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A gnawing feeling wakes you from your sleep. No amount of tossing or turning lulls your rushing mind to rest. Getting tired of not getting tired, you huff out a breath in frustration.
“So much for resting…” After glaring at the wooden beams of your ceiling for the umpteenth time, you turn and face towards the door. Your bed sits as a loft overlooking the whole room. A skylight lets in the night’s soft glow, and from where you are, you can see the mess on your desk you’ve been meaning to clean up.
There’s a growing stack of parchment filled with the trials and sketches of some spells you’ve been working on – and with rough ‘X’’s and scratches over most of them, the frustration of being unable to finish weighs again on your mind. Glancing at the other side of the table, you see your palm quire and pen. ‘I need to get out of my room… Maybe a walk would be nice.’
Rising up from your bed, you fix yourself. Going down the ladder, you reach for your cloak hanging beside and put it on. The warm cloth drapes over your shoulders and reaches your knees, as three gold buttons run down the left side of your chest to keep it closed. There is always an underlying cold here under the sea, but tonight feels as if the halls were covered in ice. One of your hands holds your shoes and the other gathers your palm quire, pen, and some other tools to put them in a small pocket on your waist belt. Braving the chill of the night air, you slowly creep out of your room, being careful not to step too hard on the loud creaky floorboards your professor swears they don’t hear.
Once you’re out the door, your shoes are immediately put on. A chill wafts through you. You feel that awful feeling again. You pull your cloak a little tighter.‘This walk better make me sleepy…’
Through the Seabed Sanctum’s winding streets, your feet move forward with no destination in mind. The roads are clear as the Assembly’s residents have winded down, with only a few lights open in some high windows - practicing witches formulating their spells too, you assume. Walking along the quiet, to distract your mind from that crawling bad feeling, your mind wanders.
The fourth trial you are set to challenge creeps ever closer: The Goodwill of Her Grace stands between you and the recognition of being a fully independent witch. Your professor had planned for you to take it in a few weeks time, and while it’s an honor to finally have shown skill worthy of an independent witch, you were dismayed it couldn’t have happened sooner. You know it isn’t a competition, but a part of yourself wishes that you could have taken the test near the time your two friends did.
‘Olly’s practically famous already’, you laugh to yourself. The flames he conjures remain firm under his command, and with his knack of inventing magical trinkets and tools, many clients are already on his waitlist of commissions. From Olly, your mind wanders to Qifrey. From a brooding kid who drew wobbly lines and didn’t eat his veggies, he’s now a capable witch whose intricate sigils mold water into art - his skills have earned him official freedom from his master’s side and leave the Great Hall, if he so wished. ‘He’s always dreamed of settling down in a nice place under the stars.’ you remember he told you and Olly once.
Your thoughts lead you to the time when you were just a novice apprentice. Bright eyes unaware of the rumors, you were always intrigued about the quiet and brooding white-haired kid that Sage Beldaruit took in as his apprentice. You would always steal curious glances at him and immediately look away when his head would turn in your direction. Then, the black-haired prodigy from Ghodrey came to the Great Hall, and all the attention was on him. You wanted to approach him too and ask about the outside world, but the other kids and apprentices would just flock to him, leaving you no chance to ask.
They finally met you one night, when you caught the both of them sneaking out through a hidden path you’d discovered. In a panic, they ran away and you chased after them, half-heartedly saying that you’d tell on them if they didn't stop. It was then that they brought you with them, making you promise not to let any of the adults know. It was your first time outside the Great Hall.
A mishap that night led to a pack of some Buffashoals chasing all three of you. Olruggio’s shoes were soaked when he mistakenly stepped and fell in some mud by a lake – his yells of frustration woke up a pack of sleeping Buffashoal nearby, who then chased after all of you to the edge of a forest. As you ran, you failed to notice that Qifrey took off in a much different direction than the both of you. When the adrenaline died down, you panicked when the white-haired boy was nowhere in your sights. Telling Olruggio to rest and clean himself up, you volunteered to search for Qifrey. (Not without a fight though. You remember saying ‘Your sylph shoes are ruined, butthead!’ while casting a pyreball spell for him to warm up and stop shivering. He promptly sat down with a ‘Hmph!’)
You soared around, looking for the white-haired boy. Eventually, you found him sitting in an alcove, cloak wet and shoes also dirtied. You created a floating ball of light so that he can see you, and call out to him. Qifrey sees you and crosses the distance so quickly, it put the Buffashoals that chased you to shame. Both of you come back to a sparkly clean Olruggio, who then pens a cleaning spell to freshen you all up.
