall possess similar dispositions to their hume mother.
Thus, for the conception of a white witch under the revered lineage of Ahnjong, the Sorceress Supreme, an intentional engineering of offspring had occurred. Tracking the genes of the witches under her command and practicing an intricate series of divinations, the Sorceress Supreme identified the most eligible witches whose genes will produce the next white witch under her coven.
Seohyun, wielder of the frigid permafrost; Yeonsoo, sovereign of the raging thunder; and Dahye, priestess of the monsoon and westerlies. These witches, sworn to the oath and venerated for their own abilities, came together to perform the exalted ritual of conjugation of a white witch. Despite the grueling process and the countless artifacts required to execute the rite, the witches succeeded in conceiving the necessary embryo. All that remained was selecting the correct host for the child.
Looking far and wide, the search brought them to the wintery, mountainside town of Hearthshire, specifically to the maiden Dongmei, the lone midwife of the tiny village. Aside from being a woman of childbearing age, Dongmei was renowned for her tender character and capacity to raise a child. Ahnjong visited the woman in a vivid dream, and it was there that the vow was immortalized, Dongmei wholeheartedly accepting the great responsibility of bearing the embryo and raising a white witch.
It was a quiet road to nascency, albeit somewhat eventful due to the 3 witches bickering on what type of water the mother must drink throughout her pregnancy, the temperature of her bedroom as she slept, or whether to prepare a gift for her efforts. Dongmei proved her suitability for the role once more as she resolved any and all conflicts (any potable water, just below room temperature, and a kind but firm rejection for any paraphernalia). 9 months later, the next white witch under the lineage of witches came into the world without much fanfare.
The child was of fair weight and stature, resplendent moon-blessed hair, and wielded the beginnings of magic of the purest light. The beautiful being of life was ultimately named ‘Renjun’ in honor of the benevolence of the wood sorrel, the flower tattooed around his right wrist, a symbol of his healing magic. Renjun bore resplendent cerulean eyes, ones that shined as he smiled, the mark of latent untapped power.
And that power had to be honed at the earliest opportunity. The stakes for conceiving a white witch had multiplied exponentially given that all of Renjun’s predecessors under the renowned coven had failed to achieve their awakening, their time in the corporeal world fleeting and without total realization of their fullest potential.
As such, the training of the white witch started as early as 3 months.
To start, his witch mothers each took their turns imbuing Renjun with their brands of magic, ensuring that the boy would not lose the tether to his mystical roots. Then, at the age of 5 years old, Renjun was slowly exposed to the dormant magic welled inside him. Seohyun taught the boy how to read and interpret the runes inscribed in all their tomes, whereas Yeonsoo brought Renjun to the cauldron to experience concocting potions firsthand, while Dahye explained the basics of conjuring elementary elemental spells.
It was then his time with Dongmei that Renjun learned to commune with life, going on short walks in the forest to witness the metamorphosis of a caterpillar to a butterfly, the shifting of leaves from blonde to emerald, and the abundance of wood sorrels blossoming all around them.
Renjun was 10 years old when he honed the proficiency of brewing simple salves from memory and freezing portions of a nearby stream with a practiced incantation. While he could not yet fully access the powers of his other witch mothers, his bond to the energies flowing around him grew ever stronger. From a single gentle touch, Renjun could fully appraise a being’s heartbeat and breathing, as well as determine the disposition of their vitality in relation to their ailments, the foundation of any white witch. Like this, he could sense the ebb and flow of one’s life force as it enters, circulates, and leaves a body, such as when he observed the birth of a humble calf or knelt at the deathbed of a fallen centaur.
However, as Renjun grew in age and abilities, so did the number of his would-be assailants.
Magical creatures, particularly the brutes who feared the rise of the capricious witches, sought to eliminate the new white witch who would essentially render their coven invulnerable to malady and fatal wounds. Attacks from such monsters would arrive at their doorstep endlessly, warded off only by his witch mothers’ pertinent counteroffensive. Even after relocating Renjun to a secluded cottage in the evergreen forest, the hunt for the white witch persisted.
