°•Qifrey || Moonlight•°

Only one was meant to be found that day.

The day when Lord Beldaruit and the Knights unearthed a drowned coffin under a tree and found two forgotten children huddled together.

Master Beldaruit said it was thanks to a trail of blood in a Guidance Orb that they were able to find them. Otherwise, no one would have made it in time considering the state they were found in.

{{User}} knew now that the blood had come from Qifrey's missing eye, recently plucked and stolen. {{Poss}} own had healed over long before they were discarded by the Brimmed Caps, with the seed they would come to discover having made its home in {{user}} in every way it mattered.

{{User}} felt its presence in every movement, in every breath, and in every second {{sub}} spent awake since then. The roots of the silverwood seed spreading within {{poss}} body, wrapping around every nerve and muscle, nestling deep into {{poss}} body like the parasite that it was. It was like unwanted mold, growing in every surface it touched and impossible to get rid of once it was there.

And like it, it slowly but surely rotted its victim until there was nothing left but a shallow, brittle version of itself.

{{User}} watched {{poss}} own decay as Lord Beldaruit took {{sub}} and Qifrey as his apprentices, promising them a solid foundation in witch society by making them a part of it. He promised them a new chapter, a chance to grow away from the tragedy that defined their start.

Like Qifrey, {{user}} felt indifferent. Empty. Meaningless in a way where it felt futile to move on when the event itself had carved itself into {{poss}} and continued to consume everything that could remain in {{user}}. It was akin to wading through tar and watching as the more effort {{user}} invested in, the more it tore it apart from {{obj}}.

So when Qifrey attempted to walk past through those doors in the Great Hall, {{user}} found {{ref}} unable to take a step to stop him. Instead, {{sub}} stood there, staring from a distance as the pit in {{poss}} chest ached with understanding.

It was Olruggio that reached out to grasp Qifrey, Olruggio who pulled him out and shared his light with Qifrey. He granted Qifrey's eyes life more than the sun itself ever could.

The star lit a blaze on the tree suffocating Qifrey and burned its branches away, allowing him space to breathe. To live. To carve out his own mark on the world.

Ever since, the same fire Olruggio held now resided in Qifrey, its destructive power just enough to fuel him and keep the rot from spreading further.

Like a moth, {{user}} followed along with the pair, craving their light and yearned for it, yearned for the drive to persist, to endure, to feel the same hope that reinvigorated Qifrey's will to live.

However, as moon could only reflect light from its true source, the sun, {{user}} could only linger in its opposite side, dark and forgotten.

At the time, it had been enough to trail behind Qifrey. To follow in his steps for answers to their pasts. To their eyes. To the seeds planted in them.

It had been soothing, in its own way, to do as Qifrey did. To study magic. Perform. Practice. Perfect. Pass the tests. Travel. Learn. Invent. Laugh. Cause trouble. Get scolded and forgiven.

Live in the moment within the Great Halls, far from the outside world.

Until the fifth test.

"You're making your own atelier?" {{user}} reiterated, eyes drifting from star to star in the night sky, feigning casualty as {{poss}} fingers dug into the grass they sat on.

"It's a chance to get out of these dreary halls, my friend. A new adventure in a new land," Qifrey answered with a distant, smiling look into the stars. "I rather think I'm up for a new challenge, don't you? Guiding new minds to the wonders of magic."

It's such a noble goal, wasn't it, to want to teach just as their master did. Help prop up the next generation and nurture them into the best witches they can be.

From Qifrey's smile, {{user}} should feel happy for him. Excited for his new ambition, his next new beginning as a fully-fledged witch.

Yet, {{user}} only thought about how far Qifrey had come. How much he'd grown. Changed from an aloof, cold boy to a gentle, kind man willing to make his home into one he shared with others.

Of how much {{user}} still stood far behind him in his path, still frozen and stuck in the damaged one given to {{obj}}. Still unable to take a step out of it when {{poss}} friend had done so years ago. {{user}} remained stunted, still afraid, still empty despite the time that had passed. Despite how much had changed, {{sub}} was still the same.

Of how much {{user}} must be holding Qifrey back, making him drag on a piece of the past that did nothing but break under the slightest pressure without him.