Eventually, the both of them bashfully mumble their thanks to you, to which you accept and laugh to say it’s your first time ever going out of the Great Hall. It was that night that led you all to become friends, and ever since then, the three of you have been as thick as thieves.
You hoped to stand beside them as a witch of your own one day. But you can’t help this feeling of self-doubt that crawls in. There’s always that fear of being left behind.
Your mind continues to wander, paying no mind to where your feet would lead you. Another chill wafts through you, interrupting your thoughts.
“Why is it so cold…” you mumble. “I don’t think I’ll be falling asleep if it’s this cold…”
Your mumbles and grumbles stop when you notice where you are. The refraction of the waves cast dancing lights on your still form, and you look back in amazement at the distance you’ve walked. From your master’s abode near the edge of the fog, you’ve somehow reached the entrance to Argentgard, home to the garden of silverwood trees.
You have half the mind to turn back and return to your master’s workshop and hope that sleep will find you on the way back, but the weight of the tools on your waist makes you stop.
‘I could go in and practice some spells I’ve been working on…’ you think to yourself. Sage Beldaruit often wanders here, but he shouldn’t be here at this time of night, right? And even if he is, he would surely understand a student’s drive for improving their magic. Heh, maybe he’ll even be amazed at your work and grant you accolades right then and there! Okay… maybe a bit too much, but the point still stands. He has always been the eccentric sort. And after much reasoning with yourself, you enter through.
The water-repelling spell Qifrey inscribed on your cloak does its magic as you enter, and you make a mental note to ask Olly in the morning to try something on your cloak that can warm you up. Walking along the path, reflections of the water cast their lights on the high ceiling as the view of silverwood trees grew closer.
Reaching the entrance, your eyes are met with the shining silverwoods slowly swaying in the soft breeze.
‘Such beautiful trees they are…’ you walk further into the garden and choose to sit on the ground. You look up at them for a moment, admiring the silver glow of their leaves. Then, before you do anything else, you look around. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here.
With no one to disturb you, you bring out your materials. One dip of your pen in the ink, and you begin to draw.
Out of all the spells you want to perfect, there is one that holds a close place in your heart. Building your specialty with the light sigil and the manipulation of its magic, you wanted to create a spell that creates light like fireflies. It might seem rudimentary – maybe even a spell that a beginning apprentice can finish – and others might even say it’s practically useless, but to you, it holds a special memory.
It was one night of sneaking away again from the Great Hall. You, Olly, and Qifrey were walking when the clamor and laughs of people drew your attention. It was a small festival in the forest. A village nearby must have been celebrating their harvest at the turn of the new season. There was a large table filled to the brim with various dishes and delicacies, and in the middle was a large bonfire surrounded by people and children dancing to music.
One of the children noticed you and took your hand. The villagers were surprised, but invited and welcomed all three of you to join them. They included you in their small little feast, singing songs and dancing around the fire. Someone even took your hands and asked you to dance! (You were sure you heard a strangled gasp followed by a cheeky laugh from behind you.)
It was lively. It was lovely. It was a feeling that made your heart feel whole.
Feeling exhaustion catching up to you, you quietly hobble to walk a little farther away from everyone. Some fresh air and space to breathe after a long night of walking, drinking, eating, and dancing was definitely needed.
You saw a little clearing a few minutes away from the celebrations. As you walked to it, you noticed a white-haired boy sitting on the ground. It’s Qifrey, quiet and still, looking at the stars. Your steps startled him, but he welcomed you to sit beside him anyway. Exhausted, you lie down on the grass to stare at the sky too. The both of you sit in the comfortable silence.
Your eyes were starting to close when you felt taps on your shoulder. You sat up just as Qifrey was gesturing in front of you. It was a sight you’ll never forget. The night sky full of stars planted a beautiful canvas for the glowing fireflies that were floating all around you. It was as if the stars descended from the heavens and have come to you.
‘Amazing… It’s so pretty…’ you mumbled, and Qifrey agreed with you quietly.
It was a view you’ll never forget. But with the Great Hall being leagues under the sea, you doubt that there’d be anything similar to it here. So you decided you’d make a spell that glows just like it. Trials came and went, and being such a nitpick to your own spells, the lights were either too big or too small, too bright or too dim, the color wasn't right, the speed wasn’t good… the list goes on.
But here, in the silverwood garden, as you finish the sigils you’ve been drawing, you think that it's close to being done. Numerous, tiny little lights seem to rise from the ground, slowly moving and swaying as they float high above you. The faint shimmer of the silverwood leaves seem like stars as your magic fills the room. You let out a breath of disbelief and your shoulders sag as you stare and take in the view.