Sensing the danger to Renjun’s life, the Sorceress Supreme erected an impervious barrier around the perimeter of the boy’s new home, dedicating such protection in the boy’s name which allowed safe passage only to those who harbored no ill intentions against the white witch.
And, although this offered much needed protection for years to come, another obstacle soon loomed upon them.
As Renjun neared his 16th birthday, he was to enter a period of intensive self-training to enhance his independence and to hone his magic’s unique potential. While there was no explicit timeline for this period, the ultimate outcome was implicitly described to him from his mothers’ teachings - to awaken completely as a white witch.
To encourage the awakening, all companions, whether hume or mystic, were thus instructed to depart from their shared residence to allow the witch the time and opportunity for such training. In their place, the witch would be assigned a familiar, a faithful aide, who would accompany them in this possibly decades-long endeavor.
It was then, at the age of 15, that Renjun met his familiar - a descendant from the respected line of white wolves, Jeno.
Jeno was a month younger than him, but his external appearance was well beyond his age - broad shoulders and defined arms, hair as silver as his own but rugged and pointed with canine ears, eyes sharp yet tinted like summer daffodils. Two dark bands encircled Jeno’s left forearm, the brand of the great wolves.
He is a hybrid, Seohyun explained prior, meaning that they possessed the innate heightened aspect of the wolf at all times despite their outwardly human composition. These beings were primarily capable of shifting to their bestial forms at will and in various degrees based on requirement, granting them physical power beyond measure, the agility of a skydiving falcon, and stealth greater than any leopard or sidewinder.
On a normal day, his familiar would serve his basic needs and secure the growth of the witch in training. At times of dire necessity, this great wolf could transform into his pure bestial form at the blink of an eye, avowed to protect Renjun no matter the cost to his own life.
“At your service, master,” Jeno had proclaimed as soon as they came face to face, bowing down to him on one knee.
He certainly looked the part, Renjun mused, Jeno dawned in a dress shirt with a dark vest and slacks. Scanning Jeno’s life force, he was astonished at the heavenly blue shade of his heartbeat, rhythmic and gentle, a sign of honesty and dedication.
But at the surface of such a tender spirit was a guise that matched his roots, a frozen vacancy resting on his face despite Renjun’s softest smile in greeting, sharpened further by an icy glare which wavered not a second during their initial meeting.
First impressions were never intended to last, yet something about the mysterious facade Jeno presents him even days after their introductions made Renjun believe that perhaps the greatest danger to his life was already within the impermeable barrier, residing just a door down his own.
* ੈ ✩ ‧ ₊ ⋆ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆
Cosmic Revolution 3749, 5th Lunar Cycle
Renjun awakens to warm rays of light dancing under his eyes. Spring had ushered in more confident daylight, able to penetrate the remnants of evening chill without fail.
As he rises, he exhales chemical relief as he finds his body fully recovered from his recent injuries after an evening of profound rest. However, as a result of the healing process, he realizes that he had slept well past midday, a majority of his responsibilities left unattended to.
Scrambling on two feet, Renjun pads down the hall into the washroom and is surprised to see a fresh bath drawn for him, the refreshing aroma of lavender emanating from the lukewarm water. Did I do this, he wonders, stepping into the water to get his day jump started.
After his bath, Renjun is further surprised to see the former disarray of his purple oolong, chamomile, and ginger infusions now neatly lined up in the cupboards and a kettle of hot fresh water atop the fireplace. The basin of collected stream water had also been refilled to the brim, awaiting his purification spell to make it potable, as well as his garbs freshly laundered and folded.
Odd, Renjun thinks. He is fairly certain that these tasks were intended for him to accomplish before brewing potions and training that day. Looking around him, Renjun belatedly realizes that he had not seen any sign of Jeno that day yet.
