Chapter Text
There was a rumor that over yonder hill, where knee-high grass and prairie flowers endlessly covered the plains, that once an enchanted wood stood in its place.
Within it, a fae: a voice for the woods who kept himself alive from trinkets and gifts of unassuming, passerby's. The richest of these gifts was a soul, given of human, creature or otherwise, it was a most cherished treat for the fae, and one he sought after above all else.
The woods were not kind, but the fae was. He found loopholes in his own tricks, he offered debt slips to be forgotten in the wind, and for his most favorite human, he made all kind of exceptions, in favor of a promised return.
Local legend. Tall tales. Nothing of weight these words carried.
Because the woods are gone, and with it, that human's first kiss. First love. First too many things. Magic that he could not tap into, that he offered the fae without second thought, who at first greedily accepted it.
As the years went on, there grew hesitation, and with it, the beginning of the end.
Nothing remains of those woods, now. Just a rolling field, with tall grass, and prairie flowers, and magic that Grian could not tap into, as much as he tried. And so, with fingernails caked in dirt and grit, dried tears slick on his face, he pushed himself to his feet.
And Grian went home, for the very last time.
A small bag packed, his best supplies at his hip, and newfound determination in his heart, Grian bid farewell to his hometown, and set off on what the village folk all collectively agreed was a horrible idea.
Even if Grian could find a trail to follow, he would not be able to harness it. Magic didn't come natively to humans: it had to be fed through a wand or other enchant-able object, gifted from a benevolent force above, or, as Grian preferred to do, brew spells into elixirs to be kept bottled and ready to fire.
But Grian had not spent a decade of his life being courted by a fae, only to let him escape so easily. So if humanity kept him away from whom he sought out, then humanity he would shed on his way.
On his way, Grian found his way into the mouth of a wolf. Or, within radius of it, was better said. Huddled in the dark outskirts of town, the creature had its leg caught in a hunter's trap, and it howled in agony at its presumed grisly fate.
There was a bright intelligence in its eyes, and with a downcast look, it pleaded for its life.
From his bag he pulled out three bottles: one bubblegum pink, one a dark grey, and the other more akin to a bright lavender. With a serrated hunting knife pulled from his hip, Grian doused the metal trap in the grey potion; the metal sizzled and softened in turn, and he hacked the rest of the trap away.
With the leg clear, he poured the lavender potion directly onto the wound, and gave the wolf a small dose of the pinker one to drink. Within minutes, the wolf was able to stand, and it nipped gently at Grian's cloak, beckoning that he follow.
A dizzying trek through the dense forest led Grian to a pack of wolves, or so it appeared, until he blinked, and a scattered group of cubs shifted into children, bouncing between forms in an uncontrolled fashion.
Others were in half-human, half-wolf form, adults who's control over their appearance was under a much tighter grasp. The pack were delighted to see the wolf alongside Grian, and one approached at a rapid sprint, the two embracing, fully human once more.
A crowd quickly formed, and in the sea of relieved wolf-folk, Grian was ushered towards the lip of the cave, where the pack leader rested. "Thank you," she said, "For bringing him home."
"We can't approach the village in the daylight, the humans have poached us often in the past, but we could hear his cries, and prayed someone would intervene," the leader explained. "Lupercus has kept a close eye on our kind today, thanks to you."
"It was the least I could do," Grian bowed his head. "But, I have a favor to ask."
"Proceed," the Leader said.
"I'm looking for a fae, but as a human, I can't track the magic he left behind," Grian said. "Can you help me find him?"
The Leader scowled in distaste, "We do not meddle with the happenings of fae. I'm sorry, we have nothing for you here."
"Please," Grian insisted, "He has something that belongs to me, something I can't live without."
"If you were foolish enough to make a deal with a fae, then you must live with the consequences."
"He has my heart," Grian sighed, feet planted firmly in the ground. "I'm not asking you to find him personally, but please. I need to find him again."
The Leader drew a long breath, and finally, relented. Beckoning him close, she reached beside herself, and offered him a long, sharpened wolf's claw. "Sleep with this on your chest tonight, and morning come you will be able to climb above the horizon."
With a final thank you, Grian tucked the claw into his bag, and took his leave.
That night he slept with the claw heavy on his chest, and he awoke the next sunrise to talons instead of hands, sharp enough to sink into the tough oak trees surrounding him. He climbed with newfound delight to the very highest tree tops, and belted out his lungs at the rising sun.
Weeks past, but still no sign of that who stole his heart.
Making his way through a mountain pass, Grian's talons were no help against the endless miles of rock and snow that was in his way. At this rate, it would take months for him to make it though the mountains on foot.
That is, until he came across a small cottage tucked inside the pass, smoke billowing out of the chimney top. From within it, a woman with crescent moons for eyes stepped outside, a deep blue cloak tossed over her shoulders. "Something I can help you with, stranger?" she asked.