“Out of the whole Great Hall, and you chose Argentgard of all places…”
A voice startles you. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. As he walks towards your firefly lights, you turn around and see him.
“Qifrey! What brings you here?”
“There was a little bug walking around and mumbling about the cold. I can’t believe it made its way here.”
Your eyes roll, amused. “Okay Mister Bug Catcher. What are you doing here so late at night anyway?”
“I just saw you. You’re lucky that no one else is here. How about you?” He leans down to take a seat, not too near but not too far from you. “ This is a long way from your place.”
“I woke up to a weird feeling, and couldn’t sleep…” you peel your eyes from him and look at your lights. “I decided to take a walk and found myself here. This place is pretty and quiet, so I thought, why not practice some spells here while I’m at it?”
He stares at the lights too and hums. After a beat though, he breathes with a coy smile. “That weird feeling is probably because of those romance books you’ve been reading.” He turns and looks at you with a sly upturn of his lips and a teasing tone, “You know, those books where they…”
“Shht! Aaah! Stop!” you cover your ears to drown out his teasing voice. Your body curls in embarrassment as he continues.
“Reading such scandalous books instead of grimoires… my, my. The little bug is a naughty thing, aren't they?”
“Qifrey!” you throw your palm quire at him. Though, with the embarrassed flush on your cheeks, it’s hard for him to take you seriously. Reminded of what you felt when you woke up though, you settle down and sit with your knees up. You set your arms atop of them and stare at the silverwood tree in front. You tell him quietly, “I chose to take a walk to distract myself. It was a feeling I couldn’t shake off when I woke up. Like something is gonna happen soon. I don’t know how else to explain it…”
“Maybe it’s because of the fourth test? The fear of what comes after it… Or maybe something would happen in the Great Hall?” you look down, resigned. “I’m probably just imagining things..”
“It’s said that the silverwood tree chooses where it wants to grow,” he says, catching you off guard.
“Huh? So suddenly?” you turn your head to look at him.
Qifrey lets out a small laugh. “Just thought you'd want something else to think about.” he smiles, “There's that legend…”
“That the silverwood tree once fell in love with a witch. It gave them its branches as wands, and the cruor as ink…” you turn your head to the silverwoods and recall the old legend. “How much love that old tree must have had, to have given so much of itself to the witch…”
You don't notice the gentle smile on his face as he replies to you, “So much. It must have felt so much.”
You hum in agreement, and he continues. “They don't have a specific habitat. Instead, their seeds lie dormant in a host’s body, like an animal for example. It’ll lie dormant so long as the host is healthy. Once the host rests or feels safe, then it’ll take over them.”
Qifrey takes a breath, “The silverwood grows once the creature rests and feels at peace.”
There's something in the way he said it, something heavy, that makes you a bit worried. But he does not continue and stays quiet, choosing to instead look at the lights that your spell had conjured.
For a moment, everything is quiet. Only the faint sound of water flowing through the garden and the rustle of leaves fill the room. The silverwood trees shimmer, and combined with your spell’s fireflies, Argentgard is a sight to behold. That tense, awful feeling you felt earlier begins to ebb away. You and Qifrey stay and bask in the quiet together. But after a few moments, it is you who breaks the silence.
“Are you sleepy, Qifrey? When’ll you go?” you yawn. At last, sleep is finally beginning to reach you.
“I plan to leave before dawn.” His gaze is fixed on one orb, eyes following as it floats around.
“These lights will fade long before that, Qifrey.” you snort. “It’s cold, let’s go back soon, yeah? We’d risk being sick otherwise.”
“No.” His gaze turns to you, voice firmer. “ I plan to leave before dawn.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. You sit up straighter. You look around and it is only then that you notice a satchel near the room’s entrance. It's not a size for travelling – it’s as if the owner wants to leave everything behind.
“I’m leaving the Great Hall.” And after a breath, he tells you. “... and I don’t plan on ever coming back.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Qifrey. You–”,
“I’ve told you before, haven’t I? That one of my eyes and all my memories were stolen and I want to get them back.”
“Yes, you have. But why now, again? You’ve said it yourself when you and Olly came back from the Tower – your search is done.”
Qifrey flinches. It pains him to say it, but with your steadfast gaze not letting him leave, he relents. He brings a hand near his left blue eye.
“My left eye… my vision on my left eye is beginning to fade.” It sends a shock through you. You know he covers his right eye to hide the scar behind, but to think that the vision on his left is already starting to fade… a heavy stone settles in your stomach.
“That’s why I want to find them again, the Brimmed cap witch who stole my eye.” he glares at the ground. He says it so quietly, like he wants to disappear. There's a sinking feeling that there is more to this reason than what he tells you.