As soon as the thought penetrates his mind, he shakes himself out of the musing. Why was he thinking about Jeno and his adorable crescent smile all of a sudden?
Sauntering off outside, Renjun is greeted with his next substantial surprise that day.
At the small clearing outside the cottage stands Jeno, bracing the brisk wind with nothing but his trousers, cleaving through logs of birch and cedar with a sharpened ax. Renjun feels his face immediately heat up, scandalized at the brazen display of nudity, but more so the way that Jeno’s torso flexes prior to each swing, how his toned arms tighten at the tailwind of each strike, the way each cleft of the boy’s body is defined with purpose, as if personally entwined into existence by the world weaver themself.
Sensing a nearby presence, Jeno turns to address him, bowing. “Blessed noontide, master,” he says, indirectly reminding Renjun that he is far too behind schedule to inappropriately leer at his familiar of all people. “I trust that your beauty sleep fared you well,” he jeers.
Renjun rolls his eyes. “Absolutely peachy.”
Seemingly pleased with himself, Jeno returns to his task at hand, burning through the pile of wood at an alarming rate. One, two, swing. Another. “How are your injuries?” One, two, swing. Another. “Have they healed completely?”
“Fortunately, but no thanks to your incorrect potion.” How could Renjun forget the unfortunate mix-up in the necrohol of the orcs? Had it begun to take effect, Renjun ruminates, unsure how exactly the love potion would influence his disposition towards Jeno. So far, apart from the astonishment of the younger’s candid form, Renjun wields no stronger emotion for his familiar than a wisp to its sprouts. He would have to revisit his volumes on refined potions later.
“I offer my sincerest apologies once more,” Jeno replies, sounding genuinely contrite. One, two, swing. Another. “Do you feel,” the younger asks, not quite looking back at him. “Do you feel any different?” One, two, swing. Another.
Renjun considers it for a moment, unsure what feels changed within him other than his repaired rib cage and his elevated heart rate while speaking to Jeno. Perhaps he drank too much black tea. “Confused, but mostly because of the state of the cottage.”
That seems to stop Jeno from his current task, the boy tilting his head in inquiry. “Is it not to your liking?”
“It is not that,” Renjun replies, “how come all of the chores were completed already?”
“What do you mean?”
“My bath was drawn, the infusions were organized, and my garments were prepared,” Renjun lists. He is also partially certain the dust around the cottage had been swept away and the remnants of midnight frost on the windowpanes were wiped clean, but he does not mention these.
There is a fond grin that forms on Jeno’s pretty face. “Master, if you may recall, those are a few of the daily tasks you have assigned to me.”
“Oh,” Renjun blinks. He did assign those tasks to Jeno some time prior since Jeno had always hounded him that he wanted to do more around the cottage.
Also, Jeno’s pretty face? Where did that come from? It is definitely not untrue, but it certainly is not a rational thought for him to harbor, either.
“Yes, I have performed similar tasks regularly every morning for nearly a decade,” Jeno further explains and Renjun feels foolish for forgetting such a simple detail.
“Right,” he whispers, embarrassed.
Never to miss a beat of Renjun’s flustered state, Jeno chides, “Did you perhaps lose some of your memories overnight?”
Renjun clicks his tongue, “Do not be ridiculous. It was an honest question,” he blatantly lies, trying to save his skin. “Better yet, it was a test to ensure that you performed the tasks correctly.”
Jeno perks a brow, smirking, and Renjun tries his hardest to ignore how gorgeous the younger looks when he does so (Renjun fails). “Well, I hope I was able to perform my duties to your liking. Your comfort during this training period is of utmost importance to me.”
How long would Jeno torment Renjun and his poor heart? Something in Renjun seethes, an unreasonable desire to become difficult in bitter retaliation. “In that case, were you able to prepare the flasks for the potions for varicosity?”