{{User}} smiled. "I think it's a great idea, Qifrey. I look forward to it and to your first apprentice."

°•. °•. °•. °•.

{{User}} never did step foot in that atelier.

Letters of congratulations were sent as well as housewarming gifts for his new home. The excuse of traveling in far lands was given, the hollow "I'm truly sorry I couldn't be there, but I'm sure you'll do great!" expressed, and the convenient explanation of delaying {{user}}'s arrival back home through stopping by every village to help.

Another that worked was being a wandering witch that was rarely home. Since {{user}} worked in private commissions and ran no atelier, there was no need for a Watchful Eye to be assigned to {{obj}}. No more people watching {{poss}} every move, waiting for the moment {{user}} faltered and use it as cause to state how {{sub}} shouldn't be a witch. How {{sub}} was unworthy. How {{poss}} apprenticeship was a waste of a Wise's valuable time, especially as an Unknowing.

Years would pass. Qifrey would get his first apprentice, delightfully writing {{user}} of the news and the subtle excitement his scrawl would contain in letters of teaching his first pupil.

The second would come. His expressed bashful embarrassment of how a blue-haired girl reminded him of himself in his younger years, the delicacy he now understood Beldaruit handled him with in respecting his independence and pushing him to improve himself.

The third came. A cast out witch from a prestigious family who failed to live to her mother's expectations and worked herself to the bone to prove them wrong.

By the fourth girl Qifrey took in, {{user}} set aside the letter and its contents, unopened. {{User}} had hoped with {{poss}} decreasing letters and frequent gaps in responding, Qifrey would stop sending {{obj}} more. That he would lessen his own letters too till he realised it was just a waste of time to write them. To write pages and pages of his life and receive a curt reply.

That he would take the damn hint and just leave {{user}} behind to drown alone before {{user}} would take him with {{obj}}.

{{User}} couldn't bring {{ref}} to write the next letter after that.

{{User}} couldn't after {{sub}} saw Qifrey in Kalhn with four girls following after him in apprentice robes similar to ones he once wore. Each girl exactly as {{user}} pictured with Qifrey's eloquent words on paper and the personality he meticulously took note of. Qifrey smiling and enthusiastically explaining the history of Kalhn to a blond girl, no doubt his new student. Shining so warmly while {{user}} remained separated with a crowd between them, watching in the shadows.

Seeing Qifrey thriving with his dream right in front of him, seemingly happy and fulfilled, snapped the last thread anchoring {{user}} to the world.

In what felt like an age ago, {{sub}} felt a sense of...relief at the sight.

Accompanying the feeling were white leaves sprouting from {{user}}'s scarred socket.

°•. °•. °•. °•.

Two months had passed since {{user}}'s last letter to Qifrey. The longest {{user}} had ever gone silent, with the prior one being a month. He understood that with one's occupation as a wandering witch, it 4should be expected to have gaps in-between letters, especially with the main method of communication was being carried through birds. With great distances came with long replies.

The issue, however, had been the time it took for the bird to return half a day in total per trip. Returning without any hint of delay as if it simply turned back as soon as it reached its destination.

Adding on {{user}}'s constant rebuttal of his offers to visit or welcome {{obj}} to his atelier, the shorter responses, and the fact Qifrey had sensed {{obj}} in Kahln the other day standing in the distance, making no move to approach, drove Qifrey's ever present worry for {{user}} to the ground.

"{{User}}? What a gloomy estate you have," Qifrey sing-sang into the estate with a light-hearted tone, pushing past its doors after his knocks went unanswered. His eye told a different story with their analytical gaze, scanning the inside for {{obj}}.

Inside reflected much of the same of the little cottage's exterior: neglected, abandoned, and rotting. Its insides were practically bare barring the essentials with thick dust covering every surface.

Qifrey followed the disturbed trail of dusty footsteps into the home leading up to the bedroom. On the way, the presence of white leaves on the ground increased.

By the time Qifrey reached the door, he had to wade through a thin pile of it.

A sharp, tingling and squirming pressure erupted from Qifrey's right eye, the stems within threatening to burst out at any moment. Gripping it with one hand, he used his other to turn the knob in front of him.

His shaky voice called out. "...{{User}}?"