“Well then, Qifrey, I can’t just stay here in the Great Hall knowing you’re out there alone, risking your life in chasing those Brimmed bastards. Let me help you! Let me come with you! Let us help you.”, you stand up and get closer to him, hand on your chest, determined to make him see: he doesn’t have to go out there alone.
“No!” He stands up too, pleading. “Please… I don’t want you to be put in danger because of me.”
“But-”, It fills you with frustration, how he turns away at your concern. You can handle yourself just fine! Why does he choose to be alone? Have the years you’ve spent – together as apprentices, together as friends in arms – mean nothing to him? Have you spent all this time pouring everything you have to catch up to them, only for Qifrey to not see how you could help him?
“Here.” Qifrey removes his pointed cap and pulls out the silver button in front. ‘He’s changed it’, you noticed. Master Beldaruit’s embroidered symbol is gone, and it’s only the triangular white flap fastened by a button in its place. He reaches for your hands. “Take this. Let’s exchange buttons. The one on my cap in exchange for one on your cloak.”
“What? Qifrey–?!”
“Please, let me do this…” The way he pleads stirs something in you. All the rising anger from earlier dissipates at his soft voice. Who were you to deny a request from your departing friend?
With a resigned breath, you tear out a golden button from your cloak, the one on top of your heart, and clasp his hands as you give it to him.
“You better not lose it.” you playfully glare at him, and with a wry exhale you continue. “I get why you want to go – what you just said is safe with me.”, you gently tighten your hands together. “But please, Qifrey, if I can help you, please don’t hesitate to come to me. Wherever you are in the world, one word, and I’ll go and come to you. Always remember that.”
Qifrey’s lips form a sad smile. This sadness, you don’t understand. He takes your button and clasps it in his hand. You look at your own hands holding his button and pocket it, missing the way he looks at you and takes you in.
You sniff, and tears are suddenly pooling and falling. “Damn it, now you're making me cry…”
Through tear-stained cheeks, you smile so kindly at him - it makes one wonder how anyone could run from this warmth.
But something grows. Something cracks. Something is tearing at him from the inside, and you were none the wiser. You can only see Qifrey in front of you, looking down at his cap and tracing the edges of the front flap with his fingers.
The lights from your spell still cast shadows through his clothes. They do well to hide his trembling hands. The tears from his lone eye are threatening to fall. He thinks about what he’s choosing to do and it dawns on him that he is a cruel and selfish man.
He is silent, as if he can’t find it in himself to breathe. So, you put your hands on his shoulders and call out to him.
“Qifrey? Hey, c’mon. You still have a big day ahead of you. Let’s go. I’ll come with you to--”
He calls your name. He breathes your name out so tenderly that your world halts. You stand still. He steps closer to you (struggling, you note), all while looking at his cap. He cannot bear to look up.
“The Great Hall hasn’t always been kind to you. It hasn’t always been kind to us. But you weave light so beautifully, no one would think that you came from this dark and wretched place.” He steels himself for what he is about to do. The firefly lights in your spell from earlier begin to flicker.
“I hope that your light will continue to shine through the dark. Just like the sun, the moon, the stars… just like the magic you make. You gave light to me.” He places his cap on your head, still avoiding to see your gaze.
He feels a throb in his shoulders, right where you hold him.
“N-no words are enough to tell you how much I always crave to be in your light. How much I want to bask in your presence.” His glasses drop to the ground. “...And how much I want to run away from it…”
“Qifrey, your glasses–” you bend down to get them, but the sudden creaking of wood startles you. Roots are growing around his legs. What is happening?! Your eyes follow the forming trunk upwards and they are met with his blue eye, full of tears… and a silverwood branch, growing, just where his right eye is supposed to be.
Silverwood branches grow from his back, as you step back and shake in disbelief. Winding roots grow towards you, crawling and twisting. He has it, you realize, a Silverwood…inside of him?
“Qifrey! What–?!The silverwood–! I- I-..!” Panicking, your arms reach out to him. Where do you hold him? Your gaze cannot focus, what is there to do? You cry out, “What can I do?! I’ll help you!” Your breaths begin to shake.
Qifrey calls out your name. “Look at me, please.”
Your breaths are still hallowed, but you still look at him. Qifrey’s smile is heavy and sad with something you can’t place. One hand cradles your head, while his other hand cups your cheek. He wipes and gathers your tears with his thumb, and your hand reaches out to hold it. The wood cracks as it continues to grow.
“Don’t you see? My roots grow towards you. The leaves yearn for your light…. My only eye is pulled by you and the magic you create...”
“...My world’s gentlest and warmest star.”
