Chapter Text
Yuuri lived a simple life. Each morning he woke up before sunrise to his mother’s footsteps echoing around the inn, her warm presence caressing the inner barriers of his awareness, pulling him back into the realm of the living. Slipping out of bed, he would walk out to the inn’s kitchen to kiss his mother on the cheek before helping with the early morning preparations.
First, he would tend to the fire, a small jolt of magic enough to keep it low and steady. Then, he would sweep the floors and wipe down the tables in the main room as his mother cooked enough food for breakfast; if a small wind nipped at his heels and blew dust out of the corners, no one paid any mind. Finally, as the sun began to rise and light seeped in through the windows, Yuuri would set out the bowls and spoons on the kitchen countertop, ready for the patrons who would soon trickle down for food.
Yuuri had the routine down to an exact science. Of course, it wasn’t all practice and good timing; Yuuri could feel the guests upstairs, their auras pulsating slowly in time with their sleeping breaths. The auras were dim and weak, non-magical, but warm presences in his mind all the same. If anyone stirred earlier than usual Yuuri would know to speed up his cleaning and tap his mother on the shoulder, setting a bowl of her famous breakfast stew in front of the early-riser just as they sat at one of the low wooden tables.
Yuuri performed an invisible, graceful dance, darting out of the sight of the guests before they even realized their every need was met. This was how Yutopia Inn became known as the best place to stay in the lower levels of Moskivy City.
Yuuri lived a simple life, but he didn’t need anything more. He wasn’t exactly passionate about hospitality, but he felt needed and important, and what else was there for him to want? Besides, he had his mother, his father, and his sister, Mari, who would not wake before she smelled food in the air but was the face of the inn nonetheless. He had the tickle of magic against his fingertips, and the warmth of familiar auras, and his friends, of course.
Sure, every now and then he wished for something exciting, but what could a mage as weak and untrained as Yuuri ever hope to achieve? It’s not like he was Sir Viktor Nikiforov, the King’s head mage, who was rumoured to have the power to do whatever he wanted and the charisma to get away with it. No, he wasn’t like Sir Viktor, and so Yuuri had long resolved himself to learn to be content with his lot in life. And he was getting there – he was close, so close to letting go of his dreams for more. Which is why he was more than a little frustrated when his best friend ran into the inn, slammed his hands down on the bar, and exclaimed, “Yuuri! We’re going to a ball at the palace!”
Yuuri jumped, nearly dropping the mug he was cleaning before it was pushed back into his hands by a strong gust of wind. “Phichit?” Yuuri said, having been so focused on his task that he hadn’t noticed his friend’s presence. “What are you talking about?”
Phichit’s aura swirled around giddily, loops of warm, earthy oranges and browns filling Yuuri’s mind. It was a familiar aura, one Yuuri knew almost as well as his parents’ or his sister’s, and he settled into its layers with ease. Phichit was a magic user too, which explained the colours. Yuuri wasn’t too sure of the extent of the relationship between power levels and aura brightness, but from what he could tell, the more magic a person had, the more vibrant their aura was.
Phichit’s was relatively bright; his magic wasn’t the strongest, but it wasn’t weak. His friend worked at the palace stables, tending to the animals, which was probably made a lot easier by his ability to communicate with them. Though sometimes Yuuri was inclined to believe that his job consisted more of gossiping with the palace staff than it did horse grooming.
“I heard it from Sara, she works in the kitchens, who heard it from Mathieu, the chef, who’s dating Sir Chris apparently, and isn’t that so cute by the way-”
“Phichit,” Yuuri interrupted, already foreseeing the long tangent his friend would go on if not redirected back to the point of the conversation. “What did you hear? What ball?”
Phichit’s dark eyes glimmered in excitement, undeterred by the exasperation clear in the tilt of Yuuri’s brows. “Right, well, Sir Viktor – yes, that Sir Viktor, don’t think I didn’t notice that sudden spike of interest – he’s looking for an apprentice, a partner, someone to bring new blood into the Royal Circle.”
Yuuri felt his eyebrow rise. “And? What does that have anything to do with us?”
“I’m getting to that,” Phichit said defensively. “According to Sir Chris, who’s also a mage in the Circle, as I’m sure you know… According to him, Sir Viktor is going to pick his apprentice by hosting a ball! In the palace! Any mage in the city who wants to be considered can attend, and by the end of the night Sir Viktor will decide who he wants his apprentice to be.”