"I need a way through the mountains," Grian called back, "Any chance you know a faster route?"
"The only way is through," she answered, waving him over. "But come inside, I might have something for you."
He stepped inside and was quickly ushered towards the kitchen, a vast cauldron bubbling over a small fire. The woman began stirring, and offered Grian a spoonful. "I make batches of strengthening potion for travelers, but I think it's a little thin. What do you think?"
The taste he had was flat and barely warmed Grian up at all. "Definitely too thin, let me see..." Digging around inside his bag, he pulled out a vial of what appeared to be bottled fire.
Undoing the cork alone was enough to fill the air with warmth, and he poured a fourth of it into the cauldron, the watery potion turning a dark fuchsia color. Another sip did away with Grian's fatigue, and the woman grinned, quickly bottling portions of it up.
"I owe you one for that Alchemist, you said you needed a way over the mountains, right?" she asked, tossing him a newly filled bottle. "What's a guy like you doing traveling so far all by yourself?"
Grian twisted the cork, "I'm looking for a fae, I need to find him again."
The woman whistled, "That's a lofty goal, but you're not making any progress on those two feet. No, what you need is height."
He showed her his clawed hands, "A wolf clan gave me these, but I can't track his magic with claws."
The woman squinted at him, and Grian felt the unnerving sensation of a million eyes on him at once. "I can't help you track him, but I can get you to a place that can. What do you say to another potion, Alchemist?"
She had Grian lug bucketfuls of snow into the caldron, which quickly melted into water. From her basement, cool and damp from overhead lamps, a fistful of nether wart was harvested, and tossed into the water.
"Have you ever seen an avian before, Alchemist?" she asked, pulling a bag of sugar out of her cupboard, measuring out a cup and a quarter.
"Only in picture books as a child," Grian confessed, watching her work. "Why do you ask?"
Finally, a fistful of golden powder was scattered across the bubbling potion, and the color brightened into a glistening lilac. As she spooned out a cupful for Grian, she spoke, "Because I'm going to make you fly," she grinned.
The woman finally, finally undid her cloak, and unveiled a pair of wings, identical in color to her cloak, with ribbons of black running through them.
While Grian gawked in awe, the woman plucked out a feather, and let it sink into the potion, the color unchanged, but the brew a bit thinner than it was before. Pushing the cup into his hands, the woman spoke, "Drink this, and spend the night. I have a spare room already done up," she beamed, shooing him towards it.
As the bedroom door slammed shut behind him, Grian eyed the potion still warm in his cup. He'd seen that brew before, it was a swiftness potion. The feather was the part that worried him, an unexpected detail that his years of experience taught him to be wary of. Potions with illegal ingredients rarely resulted in good brews, and he'd never heard of such a thing as a "flight" potion.
But there was a terrible pull on his heartstrings, and Grian downed the potion into two swallows.
Quick to bed, quicker to rise, leaves a bird happy, healthy, and wise.
Grian awoke with a feathery weight on his back, and heard the sound of a delighted cackle in the next room over.
"You'll want to go East, endlessly until you fall into the moon," the woman said, and finally Grian was starting to lose his patience. Fall into the moon? What in Void's name could that mean?
"It'll make sense when you see it, now go! They're already waiting for you," she added, hurrying him along.
With a confused flight path, and a broken heart, a grand beat of his new wings led him East, the strangeness of the mountains quickly becoming a distant memory. Grian flew and flew until the motion became habit, and he glided across icy tops as though he were born to be this high.
Wings came with a forgotten ease his claws did not.
At some point, his eyes drew heavy, but the end of the mountain range was so close, just a couple miles more, he was so so close...
Grian let his eyes drift shut for a moment, and he dreamed of oceans, and of constellations, and of an endless sky, full to the brim with glaring eyes.
He dreamed of broken portals, and more eyes still, until his own finally opened, and Grian found himself plummeting into a vast sea, staring up at a moon too close for comfort, and though he was falling away from it, he felt it draw closer and closer, until he saw nothing.
The nothing, as it resulted, was from the blackened sea, engulfing Grian whole, cradling him gently through the waves.
Grian opened his eyes and gazed up at the night sky. The rolling water soaked through his wings and made them heavy, but he did not sink. He did not move. He gazed up at the night sky, only for the stars to gaze right back down at him: blinking, observing, watching.
"Hello," he said, without moving his lips. Somehow he knew that his thoughts were loud enough for the moon to hear. "I'm looking for an old friend, a fae from a stolen wood."
Silence in return.
"He's my everything," Grian thought, "and I have to find him again. Can you help me?"
Something he could not perceive, blinked at him. It wanted a Name. Of course.
"I have his Name," Grian thought. "His Name is Scar."