He meets your gaze. His one eye is welled up with tears, and his voice shakes as his roots grow and pin him to the ground. “No words are enough to tell you just how much you mean to me. After this, I hope you will still keep me in your heart.”
You open your mouth, but no words find you. How could they? Qifrey is rooted in place, branches encasing his trembling and crying form, finally laying his heart out to you. He cradles your head with his cap so gently in his hands, as though it is the only thing that matters.
He sees your eyes, spilling with tears for him, and for a moment he is a child again.
It is the first time Qifrey saw you cry. You were huddled up in a quiet corner of the Great Hall, away from prying eyes and the mocking those other apprentices would say. Sniffing quietly, you told him, ‘They were saying I cheated because I passed the test so easily… That my white-haired weirdo friend just told me what to do… That I’m not a witch like them.’ He looks down at you, sitting slumped on the ground, face scrunched up in frustration while playing with the pages of your palm quire.
‘Those twerps are just jealous they can’t make spells like you.’ Qifrey begins, his gaze focused on your hands. ‘They don’t know that you always force me to practice drawing my lines…’ he trails off, ears burning and eyes quickly finding the floor interesting.
He hears your gentle laugh, and his one uncovered eye meets your gaze. ‘Y-yeah, they’re still crooked as always.’ Through tear-stained cheeks, your eyes light up and look at him with that kindness and gentleness that makes his insides twist.
And it’s that same light in your eyes when you look at him that calls for the Silverwood tree to bloom further.
How easy would it have been for him to turn around once he saw your silhouette, sitting on the ground, absorbed in your own little world? Here he is though, like a moth who came too close to your light, leading himself heart first into your oblivion. The magic you conjure never did make it easy for him to look away. All it takes is one glimpse and he finds himself walking towards you without even noticing.
Perhaps he is selfish – using you because it’s another way to protect himself. He knows that telling you will inevitably lead to this: your kind eyes, even if afraid, will welcome him; you’ll open your arms and take him into your warm embrace, and the mountain of his sins will continue to grow. But he knows he is helpless. Because in the deep recesses of his overgrown chest, when his body screams at him to run far away from this comfort, he knows that there will always be a part of him fighting the tide to see you, hear you, feel you in his senses - even at the cost of his own safety.
“I’m a bad person. I always take your kindness. I always tease you, frustrate you, and worry you, but I know that you will still welcome me whenever I go to you. I’m a bad person…” His gaze is on you as the silverwood grows to pin his head from moving.
“Qifrey, no. Don’t say that! Look at me. We can fix this! I-I’ll call Olly, he’ll be able to help us!” Your hands fight to open the branches to free his neck, but it’s pointless. He has the gall to breath out what sounded like a pitiful laugh at what you’ve just said, and you look at him incredulously, with so much worry, that it almost chokes him. Oh, his gentlest star, if only you knew. You just want him to feel everything, don’t you?
He shakes his head. “I planned to leave without telling anyone… and of all the places, you just had to show up here.”
“What are you saying? C’mon Qifrey, help me help you out here! What is happening to you?”
“Remember what I told you? The Silverwood tree would only grow when the host is at peace.” His voice beckons your attention. “You’re a smart bug, you can figure it out. Can’t you?” He looks at you with such a sad smile.
The Silverwood tree would only grow when the host is at peace. He feels at peace with you. Your grip on his hand tightens. Argentgard is home to some of the largest silverwood trees that witch society has ever known… and here he is among them, at peace, in your embrace.
There is a clenching, throbbing pain in your chest, but it is not the branches that hurt you. They could never hurt you.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…” he whimpers. His apologies render you speechless. Why is he saying sorry? You don’t notice the branches slowly retreating.
“Qifrey! Hey, look at me. Listen to me! I’m here..! I-”
“I’m a bad person… No repentance will be enough for this-” He chokes out, swallowing his tears. His hands cradle your wet, tear-stained cheeks.
You want to call out to him, to reach out and hold him, to tell him not to apologize, that everything is going to be okay–!
“I’m sorry… Please, don’t forgive me.”
And with a trembling voice, he whispers.
“... I love you. Don’t ever say it back.”
Your eyes widen. But before you could even sound out a reply, Qifrey pulls down the flap of his cap on your head with all the strength he could barely muster… and covers your eyes.
The ink on the cap combines with your tears on his palm, and the sigil is completed with one swipe of his thumb. The Silverwood retreats but he is too late to catch your limp body. The lights conjured with your spell finally fade as he falls to his knees. Qifrey curls up on the cold ground and clutches his head in his arms.
Tears fall, and fall, and fall, until there is nothing left.
And then, there was only him and the looming Silverwood trees.