Yuuri didn’t need any more information to connect the dots; Phichit wanted them to attend the ball. The ball, where he’d be so very close to Sir Viktor, to such an incredible, talented mage. Where he’d have the chance to be considered for the role of Sir Viktor’s apprentice. Yuuri felt his breath hitch. But- no. No. Yuuri was nowhere near talented enough to attract the attentions of someone as high up as Sir Viktor. Sure, he could do little things, but Circle Mages didn’t get paid to dust the floors or tend to fires. And whenever Yuuri tried to reach down and pull from his well of magic, whenever he tried to do anything big- well, he couldn’t. It fizzled. Viktor needed someone who could prove to be useful, not a failure of a mage like Yuuri.
“Stop that,” Phichit said, frowning. “I can actually hear the self-depreciation from over here, and unless you’re secretly a pig I’m pretty sure I can’t read your mind. You’re a good mage, Yuuri, you just need to have confidence.”
Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “But I’ve never heard of a person who believed in themselves so hard that they suddenly grew strong magic. I just… I don’t want to waste Sir Viktor’s time.”
Phichit’s frown softened and Yuuri’s cheeks flushed pink. He knew Phichit was aware of his admiration for Sir Viktor, but it was embarrassing all the same. Despite never having seen the mage, Yuuri was in awe of him, chasing down all the people who told the stories that sung his praise. A part of him desperately wanted to meet the man, but another much larger part felt that meeting him would simply emphasize the sheer scale of the differences in their abilities.
Phichit’s aura buzzed around him with renewed vigour, causing Yuuri to look up from where he had been staring at the grains of wood in the bar top. Phichit’s eyes were bright again and his mouth was set, and oh, Yuuri knew that expression. That expression meant that there was little to no chance of him getting out of whatever scheme his friend had concocted.
“Okay, Yuuri, hear me out,” Phichit began. “I still think we should go, but you don’t have to worry about Sir Viktor. Think about it. An open ball at the palace? Every mage in the city will be there, and they’ll all without a doubt be surrounding Sir Viktor. He probably won’t even have the time to make his rounds!” Phichit was getting into it now, his arms waving in the air and a small smile seeping onto his face. “So, we get to go to the ball, see the inside of the palace, eat the food – oh, I bet the food will be amazing – and you’ll probably be able to sneak a peek at Sir Viktor’s face, all without having to talk with him at all!”
Yuuri sighed, putting away the mug on the shelf above the counter. He pursed his lips and looked at his friend. Phichit looked excited and very determined. Yuuri knew from experience that even if he said no then, Phichit would follow him around and badger him until he gave in. The thing was, even if it was annoying in the moment, Yuuri always had fun at the events Phichit dragged him out to. And if Phichit wasn’t so persistent Yuuri would probably never leave the inn.
Also, he couldn’t lie, the thought of seeing what Sir Viktor looked like was very tempting. The stories never could seem to get his appearance straight; sometimes he was described as dark and mysterious, other times bright and open. One girl had even said that when he came to her village and redirected the storm that threatened their crops his hair had glowed silver and undulated in swathes around his head. Yuuri couldn’t deny the allure of seeing him for himself and setting those rumours straight.
“Fine,” Yuuri said eventually. “I’ll go. But just to look, then I’m leaving.”
Phichit grinned, bright and delighted, and let out a small whoop before slapping both hands on Yuuri’s cheeks and forcing him to look Phichit in the eyes.
“You won’t regret this, Yuuri,” Phichit said into the air between them. Yuuri could feel the gazes of the patrons of the inn lingering on them, their auras jumping in amusement and intrigue. He stifled an eye roll, not wanting to risk Phichit’s wrath this close.
“Yes, yes, okay,” Yuuri muttered, his talking made difficult by the hands squashing his cheeks. “You can let go now.” Phichit let out a bubbling laugh before letting go of Yuuri’s face. Yuuri turned away to pick up another of the mugs he was supposed to be cleaning when a thought popped into his head.
“Say, Phichit, when is this ball anyway?”
After being met with silence and dubious, trailing loops of orange, Yuuri looked up to find that his friend was slowly backing his way out of the inn. Suspicious, Yuuri levelled a glare at Phichit, who squeaked and turned before purposefully striding towards the door.
“Phichit…?” Yuuri asked, panic slowly beginning to seep into his voice.
Just as Phichit reached the exit of the inn he turned and flashed a bright smile. “It’s tomorrow,” he crowed, before slipping outside and peeking his head out from behind the door. “I’ll meet you here at 6!”
Then he was gone, the door shut behind him, and Yuuri was left staring, unblinking and with his mouth gaping slightly, at the space his friend had just vacated.
Yuuri felt a strong impulsion to scream.