Silence again. The sound of nothing dragged on for a seemingly endless span of time, seconds creeping into minutes, hours, days, but never quite years. Grian could hear his blood flowing in his veins, the sound of his heart uncertain against his chest, the salt water digging itself into his flesh and skinning him alive, he could feel all of it, hear all of it, see all of it—
"What will you give?" The nothingness asked.
"What do you want?" The not-avian, not-wolf responded.
"Eyes," it hissed, they hissed. It was now that Grian could Hear the difference in the nothing; voices, hundreds, thousands, all speaking in a mismatch of emotions and thoughts. They wanted his eyes. "We will give you the gift of Sight and Sound in exchange."
Eyes for eyesight and sound? A quiet voice tried to pinch his throat shut, and deep down Grian knew there had to be more to this request. There was something wrong here, something he wasn't being told, but then again, Grian had never asked them to explain.
Time now had ceased to exist, and in his soon-to-be-taken eyes, Grian has spent eons waiting for a response from the sea of nothingness. So, he took a deep breath, and gazed up into the abyss.
"They're yours," Grian said.
As the waves started to rise and crash around him once more, Grian closed his eyes for the very last time, to a starry sky. Surely he was seeing things, but he could've sworn the moon blinked at him.
There's a darkness you can't put into words.
It grabs you by the wrists and pulls you close, and begs that you stay (you have no choice in leaving.)
It's not pitch black, or an inky hue human eyes can perceive. It's not darkness at all, but the lack of option. The lack of dark and light. Nothing.
It's a childhood bedroom made up into a storage closet. Ripped poster corners still pinned to the wall; it's a closet barren of clothes and brimming with useless things.
It's an ocean covered in floating fish, and the smell of rot that comes with consequence.
It's standing at an open window dangerously high up, and resting a tentative hand on the frame, trying to decide if you'll close it or leave it as is. (Or a third, unpleasant option.)
It's lonely. Knowing how the world works around you, feeling so close to touching reality, but the words to reach another soul turning to cotton in your mouth, fingers brushing nothing but the idea of healing, happiness like coarse sand against your skin.
Grian felt all this and more, and less, and an in-quantifiable amount even still. He could See and Hear and Know where the people he wanted to find were, but never reach them. Not to touch, not really.
There was a rumor that over yonder hill, where knee-high grass and prairie flowers endlessly covered the plains, that once an enchanted wood stood in its place.
Within it, a fae: a voice for the woods who kept himself alive from trinkets and gifts of unassuming, passerby's. The richest of these gifts was a soul, given of human, creature or otherwise, it was a most cherished treat for the fae, and one he sought after above all else.
The woods were not kind, but the fae was. He found loopholes in his own tricks, he offered debt slips to be forgotten in the wind, and for his most favorite human, he made all kind of exceptions, in favor of a promised return.
Local legend. Tall tales. Nothing of weight these words carried.
Because the woods are gone, and with it, that human's first kiss. First love. First too many things. Magic that he could not tap into, that he offered the fae without second thought, who at first greedily accepted it.
As the years went on, there grew hesitation, and with it, the beginning of the end.
Nothing remains of those woods, now.
Just a rolling field, with tall grass, and prairie flowers, and magic that Grian could not tap into, as much as he tried.
But he tried. And tried. And tried.
Somewhere, in the middle of follow his heart, the Alchemist lost his mind. It was hard to tell if he was closer to mortal or creature, now.
If there is a person you seek, head as far East as the gales will carry you, until you fall into the moonrise.
You'll find a winged beast, with talons for hands and feet, and feathers that glimmered under the starry sky, and a veil gently rested atop his head.
He'll ask you about a fae, with a laugh like bells and other strange details; do not humor his queries. This will only serve to end your life.
Instead, stay quiet, until it feels as though you are drifting away from the dampened sand tough against your boots. He will ask who you seek, and you will give their Name. He will ask for a gift, you should come prepared. (Amethysts are his favorite.)
He will give you your response, and do not ask for a single thing more. No gift will satiate him at this point. Rather, you should thank him, and tell him he is free to leave. (He will not move, but the choice gives him a freedom that, when alone with the eyes, he does not have.)
Should he decide to leave with you, do not be afraid. He is a friend to you now. Be gentle with him, for his heart is still that of a human's. They will not be happy at his absence; you should be quiet during their argument.
Cover your ears and eyes, if you must. (You should.)
Because one day, when the days of Seeing are too much for his mortal heart to bear, he will leave with someone. Maybe it'll be you. (Hopefully, you shall never lay eyes upon him. But you will. It is inevitable.)
And it will not matter, because that which he seeks will always be hidden from his Endless Eyes. Fae are strange in that way, how even the boldest of magic washes cleanly over them, like waves crashing on the shore.
The Alchemist is waiting for you.