“Sterilized over the firepit, cooled, and arranged in your workroom,” is Jeno’s instant response.
Renjun sharpens his gaze. “And the lotus fibers for the collagen solutions?”
“Retrieved from the supplier in the market and coiled into a bale,” Jeno reflects, his cheeky grin gaining momentum by the second.
Suddenly, he worries he is losing things he can be difficult about, “How about the, umm, the fairy wings?”
“In the jar next to the dwarf’s beards.”
Renjun frowns, clearly bested at his own pointless applesauce. Why must Jeno be so put together while Renjun struggles to contain the atrocious beehive on his head?
“Anything else you seek?” Jeno challenges, leaning his weight on the ax, unfairly handsome despite the sweat running down his toned chest. “Another lavender bath or perhaps a violin of silken pegasus mane?”
“None at this moment,” Renjun ultimately forfeits. You win this time, he mutters under his breath. He has more important matters to deal with than Jeno’s pettiness (even though Renjun may have been the impetus for this particular volley of banter).
“If you ever have any further requests, you know where to find me,” Jeno bows, aiming for courtesy but landing awfully close to caustic. “Have a wonderful day ahead of you, master.”
Renjun’s eyes roll on their own accord. Jeno was a much better familiar when he used to lean towards silence.
* ੈ ✩ ‧ ₊ ⋆ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆
Cosmic Revolution 3740, 3rd Lunar Cycle
“Do you really have to leave?”
“Believe me, young one, the decision was not mine to make,” Dongmei consoles as she brushes her thumb across Renjun’s cheek, easing away the deep frown there. She always warned him that glowering aged the skin faster than hosting an easy smile.
Renjun will be 16 years old on the next new moon, 3 days from now.
It had been 7 days since Yeonsoo flew back to the aviary of the thunderbirds, 5 days since Seohyun returned to the northern glaciers, and 4 days since Dahye prepared the shrine of the Westerlies for Dongmei and herself. Renjun told himself not to count down every passing moment but the obvious changes in their home was difficult to ignore.
Piece by piece, their overcrowded living spaces grew vacant with each artifact removed or contraption disassembled, the magical signature of his witch mothers ebbing away with each passing moment. The former rambunctiousness of their tiny cottage had dimmed slowly to the gentleness of Dongmei arranging the silverware in the cupboards and sweeping through the floors in preparation for her own leave.
Pleasant petrichor surrounded the spring aura beaming through the foliage, the icy earth not fully defrosted yet but enough for the wood sorrels to flutter with the westward breeze. By the doorstep, a modest leather luggage awaited its owner. Renjun had offered to bring it out even though it weighed no more than a full-grown shorthair.
Renjun learned long ago that his hume mother did not own many material possessions, as such was her upbringing. Inherited and well-worn cotton garments, the same weathered boots Renjun had always seen by the garden, a single pendant with an impure zircon stone at its core. Hence, packing away her belongings did not take more than a day, especially since the remainder of her things would remain in the cottage for Renjun to use.
And that would be the largest adjustment, he believes.
To walk into the kitchen without the aroma of his mother’s beef stew wafting in the air, to wake up to the sound of canaries or robins and not to his mother’s melodious humming, to continue practicing his white magic only to realize that the purest life force he had ever touched no longer resided with him.
“Come here, Renjun,” she beckons, “can you offer me a short embrace before I depart?”
Amidst the simplicity in her words, a tone of finality resounds from ear to ear. Suddenly, Renjun sees the slight slouch in her gait and the wrinkles on her once pristinely clear skin, as if the person he immortalized in time when he was younger finally escaped and aged in a matter of seconds.
Before him is no longer just the midwife of Hearthshire, but a woman grown into a role that demanded more than it rewarded, entering a life of uncertainty and danger and strife for a child she bore.
Yet there remains the luster in her affectionate gaze, unchanged from countless attacks by trolls or griffins and the boiling temper of acclaimed witches who claim to understand child rearing. A mother by every dictionary or encyclopedic definition. His mother.
Almost charging into her, Renjun throws his arms around Dongmei’s awaiting form, the latter chuckling into his silver hair when they collide.
A pearl white tune beats inside her chest, a resonant chord of generous temperament that completes the symphony of their shared life force dancing in fields of the bluest hyacinths, a waltz of mother and child.
Renjun’s vision fades as tears cascade down his cheeks, quiet whimpers soon transforming to loaded sobs. It feels ridiculous in his head, to weep over something as simple as a departure, knowing full and well that it is not their last meeting. Alas, Renjun finds himself powerless to the overflowing emotions as his cries crowd his hearing, focusing solely on the familiar scent of confections, peaches, and home.
“I-I am sorry,” he murmurs.
Dongmei coos while holding him closer, soothing him through the aquamarine feelings. “What are you apologizing for?”
“Just- just for crying on you like this.”
“I have dealt with far worse than tears on a blouse. You forget that I am your mother, and you were once a child who could not yet control his bladder.”
His miffed huff is addressed with a warm, brief laugh.
“I am going to miss you so much, dear, do you know that?” she says.
“I am going to miss you even more.”
The frame of a smile grazes his hair, a soft peck planted on his forehead soon after. “I cannot imagine how that could be possible.”
Renjun is unsure how long they stay transfixed at that moment, her gentle hands carding through his locks, but the tears dry soon enough, his breathing calmed significantly. Extracting himself from their embrace, eyes lingering on their fingers intertwined with one another, a quiet admission rolls of his tongue, “I do not know how to do any of this without you.”
“But did I not teach you how to clean the amphora and wash the dishes?” she tilts her head for a play at concern.
He pouts beyond reasonable measure, “You know what I mean.”
With her left hand, Dongmei turns his face to hers and the resulting grin when their gazes align is tender, warm, a balm on his deepest worries. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I tried multiple times to convince the coven that I should remain by your side, but what can a single hume do against dozens of revered witches?” she jeers. “The only stipulation that convinced me to follow their plan was the assurance that you are more than equipped to tread down the road ahead of you. And, if the eventful and stress-inducing past 15 years were any indication, you are absolutely more than prepared to tidy up after the aftermath of your own magic.”
Renjun feels himself flush in the face. “I am sorry?”
Dongmei shakes her head, fond. “I know not the specifics of being a witch or this independent training period you must undertake but I know what it means to witness the bloom of a marigold against the arid summer sun. One moment, you were a tiny toddler I cradled in my arms and, in the next, you were brewing medicine to treat my rheumatism. You have grown exponentially in the blink of an eye into a witch who holds purpose. Given how you overcame the throes of your initiation and inculcation into the coven, there is no doubt in my mind that this training period is yet another challenge for you to overcome with ease.”
There underlie a million shades of purple in her words, from the sweet heather of sentimentality to the intense amethyst of support that Dongmei harbored inside his capable hands, across his wood sorrel imprint. In some ways, it is everything he sought and not enough all at once. “But that does not change the fact that I will no longer see any of you here anymore.”
“Oh, Renjun, but we are always here with you,” Dongmei is quick to reassure. Bringing a hand to his heart, she continues, “we live on together with you in every beautiful laugh you let out, every spell and incantation you master, and every drop of rain that washes away your longing and heartache. We are your mothers, and no amount of distance will replace that fact.”
His hand meets hers on his chest, the closest they could possibly be, yet Renjun knows he requires no magic to pick out the earnestness of her resolve and the hope she bestows onto him.
“And you are not alone here,” she consoles, “Jeno will stay here with you.”
Just like that, their frozen moment defrosts in an instant, the ringing of cicadas blaring in his ears and the presence of another subtly past his peripheral, almost as if observing them from a distance, constituting a sliver of his attention.
It had been 10 days since Renjun met Jeno at the audience with the Sorceress Supreme, but Renjun could count the number of times he had spoken to his familiar in a situation without his mothers.
So easily done as the number is at an astounding zero.
And it did not occur from the lack of any opportunity. Before each of his mothers departed, they had spoken to Jeno and taught him the goings-on in their house, be it the proper storage of hygroscopic excipients to the daily chores, with Renjun trying his hardest to insert himself into the conversation so that he could finally speak to his familiar.
But all that came from the younger was an astute, calculating stare and the applaudable ability to avoid Renjun at every corner of a small cottage. For someone who was meant to assist him in his training, Jeno had surely found a unique way to complicate already difficult circumstances.
“He does not even speak to me,” Renjun reveals, dejected.
Dongmei’s face does not appear to deny the claim, the surrounding brightness remaining there. “Permit him some time and space to readjust himself to these conditions. A white wolf hybrid remains a white wolf at the end of the day, a being often isolated from others in the tundras of frigid permafrost. Although he possesses a shielded exterior, I believe there lies a softness to him he does not yet express. Perhaps you will be the one to coax it out, so be patient with him and try to take the lead.”
Renjun, despite his hardest efforts to convince himself that the task is monumental at a glance, knows he possesses the wherewithal to surmount such an obstacle. To extend an olive branch to another, especially one taken out of their comforts, is one of the things a white witch can, and should, look to do. “I can- I can try.”
“I know you will, sweetheart,” she nods. “In time, I believe you two will become inseparable companions.”
Quite the farfetched image but it remains the outcome in mind. “That sounds much easier said than done.”
There is an evenness in her voice when she says, “Do not lose hope so soon. Time erodes even the mightiest of strongholds.”
Hope is an odd thing, Renjun thinks. A force stronger than a mountain standing tall against a typhoon yet also a force so easily wielded and given out. From mentor to successor, inventor to prodigy, mother to child, hope lies cradled within the farthest recesses of one’s words and nourishes the mindset to wield a power beyond measure, to walk through and admire a rose garden without fearing its thorns.
Hope is but one of many gifts Dongmei has given, and continues to give, to him. “While I may not impart any knowhow that may enrich your magic, perhaps I can offer you a simple hume spell that even I can perform.”
“What is that?”
“Allow yourself to be vulnerable,” she advises. “The natural propensity of this world drives beings to embolden themselves and ward off any indication of weakness. But what we fail to realize is that our greatest strength as people is the ability to empathize and feel beyond the walls one may erect around themselves.
“Do not be quick to guard your heart in moments of doubt; let yourself feel what must be felt and prepare for that which is necessary - to reach out, to understand, and to love. That much is possible and accessible even for the most powerless of humes, magic potent enough to conquer the mightiest of adversaries. After all, love is-”
“-the strongest form of hume magic,” Renjun completes, feeling the grin form on his face. How could he possibly forget her favorite proverb?
“There really is nothing left for us to teach,” Dongmei chuckles as she carefully extracts herself from their embrace, reaching over for her belongings in slow, measured movements. There she stands at the precipice of their cottage, midnight black hair tied and hands clasped together like always, and the same note of finality plays, the coda of a majestic, mutual symphony. “You are more than ready for the challenges ahead of you, Renjun.”
Renjun balls up his fist, swallowing down words asking her to stay. “I hope I can make all of you proud soon.”
And for one of the few times in their time together, Dongmei shakes her head, disagreeing. “You already have, my child.”
A sea of melancholy rises to his chest as Renjun watches her disappear into the foliage, his lungs momentarily constricting when he can no longer sense her life force within the barrier. Another rogue tear threatens to flow but, with a calming breath, he abates the emotion in lieu of the present.
As soon as Renjun closes the front door, the sound of another one shutting in the distance resounds.
He sighs. The true trials and tribulations have only yet to unfold, one white wolf-shaped problem at a time.
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